Chapter Text
The howl of the Jagentoth’s dogs went up like warning bells as lights flickered on in the mansion and voices began to rise up to join them in a harmonizing chorus that only signified danger. Molly gripped the sack of stolen goods tighter and kept running as fast as his feet could carry him. Either his bag was heavier or Lucien and Kingsley got a headstart because they were already climbing the fence and vaulting over where they’d thrown a threadbare rug over the barbed wire at the top.
Kingsley must have slipped going down because the rug came with him and when Molly finally reached the fence he and Lucien were struggling to throw it back over, pushing and shoving each other in absolute panic.
The dogs and the men and their wicked song were louder now. Molly turned to look behind him and saw their shadows moving closer. He hissed between his teeth and tossed the bag over the fence. “Back up. I’m gonna go over.”
Lucien looked at him like he was crazy. Not unusual, really. That was how he often looked at him. “Fuck that, Mollymauk. You’re not gonna make that.”
Kingsley’s tail was lashing, desperately. “You’re not that bendy.”
He refused to indulge any of that with a response. Of his two brothers, he was the one who could do things that baffled the mind. He could run the rooftops of the Clover Plaza without ever touching the ground if he wanted to. He could best a bloody fence.
Seeing as he wasn’t going to listen, Kingsley and Lucien stepped back, grabbing for the sacks of Jagentoth treasure that would buy them decent meals for the first time in months, not eager to let it go. Molly took another look behind him. The guards and the dogs were in view now, headed right for him now that they could see the teenage tiefling in the glow of their lamplight. Hissing, he took the fence at a running leap, hit it at a precise angle and then tried to flip straight over. The execution was perfect.
The barbed wire didn’t care. His ankle was just a little too close to the snatching barbs that caught his pantleg. He panicked and kicked and found himself entangled more and the momentum forced him to slam his face straight into the metal fence. Blood poured into his mouth from what was likely a broken nose and he dangled there, helpless and unable to shake his foot free.
“Molly!” Kingsley ran to try and help him, while Molly tried to bend himself upwards to catch the wire and yank himself free. He managed after a few tries, but all he got was barbed wire digging into his hands and ripping holes into his palms until he was forced to let go and swing back down, hitting the back of his head against the fence this time.
The dogs were there now. He could feel their hot breath on the back of his neck, while the men came around to try and get him down. If Kingsley and Lucien lingered, the dogs would be set after them and even in the Savalirwood, there was no safety from a pack of well-trained hunting dogs.
“You have to go,” Molly snapped, twisting away from the dogs to try and see what the pair were doing. Not running, that was for sure. Fuck.
“Fuck that!” He heard Kingsley snap.
“There’s two more over here!” One of the men yelled. Molly swallowed hard, desperately, and twisted again to try and see where Lucien was. He was right at the edge, anger on his face, like he intended to stand and fight. He was a cold, selfish bastard, but he tended to fight violently for his own.
Even if that fight was unwinnable. “Lucien, take Kingsley and go for fuck’s sake.”
Lucien looked to the men closing in, to the dogs that were being called to the gates to be set loose. “We’ll be back,” he snapped out like it was a threat, and then dragged Kingsley into the wood.
They were fast. They could climb trees. They could fuck up a scent trail. Molly had faith they could make it back to the hideout without being taken. He didn’t know what to do about them trying to come back for them. That was a future problem.
The current problem was one of the Jagentoth’s guardsmen looking at him dangling uselessly from barbed wire wrapped around his ankle and bleeding from his nose, and grinning at him like he was the catch of the day.
“See? I told Numa the barbed wire was a good investment,” one of them chuckled. He nodded to one of the other men. “Cut it down.”
Molly waited until the man got close, brandishing a set of shears, and then hissed infernal under his breath. The man staggered back with a matching nosebleed.
“Fuck! What the hell was that? What did that hell-touched piece of shit do?”
The head guard scowled and ripped the shears from the panicking guard’s hand. “Fucking idiot.” He snapped the wire holding Molly in place and he dropped painfully onto the ground, now winded on top of everything else. He had time to look up, hoping to do just one more vicious mockery, just in time for the guard to kick him right in the head.
And all he saw was black.
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He awoke later, completely unhealed judging by the aches and pains where the barbed wire had dug into his hands and torn his ankle to pieces. Also his nose was still broken, which was more unbearable. Fuck.
Being tied to a chair? That also sucked a lot, but when dealing with people who bought and sold flesh like other people bought and sold textiles that was probably the least horrifying option.
He blinked blearily at a man with graying hair and a scarred up face leaning in to watch him wake. He knew all the Jagentoth children and their black widow bitch of a mother by sight. He wasn’t one of them- probably an intermediary of some kind. Or a torturer.
Probably a torturer. Yay.
“Your brothers got away from us, you’ll be happy to know,” he said in a voice as rough as sandpaper.
Molly cleared his throat a few times, trying to work up enough saliva to speak. His mouth felt like this bastard’s voice sounded. “That does make me happy.”
The man reached over and grabbed one of his horns, turning his face until it could the minimal light in this room. Molly’s dark-adjusted eyes burned a bit and he tried to flinch away, but his captor held firm. “How old are you, kid?”
“Sixteen.” If he sounded lofty and impressive, that was well-earned. One kid managing to live that long unchained and alone in the Run was something to be noted, much less three of them. A set of three tieflings could fetch a high price.
He knew that because he’d been told that his entire life every time he, Lucien, and Kingsley dodged away from cages and nets and people who saw price tags instead of actual living children. The fact that this hadn’t made him cold was due to Lucien not allowing it to. He took all the hate into himself.
He left Molly and Kingsley with all the love, but, truthfully, Molly was not feeling the love right at this second. He was feeling quite a lot of pain and an even greater amount of disdain. A Vicious Mockery wouldn’t be out of place here, but it would also increase the pain he was about to endure.
“Sixteen,” the man assessed, nodding. He tilted Molly’s head a bit more, pulling a little too hard on his neck muscles. He felt like a dead ram being examined by a curious hunter, and probably was deserving of only marginally better care. Can’t spoil the goods, now can you? You’ll lose your best price. “They’ll come for you, won’t they? Nobody stays with anyone that long without a bit of loyalty.”
“You haven’t met Lucien,” Molly lied through his teeth. “He’s selfish as fuck.”
That part wasn’t a lie, but for this? Lucien would come back, daggers out, and vengeance on his mind. He wouldn’t see this stand. Kingsley wouldn’t let him, even if he could write him off. He’d come back.
Which was not much of a comfort. Molly closed his eyes shut tight in a grimace, but that served as an affirmative. The guard released his head roughly.
“Okay, kid. Let’s see where this goes.”