Chapter Text
Oliver breathed in the sick and heavy scent of old spilled beer and spent cigarettes. Mermaids – this was his stop in the backstreets of Jacksonville, Florida, where the haze of the pink lights barely gave the patrons away. The carpet was a thick red colour, the chairs and tables a flash of white that reflected the pink lights. It was nothing more than a dive masquerading as something a little classier – but failing terribly in his opinion.
He ordered a nothing from the bar, but slid a photo across the table. The bartender – a thin set man, weedy even, in his late 20s but aging as though he was closer to 40 – gestured his head towards the end of the room.
Oliver nodded and slid a hundred dollar note across the bar as he collected the photo.
The music was loud, almost deafening, the mix of heavy metal from a bygone era made Oliver suspect the owner of this establishment was probably in his 50s with a pony tail and a penchant for wearing dirty white singlets.
He pulled back the thick red velvet curtain of a small cubical in the back of the room. He looked around the musky surroundings, a leather chair that had seen better days – and probably too many bare asses – sat in one corner, an uncomfortable looking bench couch was pushed against a wall – in a fabric that matched the curtain now behind him, this wasn’t the worst place he had found himself, but it sure as hell wasn’t the Hilton.
Neither the chair nor the couch looked like good places to sit, so he opted instead to perch against a small coffee table that stood next to the chair. He stretched his legs – he had spent days driving down here and they were beginning to rebel – folded his arms over each other across his muscular chest, the brown leather jacket flexing against his strain, and he waited.
It was almost 10 minutes before he saw the wave of the red curtain. Stiletto heels poked through underneath the curtain, black – probably at least 8 inches tall.
The curtain folded back and a young girl stepped in. Her face was heavy with makeup – thick black smoky eyes didn’t disguise the blueness of her iris, a deep pink lipstick sat heavy on her lush pouted lips, a sweep of pink across her cheekbones attempting to put colour against her porcelain skin. Her hair was long, an ombre of pinks and purples – that was something he wasn’t expecting, but he would admit it gave her a spark.
She wasn’t tall, probably 5’4 – but with the shoes she was wearing she would stand much closer to his own impressive height. She adjusted the black fishnet stockings that were pulled up with black lace and satin suspenders. She had no pants on to speak of, just very short, very tight, black booty shorts that frilled at the back, not in the least bit containing her pert ass.
The top half was more moderately covered, a black bra under a black mesh t-shirt. All things considered, despite her best efforts to look different, she was most definitely the girl he was after.
She looked nervous, hovering uncomfortably close to the curtain. He imagined she was new to this, she didn’t have the steely look of someone who had already been taken by this life.
He watched her swallow down her nerves and force a smile as she walked towards him, one eye slightly raised.
“So you want a private dance,” she nervously ran a finger across the lapel of his jacket.
“What’s your name?” he questioned, his hands remaining closely at his side
“They call me honey,” she leant in closer, her lips delicately skating across his cheek as she spoke.
He could smell the liquor on her – it didn’t surprise him.
“Your name is honey?”
She was leaning against him now, but his hands never moved from his side.
“No, that’s my specialty,” she smiled, her teeth pushing against her bottom lip.
He noticed the leather cuff bracelet on her left wrist. Finally moving his hand from the side of his body, he took her wrist tightly into his grip.
Her brow furrowed a little at the heavy handedness of his actions, but she didn’t protest. He unclipped the back of the cuff and slipped it from her wrist.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked, trying to pull her arm away
He ignored her protest, pulled a small device from his jacket pocket and ran in over her now exposed wrist.
A second later a green light flashed on the same device.
“Hello, Felicity Smoak,” he smiled, placing the device on the table and pulling another from his pocket.
Before she had time to react to anything he said or did she felt a sharp jolt and then nothing.
He caught her limp body, she was lighter than he had expected her to be – that was good, that would make his job easier.
He picked her up, slumping her over his shoulder. He felt an urge to cover up her exposed ass cheeks, but there was nothing around that didn’t look like it carried a multitude of diseases attached to it. Her lack of modesty would have to do until they reached the car outside.
He slipped out from behind the curtain and no one paid him any mind, the handful of patrons too caught up in the naked girls dancing on the stage in front of them.
He pulled a thick envelope from his jacket pocket and slammed it down on the bar in front of the bartender who was now wearing a decidedly gaping look on his face.
“For your boss,” Oliver said sternly, “tell him if he or any of his buddies hires this one again, I won’t be the only guy in a leather jacket showing up, understood?”
His words were met with a slow nod.
“Don’t make me come back here, this place is a shit stain,” he pointed towards the bartender and winked in a show of gest – a gesture that seem removed from the situation, considering he was carrying a very unconscious half naked girl over his shoulder.
He made a mental note of the song playing as he left the establishment – Poison by Alice Cooper, his father had been fond of that song.
Your mouth, so hot
Your web, I'm caught
Your skin, so wet
Black lace, on sweat
I hear you calling and it's needles and pins (and pins)
I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name
Don't wanna touch you but you're under my skin (deep in)
I wanna kiss you but your lips are venomous poison
The mid afternoon sun outside was in stark contrast to the flashing pink lights inside and it took Oliver a moment to adjust his eyes to it.
He strolled towards the classic convertible Ford Mustang in the off-cream colour, oblivious to any attention he was drawing from the biker pulling up to the gas station on the opposite side of the road. In fact he took the opportunity to wave at the man, who seemed perplexed by what he was seeing.
He placed Felicity down in the passenger side of the car as a much older woman ran out through the front door of Mermaids, a pink bag in her hands. She spotted Oliver and made a beeline for him. He had his hand around the same small taser-like device that had rendered Felicity unconscious, in case he needed to use it again.
She deserved an award – he decided – for the way she cleared the parking lot in her clear plastic 9 inch heels.
“You take her home, she deserves better than this place,” the older lady said – probably in her 40s – although cigarettes and booze had likely aged her.
“That’s what I’m paid to do,” he nodded slowly as she jutted out her arm, pushing the pink bag towards him.
“Those are her things,” the lady backed away, stealing a quick look at Felicity in the front seat, she paused to say one thing further, “also, I have your licence plate number so I’ll know if she don’t make it back.”
Oliver nodded again – although he doubted she would remember it in 30 minutes and even if she could, it’s not likely she would know what to do with the information. Still, he wasn’t going to argue with her. He knew his intentions – he was taking the little rich run away home.
He was a few hundred miles from the Mississippi state line when Felicity stirred in the seat next to him.
She groaned first, her thumbs rubbing her temples as her eyes blinked open.
“What the actual fuck?” she moaned her head rolling in semi circles, straining against the crick in her neck.
“Wakey, wakey sunshine,” Oliver grinned throwing a bottle of water on her lap.
“Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing?” she wasn’t afraid of him, if she should be then something would have already happened, of that she was sure, “and where the fuck are we?” she had just noticed the car was driving a long stretch of highway.
He adjusted his sunglasses as the wind swept over the convertible car. He flicked a brief smile at her, amused by the tone she spoke in, given what he knew about her upbringing to hear her speak with such vulgarity made him smile.
“And what the fuck makes this so fucking funny?” she took a gulp of water, wiping the back of her hand through her lipstick.
“You don’t talk much like a debutant,” he smiled tapping his hands on the steering wheel to the tune playing on the radio.
She narrowed her eyes at him, now sitting crossed legged in the seat, her hair whipping around her face.
“So, they sent you?” her head dropped onto her open palm, propped up on the door frame, “You’re taking me back to Starling?” she already knew the answer.
“Home to your castle princess,” he was joking, but he was at a loss to understand why a girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth would chose to strip in a seedy club.
“You don’t know shit,” she spat, fully aware of the tone he was taking with her, “but you can let me out wherever because there is fuck all they can do, I’m 20, I don’t need a babysitter and I’m not going back there,” she shifted her weight in the seat, anxiously he noted.
“You’re still 19, and I don’t think age matters much in this situation.”
He leant over and pulled something from the glove box. He handed the three page document to her, void of a smile, fully aware of the implications that document contained.
Felicity looked down at the paper gripped between her hands.
“Mother fucker,” she cursed, crumpling the paper angrily, “they're having me sanctioned?”
The paper was a copy of a sealed order from a Court which, in short, legally declared Felicity mentally unfit and required her to appear before a Judge in 2 weeks’ time.
“Well you did run away from a large trust fund, to dance in a strip club, so some might agree with that judgment, right Honey?” he laughed to himself.
She ignored his little dig, her focus elsewhere.
The light was falling below the horizon now, replaced with the bright orange and pinks of a setting sun.
“You need to go back, so I can collect some things,” Felicity sighed, “I’m pretty sure this outfit will draw a crowd,” she spoke, stretching her leg out onto the dashboard and running a hand down it.
Oliver gestured towards a large duffle back and a box in the back seat, “I emptied your hotel room.”
“You broke into my room as well as kidnapped me?” she smirked side-eying him “what kind of cop are you?”
“I’m no cop,” he shrugged, his eyes briefly falling down her leg – which he assumed was her intention of putting it up there in the first place.
She kept her eyes on him, noticing the flicker of distraction her leg on the dashboard was causing him. Combing her fingers through her hair she pulled out the clips along the hairline and gently pulled the wig from her head, revealing her golden blond hair, secured at the nape of her neck.
Oliver watched, intrigued – he hadn’t pick that as a wig which rattled him, mainly because he was an extremely good at picking up on things like that and if he didn’t, that meant he was distracted and for Oliver Queen, distraction was unacceptable.
He heard the click of the seatbelt but before he could catch her she had climbed over the front seat and perched herself on the back tray of the car, rummaging through the duffle bag.
“Shit,” he muttered, pulling off the highway into truck stop and garage.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, stepping from the car and slamming his door – breaking one of his most important rules.
“Getting changed,” she shrugged, amused at the fire in his face.
“Get back in your seat, dammit,” he had adopted his ‘angry father’ tone.
The corner of her pink lips drew up into a smiled as she pulled off the mesh t-shirt and dropped it in the back seat.
In a stand-off of sorts he wouldn’t blink away and neither would she as she undid the suspenders and rolled the stockings slowly down each leg, dropping them in the same place as the t-shirt.
She stood up on the backseat, her feet wedged between the duffle bag and the plain cardboard box, watching Oliver with a glint of satisfaction in her eyes at his balled up fist.
Oliver noticed the crowd forming in the window of the truck stop behind him, middle aged men in flannel shirts with dirty caps were drawn to the sight.
“Get down,” Oliver hissed, preferring to not draw attention to himself.
She waved at the truckers as she slipped down the barely there shorts, revealing an even smaller pair of lace panties.
It was at this point that Oliver used his height to bound up into the back seat and threw his jacket around her waist – barely covering her.
“Aww, you’re disappointing them,” she smiled nodding towards the window where Oliver could see at least three faces of decidedly unhappy bearded men.
“Fine, change your clothes, but please stop making a spectacle of it,” he said almost begging.
She shrugged, pleased that he had managed to break before her, she slipped down between the duffle bag and the box and pulled on a pair of black jeans and a plain grey t-shirt.
Suddenly it occurred to Oliver that she now resembled any other 19 year old as she removed the pins from her hair and let is cascade in bouncing waves down her back. Finally she pulled a HUF cap from her bag and pulled it low on her head, tucking her loose hair behind her ears.
“Where are you going?” Oliver questioned, catching her arm as she went to leave the car
“I’m hungry, they got a free show, I’m sure someone in there will buy me some food.”
“We’re 50 miles from the state line, we’ll stop in Mississippi,” he replied, gesturing her back into the front seat.
She obliged with a muted sigh and she ambled back into the smooth leather of the front seat.
Dusk was well and truly falling over them as Oliver made his way around the car, refusing to clamber over the interior of his beloved car. He leaned over the passenger side door and fumbled in the glove box for a moment before he made one swift motion and Felicity found her wrist handcuffed to the armrest of the door.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she laughed, clanging the handcuffs against the door, “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a kinky bastard.”
Oliver bowed his head, a smirk forming across his face as he walked around the front of the car and slipped into the driver’s seat.
He pulled back onto the I-10 and they drove in virtual silence.
“Why are we driving anyway?” she finally spoke after 15 minutes of silence, the road rushing past as night began to fall and headlights filled the view.
“I don’t fly,” he replied abruptly, twisting his grip in the steering wheel.
She looked over at him, trying to decide whether or not to pursue that deeper, she decided against it.
“Are you taking the longest route possible?” she asked, aware that a route that took them through Mississippi would not be the quickest way to Starling.
“We have a stop to make on the way.”
He leaned over slightly and adjusted the volume on the radio up – signalling rather obviously that for now, he was done talking.
True to his word, just under an hour later they passed over the state line into Mississippi.