Chapter Text
By the time Shane leaves the sponsor dinner, he is nearing bone-tired. All of the socializing and forced smiles has taken everything out of him. The city also feels wrong. Not dangerous exactly. Just off. The sidewalks are too empty for a Friday night. The wind cuts colder than he expects when he steps outside. Somewhere down the block, a car alarm blares briefly before cutting off again.
His phone buzzes in his pocket; he has five missed calls from Ilya, which is dramatic considering that Shane had only been gone for about four hours. Still, he picks up the call, already heading toward the underground parking garage across the street.
“Hey.” Shane greets Ilya
“You are done?” Ilya asks.
“Yeah.” Shane rubs at the back of his neck. “Finally.”
“You sound tired.”
“I am tired.”
There’s a pause on the line. Not awkward. Familiar.
“You ate?”
“Some.” Shane presses the elevator button harder than necessary. “You home?”
“Yes.”
The elevator doors slide open with a metallic ding. Shane steps inside alone. Something about that unsettles him immediately. The enclosed space. The flickering overhead light. The fact that nobody else gets on. He tells himself he’s being stupid.
“You okay?” Ilya asks quietly.
“Yeah.” Shane sighs heavily
But Shane glances at his reflection in the elevator doors anyway. The ride down feels too long.
His pulse keeps climbing for no reason he can name. When the doors finally open onto the parking level, the concrete garage stretches out almost completely empty. His footsteps echo. A few fluorescent lights buzz overhead. One flickers near the far wall. Shane tightens his grip on his phone.
“I hate parking garages,” he mutters.
“You always hate parking garages.” Ilya chuckles.
“I can’t help that they are creepy,” Shane replies.
That gets the faintest huff of amusement from Ilya, but Shane barely registers it. The wrong feeling is getting worse, like somebody’s watching him. He looks over his shoulder once. Nothing, Just parked cars lined up in rows. His car sits near the back corner. Still another thirty feet away.
“I’ll call you when I’m driving,” Shane says.
“Stay on phone.” Ilya whines.
The immediate response settles something nervous in his chest. “Possessive.”
“Yes.”
Normally Shane would tease him about it. Tonight he just says, “Okay.”
His footsteps speed up slightly. Then— A figure steps out from behind the concrete support pillar ahead. Shane stops dead. A man. Tall. Dark coat. Late thirties maybe. Not moving. Just watching him. Every instinct in Shane’s body goes sharp.
“Can I help you?” he calls cautiously.
The man smiles, but it is a smile that unsettles something deep inside Shane.
“I was wondering when you’d come down.” Ice floods Shane’s stomach instantly.
His grip tightens on the phone. “Ilya.”
“What?”
“There’s a guy down here, he’s acting like he was waiting for me.”
The man starts walking toward him slowly.
“Shane?” Ilya’s voice sharpens immediately. “Get back in the elevator, now.”
Shane backs up a step. Another. The man keeps approaching.
“You don’t need to be frightened,” he says gently.
Every hair on Shane’s arms stands up; that frightened him a great deal. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
The man’s expression shifts almost sadly. “You’re upset already. That’s alright.”
Shane turns sharply toward the elevators, and at that exact moment, the man lunges. Shane reacts instantly, stumbling backward as hands grab his jacket hard enough to jerk him off balance.
“What the fuck—”
His phone crashes to the ground. “Ilya!” The shout echoes through the garage.
Then the man slams him against the nearest car hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
“Don’t scream,” the stranger says softly.
Shane drives an elbow backward as hard as he can. The man grunts but doesn’t let go. Panic is detonating in Shane’s chest now as he struggles to get away. He is shoving, kicking, trying to wrench free, while somewhere on the concrete nearby his phone blasts Ilya’s voice loud enough to hear.
“Shane?”
“Help!” Shane shouts instinctively.
A hand clamps over his mouth immediately. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Shane bites down viciously. The man curses sharply and loses his grip for half a second. Shane tears free and bolts. He almost makes it two steps, maybe three. Then the man catches the back of his coat and drags him down hard onto the concrete.
Pain explodes through Shane’s shoulder. “Ilya—!”
The man forces a cloth over his mouth and nose. The chemical smell hits instantly. Shane’s stomach drops in pure terror.
He thrashes violently beneath the man, trying to turn his face away, but the grip only tightens and he can’t hold his breath for much longer.
“Stop fighting,” the stranger says, breathless now. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Shane can hear Ilya screaming through the phone. Faint. Frantic.
Finally Shane has to take a breath and his vision starts blurring around the edges. The drug hits terrifyingly fast. His limbs feel heavy and wrong.
He claws desperately at the man’s sleeves, trying to stay conscious, trying to breathe around the chemical stink burning his lungs.
“Please,” he gasps instinctively.
The stranger’s face softens, “You’ll understand eventually.”
The words barely register. The garage lights smear together overhead. Shane’s body stops cooperating no matter how hard he fights it.
The last thing he hears before darkness starts swallowing everything is Ilya shouting his name over and over through the abandoned phone. Then nothing.