"People are supposed to fear the unknown, but ignorance is bliss when knowledge is so damn frightening."
-Laurell K. Hamilton, 'The Laughing Corpse'

It had been exactly 4 days, 3 hours and 15 minutes, and still Griffin hadn't woken up.

David counted.

He hated waiting. Waiting gave him time to think about what he'd done, about what could have happened to Griffin…

They'd inspected Griffin's chest while he was unconscious, and had found some rather disturbing things. There were lacerations all over it, but the most noticeable would be two long (maybe 7 inch) cuts- scars, really- that ran down his chest on either side. Besides those, however, they counted at least 18 (they stopped counting after that) various little cuts; this not even commenting on the bruises, burns, and other marks.

Another disturbing discovery; underneath the bandages wrapped around his abdomen (right above where his pants sat), Griffin had a set of (rather messy) stitches.

David and Nick had done their best to clean him up and bandage him up, put him back in his leather jacket, but they couldn't fix everything.

And now they waited.

And waited.

And a fear that maybe things wouldn't work out started to creep into their hearts.

It had started out looking almost like any other meeting. There was a man, tall and professional looking, sitting at the head of the 8 seated table, his hair slicked back and a Rolex shining on his wrist.

To his right was a sharp, cold, and calculating looking woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, a couple folders spread out in front of her.

To his left was a professional looking black man, a briefcase perched on the empty seat next to him.

On the other end of the table were the three who didn't quite fit. Two of the men wore suits; however, their build and mannerisms made them seem more like dumb brutes, as did the various collection of bruises on their faces.

The real oddball, however, was the occupant opposite the first man. A young man, he couldn't be much older than 24. He had long brown hair, a leather jacket, shades, ripped jeans, and a pair of chucks. Out of all the occupants in the room, he looked the most at easy, inspecting his fingernails as he leaned back in his chair, feet perched on the table.

"What. The fuck. HAPPENED?!" Adrian- the man at the head of the table- screamed, slamming his hands on the table, his voice reverberating throughout the small room.

The table shook, mirroring most of its occupants. The boy, however, did not, and simply continued inspecting his fingernails as he spoke. "You didn't tell me he would be expecting us." He spoke with a mixed accent, equal parts Boston and Brooklyn.

"He shouldn't have been." Adrian growled, glaring daggers at the boy. The boy didn't even flinch.

"He sure seemed like he was."

This comment seemed to drive Adrian over the edge. As the other occupants of the table watched, he became a violent purple shade, before slowly relaxing (slightly). "He wasn't. Maybe you're just not as good as you seem, R."

That comment got the boys attention. As everyone watched, he simultaneously slammed his chair on the ground, stood up, and made a swiping motion with his hand, causing everything on the table to go flying. His voice was dangerously low when he spoke, his accent so prominent he was hard to understand. "Maybe I'm not as good as I say I am? That man was expecting us. I help you because I feel like it. I don't, however, have to take orders from you, Adrian. So maybe think about that before you question my skill. I will walk out on you." He yanked his shades off, revealing livid eyes; eyes with a mix of red and black. Everyone in the room- with the exclusion of Adrian- flinched. "I don't even know why I help you, after what you did." His eyes met Adrian's, and a staring match ensued. Adrian, however, could only hold his gaze for a couple moments before he had to look away, flinching as he did so.

Adrian took a deep breath before sighing, bringing his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Alright. I know what you want; I'll look in to it, but don't expect much. You two-" he motioned towards the thugs, before motioning towards the mess that the briefcase and folders were in, "clean this mess up. You two-" he glanced at the people on either side of him, "come with me. We have work to do. I trust you'll see yourself out, R?"

"Of course." R smirked.

A/N: It's depressing when you go to write the next chapter of a story and then you realized you don't have a page for it…

Not how I expected this chapter to go. I wanted a confrontation! I had one planned…..and then this happened. And I know that the quote only sort of fits…..Please review?

Disclaimer: I only own the idea. The title belongs to FireflyCity, cover image to whoever posted it on the internet. But I do also own Adrian Ansdorff. And the first person that tries to steal him is dead. Because however evil and sick and twisted he may be, he is hands down the best bad guy I have ever created. So steal him, and "I will find you. And I will kill you." To quote Liam Neeson.