[ Joseph Kavinsky.

The name is like gasoline on his tongue, putrid and burning as it drips its way from his lips and into the fires roiling in the pit of his stomach. Anger, hatred, resentment - betrayal? No, no. To be betrayed would mean he had expectations, that he had hoped for something where there was only a barren stretch of soul. The earth had been salted. Nothing good would ever grow again.

Whether he was talking about himself or the other young man strapped to the chair with ropes of chains, he isn't sure. All he knows is he'll be fucked before he lets him out of his sight. He'll be fucking dead before he lets him into another dream.

He wants a fight.

He wants to make him bleed.

But that's not going to do any fucking good. If he hit him, he'd hit him again. And again. And he wouldn't be able to stop until that devlishly handsome face looked worse than the ruins of Niall Lynch's. Nothing but pulp and gore, broken teeth and eyes bereft of life. He hadn't saved Kavinsky just to fucking kill him, but --

But he really wasn't sure why he'd bother saving him at all. It'd have been easier - cleaner - to let that nighthorror tear him limb from fucking limb, but no. No, no, no. He'd gone and done the civil thing, the human thing, and now he was left with a hostage who could break the world with a mere flutter of his eyelids and no idea what the fuck to do with it. ]

You close your eyes again [ Ronan warns, taking a long drag from the cigarette in hand. ] I'm puttin' this out in one of them. You hear me?