40. Another One Bites The Dust.

I sat in the midst of darkness, surrounded by a multitude of smells. The sharp scent of potent booze filled the air, mingling with the pungent odor of my piss, a result of my inability to walk. The chair I sat on was old and stained, a constant reminder that I needed to get rid of it one day. The room reeked of my sweat and dirtiness, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It seemed like there was nothing left for me.

On the table beside me sat those damn glasses, a silent witness to the conversations and videos I had downloaded onto my laptop. I was an eternal masochist, knowing that one day I would have to face the consequences of my actions. I would have to face those two individuals and pretend that everything was fine. Deep down, many parts of me were filled with fury. Alcohol was not the helpful companion I thought it to be, and the room bore witness to this. I would often succumb to intense bouts of rage, throwing objects against the walls. Bottles shattered, leaving shards of glass scattered across the room, their presence a constant reminder to take yet another swig of the old booze.

There was no joy left in my life. I was lost in a drunken stupor, my mind consumed by thoughts of how to manipulate Mariella into becoming the perfect alpha female, freeing myself from the clutches of that wretched pack. Foolishly, I had not signed a prenuptial agreement, leaving me vulnerable to a potentially expensive divorce. It wouldn't take much for Mariella to turn everyone against me, including Charles and Adam, who would undoubtedly claim their share of my assets. But even then, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

After all, I was the goddamn best sniper for decades, a former leader of a worldwide organization, and undoubtedly the finest assassin out there. My victims left no trace behind. I just needed to find new clients now that Reddington was dead. Who would hire me and who would become my targets? But damn, everything was easier when I was drinking. No need to feel anything anymore.

Adam, Charles, and Number Two had donned their gear, their movements accompanied by the sound of fabric rustling and straps tightening. As they prepared, Billy sent them more videos, filling their screens with chaotic scenes. Even Number Two, usually unflappable, was taken aback when he witnessed what unfolded before him: Mimi, rising from her chair with a sudden burst of energy. The screech of steel meeting the wall reverberated through the room as she swung a small table with such force that it twisted, the glass shattering upon impact. The dent in the wall served as a testament to her unleashed fury. She screamed, her voice raw with anger, before collapsing back into her seat, her pants stained with the evidence of her loss of control.

Number Two's heart ached for Mimi. She didn't deserve this torment, and he was determined to help her. But he couldn't shake the worry that his actions might incite Mariella's jealousy, causing her to play the victim, blame Mimi, and demand his attention. Despite his love for Mimi, he knew his darkness lurked beneath the surface, an unpredictable force that sometimes took control. Yet, when he learned of Mimi's killer instincts, he felt a sense of familiarity. It aligned with his expertise, his ability to inflict fear and domination, to maintain control amidst chaos.

Before he could assist her, Number Two needed to switch into medical mode. He knew that when a creature like Mimi succumbed to a hangover, it would be brutal. He questioned how much he could truly help, as her blood would be a mess. Knocking her out gently until the alcohol left her system was not an option; the risk was too great. Information about her drunken state was scarce, as she had rarely been so intoxicated. With a sense of urgency, they piled into the car and set off for the safehouse, guided by the codes provided by Billy. Number Two couldn't help but wonder how many of these secret havens Mimi had hidden away, ready for emergencies such as this. 

The room was enveloped in darkness, making it difficult to see. I reached out and grabbed a bottle, hurling it against the wall. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the air. I didn't need much more to drink; soon I would be completely unconscious, escaping the emptiness within me.

I reached for another bottle, but my hand closed around empty air. I let out a sigh of frustration. It was time to retrieve one of my hidden stash bottles. I had ordered them a few days ago, a big shipment disguised as something else. I pretended to be sober when the courier brought them, fooling everyone.

Struggling to stand up, I took a few unsteady steps, cursing under my breath. My voice came out thick and slurred. I laughed bitterly, imagining what Damien or Sark would say if they saw me in this state. Sark would want to investigate, but would I be too far gone for Damien to find any amusement in it?

Finally, I reached my destination. I grabbed a large bottle filled with raw alcohol, twisting the cork open and muttering to myself as I drank. I briefly considered returning to my chair, but the carpet I had fallen onto seemed just as good a place to drown my sorrows.

Unbeknownst to me, the door opened. Number two entered, punching in a code and allowing the door to swing open. A thick stench assaulted his sensitive sense of smell. He quickly muttered a cleaning spell to lessen the odor. Adam and Charles followed him, their plan clear: grab the baby, teleport to the St. Louis Manor. It was prepared and waiting. It would take time, and if number one were to ask, he might face some serious consequences.

Charles walked into the living room, the sound of glass shards crunching beneath his feet. There, on the floor, sat Mimi, clutching a large bottle that appeared to be filled with pure alcohol. She drank greedily, her throat moving up and down as she tried to consume as much as possible. Number two approached her, murmuring and gently taking the bottle from her hands. He sniffed it and shook his head in disapproval. With a swift teleportation, the bottle disappeared from his grasp, sent elsewhere.

Number two had brought a few blankets with him. He draped one around Mimi, picking her up despite her feeble attempts to resist in her drunken stupor. She demanded that she be left alone, number two looking at her, cradling her in his arms. 

I was trying to get away. These spoilsports come in and take my booze away from me, as I needed some to stop from feeling. I have no idea why number two was here. He was probably carrying me to be bred like the good bitch that I was. I was wondering are all of my accounts were empty soon. Number two was murmuring all the time something, but I had no idea what he was talking about. I wanted to drink. Not feel. 

Number two sighed, the weight of the demanding time weighing heavily on his shoulders. In the distance, he could hear Mimi's cries once again, her pain echoing through the air. It was Adam's turn to try to comfort her, but their hearts were shattered by her pitiful state. As Number Two focused on his task, he uploaded the remaining material, the sound of the files being sent forward filling the room.

He had to ensure that she wasn't being financially abused by those two idiots. It was a well-known fact that Mariella's business couldn't fund the completion of the museum, a blow to her aspirations. However, if she could gain access to Mimi's money, her own wife, would finance the museum herself. Damon would be spared the burden.

Number two had overheard their little plots many times, and those two idiots would soon face the surprise of their lives. It would be futile for number one to lie to Mimi's face about love or anything else. Number two knew he would be there when Mimi taught them a lesson, offering his unwavering support.

It had been nearly three weeks since they had retrieved her, but her hangover showed no signs of easing. Time was the only remedy. They had attempted to drain her, to consume her blood, only to be intoxicated for three days straight. It was not an option to use her blood as a cure, meaning drinking her dry as her alcohol levels were still dangerously high. They just could not do it. They passed out well before it had any use to Mimi, and then there was no one left to help her.

Number two wondered if he would have to perform surgery on her once the hangover subsided. How did her organs take this? She was a mess. Sinking his teeth into her neck had proven fruitless. Waking up in bed, Charles informed him that he had gotten drunk. Her blood was too potent for such a method.

There had been no contact from the pack, showing that Damon and Mariella were oblivious to the situation, or perhaps they simply didn't care. Number two had yet to link the medbay, not wanting to alert number one just yet. He received an alert on his phone from the blood tests, but he would only connect it when Mimi was in a stable condition. Every report they had written would be entered, documenting her progress.

Charles lay sprawled on the bed, his snores filling the room as the stench of alcohol permeated the air. He had spent the night with Mimi, and now his body was intoxicated, desperately trying to sleep off the effects. It was part of their routine - each of them had assigned roles. 

One person attended to Mimi, who was a pitiful sight. She cried, writhed in pain, vomited, and trembled uncontrollably. She was dangerously thin, her body desperate for relief, occasionally even convulsing. Another person would be stationed in the makeshift medbay, meticulously documenting their previous encounters with her and strategizing for the next. 

The last person to be with Mimi would now be passed out, their own drunkenness battling against time. They desperately tried to rid her body of as much alcohol as possible before the shift changed. When it was time, the person attending to Mimi would drink her blood, as much as they could bear, before retiring to bed to sleep it off. 

Number two let out a weary sigh, having spent hours in the medbay. Every possible method had been attempted to combat her condition, from bloodletting to making her consume human blood, all in an effort to purge the toxins. However, it had provided little relief, as her straps made it challenging, and none of them wanted to cause her harm. 

Number two walked over to the cupboard, retrieving syringes and needles. With careful precision, they all loaded the implements with various substances, hoping to find a solution. The blackest velvet draining in collectors in his teeth, a stark contrast to the room's dim lighting. Their teeth ached to put Mimi to sleep, but it was too risky, her straps unable to withstand the potential danger. 

If only she would trust them, if only the turmoil within her soul would quiet down, then perhaps they could find a better way. But for now, it remained a distant hope. She attacked the velvet, tearing it apart, a dangerous possibility of creating poison or rage-inducing substance. It was a delicate balance that they couldn't risk tipping. She had bitten into various poisons, saturating her teeth with their potent effects, clouding her clarity and adding to the complexity of their predicament. Number two had cursed quite many times, feeling her bites and her poisons in his veins. 

Number two sat on the chair, feeling pressure easing up as 6 liters of velvet were again ready. At least they would have strong stable velvet for a long time as, according to his teeth, this velvet would last decades, so when it would be needed, it was good. They had also several tanks of bump ready; it was something that they all produced regularly, number two was actually amazed as he had fucked with Mimi very rarely and a long time ago.

 He wanted to have her in his arms, in bed, and he could show her how salvatore does it. He hoped it would be soon easing up and she would have a little easier recovery, well she should probably take a nap, get some feeding, and then they could look at things when she would wake up. But he wanted to help her, tell her that no need to be an ice queen. That it was time to get angry, show those two that they can each other, and she would be free to choose whoever she wants.