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Vince came stomping into his room at a little past two AM. Exhausted and a bit on the intoxicated side, the welcome home party the racers had thrown the DT Crew was a bit on the big side but it was all in good fun. Now Vince was tired as hell and ready to head to bed, just as he kicked off his shoes and flopped down onto the clean sheets he dimly catches the fact that he has a text message on his cell. He almost ignores it, but some sober part of his mind had him reaching for the phone. He squints at the harshness of the light coming from his phone, blinking hard he opens his messenger and frown at the number. It wasn't one he recognized, but something was still nagging at him so he opens it.

 

 

The three messages had him frowning, but whoever was texting him seemed desperate so he shots a text back and rolls over thinking they would get back to him tomorrow. Whomever it was texted back in record time because as soon as he rolls over his phone dings. When he see's the name his drunkenness fleas like it had never been. Sitting up in bed he fires off another text and waits.

The reply is fast, and has Vince frowning down at his phone, there was to much desperation in the messages Brian was sending him and some deep buried part of Vince wanted to fix that show of weakness. His reply is answered so fast that Vince hardly blinked before it hit.

Those four words make Vince's blood run cold. He almost runs up the stairs to get the others but he wasn't sure anyone was awake, and some small part of him hoped this wasn't really the Buster texting him. Because if it was... Vince wasn't sure what the fuck was going on. The only thing he could do was text back and find out what the hell was going on with the blonde.

 

With each message left unanswered Vince's worry starts to turn to anger, though there is some relief there as well. Maybe this was some asshole playing some fucked up mind game with him, because even though Vince hadn't trusted Brian when he first came around, and with good reason he knew the kid wouldn't play some sick joke like this.

 

The message ping and the words on the screen make his heart skip a beat. The words have him fumbling to call Brian but it's quickly sent to voice-mail making Vince's worry spike once more. Each new message makes Vince feel worse, each typed word resonates in his head like a frightened song. This was no joke, he could feel it in his gut. This was no fucking joke and Vince had no idea what the fuck he was suppose to be doing.

 

The picture makes him want to vomit, not because of the blood or the crude way the chains were looped around Brian's legs, but because Vince knew. He fucking knew those legs anywhere, the color of that skin and that fucking tattoo. That tattoo Brian said he got one night after to many drinks and poor decisions. This wasn't fucking fake and god that made Vince sick to his stomach. Vince sends off a text. Then another and it keeps going and he keeps getting more frantic with each one that goes without a reply. Two hours had passed and still no answer from Brian, the sun is fucking rising and he's scrambling out of bed and quickly getting dressed. He's sleep deprived but he could deal with that shit once he talks to fucking Dom. Once someone else knew about the message and now the radio silence. He's slipping on his boots when his phone chimes, and like a damn baby fawn he trips over his own feet diving for the thing.

He sighs in relief knowing Brian is still kicking, then stomps up the stairs when the last text comes in. His back and legs are injured, and some part of Vince thinks he's down playing those injuries some. Sure he had gotten a picture of his legs, but with how dark the room is he is in there is no way to get a shot of his back, and if his legs are chained so there is no telling what other parts of him are being confined. Barreling past the kitchen were he can clearly see Mia cooking Vince shots up the second flight of stairs and stops at Dom's door and bangs on it.

His phone chimes again while he does so but he can also here Letty cursing from behind the door and he doesn't look down towards his phone because the door flies open and a very pissed off Dom is standing in front of him.

 

"You better have a damn good reason to be slammin on my door so fucking early."� The man hisses out.

 

"It's Brian!"� Vince says back and lifts his phone as another chime comes. Vince curses at the message as he reads and quickly sends a reply. Dom makes a frustrated noise when Vince's phone goes off again. Vince isn't happy with Brian's answer but there really wasn't much he could do about that. Plus it brings up a big problem. What the fuck was he going to do with Brian's phone dies? After Vince's demand Brian doesn't answer, and Vince is hoping to god that mean's he had only shut off his phone and his captors hadn't caught him with it.

 

"What the hell is going on Vince?"� Dom demands with a snarl.

 

Vince sighs. "Look I honest to god have no fucking clue. Brian text me last night, and a first I wasn't all to sure it was him but fuck he proved me wrong."� Dom raises a brow. "Look just read through these damn it."�

 

Shoving the phone forward Vince waits, watching as Dom reads through the messages. He see's the moment he gets to the picture. Dom's dark eyes go impossibly wide and his tan skin pales, it was hard to get a reaction like that out of him but the photo was gruesome. Brian was badly injured god knows where all alone and the only way to communicate with him is a cell phone. A phone that could be found at any time, or the battery could die. The possibilities of what could happen were endless and Vince wasn't please by that fact, and if the look on Dom's face is anything to go by the bald man wasn't happy about it either. 

 

"Fuck." Dom curses as he tosses the phone back to Vince. "Let me get dressed, I'll meet you in the kitchen."