The Saints Take Out Grey
Title: The Saints Take Out Grey
Author: quicksilvermad
Fandom(s): Fifty Shades of Grey, The Boondock Saints (follows canon timeline)
Rating: R
Word Count: 793
Inspiration: ranguvar42 and her spitefic in the comments of Chapter 9 (Part II) of Fifty Shades of Grey.
Warnings: Violence, language (the MacManus brothers swear a lot.)
Summary: Before Christian Grey drives Ana home after her near-alcohol poisoning, two former FBI Agents and a pair of Irishmen abduct him and send Ana home in a cab.
The first thing Christian Grey sees when he comes to is the inside of a burlap bag. The first thing he hears is an Irish accent and a lot of expletives.
"The fuck… Ye break us outta fuckin' prison an' our first job is this fella? The fuck'd he do?" the Irishman snaps.
A second voice joins in-Irish as well. "And how the fuck're you alive?"
"Easy, boys. I faked my death. Just like we did with you two," says a third voice. It isn't Irish, but it sounds raspy and impressive.
"What? Ye had Bloom here do the fake doctor bit and nearly got yer flamboyant arse burnt in the crematorium?" says the second Irishman.
A woman with a Southern accent interrupts. "Boys, if y'all don't mind leavin' me outta this, I do believe our friend here is awake."
The burlap bag scrapes at Christian's chin and nose as someone whips it off. The business man blinks against the sudden bright light and slowly starts to focus on the faces surrounding him.
Three men-one in a designer suit and the other two in jeans and ratty T-shirts-stand in front of him. The woman steps in front of the chair Christian is expertly tied to and tosses the burlap bag to the man in the suit.
Christian debates his first question and decides on: "Where am I?"
"Back at the Heathman," says the woman. Indeed, as Christian glances around the room, he can tell he's back in his suite. The floor is covered in a plastic tarp, but that is the only thing different about it.
"Who are you people?"
The man in the suit grins. It makes him look more shark-like (if that is even possible). "Two former FBI agents and a pair of religious vigilantes. I'm Smecker, that's Bloom," he says, pointing to the woman with short black hair.
"These two foul-mouthed gentlemen are the Saints twins. Connor," Bloom points to the owner of the first voice Christian heard, "and Murphy MacManus," she waggles her hand at the dark-haired man beside her.
"Ah, he's a West coast bloke. He probably has no idea who we are," says Murphy.
Connor rolls his eyes. "An' how the fuck aren't ye foul-mouthed yerself, woman? Good Lord, the things I heard comin' outta yer mouth when ye sprung us…"
"Focus, boys," says Smecker. "You're wondering why we busted you out for this guy, well here's the list of women who have ended up in his basement."
He hands Connor a Manila folder. Murphy crowds him and reads over his shoulder.
"Fifteen? Jesus…"
"That only counts the ones I managed to find missing persons reports on," says Smecker.
"But there are fifteen women arranged in his basement. Well," Bloom reaches over and flips the file page, "fifteen corpses."
"Havin' a fuckin' BDSM tea party," Murphy mumbles.
"Ain't ye a sick little fucker?" Connor slaps Christian against the back of his already aching head. "Killin' women an' arrangin' 'em like that."
Christian, either so bewildered that he can think of nothing other than the truth, or just knowing when he's caught, simply shrugs. "It kept me happy for a while."
"Sick little fucker," Murphy repeats.
"An' the little gal we sent home in a taxi was on her way ta' bein' yer next plaything, eh?" Connor asks.
"You already seem to know all the answers. What do you think?"
By now, Bloom has finished rummaging through the duffle bag setting in the center of the bed and she hands one huge handgun to Murphy. He passes it on to his brother and checks the safety on the second gun Bloom supplies.
"Good enough fer me," says Murphy. "Brother?"
"Aye," Connor briefly digs beneath his shirt and pulls a dark rosary free from his collar. Murphy mirrors this action and the pair confidently step behind Christian.
He feels somewhat apathetic to his impending death. Actually, Christian Grey is more annoyed with being caught than anything else.
"May I ask how you found me out?" he looks to Smecker for an answer.
"Kate Kavanagh contacted me about a month ago. She didn't like the answers she was finding when she was doing a write-up about you," says Smecker.
"After chattin' with your adopted brother, she called us up again with some more definitive answers," says Bloom. "And here we are."
Christian Grey sighs and grinds his teeth. Two points of cold metal touch the back of his head and, through the sudden rush of blood pounding through his ears, he can hear the Irish twins reciting a prayer.
Then nothing.
He's dead before he can hear Murphy praise Bloom for her idea of laying down the tarp to cut down on clean up.
Author: quicksilvermad
Fandom(s): Fifty Shades of Grey, The Boondock Saints (follows canon timeline)
Rating: R
Word Count: 793
Inspiration: ranguvar42 and her spitefic in the comments of Chapter 9 (Part II) of Fifty Shades of Grey.
Warnings: Violence, language (the MacManus brothers swear a lot.)
Summary: Before Christian Grey drives Ana home after her near-alcohol poisoning, two former FBI Agents and a pair of Irishmen abduct him and send Ana home in a cab.
The first thing Christian Grey sees when he comes to is the inside of a burlap bag. The first thing he hears is an Irish accent and a lot of expletives.
"The fuck… Ye break us outta fuckin' prison an' our first job is this fella? The fuck'd he do?" the Irishman snaps.
A second voice joins in-Irish as well. "And how the fuck're you alive?"
"Easy, boys. I faked my death. Just like we did with you two," says a third voice. It isn't Irish, but it sounds raspy and impressive.
"What? Ye had Bloom here do the fake doctor bit and nearly got yer flamboyant arse burnt in the crematorium?" says the second Irishman.
A woman with a Southern accent interrupts. "Boys, if y'all don't mind leavin' me outta this, I do believe our friend here is awake."
The burlap bag scrapes at Christian's chin and nose as someone whips it off. The business man blinks against the sudden bright light and slowly starts to focus on the faces surrounding him.
Three men-one in a designer suit and the other two in jeans and ratty T-shirts-stand in front of him. The woman steps in front of the chair Christian is expertly tied to and tosses the burlap bag to the man in the suit.
Christian debates his first question and decides on: "Where am I?"
"Back at the Heathman," says the woman. Indeed, as Christian glances around the room, he can tell he's back in his suite. The floor is covered in a plastic tarp, but that is the only thing different about it.
"Who are you people?"
The man in the suit grins. It makes him look more shark-like (if that is even possible). "Two former FBI agents and a pair of religious vigilantes. I'm Smecker, that's Bloom," he says, pointing to the woman with short black hair.
"These two foul-mouthed gentlemen are the Saints twins. Connor," Bloom points to the owner of the first voice Christian heard, "and Murphy MacManus," she waggles her hand at the dark-haired man beside her.
"Ah, he's a West coast bloke. He probably has no idea who we are," says Murphy.
Connor rolls his eyes. "An' how the fuck aren't ye foul-mouthed yerself, woman? Good Lord, the things I heard comin' outta yer mouth when ye sprung us…"
"Focus, boys," says Smecker. "You're wondering why we busted you out for this guy, well here's the list of women who have ended up in his basement."
He hands Connor a Manila folder. Murphy crowds him and reads over his shoulder.
"Fifteen? Jesus…"
"That only counts the ones I managed to find missing persons reports on," says Smecker.
"But there are fifteen women arranged in his basement. Well," Bloom reaches over and flips the file page, "fifteen corpses."
"Havin' a fuckin' BDSM tea party," Murphy mumbles.
"Ain't ye a sick little fucker?" Connor slaps Christian against the back of his already aching head. "Killin' women an' arrangin' 'em like that."
Christian, either so bewildered that he can think of nothing other than the truth, or just knowing when he's caught, simply shrugs. "It kept me happy for a while."
"Sick little fucker," Murphy repeats.
"An' the little gal we sent home in a taxi was on her way ta' bein' yer next plaything, eh?" Connor asks.
"You already seem to know all the answers. What do you think?"
By now, Bloom has finished rummaging through the duffle bag setting in the center of the bed and she hands one huge handgun to Murphy. He passes it on to his brother and checks the safety on the second gun Bloom supplies.
"Good enough fer me," says Murphy. "Brother?"
"Aye," Connor briefly digs beneath his shirt and pulls a dark rosary free from his collar. Murphy mirrors this action and the pair confidently step behind Christian.
He feels somewhat apathetic to his impending death. Actually, Christian Grey is more annoyed with being caught than anything else.
"May I ask how you found me out?" he looks to Smecker for an answer.
"Kate Kavanagh contacted me about a month ago. She didn't like the answers she was finding when she was doing a write-up about you," says Smecker.
"After chattin' with your adopted brother, she called us up again with some more definitive answers," says Bloom. "And here we are."
Christian Grey sighs and grinds his teeth. Two points of cold metal touch the back of his head and, through the sudden rush of blood pounding through his ears, he can hear the Irish twins reciting a prayer.
Then nothing.
He's dead before he can hear Murphy praise Bloom for her idea of laying down the tarp to cut down on clean up.