Chapter Text
Thirty-six hours ago
The obscenely loud revving of a motorcycle tore you from sleep. You groaned, rolled over and pulled the blankets over your head, hoping maybe you’ll be able to go back to sleep. It’s a futile hope, because within a few minutes of the first the second motorcycle roared to life.
And that’s the end of that. Fucking assholes.
You get up, a little miffed at the fact that your husband is still snoring away. Somehow, he’s always able to sleep through the noise. You wrapped your robe around yourself and made your way down to put the coffee on. While you filled up the coffee pot at the kitchen sink, you glared at your neighbors’ house.
Nearly every morning for the past six months had started like this. Ever since Steve Rogers and James Barnes moved in next door. If it wasn’t their damn motorcycles, it was their trucks that broke the early morning silence. They were the worst kinds of neighbors; loud, rowdy, and obnoxious. The cast of characters you saw coming and going all screamed ‘bad news’.
When they first moved in you thought they were brothers. They were tall, broad shouldered, muscular and bearded. Within an inch of each other’s heights, both even had blue eyes. The only differences they apparently had were the color of their hair and the tattoos that covered them head-to-foot.
Well, you assumed they were both tattooed head-to-foot anyway. You hadn’t seen all of them so couldn’t say with one hundred percent certainty that was the case. But the ink covers their arms, chests and backs—so in your head, it made sense that the rest of them is the same.
You were loath to admit it, even to yourself—and you’d never admit it to anyone else—that when they first rolled up on those mechanical beasts of theirs, you found them oddly attractive. It was one of those instant gut reactions to the pure... maleness they exuded.
However, that attraction dried up quickly when they showed how they were massive assholes. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Fifty minutes later, you heard the shower upstairs shut off and headed upstairs.
You scowled a little when you saw him, already dressed for the day, moving around the bedroom and packing a bag. “What’s going on?”
“Morning babe,” Howard greeted, looking over at you with a pair of socks in his hands. “Did they wake you up again?”
“Of course, they did,” you said with a sigh. “But forget about that right now. Why are you packing a bag?”
“Business trip.”
“What kind of business trip?” you asked, trying to tamp down on the frustration as you watched him packing his toiletry bag.
“Pat thinks it would be best if we go in person to dot the final “i’s” and cross the final “t’s” on the Hill account.”
“But why does it have to be this weekend?”
Tomorrow was your first anniversary and the two of you were supposed to go into the city to celebrate. The plan was to eat at a decadent restaurant, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and spend the night in an expensive hotel.
“It’s just a quick trip, I promise. I should be back early Sunday morning. I know it will end up being a day late, but we can still celebrate how amazing the last year has been.”
You huffed and frowned at the floor. Even though you knew it was silly, it felt like bad luck to not celebrate your first wedding anniversary on the actual day of. Zipping up his bag, Howard came over and wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest. Automatically, you linked your arms around his neck.
“Think of it this way,” he said. “Postponing our anniversary celebration by a mere day will let me get a massive bonus that I can then use to spoil you rotten with.”
Grinning, mostly at the eager puppy eyes Howard is giving you, you played with the hair at the nape of his neck and said, “Oh, yeah? How are you gonna spoil me?”
“Uh-uh,” Howard said, clicking his tongue. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
You kissed him but when he started to deepen the kiss you pulled back and said, “We shouldn’t. You might be late.”
“Pft, I’m sure Pat will understand. We are newlyweds, after all,” Howard said, making you laugh as he walked you back towards the bed.
Forty minutes later, Howard was thanking you as you handed him the travel mug of coffee while the two of you stood by his car. You both looked around at the sound of one of the motorcycles returning.
“Do you want me to talk to them?” Howard asked.
You shook your head. “No, there’s no point.”
Howard wrapped his arms back around your waist and squeezed you gently. “Alright, well, just let me know if you change your mind and want me to march over there and give them the what’s what.”
With an eye roll, you said, “When it comes to assholes, it’s best to ignore them. Not feed them.”
“You don’t think I could take them on, do you?”
“Howie, you’re a businessman, not a thug. They would squish you like a bug.”
He laid a hand dramatically over his heart. “You wound me.”
You reached up and pushed a lock of his hair back into place, then dropped your hands to straighten his tie. “Howie, I love you for just the kind of man you are.”
“And what kind of man am I?”
“Decent, kind, and hot,” you answered and made him chuckle.
After giving you a final kiss, Howard climbed into his car and pulled out of the driveway. You lifted your hand in farewell as he drives up the street, before you became aware of the feeling of eyes on you. Glancing over, you saw the brunette, James, sitting astride his motorcycle with his feet planted and watching you.
He doesn’t look away when you meet his gaze, like most people would when caught staring. Instead, he ran his thumb over his bottom lip, lifted a brow and smirked at you.
Disgusted, you pulled your robe tighter around you and headed back inside to finish getting ready for your day.
Now
“Stop. Please.”
Steve tuts, examining his bruised knuckles before he looks back up at the bloodied man dangling in front of them. “Did you hear that Buck, he said please.”
“He sure did,” Bucky says cheerfully. The dull sound of his fist connecting with the man’s stomach, followed by his low grunt, echos through the basement. “You’d think he’d just shut up and accept his fate. But no.”
“Normally, we want to keep the people who owe us money alive, Howard,” Steve says, smirking when the man spits out blood, his head dangling limply. The only thing keeping Howard upright are the chains around his wrist secured to the hook in the low ceiling. “After all, you can’t collect money from a dead man.”
Bucky’s metal fist connects with the man’s ribs this time, and Howard lets out a high-pitched scream as at least two of his ribs break under the blow. Steve waits for Howard to stop screaming before he continues. “But then , you just had to go and steal from us.”
“And we just can’t let that go unpunished, my friend,” Bucky finishes, his metal fist connecting with his ribs a second time and making him scream that high scream again.
When Howard descends into low moans, Bucky steps back to stand next to Steve with his arms crossed. After a few moments, Steve says, “Well, as much fun as this has been, I think it’s time we finish it. What do you say Buck?”
“Sounds good to me,” Bucky agrees, pulling his favorite knife from the sheath at the small of his back. Testing the keen edge on his thumb, eyeing the bead of his blood that wells from the short cut.
“Please,” Howard begs softly. “I—anything. I’ll do—anything. Give—an-anything. Please .”
Stepping forward, Steve yanks the man’s head up by the hair and examines the hamburger meat that was once a rather handsome face. The one eye that hasn’t fully swollen shut rolls forward towards him. Blood runs from his nose, the corners of his mouth, from several cuts. And that’s just his face. The two of them worked Howard over extensively over the past hour.
“Howard, Howard, Howard,” Steve tuts again. “You don’t have anything more to give to us. Except your life.”
Bucky moves around behind the man, turning the knife in his hand as he waits for the signal from Steve. He was always eager for this part. Beating someone to death was fun and all, but there was nothing better to Bucky’s mind than using a blade. He’s deciding just where he’s going to put his knife first and if he’s going to draw this part out or not when Howard speaks again.
“My—wi—,” Howard mumbles, a bloody bubble of spit forming and bursting at the corner of his mouth. Steve holds a hand up to forestall Bucky for a moment.
“What was that, Howard?”
Howard’s one eye wheels a little, his tongue darting out to smear more blood over his lips. “My—wife.”
“I see,” Steve says politely, “If there is a message you’d like us to give your pretty little wife, of course we could do that.”
“No—I—don’t. Want t-to die.”
Now it’s Bucky’s turn to tut. “Howard, most people don’t want to die. But that’s not how this works.”
“If I–give her–” Howard croaks out.
Steve meets Bucky’s eyes over the man’s shoulder, knowing that the surprise he sees there is likely reflected on his own. Yanking Howards head back further, Steve asks, “Are you saying you would trade your wife to save your worthless hide?”
“Yes,” he croaks weakly.
Again, Steve’s eyes meet Bucky’s. They don’t speak, able to communicate without words due to their extensive history and the fact they were mirror images of each other. Finally, Steve asks, “Just to be sure we understand you here, Howie. You’re going to give us your wife and in exchange we will let you live and forget about all this unpleasantness?”
Howard coughs and mumbles, “Yes. Please.”
Bucky whistles softly, sliding his knife back into its sheath. “Damn, and people think we are heartless.”
“Well, it’s a bit unusual, but very well. We accept. But Howard—” Steve says, jerking Howards hair sharply to make sure he’s listening. “Are you sure that is what you want to do? You know what kind of men we are. You have to have at least an idea of exactly what we will do to that pretty wife of yours. Are you really sure this is what you want to do?”
Howard coughs violently, spitting up more blood, nearly choking on it. When the coughing fit subsides, he whimpers softly before he closes his eye and seals your fate. “ Yes. Take her.”