Together Until We Die...

Chris Pronger returned to his two captive Chicago Blackhawk superstars. Patrick looked completely devastated. Pronger stormed up to him and ripped away the tape, silencing him. The dried blood from the Chicago forward had caked around the adhesive material.

Patrick’s mouth parted, slightly, allowing him to inhale some fresh air. He was breathing heavily and his head hurt like hell. There was horrible pounding sensation, like someone was hammering him in the skull.

“Are you going to continue to mouth off to me, little Kanerboo, or are you going to behave like a good boy!”

The Blackhawk forward spat at Pronger, furiously. “Go to hell, Prongs!”

The ex-Flyer took a handful of Patrick’s blonde locks in his fingers and slammed his head backward, forcing him to gaze at the irritated goon.

“Looks like you are. Now, now, Kanerboo, you need to be nicer.”

“You kidnapped and tortured us, drawing blood, piss off!” the shaggy haired goal scored shot.

Pronger cocked his head. He began to cackle, which sent shivers up and down Patrick’s spine. “Tell you what. I’ll humor you. Riny and I will let you do a photoshoot.”

Patrick moaned. “I don’t want to!”

“I didn’t ask you, little bitch, I’m telling you, because we’re going to take some pictures, so that your beloved teammates can see you. We don’t want them to fret too much over not being able to see their precious captain and his drunk friend!”

“That was one time, long ago!”

“But we’ll make absolute sure to send sweet Sharpy and that bastard Burish the images of their favorite “kids”! After all, Burish started this whole thing!”

“Don’t bring Bur into this! He’s not a Hawk anymore!”

“But you are all still friends and once upon a time, Burish was a Blackhawk and he was a major asshole who chirped nonstop!”

“Bur was a great player!”

“He accused me of stealing, on live TV!”

“Because you fucking did steal! You stole my fucking game-winning puck!”

Pronger slid his hand down Patrick’s head and dug his fingernails into the forward’s chin. Patrick flinched, squirming the chair, uncomfortably.

“I already went over this shit with you, Kanerboo, dear.”

Patrick worked at the ropes around his wrists, which burned with pain from the tight binding that hold them captive behind his back and the chair. The Chicago Blackhawk couldn’t fight it anymore, he opened his mouth wide and screamed at the top of his lungs. He hoped that the walls were paper thin, so that someone outside might hear him or something.

Pronger slapped him across the face, cutting off his scream, with a painful shriek that made Jonathan’s stomach turn. “SHUT THE FUCK UP, PATRICK KANE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!”

The blonde haired man, hung his head to the side, whimpering. He caught sight of Jonathan, who still had his Glasgow Smile carved into his sweet, innocent face. His head was hung low and for a second Patrick dared to think that his beloved captain was dead. But he raised his head up, as he painfully stared ahead, willing Patrick to listen to Pronger and shut up.

A fist made contact with Patrick’s ribcage. And he was pretty sure that one of his bones moved out of place or snapped in half from the blow. His mouth flew open with another howl that sent chills up any fans’ spine.

There was another punch to his stomach and then a knee to his shin, followed by a karate kick to his side. Patrick’s chair crashed to the side, dragging the Blackhawk down with it. His face collided with the ground, knocking him silly for a few moments. The chair was grabbed and flung back upright.

Patrick was petrified with fright and he kicked, screamed and thrashed about wildly, as Pronger assaulted him, beating him to a pulp.

Suddenly a strange snapping sound filtered into Patrick’s ear. He knew he had broken or pulled anything, but he gave a final jerk and had finally managed to break the ropes holding him to the chair. He got to his feet, his hands still bound behind his back. But he had some more leverage. He darted forward, ducking under a swing from Pronger, who growled and whipped around.

Patrick darted for the door, but Pronger tackled him, slamming him into the wall, hard. The big man actually did the Chicago hockey player a huge assist and knocked the ropes off of his wrists in the process. It was accidental, but now he could protect himself. Or so he thought.

Pronger snatched Patrick’s arm at the wrist and painfully twisted it back behind him, at an awkward angle. Patrick howled, as Pronger’s other hand zoomed around to the front and gripped onto his cock. The goon squeezed, applying a little uncomfortable pressure to the area.

“Nice try, Kanerboo, but I can’t let you leave yet!”

Patrick snapped his head to the side. He looked longingly at the door, where Zac Rinaldo stood, blocking his escape. He wouldn’t have made it anyway. But at least he’d tried.

Pronger finally let go and forced the Blackhawk back over to the chair. Instead of re-tying Patrick to the chair, he was shoved over to a pole. Pronger spun him around. Rinaldo had walked in and joined his friend. He held fresh ropes in his hands. He bound Patrick’s wrists back together, keeping the pole between his two arms.

The Blackhawk forward pulled at the bonds, his face contorted into a classic worried expression. Pronger grabbed the rest of the ropes from Rinaldo and dismissed him. The Flyer took one end and began to wrap the strand around his upper arms and around the pole. He went around a good eight times, before knots the ends together.

Patrick tried to move, but he couldn’t move anything. Pronger wrapped another rope around Patrick’s ankles and the pole, a good four times. Grunts of distress and terror filled the young man’s throat, as he tried to jerk himself free. The new bondage was worse than the chair. At least he’d been able to feel things and move a bit more freely.

“Oh, and don’t let me forget,” the goon chuckled, as he snatched up the roll of black tape and ripped off a piece. He stuck the new piece over Patrick’s mouth and smoothed it over his lips, carefully. He made sure that it stayed in it’s spot, covering his prize’s mouth. “There. Now you behave sweet Kanerboo and don’t act out again. Remember,” He grabbed at Patrick’s cock again, as a reminder, making the captive thrust up against the pole a tiny bit. “I have control here!” He released the Blackhawk once again and walked out of the room, closing the door.

Patrick looked down at his captain, who gazed upward and shook his head. “You need to learn, Peeks. I’m sorry, but Pronger wins. We’re going to be his property until we breathe our last. The Chicago Blackhawks are history. There is no more Jonathan Toews or Patrick Kane! Chris Pronger killed them!”

With that, his head dropped back down. Patrick’s eyes shined with panic. Had his captain just basically given up hope? Was he right? Would anyone actually find them in time? Tears formed at the corners of the blonde haired Blackhawk’s eyes. He closed them tightly, secretly hoping that someone, anyone would find them.