Title: Where the Wild Lilies Grow 5/10
Universes: Haru wo Daiteita & Casino Lily
Pairings: Carlo/Magira, Iwaki/Katou, Shouji/Shu Ti Fan(o_O)
Rating, all over: NC-17
Warnings, all over: Explicit sex and violence. Shameless Romance. This is not an angst-fest.
Word count, this part: : 2,500
Notes: List of all chapters over @ IJ here. This fic is for elfflame who wanted me to put Magira in this situation.
Summary: When Carlo comes home from a business trip only to discover that Magira has left him, he has to change the passive way he usually takes when it comes to defending his relationship with the charming, but spoiled young player. Carlo has once offered to wager his entire fortune in exchange for Magira's company. This time, Carlo has to realise that his life might be at stake as well...



Back to chapter 4

Chapter 5. The Game Begins

The water is hot like hell and it feels like heaven. Just to be clean again feels like such a luxury that Magira could almost cry. He doesn't, however. The man who is watching him is not going to get that pleasure. Magira won't break, not now, not later, no matter what they do to him, he swears that, silently, as he stares at the ceiling. That way he avoids looking into the barrel of the gun which, in more than one occasion, has been pointed at him: an unspoken, black threat. How they can think he is able to either flee or attack - anything that requires the use of a gun - is beyond him. He is chained to a tube with handcuffs and a heavy metal chain. The room is windowless. Yes, he's most certainly a threat.

There is nowhere he can go.

Being a player means to keep emotions hidden, and Magira is a master of the trade. His face shows nothing. His movements are calm, determined. He has washed himself, slightly appalled that it is expected that he is to use the same water to soak in. He doesn't show that, either. There might come a time when having a bath is something to be grateful for. So he washes, silently, arrogantly. He uses the silence to listen to his body. Have they abused him while he was unconscious? He doesn't think so. He is not sore, not there, at least. Neither is he smeared with anything but his own sweat and the tinge of vomit that he has used time and a lot of soap to remove.

Strangely enough, he doesn't feel like throwing himself into a childish temper tantrum. Maybe it is the severity of the situation. For each second he can keep calm, he improves his hand; the less he shows them, the easier he can fool them, because he will take any chance he can get. He won't speak, not unless he's forced to. He doubt anyone will tell him why he's here anyway, not until the one who has staged this reveals himself. The guy with the gun is just a hired hand. Throwing the remains of the sluggishness from the drug off his mind, Magira realises that he is able to stay calm because of one thing: He knows with absolute certainty that Carlo will come for him.

Drying himself, not caring whether the guard is looking or not, Magira wraps the towel around his waist. He just stands there, arms crossed over his chest; not provoking, just waiting. The large man who hides himself behind a gun sends Magira one glance, then stands and goes to open the bathroom door. He is having a conversation with someone outside. Magira breathes in deeply, readying himself for what might come. He doesn't think they are going to hurt him; they would have done so already, had they wanted to. There has to be another purpose: either they are threatening Carlo, or Magira has something they want. Whomever "they" are.

The huge guard returns. The blank-faced man throws a bundle of clothes on the floor, carelessly dropping designer wear, probably worth more than his monthly salary, in front of Magira's feet.

'Dress.' It's the only word Magira has heard him say. He doesn't object, though. Magira picks up a white shirt from the floor. It's good to know they are his own clothes - and he should know, having been forced to pack them himself. He suddenly remembers that fact. As he pulls on a pair of D&G trousers, memories of what happened return, flooding his brain with pictures and flashes of the terror he felt as he opened the front door to his and Carlo's home. The terror when he saw the gun. Magira is careful not to reveal what he is thinking. Slowly, he goes through the events, or as much as he can recall. He is sure he left traces enough for Carlo to understand that he didn't leave voluntarily.

The guard steps closer; the gun still underlining Magira's position. The guard opens the padlock attaching the chain to the tube, and waves Magira towards the door. 'Back to the cell,' the guard says, neutrally. He doesn't have to point the gun. 'The boss wants to talk to you.'

Magira doesn't care about any boss. All this is just time wasted until Carlo finds him. Nevertheless, he is scared - he doesn't want to be hurt or abused or threatened. But he'll endure what is to come, for Carlo. Everything for Carlo. He arranges his face into a mask of relaxed indifference. He can do this. He is playing a game, and he's going to win. No matter what, he is going to win!

They walk through the dark corridor, back to the windowless room that Magira has been held prisoner in. Someone has cleaned it, and made the bed. The air feels fresh and clean. It is the first time Magira is able to study the interior without being in a medically induced haze. The room is expensively furnished: a wide, modern bed, lovely vintage chairs and a small mahogany table. The rug on the floor seems to be a silk Keshan, not that Magira knows much about them. But something seems to have stuck from Carlo's attempt to teach him. There's a door in the wall to the left, and a dark blue curtain that covers the entire end wall. What is behind them, Magira has no idea.

The guard attaches the chain to a metal eye in the ceiling. The click of a heavy padlock sounds as if it is underlining the absurdity of Magira's fate. 'Sit down,' the guard orders, and points to one of the low, brocade-clad chairs. 'The boss is here.'

Raising an eyebrow questioningly, Magira watches as the guard pulls the curtain aside, only to discover a dimly lit room behind a glass panel.

'The glass is security glass. You can't break it,' the man behind the glass says. He is hidden in the shadows, like the rest of the room. 'I'll tell you why you are here, Yuri Magira.'

Magira doesn't say anything. He doesn't think anything he can possibly say is going to make a difference.

'You are here because you are going to play for me. Your talent hasn't gone unnoticed. It's said that you play better with other people's money, and that is precisely what you are going to do. Masked, of course. Not that it matters, none of my guests have any interest in revealing your whereabouts.' The man hesitates, obviously waiting for Magira to reply.

Magira doesn't.

'As you see, my guards have free hands if you don't obey - and they are armed.' The man states the obvious. His voice is neutral, emotionless. Maybe he sees Magira as a tool or an item. Clearly not as a human being. 'They will not hurt you unless it is necessary,' the man continues coldly. 'The thing is: you are going to stay here until I tire of you. Then we'll see what's going to happen -- I might let you out alive. Now, if you try to escape, we'll take it out on Anthony Monte Carlo. If you refuse to play, we'll take it out on Anthony Monte Carlo. If you are causing trouble, we'll take it out on Anthony Monte Carlo. Is there anything in that you don't understand?' he asks icily, maybe annoyed Magira doesn't look impressed or scared.

A cold fear threatens to render Magira useless and crying. He won't break. He won't cry, not in front of this person. Not if they are going to hurt Carlo for it! Anything he can stand, but not that. 'So, Magira says, speaking for the first time, silently fighting the fear. 'Correct me if I'm wrong. All you want me to do is to play in exchange for Carlo's life? No torture, no beatings, no rape?'

'If you want your... lover to stay alive while I break him, yes. And I am not a rapist,' the man in front of him says, leaning forward to let the light from the room hit his face. Magira knows who he is -- one of the older casino owners in Vegas: an unremarkable, but rich casino tycoon. It is clear that if he isn't afraid to show his face, then he isn't afraid that Magira will escape, either. 'No,' the man says, 'I definitely don't have any interest in your body at all.' He smiles, an unpleasant shark-like smile.

'He doesn't, no. But I do.' The door behind Magira opens and another man steps inside his prison. Magira recognises the voice. It is the voice he has heard in his drugged almost-sleep.

'I do, the man repeats, before Magira turns to look at him. 'You are mine now, pet, and I am going to take what you should have given me willingly in the first place. What you owe me.'



'I want you to play a game with me,' Shu Tu Fan says and leans back in the chair with a satisfied smirk. The young Chinese man looks extraordinarily handsome, and far too arrogant for his own good. He has left a faint scent of a spicy eau de cologne hovering in the air, something that goes well with the exotic black Chinese shirt and the tight trousers he's wearing.

Carlo is quite sure he knows exactly what he wants to do to Shu Ti Fan, and it is not "playing games" or admiring his sense of fashion. On the contrary, it involves something extremely painful and possibly lethal. However, Shouji's warning hand on his shoulder makes Carlo able to stay calm and business-like.

'I take it that particular game is going to cost me,' Carlo says, his eyes colder than a stormy winter day on the North Pole. Carlo waits until Shouji, who obviously has decided to play the role of body-guard, has pulled out a chair for him. He sits down, brushing an invisible hair off his midnight-blue suit. 'And here I thought your so-called investment business provided you with an income high enough to-'

Shu Ti Fan raises a hand to stop Carlo from continuing. 'That's enough, Carlo!' I came here to speak to you because we have done business together, and because I...' Shu Ti Fan hesitates, his arrogant expression changing to one of - surprisingly - pity. 'It's Magira, right?'

Carlo is half way out of the chair, outraged, before Shouji pushes him back down. 'No, Carlo-san.' Shouji's voice is barely audible. 'Stay calm. For Magira.'

Glaring at Shu, Carlo takes a deep breath. 'It's Magira. You should know.' Obviously, Shu Ti Fan is playing like a cat with a mouse and Carlo won't stand for it. He opens his mouth to fling a thoughtless insult at the Chinese Bastard, when Shu Ti Fan lets out a small sigh. Behind Carlo, both Shouji and Katou have stepped closer -- whether they are there to prevent Carlo from doing something stupid, or to protect him, he doesn't know. Iwaki pulls out another chair, next to Carlo's. His presence is a rock to lean on in Carlo's mind.

'Carlo... no...' Shu Ti Fan waves disarmingly. 'No, I didn't. Listen... I've heard a rumour, or rather, I've received an invitation from a person I've done a bit of... not entirely legal business with. It made me think I should leave whatever I was doing and come here to see if Magira was all right. It worried so much I didn't dare contact you via mail or phone. But I can understand from the overwhelmingly heartfelt reception that what I feared might happen has already happened.' Shu's black eyes stray, resting for a long moment on Shouji. 'Family, I take it? You look almost as pretty as he, just rougher.'

'If you are done evaluating my exterior, maybe we can get on with business,' Shouji snarls. 'This is getting tiresome.'

'You are right, of course. My apologies.' Shu Ti Fan bows his head slightly as if to acknowledge their anxiety and worry. 'I was contacted a few days ago by an American casino owner who wished to know whether I was interested in playing a game with extraordinarily high stakes. Something about what that person said made me think that Magira was involved in some way. I didn't have anything to do with it, Carlo-san, but I was suspecting you might not be aware of what was happening. So when my men told me you were here, in Vegas, and not in your house in LA, I decided to accept the invitation to find out what was going on. It only confirmed my suspicion. That's why I didn't call you.'

'And you are doing this, because...' Carlo tries to see through Shu's mask. The man plays a game as well as any other brilliant player, no emotion can be traced on the beautiful face. The eyes are cold, the mouth neither smiling nor contracted in a sad grimace. 'You don't know what has happened, then?' Carlo continues, leaning slightly forward, as if it will enable him to see whether Shu is telling the truth or not. 'That someone has taken Magira against his will?' Carlo realises that if Shu isn't lying, they are not as close to finding Magira as they thought. Their main suspect surprisingly has changed into an ally.

The information does not seem to bother Shu Ti Fan. 'Because we are doing business,' he says, neutrally. 'Because I wanted to find out if Magira was up to his old tricks - something he would surely regret. I know that because I was the one who heard the longing in his voice when he called out for you and for-' Shu stops and looks at Shouji, this time for an almost disturbing length of time. 'And for Shouji.' An appreciative smile graces Shu's lips now. 'I can see why. You are Shouji, ne?' he says, the question directed at Magira's uncle.

'Actually, I'm bored,' Shouji says, arrogantly. 'Busy being enamoured of hearing yourself speak or do you have something that can contribute to what we are doing, trying to get Magira back?'

'My apologies, Shouji-san,' Shu Ti Fan says and sighs, then pinching the bridge of his nose, as if a headache is approaching. For the first time Shu shows something other than a cool, distant surface. 'I can understand that it is more serious than I thought. If you would tell me precisely what has happened, I'll do anything I can to help. I think I know where the game is going to take place.'

'Isn't that nice?' Shouji says, his voice soft and silken. Carlo can sense the man's cruel smile in the sound of his voice. 'Want to help us gather an army?'

On to chapter 6