#mamt3

TW: Language, mention of bruising, and kidnapping (sort of).

Once Slater was alone, he opened the door to the SUV. Louis sat slumped behind the passenger seat, thin pillowcase over his head. When Slater yanked it off, he inspected the swollen and bruised skin on Louis’s face. “Jesus, you look like hell.” 

If looks could kill, Louis’s glare could have been a ton of C-4. “Scram outta here.” 

Slater felt an ache beneath his ribs. “God, I missed you.” He grabbed Louis’s bullet proof vest and yanked him out of the van. “How are you feeling? A little groggy? Not like you’re going to go poof and disappear?” 

“If I could do anything, you’d be fried like bacon by now.” 

“Good.” 

“What the hell is this?” Mike asked when Slater kicked the front door shut. 

“Don’t be rude. His name is Louis. He’s not a hostage, even if he thinks he is.” In spite of his words, Slater knew that was exactly how it looked. 

Louis was handcuffed and had the cuffs padlocked to a chain around his waist. He essentially looked like a convict, save for the lack of an orange jumpsuit. 

“Why is he handcuffed?” 

“So he doesn’t try to kill us, as he’s wont to do.” Slater shoved Louis down into a chair at the table. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless for now.” 

“For now?"  

Slater ignored him and dropped a large slice of pizza on a paper plate. He slid it in front of Louis. “There you go. Eat up. You’re going to have to do it with the cuffs on. I’m not taking them off.” 

Louis gave him an impressive dirty look. It made something sharp feel like it was jammed into his lungs. Slater had seen Louis look at Rick with that sort of intense loathing. It made him want to throw up. Instead, he leaned over and whispered in his ear,  “You might hate me now and even more when this is over, but you didn’t used to.”