The last thing Blaine expected when he woke up that morning was getting kidnapped, though supposed he should've known that it would happen sooner or later. When a young man associated himself with a high-profile mobster like Sebastian Smythe, he basically painted a bull’s-eye all over his body.

Maybe it was foolish, shaking off his bodyguards and taking off on his own, but he'd just needed some space. He lived day to day with the goons breathing down his neck whenever he left Sebastian's upper Manhattan penthouse suite, and he'd finally had enough. Giving them the slip had actually turned out to be easier than he'd thought, and within two city blocks, he'd ducked into the back room of an abandoned speakeasy, making his way through a hidden passage that took him under two buildings and brought him right into a subway station.

He smiled as he headed topside, breathing in the fresh morning air. Who cared that it was a little smoggy? It was better than the stale air in Sebastian's penthouse. He hummed to himself as he walked down the street, headed in the direction of Central Park, but his good mood quickly dissipated as he found himself surrounded by three ape-like men.

The tallest had at least a good foot on Blaine, and he grimaced, lifting his hands, palms facing outward in a peaceful gesture. "Look, guys, I'm not after any trouble here, okay? I'm just out for a stroll." He took a step to the left, hoping to skirt around the men without any problems, but that idea was short-lived when one of them grabbed his wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back.

"Ow!" He struggled, trying to twist his body around so that he could punch the guy who'd grabbed him, but his vision went dark as some kind of bag was thrown over his head. "Hey! Leggo!" He tried to kick out, hoping to hit one of the men, but he nearly toppled over instead. Rough hands grabbed him, jerking his other arm behind his back, and he felt his wrists being lashed together with rope.

The next thing he knew, he was being shoved forward. He attempted to wrench himself out of his assailant's grasps, but their holds tightened, and he groaned as pain cracked across the back of his head and he fell into true darkness.

For Kurt, his morning started out just the same as it always did. His butler woke him up at seven o'clock sharp with the daily newspaper and a silver breakfast tray laden with toast, jam, eggs, two slices of bacon, and orange juice – just what his body needed to feel energized and ready to meet the day's trials and tribulations. There was never a day when something didn't need doing, whether it was paying numerous bills or meetings with the political figures he backed. It was a very good thing Kurt knew how to multitask.

After breakfast, once he’d perused the fashion ads, and read the Wall Street Gossip and stock quote sections of the paper, he began his rigorous morning ritual. He took a hot shower – only ten minutes; time was of the essence – and primped in front of the mirror long enough to perfect his hair and make sure the suit he chose was impeccable. By eight o'clock, he was in his office, writing checks and responding to party invitations. His social life was extremely busy; if he wasn't discussing terms with potential business partners, he was schmoozing with the high rollers at his club or making sure a very rich patron never had an empty glass and a girl on his hip at one of his gin joints.

He was a very busy man.

So one could imagine his annoyance when he received a phone call alerting him that a few of his men had arrived with a guest in tow. What this could possibly be about, he had no idea – he certainly hadn't been expecting anyone that morning, nor had he authorized what was – as it was painfully obvious when the three men dragged a fourth into his office, bound, with a bag over his head – clearly a kidnapping. Kurt's face tightened in a frown and he folded his hands neatly on his desk.

"Would someone please tell me what the hell you're doing in my office?"

The three goons exchanged smug smirks, certain they were about to receive high praise from their boss. They forced the bound man forward and unceremoniously shoved him into a chair that sat opposite Kurt's desk.

"We brought you a present, boss," said the tallest goon, a rather unsavory character who went by the name of Jack. He nudged one of his partners. "Show 'im, Mac."

Mac smirked and then jerked the bag off the bound man's head, revealing a handsome face with features screwed up into an angry expression. That tanned skin, those slicked back curls, hell, even the triangular, bushy eyebrows made the young man instantly recognizable.

Blaine Anderson, boy-toy to the biggest rival to Kurt's empire, glared across the desk at the young mobster. "You know Sebastian's going to kill you for this, right?"

The only indication that Kurt acknowledged Blaine's statement was a quick arching of an eyebrow as he studied the man in front of him. He knew of Mr. Anderson, of course; most people did. Sebastian liked showing off his favorite "companions" and he took Blaine almost everywhere. Kurt's sources often told him that Sebastian paraded Blaine around like a prized poodle, which, given what he knew of his rival, didn't surprise him in the least. Sebastian liked showing off his power and possessions, and Blaine had been part of that show for nearly five years. Honestly, Kurt couldn't account for the kidnapped man's taste; he certainly couldn't fathom being near the other mob boss for longer than was necessary, but that wasn't his problem to worry about.

Instead, he got the pleasure of handling a situation he hadn't authorized in the first place. A present, his goons said. Clearly, they weren't the brightest bulbs, or they would have realized the heaps of trouble this placed on Kurt. Sebastian would figure out his kept boy was missing eventually, and the first place he would look would be here. The last thing Kurt wanted was violence in his own home.

Pursing his lips, as he gave Blaine a final once over, he looked at his men with a no-nonsense stare. "Take him back where you found him, boys."

The three men shared confused and bewildered glances, and the third, Sam, gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. He reached up to scratch gingerly at the corner of his mouth as he took a step forward.

"I'm confused, boss. You want us to take him back?" He jerked his thumb at Blaine, who had an equally bewildered look on his own face.

Blaine recovered quickly and felt his lips quirk into a tiny smirk. "You should listen to your boss, boys. He's actually smart."

Jack's face turned a bright, scarlet red, and he made a move to lunge at Blaine. "Why, I oughta-"

Mac stopped him with a hand on his chest and shot Kurt an apologetic look.

Blaine had flinched the second Jack had started to lunge, and once he saw that Mac was holding Jack back, he relaxed slightly. "Tell you what; I’ll do you boys a favor. You untie my hands and I'll walk out of here of my own accord. Sebastian will be none the wiser." Except for the goose egg on the back of his head, but Blaine figured he could pass it off as the consequence of one of the numerous times he'd come in contact with Sebastian's headboard.

He grimaced just a little, his head starting to ache again at the memory. Maybe it was from the recent blow from Kurt's men. He leveled a cool gaze at the young mobster seated across from him. To say he was surprised that Kurt was turning him loose would be an understatement, but he was glad to see that the man had enough common sense to know that keeping Blaine would only escalate the already tumultuous turf war between the two mobsters.

"So, how about it, huh?" He leaned forward, twisting slightly to the side to give Kurt a view of his bound hands.

Kurt watched the exchange between his men and Blaine, and couldn't help thinking (not for the first time, either) that he needed to hire people who weren't inclined to this kind of moronic behavior. He exhaled sharply, quickly losing patience, and massaged his temple. He could tell this was not going to be his day.

"Just how stupid do you think I am, Mr. Anderson?" he asked, eyes locked on his captive. "Do you really think I'd give you the opportunity to gain the upper hand here?" True, Kurt had three very large men to protect him, but they've already proven to be idiots and one wrong move on their part and Blaine could have one of their guns pointed in Kurt's face, ready to fire. "Your hands stay tied until you've been dumped far away from my property."

He gestured for Mac to take Blaine and when the giant tree of a man gripped him by the arm, Kurt continued, "Take him back where you found him, and, for God's sake, don't bring me anymore presents."

He then turned back to the legal document he had been in the middle of reading and paid no attention to the men as they left his office. That didn't stop his brain from thinking about Sebastian though.

That prick had been the bane of Kurt's existence since he started his first gambling ring when he was just an underdog for the previous boss. Kurt's business was booming and it rankled the competition around town, Sebastian being the one who started losing the most money. He'd sent some his daddy's guys to to rough up Kurt's friends and alerted the police to the goings on in the basement of a local hotel. Lots of people were arrested that night, including Kurt; if it weren't for the old boss, things might have turned out a lot differently for him.

After that, things escalated. Kurt retaliated against Sebastian and it went on like that for a while until Kurt's boss and Sebastian's father demanded a truce between them. But that didn't stop the animosity either young men felt for each other and twelve years later, now bosses in their own right, they still did whatever they could to bring the other down. Which brought Blaine back to mind. He knew Sebastian. Intimately, if the rumors were true. Just think what information he might reveal with the right persuasion. The thought was enough to make Kurt practically giddy with excitement. Maybe once and for all he could get that smarmy weasel out of his hair for good.

That was all he needed to get him moving and he quickly made his way out of his office to the foyer, where his thugs were manhandling Blaine through the front door.

"Wait; bring him back. I've changed my mind."

Blaine stopped short of trying to knee Mac in the crotch when he heard Kurt's voice and turned a dumbfounded face in the other man's direction. "You gotta be kidding me!" He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his feet, as Mac yanked on his arm and began dragging him back toward Kurt's office. Blind panic took over then, and Blaine brought his foot down hard on Mac's instep, causing the man to yelp and loosen his grip.

His mad dash for the door was abruptly cut short as the other two men stepped into his path and grabbed both of his arms, gripping his biceps hard enough to hurt. He grimaced and tried in vain to propel himself forward, but they only tightened their holds, hauling him backwards.

Once again, he was dumped unceremoniously in the same chair he'd been in less than ten minutes before, and he flinched as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, keeping him in place. He glanced up to glare at Jack, who just flashed him a toothy grin in return. Blaine's face twisted into a disgusted expression as his eyes tracked Kurt's journey back to his desk.

When Kurt was finally seated opposite him, Blaine spat, "Are you out of your mind? Sebastian will burn this place to the ground to get me back."

He ground his teeth together, hazel eyes blazing with fury. All he'd wanted was to sit on a bench in Central Park and have some time to himself, let his head clear, listen to the birds sing. Jesus H. Christ, was that such a hard thing to ask for?

He clenched his jaw, glaring at Kurt. "Whatever you're thinking you're going to achieve by keeping me, you might as well forget it. Sebastian will ruin you."

Kurt rolled his eyes in response. "Please. Sebastian's been trying to ruin me for years; I hardly think he'll succeed now. As for what I'm thinking, Mr. Anderson, I'm thinking that you have a plethora of information that will be useful to me." He smiled at Blaine. "Wouldn't you agree?"

He began stacking papers neatly on his desk, purposely ignoring Blaine, and when he was done, he gestured for one of his men to come forward. "Please escort my guest to one of the spare rooms and make sure he can't get out. Tie him to a chair if you have to."

Blaine's face fell and he shook his head, eyes clouding over with fear. "No! You can't do this! I don't know anything!" He hissed as he was yanked to his feet by two of Kurt's goons and scowled, trying to wrestle out of their grips. "I don't- Sebastian doesn't tell me anything about his business, I swear!"

His pleas grew more desperate as the men began dragging him out of the room. "Please! Mr. Hummel!" His breath left him in quick, shallow gasps, almost as if he were panicking. It stood to reason that he was; any sensible young man in his position would be.

As the men dragged him away, Blaine's pleas grew fainter and fainter, and then all was quiet again as the men headed upstairs and out of earshot.

Kurt settled back in his chair, brain working overtime. He had a strategy to work out if he wanted this to succeed.

Trapped. Trapped like a dirty, stinking rat. Not for the first time in his life, Blaine found himself shoved into a straight-backed chair, his arms wrenched behind his back and retied with the rope that had bound them together since he'd been taken. His ears still rang with thunderous noise from where Mac had knocked him upside the head when he'd tried to make a break for it as soon as his hands had been untied.
He probably could've gotten away if it hadn't been three against one, but Mac and Sam were nearly twice Blaine's size, and he'd been subdued swiftly.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and regretted it as his vision swam and the throbbing ache at his temple intensified. By the time he blinked, he heard the slam of the door and the quiet click of a lock being turned.

Trapped like a rat, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He felt panic clawing at the sides of his throat, tightness seizing his chest, and he cast his eyes about the room, searching for something, anything, he could use to cut the rope, or at least start it fraying to the point where he could break it apart.

Nothing. Not even a vase he could knock off a dresser. Clearly, he wasn't the first "guest" that had occupied the room.

He swallowed against the vile taste that bubbled up in his mouth. It seemed there was nothing for him to do except wait for Kurt to begin whatever torture he thought would get Blaine to squeal the fastest.

He hated waiting.