Authors: Jack L. Pyke
Giving a sniff, Vince went over and crouched by Jack. Pulling his mask up to expose his lips, he said quietly, “Is Jan here, Jack?”
Jack nodded, just a single shift of head that never allowed his eyes to fall off mine.
“You’re the bastard here,” Vince said gently, “show him how you handle men who piss you off. If it helps, baby, hit him. Break him apart for how he held you down the other night. Nobody holds you down. Show him how to really make someone hurt.”
Vince stroked at Jack’s cheek. “Break his arm, baby.”
Giving a snarl, a shift within the shadows, Jack was over, pulling me from the wall by the hair and forcing me down. Christ, he remembered Christmas night.
Life drained out of me as his body came down on mine, one hand pinning mine above my head, another gripping hard into my jaw as if he was going to head-butt me. Snarling into my face, forcing my head up, stretching muscle, almost waiting just to hear muscles stretch and snap, the spine crush and—
Everything went still, and the grip loosened on my jaw, fingers gently rubbing the fine line. I opened my eyes to see Jack looking down at me. He’d twisted my head to the side, and had cocked his head to match the awkward angle. Confused. He looked so bloody confused.
“Wasn’t me, Jack,” I said quietly. “Wasn’t us. Wasn’t you. Please. Stop. You told me you’d rather cut off your hand over hurting me again. Remember? Please... remember. Body and soul. Love you body and soul, Jack.”
A tear fell from grey eyes, then all of the tension and confusion seemed to drain from his body. He came down, head resting against mine. “Don’t...” he mumbled quietly, “kiss me anymore, baby.” A sob wracked his body. “Please. Don’t touch me. Hurts, so fucking badly....”
But the fight was there, the need to do what came natural, and he kissed me. Hard at first, then gentle, so tender, the salty taste of his tears coating our lips. “Hurts...” he breathed, “hurts more when I don’t touch you. Can’t hurt you, just. Just... don’t touch me anymore. Please.” His cheek brushed mine. “Leave me alone. I need you to leave me alone, stay out of my head.”
I was crying softly, cuddling in close, hiding somewhere in the curve of his neck, needing to hide and not lose. I was tired of fucking losing him.
“Looks like real men need to get dirty again,” said a voice, and I cried out when Jack was dragged off me with a leather strap around his throat.
Vince made sure his mask covered his whole face, hiding his lips, and masking his voice again, and, tossing Jack back into the middle of floor, he started to shake his head. I tried to move, but Henry was already there, chaining me by the throat to the wall. “You touching Jan intimately, boy?” said Vince, all friendliness deliberately buried. Jack snarled, but Vince was there, tying the loose end of the belt that choked Jack, to a hook in the floor, forcing Jack onto his hands and knees. “Did I say you could touch anyone intimately, boy?”
Vince eased to his feet and slammed a foot into Jack’s ribs. As Jack doubled, he headed out of the bedroom, only to come back a moment later carrying a smoking poker, the end shaped into the letter V.
“For pissing your Dom off again, boy. Let’s give you a visual reminder of who owns you.”
Jack felt the heat against his cheek first, and it seemed to stir him from whatever he was going through.
“No.” That was growled out as he twisted his head into the floor, but Henry was there, pulling Jack onto his side, pinning his arms behind his back and slipping his legs around Jack’s legs to keep him still.
“No?” Vince moved it down over his throat, pausing, watching Jack squirm away from the iron. Then he shifted over to Jack’s shoulder, gave another long pause, then moved down over his stomach, just to pause at the fine V of Jack’s abs. “But you’ve fucked me off, boy.” He held it close, close enough to make Jack writhe, cry another
no
.
“No?” said Vince. “But you looked at Jan. You
touched
Jan. Don’t—”
“Fuck no,” cried Jack. “Please.”
“—tell me your safe word, and I’ll stop.”
“Mercedes.
Mercedes
.”
“What’s that?” said Vince, tilting his ear to Jack. “Can’t hear you, boy.”
“
Mercedes, Mercedes Fucking Benz, Merce
—”
Vince pressed down on Jack’s right hip.
Jack’s agony and struggles were enough to tear the necklace he wore off as I cried, “
Mercedes—Mercedes fucking Benz
.
Please...
.”
Vince pulled the poker off, taking skin with it, and tutting in the process. “But you didn’t say your safe word, boy. What’s your safe word?”
Jack choked on the floor. “Merce—”
“Sorry, can’t hear you.” The iron was pressed into exactly the same patch of blistering skin.
“
Mercedes... Mercedes fucking Benz
.” Jack writhed, twisted—tried to double, to hide, to get away from the burn. “
Gray. Gray, for God’s sake—please.
Mercedes. Mercedes Benz—Mercedes fucking Ben
....”
The hurt that hit the air was unadulterated, and it lasted for only a few seconds before Jack passed out, the smell of burning flesh lasting long after Vince had made sure he’d blacked out.
I sobbed, creasing into a protective ball. “
Mercedes. Mercedes fucking Benz
,” I mumbled, needing it to stop. It had to stop now. “Gray, for goddsake, please.”
A kick encouraged me to shut up, but it was Jack’s groan that had every ounce of my attention as he came to. Henry had gone over to a bag I hadn’t even known was there. Reading off a piece of paper for a moment as though he needed to know what to do next, he then pulled out a white cotton shirt. It looked familiar, one of mine? Life blurred too much at the moment to focus. But as Henry pulled out another two items, I went still. He went back over to Jack, first dropping my shirt by him, then dropping the photo of Gray and writing the same old message next to it:
Don’t...
...straighten me, Jack.
Shivering, Jack went quiet, staring at the photo, his nose inches from my shirt.
“Go on, boy,” smiled Henry. “Touch it. Touch him. Go on. Earn yourself a fucking.”
As Jack fought a battle, tears streaking his cheeks, Vince came over to me. A tap came at my face. “Had enough, Jan?”
I twisted my head away and closed my eyes, shut him out, but a rough grip to my hair forced me to look back.
“Stay focused, kid.” Vince sounded almost regretful as a pat came to my cheek. “After what you did Christmas night, I’m surprised he has anything left for you. And funny, he must be a damn good actor, because while my friends were downstairs Boxing Day, d’you know he sucked me off in the bedroom? Got such a gorgeous mouth and knows how to fucking use it too, don’t he?”
“Fuck you.”
Vince snorted and let his thumb brush my lips. “You’ve got a sweet mouth too, boy. More virginal, more... innocent.” He mumbled something else. “Can you still play innocent for the cameras, Jan?” He glanced up into the corner, sweat dripping from underneath the black gas mask.
More noise came from the floor, just a grunt. Jack hadn’t moved, his look solely on Gray’s photo. Eyes had been wild when I’d first seen him, now something else crept in. Hip blistering, Jack completely stilled, eyes pinpointing that photo, not shifting, head lowering as if counting, calculating, clockwork ticking over in his mind and—
Break. Something finally broke in his head.
Vince was talking to me, Henry whispering to Jack, neither of them really seeing the tension in Jack’s body.
Giving a snarl, he suddenly jerked back, the first vicious pull back stopped by the collar, then the second snapping the leather free as he writhed and twisted like a dog forced to wear a collar for the first time. Then, suddenly shifting, he was up, grabbing at Henry, head-butting his mask, splitting the eyes, forcing Henry to stagger away, holding his face.
“What the fuh?” snarled Vince, getting up. Other men were suddenly in the room, one pushing Henry out of the way, but then making mistake of going in first. Jack kneed him in the groin once, twice—pulled him back in for a third, then head-butted him down to the floor. It snapped another man into gear, but Jack caught hold of him, grabbing him by the shirt, and slamming his head into the wall, once, twice—the third with added cries of satisfaction that saw Jack kick the hell out of the man as he slumped to the floor, bloodied and quiet.
“Blackout!” shouted Vince, and he moved fast and hard, rushing Jack from behind and grabbing him by the waist, throwing him to the floor. Jack hit hard, and Vince went down, even his size needing two other men to come rushing in to try and pin Jack still.
“Yes, Jack. Come on, baby,”
I yelled, life finally kicking into gear. He was pure intent, unfocused, but enough to take down anything that stood in his way, purely because there was no sense of danger, no remorse over action—just pure aggression that even Vince and his drugs couldn’t keep out of his system. “
Fucking react, Jack, fucking hurt the bastards, baby, fucking make them bleed.
”
“
Get some fucking ketamine in here
,” cried Vince, struggling, holding Jack on the floor and looking worried that he was caught struggling. A moment later, someone scurried through the door. Not the Doc. I hadn’t seen this guy before. He knelt, the needle he held missing its target twice as he tried to get it into Jack’s arm. Jack cried out, seeming to feel it scrape his skin, then it was pushed in and Vince gripped at Jack’s jaw, forcing his head back as the struggles instantly started to ease.
“Fucking calm it, boy,” he snarled, as Henry, looking as pissed as hell, pulled a knife out and fell down by Jack. “I’ll cut the fucking cunt’s fingers for that.” Blood poured from Henry’s nose. “I’ll peel off his nails one by one and slice through to fucking bone—”
“
No
,” cried Jack as Henry held his wrist down, flattening out his hand. “Christ, Vince! Stop him, for fuckssake.”
A finger went to Vince’s mouth as he instantly pulled back and gave a gentle “shush” toward Henry and anyone else in the bedroom.
He didn’t need to bother. I’d already gone still hearing Jack cry out for Vince and completely bypass Gray.
Vince came back down on Jack, the mask now lifted to reveal Vince’s mouth again. “Jack, it’s okay, kid. I’m here. Just a dream, just a bad fucking dream.”
Jack grabbed at Vince’s shirt, pulled Vince in close, all to hide, and I strangled a cry from my throat. “
Not yours. Never fucking yours
.”
“Shush-shush,” breathed Vince, his lips so close to Jack’s. “Just curl up, sleep.” He stroked at Jack’s hair, petted him, then planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re safe, our kid. All safe.”
“
Why? Why the hell are you doing this? What have we done to you? What—what has Jack ever done to you
?”
Jack relaxed his grip, arms falling to his side, but all heavy, like he’d passed out, and Vince eased off. I saw his smile as he pushed to his feet and came over.
He took his mask off, breathing hard, heavy. “Still think he’s yours? Gray’s?” he said quietly. “That he gives a fuck about you anymore outside of a dream?”
I started to shake, unable to take my gaze off Jack.
“You’re on your own, now, gorgeous,” said Vince. Another wipe went to my lips and I didn’t even feel the touch. “Maybe you ought to consider paying real nice attention to Henry with that sweet mouth of yours.” He paused. “And I mean real nice attention. Otherwise, what he’ll do will fucking hurt you, kid. It doesn’t hurt Jack anymore. Well, unless he plays up like that again, then I’ll fuck a bat up his ass to keep that aggression tempered. But he’s a good lad, now. You need to start thinking about being a good pet too for Henry. You’re no use to me any longer now.”
I couldn’t stop looking at Jack. For the first time, the very first time, I wanted to get at him, shake the fuck out of him, finish everything Vince had started, take the knife, press it against his throat, see the life come into his eyes again just to take it away, just stop. This all needed to fucking stop now.
Jack’s breathing became a little erratic. Nothing too bad to start off with, just slight pulls in on his lower stomach, then something changed. There was a sudden sharp pull in of breath that showed his ribs, his intake of breath now ragged and strained.
The convulsion seemed inevitable, but the ferocity of the assault startled me as choking came and Jack lost control of his body.
“What...” I groaned. “
What the hell have you done
?”
Giving a glance over his shoulder, Vince hissed and rushed over to Jack. “Leo, get your fucking arse back in here.”
The man who had given Jack the injection rushed back in.
“How much?” shouted Vince, hunting around for the bottle Leo had used and finding it rolling a few feet away. “How fucking—”
“Hundred mil, the usual,” said Leo, but Vince hissed through his teeth as he found the bottle. “You fucking idiot. This is concentrate, you gave him ten times the stated dilute dose, you fuck.
Doc
.”
Other men were back in the room, now trying to hold Jack down. “Don’t touch him while he’s fitting,” I shouted. “Are you really that stupid? You’ll do him more damage.”
“Get the Doc,” Vince shouted back as the men stepped away from Jack, and a moment later a commotion of voices hit the air as other commands were shouted outside:
get a stretcher, blankets
, all timed with Vince’s shouts over
the fuck up
of the needles as the doctor rushed in.
“Jesus, you weren’t paid to kill him,” the Doc snapped as he fell next to Jack; he didn’t have that controlled calmness that usually came with someone who had had years of practice. “Overdoses like this... Fuck. Oxygen. I need some bloody oxygen.
Get me some bloody oxygen
—”
“He’s struggling to breathe,” snapped Vince.
“
Which is why I need the fucking oxygen
,” said the doctor, his voice heated. “This,” he held up the bottle that they’d used and the remainder of the contents danced inside, “it handles the respiratory drive well unlike other anaesthetics. But oxygen—”