Not certain that prayer would be answered, but knowing
a struggle now would certainly get them killed, he didn’t
resist when Hank stepped forward to take him by the arm,
leading him toward the bedroom. His knees felt weak and his stomach burned. He wanted to try to reason with Hank, or
Lane, but as long as Trent had the gun, they were all
trapped. That was a fact Jaylin knew he couldn’t afford to
forget as they reached the bed and Trent came into the room with Max in front of him, the gun shoved into his back.
Greg followed, almost casually, still puffing on his
cigarette and the smell of the smoke only made Jaylin more
nauseas.
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“Sit on the bed with your back against the headboard
and your arms behind you.”
Quietly glancing at Max, Jaylin did as he was told,
sitting down with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms behind him. He was trying hard not to let Trent see just how afraid he was, but he suspected the fear showed
clearly in his eyes, as Trent looked at Lane, ordering him to handcuff Jaylin firmly to the bed.
When Lane hesitated, Greg cursed and snatched the
cuffs from his hand.
“I’ll do it. I want this done right.”
Kneeling on the bed, he slapped a cuff around Jaylin’s
right wrist, hooked the chain around a wooden bar in the
headboard and then cuffed the left wrist. His arms were
pulled tightly behind him, and at an odd angle that made his shoulders cramp and ache, but he said nothing. Greg
smirked down at him.
“You think you’re a tough guy, don’t you?” Greg
taunted. “I bet you’re thinking how you’d like to kick my ass, but that won’t happen in this lifetime, you dirty, worthless fag.” His ignorance and his hate echoed in the words and
Jaylin wanted to spit in his face but he knew it wouldn’t do him or Max any good.
Laughing, Greg glanced at Max, then back to Jaylin,
and without warning, he pressed the glowing end of his
cigarette against Jaylin’s shoulder. Searing pain made Jaylin scream out loud. He could feel tears spring to his eyes and 51
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Greg and Trent laughed and he heard Max yelling for Greg to stop and leave Jaylin alone.
Jaylin watched in horror as Max tried to get to him, but
Trent blocked him, kicking him hard in the stomach. Jaylin
forgot his own pain as Max doubled over and dropped to his
knees.
“Stop it! Please, don’t hurt him!” Jaylin half-sobbed,
half-screamed. “Please!” He knew his pleas were falling on
deaf ears, but it ripped at his soul to see Max in pain and Trent certainly knew that, as he kicked Max again, even
harder this time.
Enjoying the power, Trent looked at Hank and Lane.
“Stand him up.” This time, neither of them hesitated. They
were likely far too afraid to see what would happen if Trent turned on them. Jaylin watched helplessly as Hank and
Lane grabbed Max by the arms and forced him to stand even
as he struggled to breathe.
He lifted his head and looked at Trent, and Jaylin could
see the pain in his eyes. “You have a problem with me. I get it. I know you’ve always hated me, so do whatever in the hell you want to do to me, but leave Jaylin out of this. Please.
He’s never hurt you.”
“You begging to save your fag boyfriend?”
“Trent, please….”
“Don’t worry, Maxie. Jaylin isn’t the one whose really
gonna suffer here. I just want him to sit and watch what I
have in mind for you.”
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Panicked, Jaylin struggled against the handcuffs, but it
was useless; he wasn’t getting free. Greg laughed at his
efforts.
He’s going to hurt Max. All of them are. Something
horrible will happen to him and there’s not a damn thing I can
do to stop it.
He was completely powerless to save the man he loved
from suffering. All he could do was pray that both he and
Max would survive whatever nightmare Trent and Greg had
in mind for them.
But even if they did survive, Jaylin knew one thing for
certain.
Nothing would ever again be the same, when this night
was finally over.
The world as he knew and loved it was coming to an
end.
LANE had never seen so much blood in his life. He wasn’t
certain a person could lose that kind of blood and live, and that thought terrified him as he looked around the room,
eyes finally falling to Jaylin Ryan, who sat on the floor,
holding Max’s battered body in his arms, crying as he begged the other man to live.
Shit! What have we done? How did I get into this fucked-up mess?
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Four hours after they first confronted Jaylin and Max,
Trent and Greg had finally grown tired of their so-called
games. They had already left.
Hank was outside, throwing up, and Lane stood there,
gun in his hand.
Trent had handed it to him with one final order.
“Kill them. Both of them.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because I think you’re a fucking pussy and you need to
man up. And I want you to finish the game for me. Put a bullet
in both of them. If you don’t, I’ll find you and use that gun to
kill you.”
Lane had no doubt Trent meant it. He would kill him.
And Hank too.
Just shoot them and get it over with.
As the thought ran through his mind, Jaylin looked up
at him, hate in his eyes, but mixed with that hate was a
desperation. It snagged Lane’s heart, and what was left of his soul, and he felt heated tears rush to his eyes.
“I’m not a killer.”
Hands shaking, he dumped the bullets from the gun,
threw them to the floor and tossed the gun onto the bed,
before dropping down to kneel beside Jaylin.
“We’ll get him help. Okay? We’ll get him to the hospital.”
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Fumbling, Lane pulled his cell phone from his pocket,
turning to glance over his shoulder at the sound of Hank
coming into the room.
“I’ve already called the cops, Lane.”
Hank sounded defeated as he leaned against the wall
and sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands as he
began to sob.
Closing his eyes, Lane cried along with him, but while
he cried, he prayed as he had never before prayed in all his life. He didn’t pray for forgiveness. He was fairly certain he didn’t deserve to be forgiven for the role he had played in what had happened to Max and Jaylin, so he simply prayed
that somehow, Max would live, despite all he had suffered.
He was sure Jaylin was praying too.
Maybe his prayers would make it through to God, even
if Lane’s didn’t.
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JAYLIN had always hated hospitals, but he supposed no one
really liked them, not even the people that worked in them.
This hospital seemed particularly horrible. It smelled
funny and the walls were a horrible pale green that was
meant to match the white-and-green speckled tile on the
floor. He couldn’t sit still in the ugly, plastic green chair he sat in, with his mother at his side, holding his hand, the
tears she had shed when she learned what had happened
finally ceasing for a while.
She knew now that he was okay, he hadn’t been hurt
badly, at least in the physical sense, though she agreed
when a doctor suggested shock was likely settling in. Jaylin wasn’t so sure. It was obvious to him that he was well past shock. He felt suspended in time. His mind kept replaying, in vivid detail, every monstrous, brutal act Trent and Greg had taken such delight in while he was totally powerless to stop them.
If he lived to be a hundred and one, he would never
forget the sight, the sound of Max’s screams or the smell of blood.
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Closing his eyes, he drew in a breath, fighting for calm,
knowing he needed it. He had already given a statement to
the police on the way to the hospital, after they had refused to let him ride in the ambulance with Max. And both Lane
and Hank backed his story. They were ready and willing to
take a stand against Trent, even if it was too little too late in Jaylin’s mind. An officer had stopped by fifteen minutes ago to tell him Trent and Greg had already been located hanging out at a local bar and had been arrested without incident.
Jaylin wished they had resisted.
He wished they had given the police an excuse to shoot
them dead.
They should die. Max could. And if he does, I’ll be as
good as dead, too.
He didn’t voice that thought out loud—he knew it would
just upset his mother—but it was true and he knew it.
If he lost Max, he lost everything, his heart and soul
included.
What would there be to live for?
Opening his eyes, Jaylin chanced a glance at the woman
seated on the other side of the waiting room, looking
annoyed and disgusted.
Maryann Sydney was a beautiful woman, in a cold,
almost plastic sort of way. There was nothing warm about
her. She hadn’t been happy to learn what had happened to
Max and she had felt compelled to show undeniable disgust
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when Jaylin had to confirm for her that yes, he and Max
were lovers and yes, what had happened to them had been a
calculated hate crime.
“How am I going to explain this to my husband? He’s
away on business and I have to call him and tell him what?
That his son is a fag and he got the shit beat out of him
because of it?”
Despite his own anger and pain and fear, Jaylin had
pulled his mother away from Maryann, before she could tell
the blonde exactly what she thought.
He tried not to think about what would happen when
Max’s father showed up. He knew the man was a jerk and he
would be pissed. But Jaylin didn’t care about Chad Sydney
or his wife; Max was the only one he cared about and in the three hours since they had arrived at the hospital, Jaylin
had waited to hear something, but so far, no doctor had
emerged with information.
Is that good or bad? Maybe it’s good. If they haven’t told
us anything yet, that means he’s still alive, at least.
Closing his eyes again, he sat there, trying to pray,
trying to understand. He couldn’t fully believe that the past few hours were real. How could this happen? How could
anyone be as vicious or as brutal as Greg and Trent? Max
hadn’t deserved what they had done to him. He had suffered
and endured so much while both Greg and Trent laughed
and Jaylin begged them to stop, but they only laughed at his pleas.
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Feeling a hand on his back, he opened his eyes and
looked at his mother, seeing her concern for him, the horror she felt. And she only knew vague details; she didn’t know
everything that had happened, and Jaylin didn’t want her to know more.
“I’m scared, Mom. I’m so scared….”
She pulled him close and he rested his head against her
shoulder, crying softly, needing to release some of the pain and fear, but mostly, more than anything, he wanted to see
Max. He needed to see him, touch him, tell him that he loved him and it would all be okay. Max just needed to get better and everything would be fine. Jaylin would do everything he could to help him heal and cope with what had happened
and then they could run away together.
No one will hurt us again. We’ll go far, far away. And
Trent and Greg can rot in jail.
Hearing someone come into the room, Jaylin jumped up
when he realized it was the doctor from the emergency room.
He half-raced to the man, while Maryann stood calmly and
followed, not looking overly interested in hearing any word about her stepson’s condition. Jaylin truly hated her, but
she was the least of his concerns at the moment. The doctor looked at him before turning his attention to Maryann.
“Are you Max Sydney’s mother?”
“Stepmother.”
The doctor nodded. “Of course. I’m Dr. Roger Cameron.”
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“How is he, Doctor? Is he….” Jaylin couldn’t bring
himself to say the actual words.
“He lost a great deal of blood. He actually required a
transfusion and around three hundred stitches on his back
alone.”
Jaylin’s mother slipped an arm around his waist and he
was grateful for it, because his knees felt weak and his
stomach burned.
“His right leg is broken in three places and his left ankle is broken as well. He has three ribs that are broken and four more that are cracked.” The doctor paused for a moment and
Jaylin easily sensed he was uncomfortable. “He had some
internal bleeding, which we repaired and he…well, he has
some serious rectal trauma as a result of the assault, and we repaired that as well. He will survive, but there is a long physical recovery ahead of him and preparations for that will need to be made.”
The doctor looked at Maryann, but she sighed and
shook her head. “That will fall to my husband to handle.”