43
A Matter of Size
Would you take a life to save your own?
How about just destroy one?
That was the decision I had to make.
Not about Kristen. I’d blow off his face in a second. Not only would it be self-defense, but I was pretty sure I’d be doing the world a big favor. I had every reason to believe he was guilty of even more crimes than I suspected.
No, it was Lucas I was about to put in harm’s way.
Lucas.
He really did look like a heavenly visitor hanging there. But I needed him to be something else. Not just an angel but an
avenging
angel. One I could turn against Kristen, his creator.
The man Lucas called his “boyfriend.” The man who made him a star, albeit it in a much different kind of film from the one he was planning to shoot today. The man who’d sheltered him for the past few months after his breakdown.
But what
else
had Kristen been to Lucas? What else had he
done
to him?
At the least, Lucas had strong submissive tendencies and Kristen a natural talent for domination. Had Lucas been involved in some of Kristen’s more . . . artistic endeavors? Was he a victim or a willing accomplice? Or somewhere in between?
I had no way of knowing. All I
did
know was that any minute now, Kristen would notice that Lucas was ready for action. At that point, he’d do what he did best.
Direct.
Lucas would be feeling like I did. Euphoric and dazed. In a sexual frenzy. The strapping but easily manipulated man-boy would be under the total thrall of a man he’d come to know and trust. I could try and tell Lucas what was really going on, but would he believe me over Kristen?
Assuming, of course, I had more than a minute to speak. Did I mention that one of the items on Kristen’s Cart of Terror was a ball gag? The only reason I wasn’t wearing it now was because Kristen thought I was stoned out of my mind. The second I started making sense, I suspected Kristen would shut me up real fast. In that case, the ball gag would probably be the best of my options.
No, I had to make sure Kristen didn’t have a chance to exert his control.
I’d have to take advantage of Lucas’s fragile psyche to get us out of this. There was no time for anything fancy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of a quick way to make the boy into a weapon without breaking him first.
If Kristen survived this night, I thought, as I brought my teeth together with every bit of power in my jaw, he was going to be grateful it was only his finger I had in my mouth.
His scream was so loud it brought Lucas completely out of his slumber. “Wha . . . ?” I heard him slur.
I wasn’t ready for him yet. I continued to bear down, wondering if I’d wind up actually biting the finger off. Can you bite through bone? My mouth filled with the hot liquid spurting from the veins I was severing, and I felt feral with the sheer animal bloodlust of it all. It was the drugs, I knew, distorting my senses, but I was enjoying it. The searing gush of life flowing from him to me. Watching his eyes bulge with pain and fear.
Kristen might have been planning to make a snuff film, but I was auditioning for the next
Twilight
.
I wasn’t the only one with animal instincts, though. Reflexively, Kristen swung at me. Although there was no technique behind his punch, and not much strength, a lucky trajectory brought his fist into my solar plexus. I gasped for breath, giving him the chance to pull out of my mouth. His finger was still there, but covered in a spurting stream of blood that flew in every direction.
“You . . .” He was gasping and, I saw with great pleasure, crying. “Fuck!” he yelled. He looked up at me. “You’re dead now, boy.
Arrgghggh!
” He squeezed the wrist of his injured hand with his other. He was really hurting. “I’m gonna . . .”
He should have shut up and backed away.
I jerked up my right leg with as much speed as I could. My knee connected with his jaw soundly, cutting him off mid-sentence. And when I say “cutting him off,” I mean it literally. While I wasn’t able to bite off his finger, with some help from me, his teeth made quick work out of slicing through about a quarter inch of his tongue. I watched incredulously as it flew across the room like a worm he’d spit from his mouth.
“Mmmh!”
he screamed, the sound muffled by his hands, which flew to his face. Wow, between his still-gushing finger and the geyser spurting from his newly severed tongue, there was a
lot
of blood. Whether from the pain or the sight of so much just
pouring
out of him, Kristen’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.
Had he fainted or passed out? Didn’t matter. I might have a minute or ten. Either way, unless I acted quickly, Lucas and I would still be tied up and it wouldn’t be long before Kristen remembered his Tray of Toys.
No time to waste.
“What’s . . . happening?” Lucas asked. “Wha . . . who?”
Lucas looked at the body on the floor. In his stoned state, he couldn’t figure out who lay facedown at his feet.
He looked back at me. Despite being tied up and having just seen what happened, he gave me a lazy smile. “Hey, handsome.”
I kept my head down, letting my blond hair cover my features. “We have to get of here, Lucas,” I said. I started pulling my arms with all my strength, jumping off the chair and using my full weight to hang from the bar. Ouch. That hurt.
The bar bent but didn’t break. I wasn’t heavy enough.
Lucas was.
“Help me!” I yelled.
“Later,” he said. “Let’s just chill.”
“Lucas!”
His eyes started to close again. Shit.
“Lucas, look at me!”
“Juss a quick nap . . .”
“Lucas, look! It’s me!”
Lazily, he raised his head. Squinted his eyes. “Brent?” he asked.
Maybe the thought of helping Brent would be enough to cut him loose from his stupor. But to guarantee results, I had to cut deeper.
“No, Lucas, it’s me,” I said, pitching my voice half an octave higher than usual. “It’s your brother. Colin.”
Lucas’s eyes sprang open. “Colin? But you’re—”
“I’m hurt, Lucas,” I whined. “That bad man”—I pointed my chin toward Kristen—“he took us. He tied us up and hurt us. You have to free us, Lucas. I’m not strong enough.
“I need my big brother to save me.”
Watching Lucas Hulk-out was a sight. It was obvious how big and built he was, but it was still amazing to see him flex his naked body from the waist up until his muscles stood out like illustrations on an anatomy chart. Unlike me, he didn’t attempt to jump and use his weight to break the bar. He just tensed and pulled, like he was using a cable machine at the gym. It took some effort, but in less than a minute Lucas had snapped it in half.
For a moment, I expected steam or some toxic chemical to come surging from the severed pipe. But . . . nothing.
Now free except for the leather restraints around his wrists, Lucas ran and helped me down, too. He looped his bound wrists around my back and pulled me into him. “Colin,” he sobbed, “you’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Despite the drugs he’d been given, and the persistent chemically induced (and very impressive) erection he still sported, there was nothing sexual in the air as Lucas embraced me. Just joy and relief and an innocent affection. A brother’s love.
I was afraid that by using the trauma of the loss of his brother to break through Lucas’s drug-induced lethargy, I’d somehow break Lucas, too. He was consumed by remorse and guilt and I’d played on those weaknesses to manipulate him into breaking us free.
Maybe I’d been wrong, though. Soon enough, Lucas would come to his senses and understand none of this was real. But I sensed he’d be left, somewhere deep inside, with the memory that, even if it happened in a kind of dream, he’d been able to do the thing he’d spent the last year wishing he could have: He’d saved his brother after all.
I hugged Lucas back, trying to squeeze into him enough love and gratitude to carry him through the days ahead. They weren’t going to be easy. But he wouldn’t be alone.
I heard a noise from the floor. Moaning. My arms still around Lucas, I looked down and saw Kristen trying to bring himself to all fours. He was a shaky mess. The struggle to rise was complicated by his hand repeatedly slipping out from under him in the pool of blood he’d made.
“Don’t bother getting up,” I told him. “We’ll show ourselves out.”
I casually kicked out my leg, catching him in the head. He crashed to the floor again, his skull hitting the concrete with a satisfying
thunk
.
Well, satisfying for me. I’m sure Kristen felt otherwise.
Lucas didn’t even seem to notice. He kept hugging me and sobbing with happiness.
Soon, I’d have to rummage through Kristen’s pockets for the keys to our wrist restraints. Then, we’d have to get dressed and call the police.
It was going to be a long night.
For now, though, I was content to let Lucas enjoy his fantasy for a while more. No one we love is ever really lost, but it’s rare we get the chance to embrace them again. Lucas deserved this. He needed it.
Just because it wasn’t real didn’t mean it didn’t matter. Sometimes, a dream is enough to save a life.
As we got dressed, I told the still-groggy but generally awakened Lucas what had happened. He helped me tie up Kristen—not hard to do given the amount of bondage equipment stored around the studio. Lucas seemed to absorb about half of what I told him, which seemed fine for now. At least he understood I wasn’t Colin but Kevin, and if he bore a grudge, he didn’t show it.
On our way out to find a phone (Kristen must have dumped or hidden our mobiles somewhere), we heard the heavy tread of footsteps as someone ran into the studio.
“Kristen!” a nasally voice yelled. “Sorry I had to bail on you after we brought the boys over. I had to make the drop to the East Side guys. That is
not
a crew you want to piss off.
“Did our sleeping beauties wake yet? We ready to start shooting?”
I’d wondered how Kristen could have gotten us over here by himself. Turns out he had a production assistant. Who?
Into the light came Pierce Deepley, clad from head to toe in black leather. In one hand, he carried the matching zipper mask that would complete his ensemble. The other held a grande Starbucks cup, from which the sweet smell of syrup wafted enticingly.
A S&M master with a Caramel Macchiato. Not hot.
I
knew
I didn’t like that creep.
It took a moment before he realized his intended victims were flanking him.
“Uh, hi,” he said, looking nervously from one of us to the other. “I was just, um, walking by and I heard—”
“Please,” I interjected. “Shut up. Change of plans. Kristen decided
you
should be on the receiving end for this shoot.”
“What?” Pierce panicked. “Me? But . . . I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“You know too much,” I said in my best 1940s-tough-guy detective voice. “Kristen’s decided you’re worth more dead than alive. Lucas, hold him.”
The big lug stepped behind Pierce and pinned his arms back.
“No,” Pierce said, “he can’t just . . . kill me. He can’t!”
“Of course not,” I reassured him. “Well, not until we flay you first. That’ll come after the whipping and tooth extractions, of course.”
Just because I wasn’t into S&M like Pierce didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy verbally torturing the bad guy for a while. Seemed like the least he deserved.
“What do you think, Lucas? That branding iron hot enough yet?”
If you ever wondered if you could tell through black leather pants if someone’s peed himself, I can tell you the answer is yes. The yellow puddle spread to the floor, and I had to step back from getting my shoes wet.
“Okay, that is just gross,” I observed. “Lucas, could you, I don’t know, knock him out or something?”
He could. We trussed him up to match his partner in crime and headed out.