Roaring Waters

by C J Baty

  His head hurt like a motherfucker and it throbbed when he tried to look about. Then he remembered the hooded figure and Damien.

  "Damien!" Robert shouted into the cold air.

  He knew Damien wouldn't hear him and getting to him as quickly as possible was the most important thing to do. There had to be something around he could use to get out of these ropes. He spied the woodpile about a hundred feet away. If he made it that far, the axe he had left in the chopping block would do the trick. The problem was standing, and even if he did manage to stand, there was little chance he could hobble through the inches of snow in his socks. The sudden image of his brother, Alfie, when he was a little kid passed through his mind. It gave him an idea.

  Flipping onto his back, he used his hands and ass to scoot along the snow. It was cold and his hands were freezing before he'd even gone ten feet. This was his only chance, and he knew it, so he kept going. It seemed like hours before he reached the chopping block. The axe was where he'd left it earlier in the day. He remembered sitting in front of the fireplace, the logs blazing, holding Damien in his arms. The thought of Damien alone in the house and that mad man coming for him kept him moving.

  His hands were numb now, and it took all the strength left in his body to flip over and up on his knees. The snow penetrated his clothes and he shivered, but after trying a couple of times, he made it. He was on his knees, looking at the axe. Exhaustion seeped through him. One thought kept him moving: Damien. He had to get to Damien before that fucking bastard hurt him.

  Scooting closer, he used his shoulder to push himself higher. His hands were

  now at the same level as the top of the block. It took more effort than he thought he had left in him. His feet were numb now, but sliding his ass against the chopping block, he maneuvered his hands to the axe.

  After slicing his hands and wrists on the first few attempts, he cut the ropes binding him. Icy pain shot through his arms as the blood flowed in them again. Robert lay across the chopping block and fought to keep from passing out. He realized he'd never make it to Damien in time. His hot tears froze in the cold air. Most likely, he would pass out and die without ever seeing Damien again. The heavy fog of sleepiness overtook his body. Before he lost consciousness, he imagined the sound of someone calling his name, but it was too late. Darkness was filling his weary body, and he was drifting away in it. Damien, he had to get to Damien, but his body wasn't listening.

  His feet were on fire. The pain was excruciating. He wanted to run from it, but someone was holding him down and shouting at him.

  "Robert, stop fighting me," Justin was yelling. "Stay still. I can't work on your feet and try to hold you down at the same time. Can you hear me, Robert? I'm trying to warm your feet and get the circulation to return to your toes."

  "Pain." It was the only word Robert could get out.

  "I know." Justin's voice was softer. "I know, but if we don't get the blood flowing, the frost bite could do permanent damage."

  Robert lay still and kept the pain to himself. He knew Justin was only trying to help. As Justin continued to rub, he felt warmth in the soles of his feet, but his toes were still numb. Then he remembered... Damien was in trouble and he had to get to him now.

  "Enough," he shouted as he sat up and searched around for his boots.

  "Where the hell are my boots? I need my boots."

  "Stop it." Justin shoved at him, but it didn't stop Robert from trying to stand.

  "You can't possibly walk on these feet yet."

  "I have to. Damien...."

  "Marcus has gone to the cabin. I'm sure Damien is fine." But Justin didn't sound fine.

  "How long has he been gone?" Robert demanded, staring at Justin.

  "Almost an hour."

  There wasn't much in the shed to use for protection from the elements.

  Robert unbuttoned his shirt, then ripped his T-shirt off in one furious movement and tore it into two pieces.

  "What the hell are you doing, Robert?" Justin asked as he watched Robert put his flannel shirt back on.

  He wrapped one piece of the torn T-shirt around each of his feet, never thinking about the pain emanating from them. Robert spied his boots beside Justin and grabbed for them. Shoving his feet into the boots proved to be more painful than he could hold in. He cussed as he laced them. He stood and took a tentative step. The needles started the moment he placed his foot down. It didn't matter. He was still going — pain or no pain.

  "I'm coming with you," Justin said as he threw on his coat.

  "No, you aren't," Robert stated. "Marcus would have my ass on a platter if I walked you into any danger."

  "That's bullshit, Robert. Anyway, you need me to help you walk."

  Justin opened the door to the shed and walked out leaving Robert to follow.

  Slower than he wanted to, Robert grimaced at each step he took and then joined Justin in the snow. It was nearly morning, but it was still dark enough that, if they were careful, no one would see them as they made their way to the cabin.

  They crept from one cover to another. Robert, with Justin's help, made it to within twenty feet of the cabin. The lights were on and they could see figures moving about, but they couldn't tell who it was. A gun shot rang out, and Robert heard two men shouting at each other. There were two more shots, and then someone screamed.

  Justin broke into a run, leaving Robert scrambling to follow. Robert fell twice before he caught up to Justin.

  "I'm going in!" Justin growled.

  "Justin," Robert choked out as he grabbed Justin's legs, pulling him down to the ground. His breath was coming in short bursts between the stabs of pain in his feet. "Wait!"

  "I can't wait. What if Marcus was shot?" Justin pulled out of Robert's grip.

  "He stands a better chance if we don't rush in and get hurt ourselves."

  Robert was trying to be quiet, but he felt like screaming. "They both do."

  "What do you suggest?" Justin asked, slipping back beside Robert on the porch floor.

  The back door flew open, and both men turned to see who it was.

  Chapter Twenty

  Damien paced from the fireplace to the front door and back at least three times before he realized what he was doing. The only light in the cabin was coming from the fireplace. Robert had been gone more than half an hour and the lights were still not on. They had flashed on and off a while ago, but nothing since. What was taking him so long?

  The logs in the fireplace were dying down, so Damien added another on top of the others. He stirred the logs with the poker until the new one caught.

  Warmth filled the space between the fire and Damien, and his body relaxed.

  The lights in the cabin came on at that moment and he could hear the sound of the water heater starting up as well. Damien rushed into the kitchen to check the stove and refrigerator. Both were working again. He filled the Keurig water reserve and turned it on. Robert would be cold when he returned. Damien heard a cell phone ringing and went to find it.

  It was Robert's phone. He had left it in the bedroom. Damien picked up the phone and noticed Marcus's picture on the screen.

  "Robert." It was Marcus, but his voice was distant and there was a lot of static in the line. "Say nothing, just listen." Marcus hesitated, then continued in a rush. "The police had no idea Carter still owned the house in Atlanta where he held Damien, much less that he would hide there.” There was a loud pop and then Marcus continued. “Carter's in bad shape. The doctors at the hospital said, the next twenty-four hours are crucial."

  More silence followed the continued noise. Damien didn't want Marcus to realize he was on the line. He needed to hear the whole truth.

  "Carter was beaten, burned and, well, in terrible shape. Don't let Damien know but the situation reminded me of his descriptions of the time he spent in the basement of that house."

  Shock pulsed through Damien's veins.

  "Robert, we were wrong. All wrong! It wasn't Carter—" Silence filled the line. Two
more words came through. "It was—" Nothing. The line was dead.

  "Marcus!" Damien shook the phone and redialed Marcus's number.

  The phone rang and rang but never connected. The sound of the front door opening and closing caught his attention and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Robert was back.

  "Marcus just called. You left your phone here."

  A hand reached over his shoulder and snatched the cell phone from Damien's hand.

  "What the hell, Robert?" Damien turned and stopped short when he saw Tony grinning at him.

  Tony stepped away from Damien and dropped Robert's phone on the floor.

  He crushed it under his snow-covered boot.

  "Hello, Damien," Tony said as he continued to smile. "Surprise."

  Tony took off his coat and let it drop where he stood, along with a small duffle bag. Never taking his eyes from Damien, he crossed the room to where Damien stood.

  "I've missed you so much," Tony said as he embraced Damien.

  There was something very wrong. Damien could sense it in his bones. He hadn't told Tony where he was, and there was no reason for Tony to be here.

  How the hell had Tony found him? And where was Robert?

  "I can see you have a million questions you want to ask me, you silly man.

  But I can assure you, Robert won't be joining us" Tony reached up and left a kiss on Damien's cheek. "You will understand, I couldn't have him here when we finally came together."

  "What are you talking about?" Damien asked. "Where is Robert?" He drew back from Tony.

  "The last time I saw him— Well, never mind about him." Tony laughed.

  "There are a few loose ends to tie up before our fun can begin."

  Damien sidestepped Tony and went to grab his coat off the hook by the door.

  He was pulling it on when something solid and cold touched the back of his head. He knew without seeing, it was the barrel of a gun.

  "I don't think leaving is a good idea, Damien. I see we will have to do this the hard way," Tony said, his voice dropping an octave. It took on a menacing tone that somehow was familiar to Damien.

  "You do not understand how much trouble I have had to go through to get here at this moment and I don't intend to let you get away from me now."

  Tony's hot breath let his words penetrate Damien's soul. "After all... you are mine."

  The sting of a hypodermic needle pierced the skin of Damien's left shoulder.

  In a moment's time, the room swam before his eyes and the icy cold fingers of dread slipped down his spine.

  Marcus's words came back to him. "We were all wrong." Then the voice in the messages and, time after time, the repeated phrase "you are mine". The stalker wasn't Carter at all. They had been wrong. All of them had been wrong. But why?

  "It was you," Damien whispered as he turned to face Tony. Tony's face came in and out of focus. What he saw was the gun in Tony's hand and the twisted, hate-filled grimace on his face.

  Damien convulsed. He had to get away. Everything in him was shouting

  "run". Tony was aiming the gun straight at him. Without a doubt, Damien would be dead if he tried to escape, he understood that. Damien froze in place. The lights in the room were dimming, and he was fading. Tony helped support him with one hand when he slumped against the door.

  Tony drew the barrel of the gun across Damien's Van Dyke as if he were outlining it. Then he ran his other hand up and down Damien's arm. Tony stroked it softly, like a lover would.

  "That's it, sweetheart, just let the drug do its job. I have waited a long time for this, Damien. You never even took a second look at me, but that didn't keep me from wanting you. I needed you from the very beginning. I had to do a lot of research to discover what kind of man you wanted. I wanted to be that kind of man," Tony said, then slapped Damien hard across the face with his free hand.

  Damien recoiled, his head banging against the door. Tony grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back. The gun was at Damien's face again.

  "But then I read what happened between you and Carter Preston. And I realized." Tony pressed his lips to Damien's. When Damien didn't kiss him back, he bit down hard on Damien's lower lip, drawing blood. "I knew what you needed from me."

  Damien was on the ground before his mind comprehended what was happening. The drug that Tony had injected him with was knocking him out, making it impossible to think clearly or form any sort of plan of escape.

  Tony's foot came down on his back and pushed him flat to the floor.

  "Look at me!" Tony screamed.

  Tony had to be insane, and Damien knew, if he wanted to make it out of here alive, he would have to do as Tony said. Damien twisted his neck to the left and looked up at his captor.

  "Carter taught me everything I needed to know about you, and then I made sure he would never hurt you again. So you see, in a way, you are indebted to me. That makes you mine. I love you, Damien, and all I've ever wanted was for you to love me the way you loved Carter. And you will come to love me, Damien."

  Pain shot through Damien as Tony yanked his hair and pulled him to his feet.

  He pushed Damien down the short hallway toward the bedroom, with the gun barrel in his back. Once there, he demanded that Damien strip. Damien removed his shirt and kicked off his shoes. He hadn't seen Tony pick up the duffle bag from the hall, but he saw it when Tony threw it on the bed.

  "Open it," he demanded.

  Damien's hands shook as he unsnapped the bag and pulled the sides apart.

  His stomach churned and he swallowed back bile as he looked at the contents of the valise. He knew the pain each of the items in the case caused. Carter had been fond of several of them. Damien still bore the scars.

  "You don't have to do this, Tony." Damien wouldn't beg, not while he had some of his mind left.

  "But this is what you want," Tony said as he ran his hand down Damien's scarred back. "I can see it here on your body."

  "No, you are wrong," Damien said, flinching away from Tony's touch. "This is never what I wanted. Carter was a sick bastard who enjoyed inflicting pain

  and agony on me. He made me suffer and nearly killed me, Tony. You don't want to hurt me, do you? You want me to love you." Damien prayed Tony was saner than he appeared to be.

  Tony stared at Damien. He said nothing for a long time. Then he smiled—a gentler smile, more like the Tony Damien knew.

  "Carter was a fool to treat you so badly, but he understood you. He even told me you would deny how much you enjoyed your time with him." Tony's face changed as he spoke. It appeared older, uglier. "I don't want to hurt you, Damien. But I won't have you thinking of Carter when you are with me. You can't be thinking of anyone else at all. I have killed for you and I won't hesitate to do it again."

  Damien wasn't relieved that Tony didn't say he didn't want to kill him. In fact, he was now sure that, if he made a mistake, Tony would kill him without thinking about it. The man standing in front of him now was not the same one Damien had interviewed and hired all those months ago. Damien didn't know this person. His mind was grasping to find some way in which to talk to this Tony. Get him to understand that this would not happen. Damien would rather die than submit to someone again. Not the way Carter had made him.

  "If you love me, why would you want to torture me?" Damien asked.

  "It's not torture, love, if it's how you receive pleasure. I only want to please you. Now, sit down on the bed." Tony pointed toward the mattress with the gun. "Do as I say, Damien."

  Damien sat on the edge of the bed and waited as Tony retrieved leather cuffs with straps on them. He laid them on the bed next to Damien.

  "Put them on," Tony demanded. "One at a time. Start with your ankles, then your wrists. No fast moves, please."

  Damien broke out in a sweat as soon as he had latched the first cuff on his ankle. By the time he had finished the last cuff on his left hand, his entire body dripped with moisture. Damien shivered from the cool air in the room.

&nb
sp; "I can see you trembling with excitement."

  Tony's voice was thick and gravely. Damien realized seeing the tent forming in the front of Tony's pants, he was aroused by what was happening. A cold chill ran down Damien's spine and he remembered the look on Carter's face when he would do this.

  "Sit in the middle of the bed and put your hands on top of your head," Tony said as he moved to the foot of the bed. "Do nothing foolish, Damien. I must punish you if you do, and I don't want to hurt you."

  There wasn't anything to do but comply with Tony's demands. Whatever the drug was that Tony had given him, it left him unable to respond at anything but a snail’s pace. Nothing about this situation was stimulating to Damien.

  He hoped Tony would soon realize that. Maybe Tony would stop then.

  Please, God, let him stop before this goes too far.

  Tony pushed Damien back on the bed and used the straps on the wrist cuffs to attach Damien's arms to the headboard. Damien was helpless. There was no escape unless he could talk Tony out of this, and he doubted that would be possible. If the hard-on that Tony was now sprouting was any sign, he was enjoying his power over Damien.

  Tony kissed his way down Damien's naked form and stopped long enough to lick at his flaccid cock. He pulled back and stared at Damien. Confusion fluttered in hiss wild eyes.

  "I have something to do, but I'll be back," Tony said, gliding his hands across Damien's chest. "We'll erase these when I return."

  "Robert." Damien felt sick and worried for Robert.

  Tony's face shifted into a rage. Damien didn't remember ever seeing him look like this. Tony slapped Damien hard across the face. "Stop thinking about him. The two of us are all the matters now. You are mine."

  Tony scooted off the bed, adjusted his cock, giving it a squeeze, and pulled on his coat; then, he left the room without saying another word.