Clean Slate

by Aleksandr Voinov

  John climbed onto the bed and leaned against the wall, and he offered Andrei the space he’d taken before. Andrei put his head on John’s stomach and placed an arm around him. Much like a hurt kid, seeking just contact and being held. How the fuck had Chris even managed to get hard when all Andrei wanted was closeness? He gently ran his fingers across Andrei’s skull, massaging a little to ease the headache, but without real pressure. They were strangers; they shared nothing.

  A shadow appeared in the door. Chris, leaning against the open door, arms crossed in front of his chest.

  “Chris can be a good guy, if he can be bothered,” John murmured loud enough for Chris to hear. “I trust him a great deal. He’s a good friend.”

  “Doesn’t sound like love,” Andrei remarked.

  “No, I guess it doesn’t.” John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Friends with benefits, more like it.”

  “Do I love you? Did I say so?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, that’s… what I thought.” Andrei’s arm pulled him a little closer. “It doesn’t feel like love.”

  What does it feel like? And love—God, what an idea. To expect to love two strangers after just a few days and a mistake. John hadn’t anticipated this part of the charade or that it would tear him up inside like this. He liked to fall in love with the men he slept with; he was old-fashioned like that, dinner, shared interests, spending time together outside the bedroom. “It might be best if we leave you. Find your family, and….”

  “No.” Andrei burrowed his face deeper into John’s stomach. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone. Please.”

  John pressed his lips together, gulped against a massive steel ring around his throat, and tried to ignore Andrei’s warm breath against his skin. Please. Oh fuck, what had they gotten themselves into? “I’m not leaving. Maybe we… we just start over again. You know. Take it from the start. We can be just friends, too, if you’re not into the sex anymore.”

  He glanced up to the door, but Chris was gone.

  Without much else to do, John adjusted the pillow behind him and settled back. Closing his eyes, he took in the quiet of the house, the closeness of Andrei, and willed himself to get the rest he hadn’t gotten last night.

  It was closing in on noon when John woke, his neck stiff from the sitting position. Andrei was already awake, dressed and sitting in a low armchair, quietly studying him.

  “Chris went to get brunch. I think he just pulled up outside.”

  “How are you feeling? You look better,” John asked as he got up and stretched.

  Andrei shrugged. “The pain is mostly gone.”

  “If you need the meds, take them. It won’t be much longer. The bruising is already starting to fade in spots.”

  Andrei touched his face, but he didn’t turn toward the long mirror in the corner. “I don’t think I’ve been injured before, not like this. I feel… I don’t know. Like a caged animal.”

  John offered a sympathetic smile and approached. He touched the Russian’s shoulder, but only for a moment. “It will be better soon.”

  “I struggle imagining it getting any worse.” Andrei stood, a brusqueness in his motions betraying his annoyance. “This place makes me restless. I want to see… I want to go places that remind me. Where I crashed the Maserati. Monte Carlo. I want to try and remember.”

  “Sure. We can do all that. I’ll just grab a shower.”

  John showered and changed and came back out, surprised to find Andrei had been waiting for him. Unwilling to face Chris alone?

  They headed downstairs where Chris had set up another of his opulent breakfasts, seemingly unconcerned with what had happened last night. Maybe he even was. Maybe he thought nothing of it.

  “Bon appétit, gentlemen.” Chris smiled, but John could see it hardly reached his eyes.

  “It looks delicious,” John said. He took the coffee carafe and poured them each a cup. “Andrei wants to get out a bit and see where he crashed his car.”

  Chris frowned. “You sure about that?”

  Andrei nodded. “I need to see. I want to remember. I hate being this way. I know general things, obviously, but I know nothing of detail.”

  Chris set slices of quiche on all their plates. He paused and looked at the table. “I think I forgot something in the car. Be back in a sec.”

  John pretended not to notice the ruse, knowing Chris would put a quick call into GORGON to set up the remnants of a crash site.

  He almost didn’t spot Andrei’s eyes narrowing, but he did, and the mouthful of quiche turned into cement on the way to his stomach. “We’ll do what we can to get you to remember,” he murmured. “Even if it’s traumatic, and it probably is.”

  Andrei huffed. “More traumatic than not knowing? I don’t think so. Without the past, the present makes no sense. I mean… I struggle to understand about you. And that’s very basic… I mean, fundamental.” His sigh sounded more irritated than resigned. “I want my life back, John.”

  “You’ll get it back, but the doctor said it would take time.” John paused and toyed with his food. “He also said there was the chance you won’t remember anything.”

  Andrei dropped his fork on his untouched plate and stood so quickly his chair almost fell over. “It fucking better return! All of it!”

  John had nothing to add and was rather glad Chris came in just then.

  “I guess the girl at the café forgot the fruit I ordered,” he said, looking from Andrei to John and back again. “What’s wrong?”

  “Andrei wants his memory back.”

  “Of course you do, but you know the doc said—”

  “It will take time,” Andrei ground out. Balled his uninjured hand into a fist, he looked like he wanted to punch each of them or the wall, something, anything to get the frustration out. And John couldn’t blame him one bit.

  “We’ll do what we can to help. I promise.”

  Andrei turned, blue-green eyes wild with anger, a primal rage that made him imposing enough to intimidate most people. John wondered how all those contrasts fitted in just one person, but with Andrei, they did. At least now he didn’t look like a victim.

  “I think you need a good workout,” Chris said. “Helps me stay level.”

  “With that hand?”

  “Plenty of things you can do even with that hand. Of course you’re totally out of whack like this. Have breakfast, we then go for a gentle run. The weather’s great, and there’s nobody around.”

  Normally, when Chris said “gentle run,” he’d do his damned best to run everybody into the ground, but he actually didn’t, not this time. Maybe he realized running circles around an injured man was too easy. Andrei had clearly run before, and plenty; he had a pretty good style but didn’t run very fast, still careful of his injuries.

  After about a mile, he was done, though. They stretched afterward and went for a shower. Chris’s gaze implied he could join either of them under the shower, but John gave him a warning headshake.

  Afterwards, the Russian rested again, and once John was sure he was asleep, he joined Chris in leaving the house and walking a little bit away, out of sight of any of the windows. John took that as an invitation to talk.

  Chris apparently had other ideas.

  John barely dodged the punch Chris threw but landed on his ass just the same, thanks to a large rock underfoot. “What the fuck!”

  Chris pointed. “Stop babying him. Christ, you act like you don’t know if you want to be his lover or his nursemaid.”

  John got up, brushed the seat of his pants. “Bastard,” he muttered. He stepped closer, his own stance ready to take this argument further. “Keep kidding yourself. You’re just pissed off because I wouldn’t let you rape the guy.”

  “He asked for it. Damn near begged, the way you did the other night.” Chris folded his arms across his chest.

  I think I’m just a loner.

  John shook his head. “He didn’t. No way he did. He’s hurt, he’s scar
ed, and we’re the only things he thinks are on his side. He is in no state to consent to anything… and for all we know, he’s straight.”

  “If he gets turned on by other guys, he’s fucking not.” Chris suddenly laughed. “Right, so it’s okay to fuck one of us, but not okay to fuck him? Is that what you’re saying? And why exactly not?”

  John had to admit it didn’t really make much sense. Just somewhere in his gut, he thought it was wrong, taking advantage of him. But then, Andrei hadn’t been hard when Chris was fucking him. But he’d also not resisted, just asked him to stop. “Some kind of lover you are,” he muttered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That’s the vibe I’m getting from you. You don’t give a toss about him.”

  “He’s a job, John. A job. After this, we both… we will just move on, okay? There’s no point getting attached.”

  John ground his teeth together. “I am not ‘attached’.” He took a step forward. Chris stood his ground. “I know this is part of the job. I know it was my decision to make sure he got medical treatment.” He took one step closer, his voice lower. “It’s not an unpardonable crime to care about another human’s health and well-being, even if he is on the wrong side of the law.”

  Chris slid his hands into his pockets, his distaste still evident. “That section of road should be ready by now. They were going to shear a tree or two, scorch some underbrush. The works.”

  “Fine,” John said flatly. He reached back to massage his still-achy neck.

  Chris exhaled sharply. “Come here. You’ve been doing that all morning.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Chris approached and stepped behind him. “Move your fucking hand and let me get the knot out.”

  As infuriating and selfish as he was most hours of the day, John had to admit Chris Gibson did have the touch of a healer.

  “Better?”

  John nodded. “Much. Thank you.”

  Chris came back around, his mouth still pulled into a distasteful line. “Since the baby is napping, I think I’ll go find some porn and whack off.”

  Chapter 6

  “Yeah, it was over here.” Chris pointed and led the way off the street. They climbed down the hill, with John close enough to catch him should he slip. Andrei gave him a small smile for that concern, and followed Chris. The forest smells should have been pleasant, but something set Andrei on edge. Paradoxically, he was relieved of that. That feeling of something big and terrible looming in the back of his mind might be something like a memory.

  Traumatic? Possibly. But Andrei was ready by now to face whatever could come at him. Whatever nightmare. It was just a car crash. He knew his injuries. He’d injured his face as he’d gone through the windshield, broken the wrist when he’d hit the ground. Concussions probably from both. It was no big deal. He should have worn a seatbelt. Whiplash and bruises might have been the only injuries then.

  Still, there was an unease, a physical reaction to the surroundings, and he felt suddenly threatened.

  A walk in the forest, like this. A hand between his shoulder blades, no, a thumb, the hand resting on his shoulder, daring him to turn around. Smell of cigarette smoke.

  “Just a little further from the road.”

  So people wouldn’t find him? So they wouldn’t see the flash from the gun? Andrei felt sweat bead on his forehead and trickle down into his shirt collar. Too tight, but he’d already loosened the tie, very nearly ripped off the first two buttons of the shirt. He’d pleaded already; there was nothing he could do. He only hoped this was happening to somebody else.

  Further into the forest, the pine needle smell oppressive in late summer. Steps muffled by the soft ground. Three people. The smoker and two others. Who?

  “Come on, bitch. Move it,” the man right behind him growled in Russian.

  He wondered if they’d humiliate him before they shot him. Sexual humiliation? It wasn’t beyond them. Andrei shook his head to clear his mind. Please, not that. What point was there if they had decided to shoot him? Dead was dead, right?

  “Here,” the smoker said.

  “Kneel,” the guy in his back said, and when Andrei didn’t comply immediately, he kicked him in the knees so Andrei fell forward.

  He managed to straighten enough to kneel on the ground. Two men became visible. Dark suits, faces like butcher’s dogs: Russian mobsters. They carried enormous semi-automatic guns, one of which was far too close to Andrei’s face.

  “You see, Andrei Alexeyevich, my boys could shoot you right here,” the third man said as he walked around him.

  Andrei recognized him from somewhere, but wasn’t sure. Shaved head, goatee, malicious eyes…. The man reached into his trench coat, pulling a machete.

  “And then we’d separate your head and hands and feet from your body and throw the parts into the Mediterranean.” He lifted the blade to his face and regarded himself in the reflection. “Do you believe we can do that?”

  “Yes… yes. God, I believe you.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” The bald man lowered the machete and finished his cigarette, looking thoughtful. Andrei clung to every breath, every motion of the man with near-religious fervor.

  “What do you offer in return for that not happening, Andrei Alexeyevich?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Is that so. What about you?”

  “God, yes, whatever. Whatever you want.”

  The bald man didn’t smile. Instead, he tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out before the dry pine needles caught the flame. He stepped closer, resting his blade just under Andrei’s chin.

  “You will remember this. If you don’t, I will remind you. Then it will happen.” He patted Andrei’s face, a number of slaps that hurt every time. “You’re mine now, Andrei Alexeyevich. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  A strange, strangled sound came from somewhere, some poor pathetic creature… it came from him.

  Wetness soaked the front of his trousers, slid down his leg going from warm to cold in an instant.

  “Shit!” a gruff American voice said.

  Andrei cried out when hands grabbed him. “I did what you wanted. I held nothing back!”

  “Andrei! Hey, snap out of it!”

  The slaps. Where was the machete?

  His knees went weak and he sunk down.

  “John, watch him!”

  Hands gripped either arm, kept him upright.

  “You’re okay. We have you. We’ll help you back to the car.”

  He moved like a puppet. What else could he do?

  “God fucking damn it,” Chris cursed. Getting the Russian up the hill wasn’t easy, especially not in that near-catatonic state. He had definitely remembered something, but this was some shit timing. John at least moved with him, did his part in this, and finally they were back on the street. He’d seen grown men piss themselves before, he’d seen pale, terrified faces before, but Andrei’s eyes were rolling like that of a bull at the slaughter.

  “Terrible idea, what a shit-fucking idea,” he muttered.

  John put a heavy blanket on the seat and got Andrei into the car, stayed with him, holding his hands, calming him down.

  For a moment, it had looked like an epileptic fit, the way he’d gone completely rigid, but instead of the shakes and teeth-grinding, Andrei had simply collapsed. Fuck. Maybe there was more damage to his brain than the GORGON doctors had found. Maybe some bleeding in his brain, putting pressure on some important tissue.

  “What did you see?” John asked while Chris steered the car back to the house.

  “No. They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me,” Andrei repeated.

  Looks like they already did, Chris thought.

  John sounded like a broken record, telling the Russian, “You’re safe. We’re with you,” over and over again as he got him belted in the middle of the rear seat.

  “We have your back, man. It’s okay,” Chris
said, looking at Andrei in the rearview mirror.

  “You’re not part of it.”

  “Part of what?” John prompted.

  “I don’t know. Something bad. Russian. Mean.”

  “Try to relax,” Chris said, keeping his voice as level as possible. Stupid fucking John and his hearts and flowers. Christ. They should have let the bastard die or put a bullet in him to make sure he did.

  “Who are you?” Andrei asked when Chris pulled up to the lodge. “What are you people?” Chris hoped it was only Andrei’s disorientation talking.