by J. M. Dabney
"Josh, sit." The command in Yuri's gruff voice had me running to the chair, and I sat down.
My arms circled my body, and I rocked in what my psychiatrist from my teen years called self-soothing. They said it was an effect from being denied touch and affection, skin-starved from the time I was a baby.
"Tell me what happened that night." West didn't even ask—it was an order.
I glanced over at Yuri, and he nodded. At his command, I turned back to the agent.
"Vernon came home late from work, and he was mad about something, then he didn't like the dinner I made." I could feel the nausea building. A bottle of water entered my line of vision, and I took it, thanking Yuri and only getting a grunt in answer. His presence quickly disappeared, and I swore I felt it almost like a physical withdrawal.
"And…what happened after dinner?"
"He didn't eat. He took a bite and spit it onto the plate. I waited for the hit that always came when I didn't do something right." All their attention was on me, I felt it like a burning sensation on my nape, and I wanted to scream for them to stop. To shout no and not have to answer questions. I didn't want to relive that night. Just say it and get it over with, I ordered myself, but it wasn't working. I wasn't brave or strong. I was just me. "He hit me. Backhand first, then when the chair tipped back with me in it, he was on me. And he hit and hit, and I screamed for help, but no one came. Not even Vernon's security. They just let it happen. For days he locked me in my room…"
"Your room?"
I looked at West, and I hated him. I was enraged he wanted to rip open wounds that barely healed. "We had separate rooms. He only came in when he wanted to use me. For days he beat me, took a razor to me, he'd only wait until I stopped crying before he'd start again."
"What else did he do?"
"He fucked me, is that what you want to hear? No lube. No prep. Just fucked me while he pushed my face into a pillow." I was practically screaming and choking back sobs before I finished the last word.
"West, that's enough, he'll be ready for tomorrow. It's time for you to go."
Yuri's booming voice came from too close, and I couldn't help curling into a ball in the chair. Then all I could see was his back blocking out my tormentor. Protecting me as was his job.
"If he even stutters tomorrow, we're fucked putting this asshole behind bars."
"Completely destroying him before he testifies isn't going to help your cause."
"There's three men ready to testify that he liked gang bangs and being beaten during sex. They say this isn't the first time he liked a little cutting while taking it up his—"
"Get the fuck out."
I was out of the chair and hiding behind it as Yuri walked West out. He was holding the agent's jacket and belt, and then the door was slamming.
"Josh, come out." His voice wasn't any softer, but I couldn't disobey. When I stood every muscle in my body shook so badly that I barely stayed on my feet. I swiped at the tears with trembling hands and sniffled as snot touched my top lip.
"You're going to go wash your face and go to bed, do you understand me?"
"Ye-yes, sir."
He didn't move away from the door, and I was relieved that he didn't come near me. I was a raw, open wound, exposed nerves being abraded. And I rushed to the bathroom and didn't linger as I quickly washed my face and headed to the single bedroom of the suite. I didn't pull down the sheets, I laid on top and curled into a fetal position. I hugged my legs to my chest, and now that I was alone, I let the tears go. I didn't censor my loud sobs. He was in the living room, and I was just a job.
He didn't care that months—years—of pain and humiliation all came to the surface. It wasn't the first time that I'd told the story, but the strong, put-together man hadn't been there to hear it. He already had such a low opinion of me. He didn't like me. He believed I asked for it and I was too fucked-up not to disagree. I was an unworthy thing. A mistake. A failed abortion. Everything about me was wrong, and there was nothing I could do about it; I wasn't even brave enough to slit my own wrists. I'd swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills the first night in custody and woke up in a pool of vomit, and still very much in pain.
I couldn't go on like this anymore. What did I have left? After the trial, I'd be on the streets. No job or place to live, I'd be homeless again, my only home was any shelter with an open cot and a soup kitchen to have at least one meal. I'd done it before. But when Vernon had taken me off the streets, showered me with gifts and gave me a place to live—he cruelly gave me something to hope for. No job, no address, no address, no job, it was an endless cycle, and while I had a place to call for emergency help, I didn't want to go back there.
Just like with everywhere else, I wondered if I'd be welcomed. It was the only place I'd felt safe and wanted, maybe not how I craved, but it had been a safe space. I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep. In twelve hours, I'd have to arrive at the courthouse and lay it all out, and Yuri wouldn't be there to stand between me and Vernon.
Five
Yuri
The kid was almost done—three hours of testimony and every objection from the prosecution was overruled. The longer it went on, the duller his eyes became. My jaw clenched, and my back teeth ground together. There wasn't any chance Cross was going to earn a guilty plea. I'd studied the jurors. I could see the disgust as they watched the kid. Every question the defense attorney asked was more disgusting than the one before.
Each innocent answer distorted into something else. And it wasn't right—nothing was right about this trial. It was a media circus. They might as well shut this bullshit down and just let Cross walk the fuck out a free man. If the kid wasn't broken before, he sure as hell was now.
I clenched my fists behind my back, and just as I was about to cause a distraction, the judge called for a recess until the next day at nine a.m., and I strode toward him just as he was about to collapse. The stares caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. Something told me that we'd need to move on to another safehouse. First, I needed to get him back to our room. I escorted him out, and we made it to my vehicle. I pulled out my key fob, pushed the remote start as a precaution.
He still hadn't said a word, and I had to take his slight weight as he leaned against my side. As I scooped him into my arms, he twisted his hands in my suit jacket.
The urge to soothe him came to the surface, but I pushed it down. Instead, I got him settled on the passenger seat and buckled him in. I glanced at his face. He wasn't there. His eyes were dead, and his pale face was a sickly ashen color. I slammed the door and jogged around to the driver's side. I opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.
My curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I'd studied the case files, read more about his history. The kid didn't know what a healthy relationship was, and my sympathy had grown. As I had gone over his medical files, my experience told me the kid shouldn't be alive. Malnutrition, broken bones, blood loss, and countless other wounds should have killed him.
I pushed it all aside until I had him back to the hotel and settled, ordered him into a bath, then he needed food and caffeine. And a night's rest. After court tomorrow we'd move on to a place I was more comfortable protecting him. Someplace West and no one else would know about.
Three hours later, I had him out of the bath, dressed and wrapped in a blanket on the couch. I'd kept my distance. The way he flinched was a huge flashing neon sign to stay away. I'd ordered food, something light that wouldn't upset his stomach after the stress of the day. I stood in the kitchenette area and stared at his profile. He stared off into space at nothing. He didn't fight or flee. He simply waited for the next hit or order to do whatever some man wanted him to.
His submissiveness enticed me. I let myself release the reins on my thoughts. His inherent shyness said he needed structure and a firm hand, but that wouldn't be me. He was a job, but that didn't mean my urges weren't pushing at my control.
The knock at the door distracted me. I strode to the d
oor, looked through the peephole, and saw an employee I recognized from the files. Whether I recognized him or not, I drew my weapon and opened the door.
“ID?” I asked as the muzzle of a gun came into view. I slammed the door shut and turned to a wide-eyed Josh.
I darted across the room, wrapped my arm around the kid’s thin waist, and hauled him off the couch. Instinct kicked in, and my exit plan played out in my head as I headed for the connecting door that led to the next room. I kicked it open before jerking him in front of me. Shots rang out, and a door banged against the wall in our room. He was thankfully quiet as I opened the door to check the hallway.
The kid was leaning against the wall beside the door as I peeked out. With my weapon held firmly in my hands, I checked each end of the hallway. “Move to your left and hug the wall, now,” I ordered, and he bolted around me.
Something felt off about the attempt, but I didn’t have time to think about it now. I needed to get him to a second secure location. Where…I didn’t have any idea. No one should’ve known where we were. According to West very few knew he was in protective custody. Yes, I'd rushed forward in court, but I’d done everything to make sure we weren't followed, even taking the long way around the city. I shoved the thoughts away as I focused only on our safety and that was getting him out of there breathing.
The fire exit came up on the left, and I reached out to wrap my fist in his thin shirt.
The kid was already panting for breath, but my admiration for the kid grew as Josh didn’t complain or question. Fire tore through my right shoulder and upper chest twice. I cursed as the pain forced me to drop my gun hand. Even through the pain, I reached for him putting myself between the kid and danger and leaned us both down to grab my gun.
Shouts and heavy steps echoed off the walls of the stairway. At least a five-man team was pursuing us, and these weren't just thugs looking for a quick payday. They had some training. The agony of the gunshots dimmed my vision at the corners, yet I pushed through it, exchanging fire with our pursuers until the kid pushed open the door to the underground garage.
I grabbed my keys and hit the remote start. “You have to drive.” His only reply was a tiny nod as we quickly reached my vehicle. My steps faltered as I ran around the front of it. I got in the passenger seat as fast as possible.
Having him drive wasn’t the brightest idea, but neither was me passing out and killing us to finish the job of the gunmen. Where we were headed, I wasn’t sure. Fuck, I needed a doctor, but it wasn’t safe. I hadn't had time to scope out a possible vet or doctor that would take a bribe for a patch job.
I flinched as he pulled out of the parking spot with a lurch. Okay, having the kid drive was an even worse idea than I'd previously thought. My head fell back onto the headrest, and I forced it upward. I needed to stay conscious. I repeated the order in my head, but my body was quickly giving up to blood loss and pain. We weren’t going to make it.
"Sorenson, where—"
His voice faded out, and the pressure I applied to my wounds wasn't helping when I felt the blood pumping just as quickly down my back. I wasn't going to last, and I did the one thing I shouldn’t have, I let my eyes close and hoped the former street kid could come up with a plan to make it out.
Six
Josh
My fingers were white from the death grip on the steering wheel. “Sorenson?” I frantically called his name, yet the only response I received was pain-filled grunts. What the hell was I supposed to do? Think, Josh, think! I silently ordered myself as I checked the mirrors. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be looking for. I'd seen him glancing from mirror to mirror, but would I even recognize if someone was behind us?
A fear-induced adrenaline overload raced through my veins, and I shook as I carefully weaved through traffic. I glanced at him. Red stained the white t-shirt from shoulder to waist. He needed a doctor. He was going to kill me. I checked the street signs and took the next left. I didn't have any choice—it was either call in some old friends or let him die, I couldn't do that.
There was only one person and place I knew that would be safe, but they wouldn't appreciate a former cop or federal agent being brought to their doorstep. I tried to think of other options, but there weren't any. I drove toward the city limits, and an old service station I knew had an old payphone that still worked.
The street kids had an underground, and when someone needed medicine, food, a place to stay or medical attention, or whatever, they knew who to call with no questions asked. Sorenson was losing too much blood, and it was probably already too late, but I had to try.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the empty station. Lights shined inside, but I knew the attendant was asleep. Wasn’t much else to do out this way and most likely the same old man worked there.
I kept the SUV running as I found enough change and jumped out of the car. My fingers were shaking so badly that I fumbled with the phone and almost misdialed the number. I took a few calming breaths and tried again.
“What?” The cranky voice that answered almost had me smiling.
“In the cold.” I used the old code.
“Fifteen minutes, don’t be late.”
It was the only reply before the line went dead. The pickup point would be a park and ride not far away. I hurried back to the vehicle because fifteen minutes meant fifteen. I hopped in. The safehouse wasn’t far, and luckily, I spotted no other vehicles on my way. The old road ran parallel to the highway, and it didn't get much traffic. I pulled into the empty park and ride; a van waited with its headlights on.
We'd have to leave the vehicle. Not everything was on the up and up with the underground. I pulled to a stop and quickly searched him for anything else that would show he had anything to do with law enforcement. The gun had to go, as well. I took it from Sorenson’s limp fingers and quickly locked it in the glove compartment and shoved his wallet into the pocket of my jeans.
“We ain’t got all day.”
I jumped at the voice coming through the open driver’s side window.
“I need help. I can’t move him by myself.”
“Fuck.”
The once annoyed voice changed at the sound of my voice. I couldn’t believe Frank was still working for Arianna.
“We need help over here.”
They muscled Sorenson out of the car—which wasn’t easy with his size. Him not fighting them concerned me even more. I sat on the floor in the back of the dark van with his head on my lap.
“What the fuck happened, Josh?” Frank asked.
“My ex sent some guys after me…he got hurt protecting me. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“We saw on the news. You were always shit when picking boyfriends.”
“I don’t need to hear it.” We lapsed into silence as I placed my hand over the holes in Sorenson’s shoulder. The blood was warm as it oozed between my fingers. His face was pale, and I felt for his pulse, but I couldn't feel it. But he was breathing even though it was just shallow.
“Does he have anything on him?”
“No, I checked his pockets. He doesn’t have a phone or anything else.” I knew the routine. Paranoia was second nature, and it was worse when it came to cops. They’d been fucked over so many times they trusted almost no one. If they found out Sorenson was a former agent, I would quickly make the long list of people not to trust. This was the only place I'd felt safe or as if I belonged. My past stays were short; sometimes, a few months at the most. Yet, I remembered I could breathe.
On the drive, my mind flashed back to the events before all hell broke loose. He put himself between me and the gunmen. Got himself shot to protect me. I nervously chewed my bottom lip. The big man couldn’t die.
An old metal gate squeaking as it opened broke into my thoughts. The sound was familiar. I'd heard it enough on the nights I'd called Arianna for help. Everything happened in hyper-speed as chaos descended and he was carried into the old non-descript mansion. The property and house had bee
n abandoned decades ago and bought to act as a safe haven and sometimes a brief stop on the way to freedom. Arianna’s pale silver hair shimmered under the porch lights.
“Josh.” Arianna’s tone was quiet and concerned. Thin yet strong arms wrapped around me. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I have to go with him.”
Arianna shook her head to cut me off. She might look like the maternal type, but she wasn’t one to allow her orders to be disobeyed. It reminded me of Sorenson.
“There isn’t anything you can do for him. Doc’s got him covered. How the hell did you get even skinnier, boy? You never had the greatest taste in men.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
I was aware I had bad taste in men. I wanted to be loved and needed; I took it however I could get it even if it came with broken bones and fingertip bruises. Maybe I wanted to be normal, but I didn't know how.
“I’m sure you have.”
I was ushered inside to the kitchen. As I sat down the adrenaline rushed from my system, and I went into a panic. “He protected me. He can’t die.”
“We’ll do what we can, but from what I saw that was one nasty wound.”
I ate on autopilot, drank the coffee Arianna forced down me, and time passed in slow motion. I tried to sneak in to see how he was doing, but Arianna barred me each time. I took a seat on the floor opposite the door to wait. Finally, it opened and a man who didn’t look old enough to drink walked out removing gloves.
“We got the two bullets out, stopped the bleeding, but he lost a lot of blood. With his size and physical condition, I’ll give it fifty-fifty he’ll recover.”
