Maybe then he’d be able to cleanse away the feelings of failure he felt at himself for letting Matt down.
Beyond the living room, a short hallway branched off into four rooms. On the right were two bedrooms—one was unfurnished, filled with storage boxes and old luggage trunks that lined the walls, and the second appeared unused, a guest room. Then the bathroom, which needed a good scrubbing, Vic noted with a sort of vicious glee. A bottle of peroxide sat discarded in the trash can, and the toilet lid was up, exposing a rust-colored ring of hard water stains around the inside of the bowl.
The last bedroom was Jordan’s. One word flashed in Vic’s mind as he opened the door—Bingo.
The bed was disheveled, the sheets soiled and unmade. Clothes littered the floor. Gay porn magazines were strewn everywhere; from their glossy pages, young faces smiled up at Vic, tight asses spread wide, hard cocks stretched and pointed as if begging for his touch. Some of the pages were splattered with dried semen; some were grubby with fingerprints, as if Jordan had flipped through them as he got off. A sex toy catalog lay on the bed, the order form already filled out and left beside a cordless phone nestled among the sheets. Dildos of various shapes and sizes were everywhere, some still slick with lubricant. They lay scattered on the bed, on the desk, on the floor amid the magazines—the man had quite a collection, more than Vic used to own himself before he found Matt. From the depths of a pair of discarded boxers near the door, a dying vibrator hummed to itself.
“Oh, shit,” Officer Jones sighed as she stepped into the room. Vic glanced over and saw her wide eyes threaten to eclipse the rest of her face. “You didn’t tell me we were dealing with a sexual pervert here.”
“What do you think he wants Matt for? Tea?” Vic growled,
“I had no idea.” Her gaze swept the room, taking it all in. More than once Vic saw her flinch, particularly when she noticed a hard core bondage magazine half-hidden beneath a thick anal plug the size of Vic’s closed fist. “What…” she started, and then she tried again, “I mean, why—”
Vic thought it was about time to explain. “You’ve asked me where I get these powers.”
She nodded, turning toward him as if he could distract her from the sexual depravity in the room. Vic held out his arm, the one he had cut breaking into the house. The wound was closed, the skin healed; nothing remained but a thin, red scar and even that had begun to fade. Soon there would be nothing left to prove he’d been hurt. “They come from Matt,” Vic admitted. “I don’t know how, and I sure as hell don’t know why, but he…he gives them to me. Without meaning to. Without even realizing he’s doing it.”
“But how does he do it?” she asked. “I mean, how do you get his powers?”
Vic stared her down, waiting as he watched her mind sift through the evidence. Her gaze wandered over the porn mags and the dildos, piecing together what she knew so far. Then she noticed a cylindrical plastic tube on the bed, connected by a short PVC tube to a bulb-shaped hand pump—beside the contraption was a newspaper clipping, one Vic recognized at a glance because it hung on his refrigerator back home. Seeing that article, the grainy picture of Matt, in such an incongruous relationship with a penis pump, of all things, made the connection for her.
Vic felt the light of understanding click on inside her head; her mouth widened into a perfect O of realization. “Oh, God,” she whispered. Covering her mouth with one hand, she gaped at Vic as if daring him to comment on her now sordid thoughts. “You’re not saying—when you two…I mean—”
Vic nodded.
“But how?” she asked again. “I mean, if you—well, I would’ve expected…” One thought stood out in her mind, so bright that Vic had no trouble picking it up—a mental image of himself on his hands and knees, naked, as Matt drove into him from behind. She shook her head as if trying to clear that away. “I guess I just didn’t think you looked like the type who—”
“What?” Vic countered. A part of him enjoyed her discomfort, and the images of Matt and himself that her mind conjured up. “Likes to bottom?”
Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Is that what it’s called? When you…”
“When you take it up the ass,” Vic finished for her. “Yeah.”
She blushed at his coarse language. She ran a hand over her forehead and over her hair, brushing her police hat off in the process. Then she placed her hat back on top of her head and tugged it down into place. “Jesus. All right, so you…um, get these powers, somehow, when you two…?”
Vic nodded and she sighed, pleased to have gotten that straight without having to spell it out.
“So I’m guessing this guy…” She gestured at the bedroom and its cache of sex toys. “What’s his name?”
“Jordan.”
“Jordan,” Officer Jones said with a nod, as if securing the name in place. “So if he abducted Matt to get those powers, we’re dealing with a hell of a lot more than just a kidnapping charge here. Sexual assault at least, maybe even rape.”
A menacing crackle filled the room—the sound of Vic’s knuckles popping as he flexed his fists. Though he hated to say the words aloud, he had to lay everything out between them so Officer Jones would know what they were up against. “And if that asshole has already gone that far, who knows what sort of powers he might have?”
* * * *
There was nothing in Jordan’s room that told them where Matt might be—or rather, nothing either of them could see without digging in to look, and though the thought of touching anything that jerk jacked off on nauseated him, Vic was willing to swallow his pride for Matt. But Officer Jones wouldn’t let him disturb “the scene,” as she called it. “Let me go back to the precinct,” she told him, one hand on his wrist as if that alone could hold him back from tearing the room apart. “I’ll file the missing persons paperwork on Matt, then put in a search warrant request for this place. I’ll say there was an anonymous tip, someone called about some suspicious activity, something. That’ll get me in here legally.”
“While Matt’s who the hell knows where,” Vic bristled. “We’re wasting time—”
“We’re following the law,” Officer Jones countered. “I get some cops in here, bag and tag all this…this stuff, dust for prints, DNA, the whole works. File it away as evidence. Then we stake out this place. We’ll catch your guy. But when he goes to court, it’s his word against Matt’s, especially if I’m understanding this right and Matt must be the one who has to…to penetrate, if you know what I mean.”
The muscles in Vic’s jaw bunched so tight that his teeth hurt, but he nodded once, curt, to show she was right.
“Then we drag this crap out on the table,” she continued, “and suddenly all these porno mags and strange sex toys found in the defendant’s house seem to back up Matt’s story. Do you see what I’m trying to say here? Let the system work. That’s why you called me in the first place, wasn’t it?”
Through clenched teeth, Vic spat, “I still don’t have Matt.”
Officer Jones gave his wrist a compassionate squeeze. “Listen to me, Mr. Braunson—Vic. Let me take it from here. You’re running on empty at the moment and you’re so torn up inside it hurts even just to breathe. I know that feeling, all too well. So let us help you, all right? The best thing you can do right now is look after yourself. Go home, lie down, recharge.”
With a snerk, Vic admitted, “I need Matty for that.”
“You’ll have him back,” she promised. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything. And this works both ways—I expect you to get in touch with me over the smallest lead. You hear?”
Somehow Vic allowed her to talk him out of Jordan’s house and back into his car. It seemed impossible that the world of suburbia could lay so quietly around him, families huddled by the flickering glow from their television sets, the scent of dinner wafting on the scant summer breeze, the whine of cicadas drilling away into the night. Somewhere out there a man was bound in a closet, desensitized and senseless, his shorts down around hi
s knees as some sick pervert toyed with him. Vic hoped he found them before the police did. He had painful plans for anyone who treated Matt that way.
Back home, the apartment was dark, too quiet. Lonely. He turned the three-way lamp up to the highest setting, then went around to every room, clicking on the lights in an effort to expel the shadows. They retreated before him, hunkering down into the corners, beaten back by the light. In the bedroom Vic stood for a long moment, staring at the bed, but the mattress held no comfort for him. He couldn’t face it alone, but before he left the room, he snagged the blue bear from where he’d set it on Matt’s bedside table when he’d stripped the sheets, then took Matt’s pillow as well.
He crashed on the couch in the living room instead, fully dressed. Stretching along the couch, he curled one arm beneath Matt’s pillow and tucked the cordless phone receiver between the arms of the teddy bear, then hugged both to his chest. The bear’s head nuzzled beneath his chin, and Matt’s scent rose from the pillow to envelop him, connecting them even though they were apart.
Vic thought he’d just lie awake in the bright living room until morning came, but his body was more exhausted than he was willing to admit and he dropped off within minutes. Strange, vivid dreams disturbed his sleep, dreams of loss and abandonment, dreams where Vic’s superhuman strength was not enough to rescue his lover. Matt drifted through his mind, calling out to him soundlessly, arms reaching for Vic but fingers slipping through his grip. Vic tossed on the couch, rolling onto his back, then onto his side—the bear he kept clutched to him but the phone fell to the floor, forgotten. A thin sheath of sweat covered his body, slicking his skin, and more than once when he thought of Matt, his hand strayed to fist at the front of his jeans, where his body responded to the dreams of his lover with a painful erection that throbbed so hard it finally woke Vic with a start.
The blood in his cock pounded in time with the distant pulse of an alarm. His hand trembled as he ran it over his damp scalp. Pushing himself up off the couch, Vic unzipped his jeans as he stumbled to the bathroom. His hard dick unfurled from the confines of his pants without help; absently one hand encircled his shaft, stroking it, anything to alleviate the pressure and tension that had built in him overnight. In the bathroom he squatted on the tiled floor and masturbated—it was a pleasureless experience, something to do to take his mind off his troubles, to relieve the ache and the pain that wracked his body, and when he came, he felt disgusted with himself.
After he cleaned his hands and rezipped his jeans, he realized the sound that had woken him continued to buzz through his brain. It was the alarm clock in the bedroom, set to get him up for work. But the thought of dragging his ass into the bus garage, of navigating the traffic downtown as he drove along the same mindless, circuitous route—God. How could he pretend to go on, with Matty gone? He couldn’t.
In the living room, he dug out the phone book and flipped through the white pages under M. His finger traced down the list, every nerve in him dreading the call he was about to make. If there was anyone else he thought might take his shift for him other than Kyle Munley, Vic would call them in an instant. But despite being a royal pain in the ass, Kyle would cover for him—Vic knew it. When he found Kyle’s number, he dialed it, eager to get this over with.
It rang once, twice, three times. Vic listened to it, counting, then realized Kyle worked the early shift so he’d have already left home. But why didn’t his answering machine click on? Vic knew he had one; he’d called Kyle a few months before, looking to switch shifts so he and Matt could take a weekend trip to the shore. The message on the recording had been a stupid one, punctuated by Kyle’s donkey laugh and then some lame attempt at hip slang that Vic hadn’t understood and didn’t bother to decipher. He’d left a message and within the hour, Kyle had called back. Vic also knew Kyle called home to check for any messages throughout the day—he’d seen his coworker at the pay phone in the locker room often enough. So why…
Then it hit him, a thought so powerful it knocked the wind from him. Vic tried to draw in a breath and couldn’t, tried to speak and couldn’t. He could only listen to the phone ring in his ear as his mind struggled to wrap itself around the one blinding thought that seared his senses. ::Matty—::
Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Kyle’s should’ve been the next place he looked when Jordan’s didn’t pan out. A dream-like trance descended over him; he wasn’t aware of hanging up the phone, of dropping the receiver to the floor, of standing and heading for the door.
One thought shone in his mind like the sun, chasing away the darkness that had taken up residence from the moment he came home the night before and found his lover missing.
I know where Matt is.
* * * *
Chapter 26
Matt woke to darkness.
He lay on the floor of the closet in Kyle’s spare bedroom. The cloying stench of mothballs that had threatened to choke him hours before, when Jordan first dumped him into the tiny space, now barely registered to Matt’s dulled senses. Through the thin walls he could hear the murmur of the television, and Jordan’s throaty laugh.
Matt had no concept of time—how long had his arms been bound behind his back? Or his shorts tugged down just enough to let his genitals hang out, the carpet scratchy against his bare ass and damp beneath the tip of his weeping dick? His T-shirt had been rucked up, the bottom hem pulled back over his head and tucked behind his neck to expose his chest; the half-dressed state he was in made everything seem so…so dirty, for some reason. He would’ve felt better nude, instead of torn open like the damn Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. His wrists tingled from lack of circulation, and his upper arms ached. His nipples were sore, thanks to Jordan’s constant tweaking, and everything below his waist had gone numb. He couldn’t even feel the plastic baggie encircling his cock, or the rubber band around the base of his shaft that held the bag in place.
At least the vibrating cock ring was gone, for now. While it was in place, Matt had found himself shaken apart by the constant motion, and he’d come, over and over again, without even realizing it. After the first hour, Jordan had checked in on Matt and almost come himself at the sight of so much thick, white cream filling the baggie. Matt watched in horror as Jordan had dipped a finger into the bag and, as if the jism inside were a tasty treat, licked it off his fingertip. “I feel stronger already,” he joked, sealing the bag with care to avoid spilling a drop. Then he repositioned the cock ring, his fingers fumbling around Matt’s tight hole.
Matt fought against those fingers, twisting away, trying to keep them from penetrating him. “Oh, please,” Jordan said, sarcastic. He tugged on the beaded strip of plastic that hung below the cock ring, pulling it behind Matt’s balls, then rolled Matt onto his side and sat on Matt’s knees to keep them still as he shoved the first thick bead deep into Matt’s ass. “You know I ain’t going in there. Your precious virginity is safe with me.”
His laugh suggested otherwise, but the finger popped free, leaving the bead behind to vibrate its way into the center of Matt’s being like a pesky, burrowing worm digging deeper and deeper into him. “This is just to jazz up the juice a bit,” Jordan explained. Another baggie was snapped into place, the rubber band catching in Matt’s pubic hair and making his eyes tear up. Then Jordan had closed the closet door, retreating back to the living room where Kyle waited.
Did Kyle know about him? Matt didn’t think so.
The longest part of Jordan’s torturous teasing had taken place just after Matt woke to find himself tied to the bar stool. How long ago had that been? It felt like weeks on end. Jordan had been overeager in his haste to get Matt off—the guy’s own erection filled the front of his shorts, straining the fabric. He started by massaging Matt through his swim trunks, then tugging them down to expose his traitorous cock—the damn organ stood at attention beneath Jordan’s ministrations like a trained lap dog performing tricks for treats. After several minutes of playing with it, Jordan would fondle himself thr
ough his shorts, turned on by Matt’s arousal.
Matt held out as long as he could. He thought of his parents, the people he worked with at the gym, dead puppies, anything that would keep his mind free from the amorous sensations that flooded his body. He thought of Vic, not his body or his mind but just his presence, his being. Every ounce of Matt’s body cried out for his lover to save him from this. But Jordan was relentless—he slapped Matt’s dick, tugged on it, pinched the tip and even licked it a time or two, anything to get him off. When Matt refused to come, Jordan went for the freezer stick, tickling the icy plastic tube along the sensitive spot just above Matt’s balls, and for the first time ever, he lost control.
Jordan was unprepared for the sudden rush that shot from Matt. As if it were Matt’s fault he missed the first chance he had to take the powers, he backhanded Matt hard across the mouth. Matt tasted blood as his teeth closed down on the inside of his cheek, and through hooded eyes he glared at Jordan. If looks could kill…”You sick fuck,” he spat.
With a bemused smile Matt wanted to wipe from his face, Jordan purred, “Let’s try this again, shall we?”
And he touched the cold tube to Matt’s flesh, enticing his wilting dick to firm up again.
How long that went on, Matt didn’t know. He lost track of time, and lost count of his ejaculations. Once, and only once, Jordan had closed his lips around the head of Matt’s shaft. It took all the strength and concentration Matt had, and it hurt like hell to do it, but the look of pure horror on Jordan’s face when his mouth filled with acidic piss was worth the beating Matt received for that little stunt.
But Jordan didn’t dare put his mouth there again. At least there was that.
Bonds of Love Page 22
