Oh yeah, and he had no ass. None. Flat as an ironing board back there. Even his too-tight jeans hung where they should have hugged. Coming at him from behind would be like humping a wall.
Plus, he was a sadistic psycho. You had to deduct points for that.
I continued to look for flaws, exaggerating them to the point of ridicule. I did whatever I could to diminish his presence in my mind. To steal his power.
To transfer it to me.
The whole time I played my mental tricks on myself, I continued to moan and writhe. I let my body go on autopilot while I steeled my mind.
Whenever Kristen turned away, I’d try to free myself. Kristen had me bound with some high-quality S&M wrist cuffs. Thick, black leather bands that laced along the slides and locked together at the palms with a steel closure. There’d be no getting out of them.
They were hooked over a pipe that ran across the ceiling. I wrapped my fingers around it—it couldn’t have been more than two inches thick. On one of the occasions when Kristen’s back was toward me, I lifted my knees to see how much weight the pipe could bear. It bent a little. I put my feet back on the chair and downward with as much strength as I thought I could use without drawing Kristen’s attention. Again, there was some give in the pipe. I pulled harder. More movement this time, but not much.
So, I couldn’t get my hands free, but with enough force, I might be able to break the bar to which they were attached. I had no idea what that pipe was for—architecture wasn’t my strong suit—but it’d been put there for a practical purpose, not as part of a security system. It was the loose link in the chain binding me here.
The problem came to physics. I was strong for my size, but my size was still small. Even if I were free to pull or jerk with all my might, I doubted my 125 pounds would be enough to get the job done.
I was going to have to think my way out of this one.
What did I know about Kristen?
He was vain.
Full of himself.
He thought his work transcended mere pornography.
No, wait.
Not all of his work.
I remembered some of what he’d said when we first met.
He made a distinction between his commercial work for studios like SwordFight and his more personal “art” films.
He also lived at a level above what you’d imagine an adult film director could afford.
Had he been born rich? Probably not. Wealthy parents would have fixed his bad teeth and crossed eyes.
A second source of income, then? What?
Was it tied to his “art” films?
What could he be making that would generate so much money? There wasn’t much you couldn’t see in a typical porno these days.
What was Kristen selling?
When I thought I had it figured out, my stomach seized with a sudden stab of terror. No, it couldn’t be.
Except, it could.
I had to know.
My head was a lot clearer now. Funny how fast fear can sober you up.
I had a plan. Well, half a plan. A plan lite.
Lucas’s eyes were starting to flutter. He seemed minutes from regaining consciousness. I assumed he’d be as disoriented and dopey as I was when he first opened his eyes.
I was counting on it.
I was sorry, but the only way I could see my way out of this was going to involve hurting him. He was much too big and strong for me to do that when he was fully awake.
I had to work fast.
“Mmmmm . . .” I drawled, sounding a lot more stoned than I felt. “Are those things turned on?” I nodded toward the cameras.
“They are.” Kristen sounded amused. He was busy adjusting one of the lights that hung from the ceiling.
“Me too.” I giggled. “Are you going to make me a star?”
“Brighter than the sun,” he promised. He was only half-paying attention to me, which was good.
“I’m glad. I was going to call you about it, you know.”
“You were?”
“After we met. You told me you made art films. I asked a ground. A found. I mean, around.” I giggled again. I was faking the flubs.
“Really?” Having done whatever he needed to do with that light, he moved to the next. “And what did they say?” He didn’t appear particularly attentive to what I might say, probably having learned from experience that a stoner’s conversation is rarely of interest to anyone but himself.
I gave another moan. “Only one of my friends had any idea of what I was talking about. He’s a guy who’s into Sam.”
“Sam?”
“Sam.”
“I don’t know him.”
I laughed drunkenly. “Is not a him, silly. You know—chains and whips and stuff. S.A.M.”
“S&M?”
“Thash it!” I gyrated my hips. My still engorged member drew circles in the air. Nothing I could do about that. Whatever Kristen had injected me with down there was apparently impervious to the normally shank-shrinking effect of mortal terror. “Sounds hot.”
I was starting to get his attention. “You think so? Your friend, he knew my work?”
“He said there were rumors . . . that you were involved in some heavy stuff.”
“Huh.”
Why did Kristen seem surprised by that? If he was making films on the side, wouldn’t people know? Unless I was right about the nature of his films. In which case, he might be using a pseudonym. It started to come together.
“Just rumors. The movies are the stuff of legend. Secret.” I looked at him bug-eyed. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Thinking he was humoring me, Kristen ran his fingers over his chest. “Cross my heart. But tell me more about these films.”
“They’re real hardcore. The kind of things you can’t see in regular movies. They go all the way.” I rubbed my thighs together as if trying to get myself off with the friction.
“You can’t just get them anywhere.” I was making this up as I went along. “You have to know people. People who know people. They’re the luckiest people in the world, right?”
Kristen walked toward me. He was definitely intrigued now. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist hearing more about himself. But I was starting to babble. He got closer to keep me focused.
“What else did he say?”
“I do’n ’member.” I let my head fall to my shoulder. “Sleepy now.”
Kristen shook my shoulders. “Not now, Kevin. Wake up, baby. Tell me what your friend said about those movies.”
I darted my eyes toward Lucas. He was blinking rapidly. Another few minutes and he’d back with us.
“Movies . . . oh, yeah. He said he’s dying to see them. But very expensive. Only a few people can. People who know people. . .”
“Yes, we covered that part.”
“So rare. But beautiful. Are you going to make me beautiful, Kristen?”
I tried to project vulnerability.
“You’ll be beautiful forever, Kevin. Preserved on celluloid forever. Just as you are now.” He ran a hand across my chest. “The height of youth and allure. Never aging. Cut at the prime of life, like a perfect rose is pruned at the moment of its greatest glory.”
He walked out of sight while I let his words sink in. He returned with a silver cart, the kind high-end hotels use for room service.
But the only person who’d be ordering this delivery would be Jack the Ripper. I recognized scalpels and speculums among other spotless, stainless-steel implements. I didn’t know what most of them did, but they all ended in sharpened points, viselike jaws, or curling blades.
A sadist’s smorgasbord.
Holy shit.
It was all I could do not to scream. I kept my face as blank as possible. A small sound escaped my lips, but I caught it in time to make it seem like a sexy sigh.
“Anyone can film two boys fucking,” Kristen said, his eyes alight with excitement. “It’s the easiest thing in the world to make that look good. But to show w
hat lies beneath the skin. The muscle. The blood. That’s true art, Kevin.”
I nodded, but Kristen didn’t notice. He was lost in his own vile visions.
“To take what is considered ugly and make it beautiful. To turn pain into pleasure. Showing people what society says they’re not allowed to see . . . not even allowed to imagine . . . that’s the role of the true artist!
“You’ll be part of that, Kevin. Yes, there’s risk. Every artist on the cutting-edge faces persecution during his lifetime. That’s why I win awards for those insipid factory-made films I oversee but have to put my real art out under an assumed identity. Oh, it hurts not to be recognized for one’s work.
“But the money helps.” He looked at me just as I turned back to him. I was glad he hadn’t caught me watching for the first moment I was sure Lucas was awake.
“Your friend was right. My movies are expensive. There’s an underground network that will pay almost anything to see the forbidden. It’s made me quite rich.”
“And how do these movies end?” I asked.
“No spoilers,” Kristen teased, putting his finger over my lips. “Shhhh.”
Although I thought it might make me vomit, I had to be sure. I took his finger into my mouth and sucked, as if it were the most delicious thing in the world.
“Please,” I said. “I want to know. It will make it even better, daddy. I’ll do anything.” I slurped and drooled noisily on his extended digit.
“Oh, you’re good,” Kristen said huskily. “I knew you would be. I hadn’t meant to do this, you know. Usually, I get my talent in ways that can’t be traced back to me. But you forced my hand, Kevin. I couldn’t have you going to the police.
“I suppose you were your own casting agent,” he said. “The role of a lifetime. The end of a lifetime. Captured on film. I promise, it won’t hurt, my boy. A lot of it will even feel good. You’ll be young and beautiful forever.”
Snuff films. I’d always thought they were urban legends. Apparently not.
And here I was. A Star Is Born . . . and then Killed.
Not today.
Lucas’s eyes were finally open, but he hadn’t yet found his voice.
It was now or never.
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 a
sked.
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.
Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) Page 32
