by J. A. Rock
“No.” Nick reached up and held him by the shoulders. “What is this? You think I want to rub on you like a dog?”
Ilia shook his head.
Nick released him and leaned back against the head of the bed, the pillows jammed behind him. He tilted his head at Ilia.
Ilia leaned forward. He put his hands on Nick’s chest. There was a scar on his right pec, almost hidden by hair. It was narrow and white. Ilia traced it with his thumb, and the fear that jolted through him was almost pleasurable. Nick was a dangerous man.
Ilia lifted himself up. He held his weight on his thighs and reached one hand under himself to find Nick’s cock and angle it toward his ass.
No condom.
A dangerous man.
No lube.
It was right that it would hurt.
Ilia kept his gaze locked on Nick’s, and cried out when Nick’s cock breached him.
It was right.
III
Too many flashing pictures.
Ilia hadn’t had a migraine in years. He was aware of Nick, somewhere at the edges of his consciousness, talking to him. Telling him something. Maybe even asking if he was okay.
No. That was a hollow fantasy.
Ilia moaned and put the pillow over his eyes, and slept.
When he woke up later—hours or days—he heard voices in the apartment. He was still lightheaded, but his growling stomach drew him from bed. He slipped into jeans and a shirt and padded barefoot out to the kitchen.
“Ilia!” Doku looked surprised for a second, and then schooled his features into neutrality. He was an older man, narrow-faced with a large nose that had been broken more than once. He was ugly, and he was first to joke about it, but his eyes were clever and warm. He had been an associate of Mikhail’s and, from what Ilia had seen, possibly a mentor and a friend as well. Mikhail had been unusually relaxed in Doku’s company.
“Hello, Doku.” Ilia forgot about his stomach and moved to sit beside Nick on the sofa instead.
Nick looked up from the screen of the tablet he was holding. He waved his hand. “Talk. Talk. You are old friends, I am sure.”
But Doku didn’t speak, and Ilia couldn’t think of anything to say either. Every now and then, Ilia saw Doku’s gaze dart to him.
“Are we going to talk?” Doku asked Nick finally.
“Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of him,” Nick said, glancing up.
Ilia felt a flash of pride.
“Okay. Well…” Doku shifted. “The rat you killed. Basayev thinks you might have been too hasty.”
“Does he?”
“Basayev thinks he had nothing to do with the raid. He thinks you have drawn unwanted attention.”
Nick rubbed Ilia’s shoulder absently. “Maybe so. The rat never confessed, did he Ilia? Eventually I had to shoot him just to stop the screaming.”
There was still blood on the carpet outside the locked study door. Ilia had learned to ignore it.
“Still,” Nick said. “He might have been the rat.”
“Anyone might have been the rat,” Doku said.
“Yes, anyone,” Nick said, mock seriously. “Ilie—” He pinched Ilia. “Doku. Me. Anyone. Or maybe no one. Maybe the police are just that good.” He turned to Ilia. “What do you think? Are they just that good?”
His father’s hands on his arms. His familiar face, comforting on some deep level, when it should have made Ilia furious. When he should have seen a stranger.
“Give me your hands.”
“The cops had surveillance on Mikhail for a long time. Just couldn’t pin him,” Doku said. “So perhaps there is no rat.”
“Mm-hm-hmm.” Nick switched the tablet off and set it on the coffee table. Crossed his legs and steepled his fingers.
“I’m concerned that things have gotten too bloody too fast,” Doku went on. “You’re pissing a lot of people off.”
“Are you telling me I don’t know how to run the family business?” Nick asked. “I’m hurt.” He turned again to Ilia. “Wouldn’t you be hurt?”
“It’s not about how you run things. It’s a simple matter of discretion.” Doku looked around. “I mean, sooner or later, you’re going to have an inspector in here, or a repair worker, and they’re gonna wonder about the locks you’ve got on the doors.”
Nick nudged Ilia with his elbow. “I said, wouldn’t you be hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Ilia said.
Nick finally turned away from Ilia. “Yes, I’ve been playing with fire, that is true. With that boy we had over…”
“What boy?” Doku demanded, and Ilia glanced up.
Nick gave a lazy grin, deliberately casual. “Ilia has a friend. We invited him over the other night. He did seem curious about the locks. So I reminded him about client confidentiality, when I gave him his money.” Nick stretched. Tugged on the bow at the base of Ilia’s back. “If he knows what’s good for him, he will keep his mouth shut.”
“He’s not my friend,” Ilia said coldly.
Doku stared at Nick. “Be careful, Nikolay. You don’t just endanger yourself. You endanger all of us.”
Nick swiped a finger back and forth over the sofa cushion. “If it was your brother, Doku—wouldn’t you want to find the responsible party? Hell. Mikhail was your brother. Isn’t that how it works? We’re all family?”
“I was loyal to Mikhail. And I will be loyal to you, unless you give me reason not to be.”
“Good!” Nick slapped his palms down on his thighs. “Perhaps you will tell Basayev to do the same.”
“Basayev makes a fair point. You must have a target,” Doku said. “Otherwise you end up with a mess.”
“You’re right.” Nick nodded. “You are absolutely right. And I’ve been thinking about it.” He stood. Ilia noticed Doku’s gaze went immediately to the pocket where Nick kept his pistol. “I’m thinking it’s time I made my target the man who fired the bullet that ended my brother’s life.” He looked at Ilia. “What do you think?”
His meaning didn’t quite register with Ilia at first. Or it did, but Ilia pushed it aside.
But then he felt a slow tide of absolute cold, lapping at his insides, making him clench, ache, tremble. But he couldn’t get rid of it, and it grew higher, pushing, slamming at him.
“Nikolay,” Doku said quietly. “No.”
“I just got so tired of seeing him in the papers.” Nick waved a hand in agitation. “With his serious face.” He attempted an imitation. “And his serious quotes about how ‘unfortunate’ it was that the take down required lethal force.”
No, Nick. Ilia silently echoed Doku’s words.
No.
“So yes, Doku,” Nick continued, casting a sly smile at Ilia. “I do mean it. I think we should kill Captain Louis Porter.”
IV
Nick was growing frustrated. That would have been satisfying, if Ilia had been able to feel anything at all.
Nothing worked to rouse Ilia—not pain, not threats, not the withholding of food. Ilia lay in bed unless Nick dragged him from under the sheets. Then Ilia lay on the floor, or wherever Nick put him.
Nick’s anger left no impression on him. What happened to standing by my side, Ilia?” “So you are not a wolf at all then? Just a weak little boy?”
Coaxing had no effect either. “Come on, Ilia. I need your help with this. This will be the truest test of your loyalty to me. To Mikhail.”
Nothing even made it past the surface, until:
“You know what I think might cheer you up?” Nick, in the doorway, phone in hand. “A visit from your friend.”
No.
Patrick wasn’t his friend.
And he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back here.
Ilia didn’t want him back here.
“No,” Ilia said weakly.
“Shut up,” Nick replied, almost cheerfully.
He dialed.
V
Ilia watched as Nick counted out the crisp bills and placed them on the end o
f the bed.
“You don’t mind if Ilia and I talk while you massage him?”
“N-no. Not at all.” Patrick glanced quickly at Ilia and then away again.
Ilia could see the revulsion in that look, as well as something else. Anticipation. Maybe Patrick wasn’t such a boy scout after all. How could he be? He’d come here for something: either the money, or to see what strange game Nick and Ilia would play today.
Nick leaned in the doorway as Patrick unzipped his bag. “Take your pants off, Ilia. I think we are all a little past modesty, no?”
Ilia tugged his sweats down and lay on the bed on his stomach. There had been a time when he had been unashamed of his body because he was beautiful. Now... now he was unashamed because he was nothing. He was owned. Nick’s whore or Nick’s wolf, it didn’t matter. He was Nick’s, and if Nick wanted him naked then Ilia would be naked. If he wanted him to turn around and suck Patrick’s cock, he’d do it. There was nothing he wouldn’t do, was there?
“I think we should kill Captain Louis Porter.”
Ilia closed his aching eyes. Why was the idea so terrible? Shouldn’t he have wanted to kill his father himself? Shouldn’t he have been cold blooded, consumed with thoughts of vengeance for Mikhail? Except maybe a he didn’t believe in Nick’s universe of wolves and hierarchy and revenge. Maybe this was no great tragedy with all the players assembled on a sweeping stage. This was a big fucking mess, that was all. No winners. Just a big mess. A real clusterfuck, his dad would call it.
“Ilia.”
Ilia opened his eyes to find Nick crouching at the side of the bed.
“I made have made mistakes with you,” Nick said.
Ilia jerked as Patrick’s oiled hands smoothed over his shoulders. “What mistakes?”
“I thought I wanted what my brother had,” Nick said. “But you are not what he had. You will never be that again, will you?”
Ilia’s throat stung. “No.”
Nick smiled gently. “We are all of us changed by his death.”
Ilia’s universe had shattered. Nick’s, he thought, had suddenly expanded.
Patrick worked quietly, his fingers pressing into the tender flesh around the rings.
“And then I thought I could make you useful. Take the softness out of you. But it is not so simple.”
Ilia continued to stare at him. Maybe since Ilia had failed to be anything Nick wanted, Nick would put him down. Shoot him right now, with Patrick touching him. That wouldn’t be so bad.
“So I will take you as you are,” Nick said. “My sad little wolf. You remember what we agreed the other day. You will get strong for me, yes? You will find your bite. You will learn how to fight.”
“Yes, Nick.”
Nick reached out and stroked his hair. “Ah, good boy, Ilie.”
Ilia blinked away tears at the sound of his pet name, and at the sickening realization that he was agreeing to something here. Agreeing to be molded into Nick’s image of him. Agreeing to bite, and to fight, and maybe even agreeing to help kill Captain Louis Porter. But he was tired, soothed by Nick’s tone and Patrick’s solicitous touch, and didn’t have the strength to disagree.
A real clusterfuck.
“But I still want what he had,” Nick said. “My brother. I want a pretty boy. I want a sweet boy. I want a boy who will be a whore and decorate his skin for me.”
He moved so suddenly that Ilia didn’t even realize what was happening. He heard Patrick’s shout, and then a crash as weight hit the closet doors. Ilia sat up and twisted around, staring down at Patrick who cowered on the floor while Nick stood over him holding his gun.
Nick glanced at Ilia. “I think this one will do.”
“Nick,” Ilia said, his heart stammering wildly. “Remember what Doku said about calling attention to ourselves?”
“This one lives alone,” Nick said. “In a terrible building. I would not let a dog live there. There is nobody to miss him.”
Ilia stared down at Patrick, at the panic on his face and the tears in his eyes, and tried to remember that this was Patrick’s fault. He had been greedy enough or stupid enough to come back here.
“Please,” Patrick whispered. “Please!”
He was a fool. Nick had assaulted him and pulled a gun on him. There was no way he would allow him to leave the apartment now.
“I won’t say anything! I won’t tell!”
Liar.
Well, perhaps not a liar, but why take the risk?
“Get up,” Nick said, gesturing with the gun.
Patrick climbed to his feet, his body shaking.
“I want you on the bed, hands and knees,” Nick said. “Show me how untried you are.”
Patrick shook his head. “No, please. Please don’t.”
Nick raised the gun.
Patrick began to cry in earnest.
Ilia climbed off the bed. “I’m going to watch TV.”
He closed the door on his way out, then sat in the living room with the volume turned up on some movie with car chases and explosions, so he couldn’t hear Patrick’s sobs.
VI
“Give me your hands.”
Ilia had found him in the bathroom, cowering beside the shower cubicle.
Patrick shook his head and hunched over further, like he was trying to curl up so tightly that he vanished.
“Your hands,” Ilia repeated, and Patrick relented. Ilia drew him to his feet. “You need to get cleaned up.”
Patrick was cold, shaking. His khakis were torn, and his shirt was unbuttoned. His feet were bare.
Ilia led him over to the sink, and ran some hot water. He took a washcloth and wiped Patrick’s face, hoping the warmth would bring color back into his pale face. Patrick kept a death grip on the bathroom counter, staring down into the sink.
Ilia stood behind him. “I need to check if you’re bleeding. Not going to do anything else, okay?”
Patrick nodded sharply.
Ilia slid the khakis down. Patrick’s underwear was stained, but not with blood. Cum and lube. Ilia swiped the washcloth gently between Patrick’s cheeks, not wanting to delve too far. He checked the cloth. “It’s okay, I think. He used lube. Look, why don’t you get into the shower and I’ll get you some clean clothes?”
“I want to go home now.” Patrick’s voice was flat. His eyes were closed, and Ilia wondered if he was watching his universe collapsing.
“The doors are locked,” Ilia said. “You can’t go home.”
“I won’t tell,” Patrick whispered. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“You shouldn’t have come back here,” Ilia told him.
Patrick opened his eyes. He frowned and shook his head as though he was confused. “I needed...I needed to pay my rent. I won’t tell.” His voice cracked.
All that misery dammed up behind those words, and Ilia didn’t want to be there when it broke through. Couldn’t stand to listen to someone else’s misery, when he could hardly keep his own contained.
“Get in the shower, Patrick,” he said. “He’ll probably want to fuck again before morning.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I
“Come lie down with me, Patrick,” Nick said from the bedroom doorway.
Patrick, who’d been sitting on the floor near Ilia’s feet for the last hour, ostensibly watching TV, tensed visibly.
“Just lie down.” Nick’s voice was terribly calm. “Nothing else, for now.”
Ilia tried to keep his gaze on the screen.
“I don’t want to,” Patrick said quietly.
Ilia closed his eyes. Patrick was a dumbfuck if ever there was one.
Nick walked over. Crouched. Hooked a hand around Patrick’s jaw and forced his chin up. “Come on, please. I don’t like a fuss.”
Patrick shook his head as much as Nick’s grip would allow. “No.”
“I promise nothing will hurt,” Nick said, almost kindly. “No sex.”
“I still don’t want to,” Patrick repeated furiously.
Nick sighed and stood. “Well. My brother’s whore was always willing, and I suppose I’d like mine to be too.”
Ilia made himself relax. Just words. Just foolish, meaningless words.
“I’ll tell you what,” Nick said. “I have to run out. Ilia, I want Patrick in my bed by the time I get back. If you can’t convince him, the consequences will affect both of you.”
Ilia nodded.
Nick left.
Ilia stared at the TV screen as Patrick climbed to his feet. He heard Patrick rattle the front door. Heard his footsteps treading back. Heard him slide the balcony door open and imagined him peering over the edge.
Long way down, Patrick.
Patrick vanished into the bedroom. He was in there a long time, which finally provoked Ilia’s curiosity enough to get up and go and check. He almost laughed. “A bedsheet ladder, Patrick? Classic.”
“Fuck you!” Patrick tugged on the knot he had made, grimacing when the satiny fabric slipped.
Ilia leaned in the doorway. “And if by some miracle you don’t break your neck, what then? You think Nikolay Kadyrov will just let you leave?”
“He’s wrong. People will miss me. My coworkers. And I have and aunt and uncle I talk to every—”
“You’re not hearing me. Even if you get out, you think that’s it? You’re free”
“The police will—”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Patrick! The police will fall all over themselves to get your statement, but then what? You think Nick will let you get to trial? You think organizations like his—” Like Mikhail’s. “—don’t have cops or DAs or judges on the payroll? You’ll be dead in a week. If you’re lucky, they’ll just shoot you in the street. If you’re not, they’ll teach you a lesson first.”
“I won’t go to the police. I’ll run away!”
“He’ll still find you. Still make you pay.”
Patrick stared at him, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed. “So I should just stay here and let him...let him rape me?”
Rape.
“When a dog bites the neck of a bitch and fucks it, is that rape?”
