by CJ Roberts
“Sukat!” said the man. The boy knew that word, it was what the man always said when he cried or screamed. The boy forced his mouth shut, trying to breathe through his nose and swallowing all the blood that drained into the back of his throat because of it. He was no longer hungry. His belly was full of blood now.
His hunger had led to this. Every morning Narweh placed a scarce amount of unleavened bread and water on a small table in the room, eyeing the boys wickedly as he left. There were six of them in all; two English boys, one Spaniard, two Arabs, and the boy.
At first they shared it in equal measure, but as the days wore on and hunger set in, it became a battle that ended in a full belly for one or two, and a bloody nose for those that challenged. The boy was often the victor in such battles, but on more than one occasion the collective strength of the others was used to rob him of his spoils. Such had been the case that day.
When he’d smelled the food, he hadn’t been able to help it. It had been two days since his last won meal. The water had been hot and the bread cold, but he’d savored it all too quickly. Not enough. The plate on the table had lots of things, and he thought he smelled chicken. He was still young enough that all meat was “chicken” to him. He sat at the small table and picked up the meat. It burned his mouth, but he didn’t care, the tingling tickle infusing his lips, tongue and throat wasn’t enough to overpower the deliciousness of his stolen meal.
The boy hadn’t seen the blow coming. One moment his mouth was filled with delicious chicken and the next, blood and dirt. He didn’t even know what he’d been hit with. He didn’t really know why he’d deserve it, just that he wouldn’t do it again.
“Ghabi! Kéleb!”
Something hot and wet collided with the side of his face. His eyes were really on fire now. His small hands rubbed at his eyes but it only made matters worse. He screamed, gurgling sounds bubbling out of his blood filled throat. Still, in the grips of his agony, he could taste the savory food sliding into his mouth. He swallowed. Eyes tightly shut against the burning pain of the spices he dragged the food out of his hair and across his face into his mouth. It burned twice as much as before because there were open cuts in his mouth. But he was, apparently, still too hungry to care.
Kéleb, the man continued to call him, then grabbed him by the nape and dragged him across the floor while he struggled to crawl on hands and knees.
The boy cried.
Screamed.
Begged for his mother.
She never came. He hated her.
The air was thick. Tangible. Filled with an all-consuming excitement for things to come. She wasn’t far. His fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel of the SUV. Stroke her or strangle her? He still didn’t know. He only knew he wanted his hands on her. He gripped the wheel tighter and pressed farther down on the gas pedal. Jair gave him a bemused look from the passenger seat. Fuck him.
“How did she get away?” Jair accused. Caleb shot him a look he hoped could murder him where he sat. Jair only smiled. “She must be good. I look forward to having a taste after Rafiq learns she’s ruined.”
Caleb said nothing, focused instead on controlling the rage running rampant through his veins. This time was critical. He still didn’t know Rafiq’s purpose in Jair and reacting would only lend credence to things that weren’t true. Caleb’s loyalties remained intact, even if his resolve had wavered for a fraction of a moment. “Touch her and I’ll cut off your hands,” he grated. Stupid. “We’re here.”
Caleb parked the SUV some distance from their intended target. The house hadn’t been difficult to spot. It was the only house with any lights on and the only one blaring music. Still, he didn’t want to risk losing the element of surprise. “Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.” One of the very first lessons in Sun Tzu’s, The Art of War.
The second car containing Jair’s cousins pulled up behind them and cut the engine. The three men exited the vehicle and immediately headed toward the rear of the SUV to retrieve their weapons. Caleb’s hand sought his S&W Model 29 revolver with its powerful .44 magnum cartridges; it was enough to blow a hole through a door. Or a face. Whatever. He looked at Jair, resisting the urge to shoot him in the head and just be done with it, but he managed to restrain himself. Jair still had some uses.
Caleb looked at the revolver. He hadn’t fired it in quite some time, but already a familiar feeling was making its way through his fingers, up his arm, spreading through his chest and forcing his heart to speed. His head swam with adrenaline, and three feet below that he grew semi-erect at the thought of killing and taking back what was rightfully his.
Jair checked his AK-47 and Caleb observed how he stroked the weapon. He understood Jair in ways he rarely did. Blood lust and shared understanding that there was any commonality between them made him feel nothing but disgust. Jair snorted and spat on the ground near Caleb’s feet. Caleb drew his weapon, checking its functionality and watching Jair. Both their fingers curved around the trigger of their weapons. “Well?” Jair challenged, when Caleb said nothing Jair continued, “Let’s go retrieve your little whore.”
He wasn’t afraid. Fear was reserved for those who had something to live for. Caleb was long over fear. As his gaze swept from Jair to his cousins, he let them see. He let them see there was nothing inside, and each man looked away, hiding his own fear. Jair sneered. Caleb turned his back on them, his way of letting them know who was in complete control and to follow.
The trunk was closed with a soft click, but to Caleb it’d exploded, a feeling cutting through him. He didn’t look back. Jair and his men eventually followed. Their steps crunching against the dusty, pebbled ground resonated in the stark stillness of pre-dawn. Up ahead the lights grew brighter, the music louder and finally Caleb heard voices. Loud, angry, hysterical voices. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong and again, that foreign sensation—it stirred and bloomed. His heart stuttered. His steps faltered and he paused to regain control. A deep, calm breath. Another. And another. A sound, feminine and angry traveled down the distance. Before he knew it—he ran. The men followed quietly behind.
Caleb pulled up short as he neared so none inside would even realize they were there. He took cover beneath a small window.
“You are such a dumb fuck! What the hell are we supposed to do with her now?” a man yelled inside. Caleb’s heart slammed in his chest, and he was rendered nearly deaf by the sound thundering in his ears. He fought to control his breathing. What had they done to her?
“The fucking bitch bit me, what did you want me to do!” another man replied. Caleb carefully lifted his head and looked through the window. He recognized the biker from the bar, the one who called himself Tiny. He was a big sonofabitch and he only looked more so as he paced the small living room in his clunky biker boots. He pushed his hand through his long, greasy hair and spoke again, “What the fuck were you assholes doing in there to begin with? I told you not to fuck with her.”
A petite blonde appeared from an area behind the two arguing men. Street trash, Caleb thought, too much makeup and too little clothing, and hungry, always starving for something. And unpredictable. “We were just messing around Tiny. She’s the one who got crazy.”
Tiny pointed—nothing but menace in his eyes. “You stay out of this, bitch. I know what you were doing there.”
Caleb tried to assess how many combatants were in the house by sight and sound. It wasn’t a large house but big enough and sounds carried in a bare space. And where was the girl? It took every ounce of self-control for Caleb to remain where he was. He needed to know what he was up against. If the girl was still alive, he needed to make sure he could get to her before the shooting started. If. If she’s alive…if. He pressed against the trigger of his weapon. One thing he was certain of, if any of them had hurt her….
The one with the lanky black hair had done something to her. He had hurt her, possibly raped her…killed her. Caleb swallowed past the dryness in his mouth. He
was going to kill that motherfucker and he was going to make the blonde watch, giving her a preview of things to come.
“Fuck you, Tiny,” the blonde retorted, “Blame Abe and Joker, they’re the ones who couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants. Not. Me.”
Caleb bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood. The men behind him shifted their feet in the dirt as they waited for Caleb to give the signal.
“This is the only entrance,” Jair whispered, breaking through his murderous thoughts. “How many inside?”
“Two men and a woman in the living room, at least one more in the back. There could be others.” It was time. The girl could be dead or dying and Caleb didn’t have time to wait for the rest of the gang to emerge.
“There’s five bikes out here,” Jair pointed out.
Caleb gave a nod. “Two missing. Jair, Dani, the two of you bust in the door and the rest of us will come in behind you. I’ll head toward the back with Khalid and find the girl.” He glanced over at Jair and the man smiled. “When it begins, make them feel it. I don’t want it to be quick.”
“For once, you and I agree.” The smile grew even broader. “I like this side of you, Caleb.”
Narweh’s English consisted only of simple words and phrases – yes, no, eat, sleep, come, and sex. His main form of communication was using a stick to beat understanding into the boys, though sometimes, he did much worse.
There were other things that went on, things Kéleb forced himself not to think about. When he was pliant he was often rewarded with food, clothing, or gifts from different men, and though he loathed what he did to get such rewards, he’d done his best to endure. When he refused, the beatings that took place were more than some grown men could withstand.
Eventually, Kéleb grew in years, height, and beauty. Armed with all these, his arrogance and quick wit were soon to follow. He knew more Arabic than English, though the English boys helped him retain a rudimentary knowledge. He soon chose his tormentors, pitting them against one another with the promise of true affection, though he was incapable of giving it. Still a child in the eyes of many and treated with little more than cruelty, he understood only one thing—survival.
Each night, as he huddled close to his partners in suffering on the dirty floor of the brothel they were held in he remembered less and less the boy he had been. Worse, he no longer cared. He was Dog. It was all he had ever been. Instinct. Hunger.
He was always hungry. For food, for shelter, for power, for more…constantly more. He even learned to crave the pain. It meant he was still alive, still surviving. If he could handle the pain, control his reaction to it, make it work for him instead of against him, then he was free. And more than anything, Kéleb was hungry for freedom.
Narweh knew this. Had always somehow known. It was the reason the other girls and boys were called by alluring names to entice the patrons while he was called Dog. It was meant to demean him, to drag him to a place where he was no longer human. To make him feel less than human. It didn’t work. When Narweh looked into his eyes, Kéleb refused to lower them. And one day Narweh had had enough.
Kéleb knew he was about to be punished. He knelt on the ground and was unafraid. Narweh loved to beat him and he no longer struggled against it. He had too much pride for that.
He gritted his teeth when asked to undress. “It’s to be rape then?” he said in perfect Arabic, “Do your friends know how much you love fucking dogs.” Kéleb’s face throbbed with the slap he received, but he bore it in silence, fists clenched at his sides. He was free, he reminded himself.
Raising his calm and steady eyes to meet Narweh’s frenzied ones, he removed his thobe. Narweh’s eyes remained venomous, but now lust swirled behind the rage. Kéleb nearly smiled. Yes, he was a beautiful animal. Another slap and Kéleb forced himself to look away, but not toward the ground, never that.
There was noise behind him, he wanted to look but would not give the son of a bitch the satisfaction of piquing his curiosity. It didn’t matter, the mystery was soon revealed. A mirror. Narweh placed a mirror directly in front of him. In it he saw his bearing waver. This was too much, he couldn’t possibly watch this. And yet, he refused to stare at the floor.
“What’s the matter?” Narweh taunted, “Don’t you like looking at how beautiful you are? Vanity; it’s the plague of your entire race. It’s the reason you think you deserve everything when you deserve nothing, less than nothing. Death is all you deserve.”
Kéleb strained against every impulse rushing through his body. He willed himself to remain still, he could handle this. He could handle anything.
Narweh knelt behind him and Kéleb ceased to breathe. Anything but this. Please. Anything. He closed his eyes. “Shut them and I will make it so you never can again.” For the first time in a long time, Kéleb almost whimpered.
Lifting his thobe and spitting into his hand Narweh prepared to enter him and there was not a thing to be done. It was this or death. Kéleb dug deep into the part of him determined to be free. He took a deep breath and held it as he was entered savagely, refusing to make the slightest sound. But the mirror…the mirror forced him to see what he tried to pretend wasn’t real. He wasn’t free. Behind the boy, in the glass, Narweh smiled at him. Kéleb looked at the ground.
It wasn’t over quickly. Narweh did not simply wish to use him as he had in the past, throwing him to the ground and rutting against him like a savage beast, punching and slapping him. He took his time. He wanted Kéleb to feel every moment of the urge to fight back, and the moment after it when he realized he couldn’t. A sob finally broke through, and he was forced to look up at the boy in the mirror. He was…broken.
Kéleb hated the boy, hated his weakness. In a rage he struck out at the mirror, shattering it and tossing it to the ground. He lunged for the shards of broken glass, extricating himself as he turned on his tormentor. Narweh laughed, loudly. Kéleb flew toward him, fingers bleeding as they gripped the broken mirror.
For all his size, Kéleb was still a boy, still lanky and awkward. His strength meant nothing against Narweh. As he lunged toward him, Narweh planted his foot firmly into his stomach and tossed him over his head and onto the ground. His vision blurred and his breath left him.
Narweh stood quickly, taking swift advantage. His foot collided repeatedly with Kéleb’s ribs, genitals and chest. Kéleb rolled onto his side groping for air and Narweh’s foot. Neither aim was achieved. He blacked out as the darkness encroached around him.
The next time he opened his eyes it was to expel a silent scream as his skin was split open. Before he knew what was happening, he was struck again and again. He tried to move his limbs, to run, to fight, but he was tied down. Wet fire danced along his back and he instantly knew he would die that night. The whip landed again, another tearing of flesh. This time Kéleb managed to scream.
A rush unlike any Caleb had ever felt raced through his veins as the sound of angry gunfire and splintering wood erupted. Rat-tat-tat-tat. Creak. BOOM. The door was kicked in. Racing footsteps—theirs. Startled yelps and angry shouts—from inside.
Jair was the first one in, his warrior cry stunning their prey even further. By the time Tiny thought to act, he was cracked across the face with the butt of Jair’s weapon. Blood sprayed across the wall behind Tiny as he fell to the ground. First blood, but not the last.
The woman screamed and darted toward the hallway, screaming for someone named Kid. Caleb rushed in after her. Behind him two of Jair’s cousins were beating the other biker in the living room with Tiny.
The woman was screaming at someone. There were two doors ahead of Caleb. One to the right with a light on, the other directly ahead, door shut. Caleb fired two shots at the door in front of him. The door swung open and Caleb hit the ground. Shuck-Shuck-Boom! The shotgun blast rang out in the narrow space of the hallway. “Come get some motherfucker!” the man at the end of the hall yelled. Shuck-Shuck.
Caleb lifted his head and aimed for the biker’s pelvic area. He wanted
to avoid center mass, but he couldn’t risk aiming for the knee and missing. He fired. The biker wailed in agony as the bullet hit. He dropped the cocked shotgun and clutched at his lower abdomen, blood already covered his quaking fingers and shock distorted the man’s features. Behind Caleb, Khalid laughed uproariously as he leapt over Caleb’s splayed legs to cover the second door. Caleb let out a breath. He needed to steel himself for what he might find.
He lifted himself into a crouch and hugged the wall nearest the door. “This can be very simple,” he called out. “Your friends can’t help you.” He paused, letting that sink in. “We just want the girl.”
“Fuck you!” It was the woman who spoke. She was hysterical. Unpredictable. “I’ll kill this fucking bitch, I swear to god I will.” Caleb’s heart tripped all over itself. She’s alive.
“Make her say something!” Caleb shouted back. Heavy breathing, resistance. Panicked squeals.
“I-I,” a male voice now, faltering, “I think she’s in shock or something. Look man, we didn’t have anything to do with it. I swear.” The man’s voice cracked with panic as he spoke. “Just…go and we’ll leave her here for you.”
Caleb looked at Khalid. He was poised to strike, anticipating the kill. Any second now, this could get complicated and it wouldn’t matter to Khalid if the girl was dead or alive. It only mattered to Caleb. In fact, for Jair, dead would be better. Rafiq would blame Caleb and Jair and his cousins would savor the ensuing confrontation.
Caleb thought quickly what his options were. What were the chances the two were armed? The door at the end of the hall was a bedroom and the house wasn’t very big at all. Who carried a weapon into the bathroom? Caleb took decisive action.
Everything moved in slow motion. Khalid’s footsteps as he went for the shotgun lying next to the bleeding biker. The curdled scream of the blonde as Caleb’s weapon rounded the corner of the door. The young man’s panicked yell as he clutched a bloody mass to his chest and scrambled toward the farthest corner of the small bathroom. The blonde threw herself at Caleb, clutching at his hair and clothes as she shouted like a banshee in his ear. One hard shove and she sprawled over the toilet, gasping for breath as the impact forced the air from her lungs.
