by H. M. Wolfe
Leon never stopped wondering, after he’d been sentenced to fight in the ring, why he remembered so little from the pre-Julianna period, and the more he thought, the clearer the picture became. Just like his best friend, Liam—who may as well be his brother—he had been drugged with that goddamn toxin, day after day, year after year.
That explained why Francis’s teachings about non-violent ways of solving the conflicts had echoed in his mind from the start. Leon’s need to change, to become a better man, was almost an urge, like being decent was his true nature, lying dormant inside the beast the drug turned him into.
The man sighed heavily, shifting his position so he could pick another letter. But a little more than a quarter of the way into it, his vision blurred, so he decided to call it a day. Carefully folding the letters he’d read, Leon placed them at the bottom of the box, putting the ones he hadn’t taken out of the envelope on top of them.
In his room, Ezra also shifted in bed, unable to sleep, as had been the same every night for the past few days. He felt cornered and lost with no one to turn to for the first time since he’d been under Leon’s protection. The young man let out a long sigh, wishing he could unsee what he saw but knew it was impossible.
Living with the kind man and his mouthy but very intelligent and caring protégé made Ezra realize the huge difference between that warm environment and the oppressive atmosphere at home. So, after a week, he talked with Leon, explained to him the situation and asked if he could stay there for good.
Ezra had all the space he needed and slowly he got back on his feet. As a way to repay the kindness the man and the teen showed him, the young man offered to do the cooking and cleaning, much to Alasdair’s enthusiasm. Everything was going well until that fateful day when Ezra saw the kid’s bruised neck, arms, and torso.
The first time the raven-haired boy confronted the redhead, the kid denied everything, but then he tearfully admitted the abuse, stubbornly refusing to reveal the identity of the aggressor. More than that, Alasdair swore Ezra to secrecy, forbidding him from talking to Leon about the incident.
However, the young man decided, after an internal struggle spanning several days, that keeping such a secret from Leon would equal sentencing Alasdair to death. He left his room, but before walking to the man’s room, decided to go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.
Here, with a mug filled with tea in one hand, sat Leon, who felt something was wrong from the second his gaze landed on the young man’s face and saw the troubled look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong. You have a hard time sleeping too?” he asked, smiling warmly.
“We have to talk,” Ezra blurted out. “I think Alasdair is being abused.”
“What?!” Leon almost dropped the mug from his hand. “What do you mean by that? Alasdair? Abused, how?” the man said, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Ezra plopped down on a chair. “I saw it with my own eyes. Not the abuse, but the evidence of it. Large, bruised areas on his torso and arms; he even had a nasty one on the neck as if someone had tried to strangle him,” the young man whispered.
“When was that?” Leon’s voice had an edge to it; his protective instincts kicking in and bringing to the surface a tiny piece of the beast he once was.
“A couple of weeks ago, maybe less. I didn’t confront him on the spot. I was afraid he’d be scared and would run away or do some other stupid things like that. People, especially kids, can react very badly in situations like this. I know. I’ve been there,” Ezra said, his eyes empty.
Leon stood up, went to the young man, and took him in his arms. “You were very brave, a survivor, and now everything’s over. You are safe, and so will Alasdair be as soon as we get to the bottom of this. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let the things degenerate like this.”
“Um... There’s one thing I forgot to tell you,” Ezra said, clearing his throat. “When I finally confronted Alasdair, he admitted someone hit him but refused to tell me who. More than that, he made me promise that I wouldn’t talk with you about it. So, if you ask him straight...”
“He’s going to realize that it was you who told me,” Leon finished the sentence. “I have my suspicions about who the aggressor is, and I will bring the matter to an end in a very diplomatic fashion,” he assured Ezra.
“You know who did this to Alasdair?” The young man’s eyes widened from shock. “Why haven’t you done anything about it, then?”
Leon shook his head. “All I had were some vague suspicions, and as you pointed out, I couldn’t interrogate the kid based on them. It’s the bastard from the grocery store where Alasdair works part-time, but no work for him from tomorrow. It’s over,” he said in a stern voice.
“Well, good luck with that. You have all my sympathy in advance because you’re going to need it when the resident redhead starts screaming your ears off about his college funds, and so on. Not that he’s not right, especially since I am a burden from more than one point of view.”
Saying that, Ezra lowered his head, hugging his still very thin form. Leon looked at him; his heart breaking for the poor kid. Inhaling sharply, the man decided to finally reveal the good news, hoping to lift the weight from Ezra’s soul and make him smile again. He also valued the young man’s opinion. Another reason why Leon wanted to share those things with him.
“You’re not a burden, in any way, and I mean it. Since you came here, Alasdair has more time to study because you took the cooking, cleaning, and other chores upon yourself. This also gave me time to take care of... other things,” he said, looking in Ezra’s dark blue eyes.
“What other things? Like, illegal stuff?” the kid asked, his voice sounding scared. He suddenly realized that, although Leon quit both his jobs to take care of him after they took him in, there was plenty of money for everything.
“No, don’t worry. I’m not a fool anymore,” the man answered in a reassuring voice. “Some time ago, I did very bad things and hurt a lot of people, but those days are over now. The things I mentioned earlier are as legal as they can be. I’m going to officially adopt Alasdair.”
“Wow, that’s great news!” Ezra walked to Leon, hugging him. “You’re a great guy. Alasdair will be so glad when he finds out! Of course, this won’t spare you from him yelling at you about his college fund,” the young man added in an amused voice.
“I don’t know,” Leon answered. “You see, there’s enough money for Alasdair to go to any college he wants, with or without a scholarship. I also created a fund for you to use as you see fit. The house is in my name, and it will go to Alasdair if something happens to me. The rest of the money...”
“W-Wait! How much money? And how did you get it?” Ezra asked, making efforts to mask the uneasiness in his voice.
Leon admonished himself mentally, realizing that he should start at the beginning, gradually preparing the kid for the part of the story that was the most difficult to accept. But that was it, and all the man could hope was that he would be able to straighten things up by explaining everything properly.
“One million dollars,” he said in a low voice. “I inherited it from the man who saw me as worthy to be redeemed. All I have to do is to find this guy, Cesare Fenelli, or Brentano, and ask him to avenge the guy’s brother’s death.”
“And that’s it? Just find this Cesare, tell him to avenge some dude’s dead brother, and then walk away into the sunset? And why has the man two identities? Who is he, Fenelli or Brentano?” Ezra’s voice was shaking, his eyes filled with fear.
“Fenelli was his mother’s maiden name, and Brentano, Francis suspected, was the name of his biological father. It’s nothing dangerous. I just have to find the guy and deliver the message, that’s all.”
“I-I trust you. It’s the other ones I don’t trust. All the people who could harm you, these people, those from your past...” The tears pooling in Ezra’s eyes threatened to spill any second.
“It will be all right. Everything will be just fine, I promise.�
�� Leon left his seat again, taking the kid in his arms and rubbing his back. “Let’s get to sleep, buddy. It’s late, and tomorrow is going to be a long, complicated day,” he said.
The next day, Ezra and Alasdair were having breakfast when the sound of the doorbell interrupted them. The older one gestured to the redhead to continue eating while he headed to the front door, opening it.
“Is there a Mister Alasdair, a redhead, living here?” the courier, a man in his late thirties, early forties, asked. “I have a package for him.”
“Sure, wait a minute, please,” Ezra said, disappearing into the kitchen, from where he returned a minute later, said kid in tow.
“I’m Alasdair. My roommate told me you have a package for me.” He turned to the courier, somewhat surprised.
“Okay, sign here, please.” The man gave him a pen, after examining his face and eyes with great attention. “Here’s your package. Have a nice day.”
“It’s quite a heavy bastard,” Alasdair complained, carrying the package into the living-room while Ezra started to clean the table and wash the dishes.
“Aren’t you going to open it and see what’s inside? Or aren’t you curious, after all?” the raven-haired teen shouted from the kitchen, a note of disappointment in his voice. He wanted to add something, but the sound of the doorbell cut him short.
“I’m working on it. Go open the door,” Alastair answered. “It’s Peyton; they aren’t going to bite you,” he added.
But Ezra hadn’t heard the redhead as he stood in the doorway, breathless and speechless, staring at the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Their wonderful green eyes, shadowed by thick, long, arched lashes, had a melancholic look and the full pink lips were extremely kissable. For a second, Ezra wondered how those lips would feel on his, but Alasdair’s voice brought him back to reality.
“Hey, guys, what are you doing there? Peyton, aren’t you going to come inside? Do you want to hang around outside the house or to hang out with us inside?”
“Um... In a minute, Alasdair,” a sweet voice spoke, its heavenly sound music to Ezra’s ears. “I’m Peyton, the grumpy guy’s friend,” the voice continued, its possessor extending a hand.
“I... I’m Ezra, sorry for being so bad-mannered,” the raven-haired kid stuttered, taking the small, soft hand and squeezing it lightly.
“You guys, I can’t believe it. It’s... Wow!” Alasdair exclaimed from the living room, making the two other kids start as they had been lost in each other’s eyes.
“What is it now, redhead?” Peyton asked, rolling their eyes. “What did you discover?”
“I’m not kidding. Come and see what I got this morning,” the kid spoke again, shock and disbelief mixed in his voice.
“The package, you mean?” Ezra stepped into the living-room, Peyton closely following him.
There, on the floor, sat Alasdair, shaking his head in disbelief, staring at the pile of books in front of him. Some of them were brand new with shiny covers, while others were old, printed in fonts that hadn’t been in use for decades, centuries even. Near the pile, Ezra noticed a rectangular piece of paper. Picking it up, he started to read the words written in cursive letters.
To my little healer. Use them wisely. A.
The young man frowned, trying to remember if Alasdair had mentioned a friend of his whose name started with the letter A. “Who’s this guy? Do you know him?” he asked the redhead, who still couldn’t believe what he saw.
“No,” he finally said, raising his head, frowning from concentration. “There’s no one with the name starting with A that I know, from school or anywhere
Peyton, who hadn’t spoken until then, cleared their throat. “What about Paul? His last name is Anderson so that could be him. You’ve hung out a lot lately, and I thought... you know...”
“Well, that Anderson friend of yours must’ve screwed up big time to send these books as a reconciliation gift,” Ezra said dryly. “I don’t know if you realize,” he continued, “but there’s a small fortune in books here.”
“Of course, it was Paul, who else?” Alasdair said aloud. “And he doesn’t screw up, ever. I’m the one who...” The beep of his phone cut the redhead short. As he read the message, his body became tense, worry etching his features. However, all of that took just a second. “I’ll leave you guys. Paul messaged me. I’m going to meet him in half an hour, and I better not be late.
****
“Stupid bitch!” Paul spat, punching Alasdair in the stomach with full force, making him drop to his knees, hands clutched over the damaged area. “Why didn’t you come the other day when I messaged you?”
The redhead sucked in a breath, fighting back the tears pooling in his eyes. “I told you, my uncle visited us, and I couldn’t leave him and come here. Please, believe me, Paul. I wouldn’t dare to...”
“Bullshit! I don’t care about your stupid relatives, and you shouldn’t either! Not when I expressly ordered you to come here! But no, you chose to defy me without thinking about the consequences.” A deadly silence followed as Paul started to unbuckle his belt.
“No!” Alasdair screamed in pain as the first hit landed on his back. “Please forgive me, just this time! I’ll be a good boy. I’ll never disobey you again!”
“Stay put, bitch!” Paul grabbed the redhead by the hair, slamming him on the bed, face down, then started to hit him with the belt again and again until he got tired. “Good,” the boy spat. “He’s going to be satisfied with the way you look. I will tell him that you prefer the belt.” He snickered.
Alasdair’s spine went ice-cold at the mention of ‘him’ because the teenager suspected something very bad was hiding behind the harmless word. “Who’s he?” the redhead spoke through hitching breaths, summoning all his courage.
“Your next master. Come on, bitch, move!” Paul yelled at him. “Don’t make me look bad in front of him or else.”
Rummaging through one of the drawers, he pulled out a collar with a leash attached to it, putting it around Alasdair’s neck and viciously tugging at the leash. Once out of the house, Paul shoved the redhead into the trunk of his car and started to drive. After about half an hour, the car stopped abruptly, the well-built boy brutally dragging the redhead out of the trunk.
“We’re here, bitch. Behave!” he said, tugging harshly at the leash and slapping Alasdair on the back of his head.
“Who are you and what brings you here?” a man in his mid to late twenties and twice as big as Paul asked.
“I’m Paul Anderson. I’m here to see your boss. I brought him the bitch boy as I promised, and I want to be paid as we agreed.”
“Follow me,” the man spoke harshly, casting a glance in Alasdair’s direction. For a moment, the redhead thought he saw compassion in those cold eyes, but then his shoulders slumped as the spark was gone.
“The ones you’ve been waiting for are here.” The man escorting the two teens spoke as the three of them stepped inside what appeared to be a large storage building.
“Come closer,” a voice spoke, making Alasdair flinch. It was ice-cold and sharp as a blade, but at the same time, it gave the redhead a strange sense of safety. “Not you, him,” the voice spoke again, even colder than the first time as Paul took a step in his direction.
“Who, me?” Alasdair whispered, head down, hands shaking.
“Yes, you,” the man said. “And strip. Drew will help you with that,” he continued, gesturing to the hunky guy who escorted them.
With surprisingly gentle moves, Drew helped the shaky redhead to get out of the t-shirt Paul shredded with the belt, then took off his pants, leaving the underwear on him. Alasdair felt exposed and started to shake. To mask the trembling, he hugged himself tightly, hoping no one would notice, especially his new owner.
“Look me in the eyes. I won’t bite.” The redhead heard that voice again, the one that made him feel safe, so he raised his head. “My name is Ardan. What’s yours? And who did this to you?”
“I-I’m A
lasdair, a-and Paul punished me because... because I was defiant and disobedient,” he finally managed to articulate, casting a fearful glance in his ex-boyfriend’s direction.
“Look, I don’t want to intervene in your lovey-dovey talk with your new whore, but I want my money,” Paul raised his voice all of a sudden. “Like, really, you are so sweet that I’m sick to my stomach,” he continued.
“But of course,” Ardan smiled, “I’m always happy to oblige.” Then, he pulled out his gun, shooting Paul between his eyes.
The teen went down on his knees first, then landed face down, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Alasdair stared in shock at the man who fired the gun, at his cold, turquoise eyes hidden behind the glasses, at the pale lips tightly pressed together, thinking he was next.
“Drew, take Alasdair to his room and run a bath for him. I’ll be there in a minute. Seymour, take some of the guys from the cleaning team and get rid of the mess,” Ardan spoke in a commanding voice.
“Come on, kid. Let’s give you a proper bath and take care of those wounds. That bag of filth showed no mercy,” Drew said, taking Alasdair into his arms.
“He… is the boss going to...” The redhead stopped in the middle of the sentence, fear paralysing his tongue.
“No! Oh, no, dear boy. Ardan is not like that. You don’t know him,” Drew said, his voice passionate and sincere.
He stopped in front of a door, opened it, and entered into a room furnished with everything a kid Alasdair’s age might need in day-to-day life. He smiled sadly, thinking there would be no time for him to use anything from there since he would have to be ready to serve his owner around the clock.
“Come on, big guy. Your bath is ready, and the boss should be here any second. I’ll leave you. I have my own duties to attend,” Drew said, discreetly leaving as Ardan entered the room.
“Let’s get you into the water, sweet child,” the man said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Can you stand by yourself or do you need help?”
