Twenty-Two
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Caysun
He swallowed down the last of his coffee. “So, what happens now?”
He could feel Vaughn’s eyes on him.
“I have to find him, Cay. Alive or dead, I have to find him.”
“I know,” he said as he turned to look at Vaughn, “but how’re you going to do that with your job?”
Vaughn looked out at the parking lot again, “Been giving that a lot of thought. I think I’m going to request a six month leave of absence.”
“You think they’ll give it to you?”
“I haven’t taken a vacation in six years. I’m due some time off.”
He looked at Vaughn, noted the tightness in his jaw, his clenched fists.
“You worried about taking time off?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
A lone tear slid down Vaughn’s cheek, “I’m scared, Cay. I’m scared that I’ll find him, and I’m also scared that I won’t. And if I do find him alive,” his voice hitched with a sob as he brushed the wetness from his cheek, “what condition will he be in? They’ve had him for half a year, Cay, half a fucking year. I’m petrified that I’ll look into his eyes and the brother I knew will be gone.”
He reached his hand over to Vaughn’s arm and gave him a reassuring squeeze, “If he is, we’ll get him back, Vaughn, I swear.”
Vaughn turned to look at him and the devastation on his face had tears pooling in Cay’s eyes. “Will we? I’ve seen guys come back from only being held for a few weeks and that haunted look in their eyes never leaves, Cay. They’re never the same as they were before.”
“Of course not, how could they be? Everything that happens to us in our lives, both good and bad, changes us, Vaughn. But if we’re strong enough, then we can adapt. And Casey is one of the strongest people I know.”
Vaughn nodded and was quiet for a minute until, “I can’t promise you anything, Cay. Not right now, not while he’s still out there somewhere.”
He frowned as he wondered why that stung so much. He and Vaughn had just met. It shouldn’t hurt that Vaughn wasn’t willing to give him more.
Wait, what? More? Since when had he ever wanted more?
“I didn’t ask for promises, Vaughn. Isn’t it a little early for that?”
Vaughn pinned him with that gaze again, the one what felt like it was trying to suck him into its vortex. “It is, but you deserve more, Caysun.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know that no other man would’ve done what you did for me last night.”
Caysun had no clue how to respond with that other than his standard sarcasm, “What’s a few orgasms among friends?”
Vaughn rolled his eyes, “I’m talking about before that, smart ass. You helped, me, Cay. You took care of me when I needed you to. And this was after I’d treated you like shit.”
“You never treated me like shit, Vaughn. Were you a prick? A little bit. Were you standoffish? Fuck yes. But you were also fair and decent. Considering my past, that’s more than I could ask for.”
“You’re more than your past, Cay.”
He glared at Vaughn, “Are you sure about that, Vaughn? You don’t know what I’ve done, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”
Vaughn glared back, “I know what’s in your heart, Cay.”
Anger surged through him even though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He seemed to be confused about a lot of things since he met Vaughn Kepler. “How?” he shouted, “How can you possibly know that?”
Vaughn surged to his feet, grabbed Cay by both biceps and hauled him up out of his chair and put them nose to nose, “I don’t know, Cay,” he shouted, “I just know that I can feel you, inside me. I’ve never felt that with anyone and it scares the fuck outta me. But I’m man enough to admit that, even though it terrifies me, I also don’t want it to go away. You and me, Cay? It just feels right, ya know?”
Cay sighed in defeat, “Yeah, I know.”
“I really want to kiss you right now,” Vaughn whispered.
Cay opened his eyes and pulled back a little to look at him. He didn’t say anything, just waited.
Vaughn sighed as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Cay’s, “But I can’t,” he whispered before pulling back to look into Cay’s eyes again, “Not yet. First I need you to tell me everything you know.”
He nodded, “Okay,” he said then he threaded their fingers together and walked them both back inside the room.
Twenty-Three
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Miguel
Miguel’s soft voice filled the room as he read from the book until the man groaned in his sleep as he rolled to his side. “Vaughn,” he moaned.
Miguel looked up from where he was sitting in a chair in the corner, barely reading some ridiculous dog-eared romance novel that he’d found discarded on the floor of the living room.
Whoever this Vaughn was, hombre blanco thought of him a lot. A timer went off on his phone from where it was sitting on the small table next to him and he glanced at it. It was time to give el hombre another dose. He knew that he was slowly killing the man. Nobody could handle that much heroin for that long. He was actually surprised the gringo was still alive.
Just as he stood to go get it, his phone pinged with an incoming text:
Make sure the perimeter is secure. You might have company soon.
Well, shit. This wasn’t good. He hadn’t seen anyone here in, what? Five months? Six? He knew there were places that the fence was falling down. He knew because he didn’t have any desire or financial inclination to fix them. Why should he? Yes he was getting paid but it was barely enough to keep his Mama and brother and sisters safe in their home just across the border in Arizona. It sucked that he only saw them a few days a month, but a job was a job. And even though he was born and raised in the US, this job paid more than any he could find in the states.
Did it bother his conscience that he was basically poisoning a man to death with drugs? Eh, not really.
Deep down he knew that for the lie it was, but he had to wear that shield on his emotions or he’d do something stupid. Really, really stupid.
When that man had shown up, the man who was paying his salary, that was the only time he had felt uncomfortable about this job. And that was only because he had to be in proximity with that, that….demon. But he’d offered a shit-ton of money for Miguel to watch over the man in this rundown, old house just across the border. And he’d fit the qualifications for the job: Of Mexican descent but someone who wouldn’t have any issues crossing the border, someone who would fit in and not be noticed and someone who wouldn’t ask questions. His Mama and Tia had begged him not to take this but he was a proud man who needed to provide for his family.
But then he’d met the demon.
And even though the demon had money, he had worn evil like a second skin. So, that was the only way he could think about that man. He was a demon. Evil didn’t just reside inside of him, it was so deep-rooted that Miguel was certain if he cut the man’s skin, only blackness would ooze out. Miguel was fairly certain the man was El Diablo himself. And he had determined this before the man had even spoken a word.
He had shown up mere minutes after the text had been sent. Bringing a chill to the oppressive heat, as if the sun itself was afraid of this….thing.
Miguel shivered when El Diablo finally spoke. “Clean him up and bring him to me,” he’d said after standing and staring at the hombre for several minutes.
Miguel kept his gaze on the ground, to terrified to look directly into the eyes of the Devil himself, as he muttered, “Si, Senor.”
The man, thing, demon, left the room without a backwards glance. Miguel pulled the bandana that he always wore around his neck to keep out dust and dirt when he was working outside, up over his mouth and nose to keep out the smell and stench of a man who, for months now, had only left his bed t
o squat over the bucket next to his bed to shit. Pissing was done, usually with poor aim, into a plastic jug. Vomiting….he didn’t want to think about.
He scooped the naked man into his arms, trying not to be too shocked at how light he was, given that he had to be at least half a foot taller than Miguel’s five-foot-ten. He carried him into the bathroom across the hall and set him as gently as he could into the dirty brown tub.
The pipes protested when they were turned on and the man didn’t even flinch when the ice cold water hit his legs.
He ran his finger over the figure eight tattoo on the inside of the man’s wrist that had held his fascination for hours, but now instead of seeing it from across the room, he could study it up close. “Is this for the Vaughn you speak of in your dreams?” he whispered as his thumb brushed over the V inside of it. The other side had the letter C. And when he used the water to wipe away the grime, he could see that there were words intertwined with the lines of the eight. “Brothers Forever,” he read aloud.
“Is this Vaughn your hermano?” he whispered and then he flinched when the man groaned.
He reached over to adjust the temperature of the water now that the hot had finally made an appearance. He picked up the dry, cracked bar of soap that looked like it hadn’t been used in years, maybe even decades, and he dunked it into the water. It took a few seconds for the water to penetrate the hard, brittleness. Once it did, he turned it over and over in his hands until he worked up a good lather. Though the position was awkward and uncomfortable with the cement floor digging into his knees, he leaned over the tub and picked up the man’s left hand. Beginning at the fingers he slowly worked his way up the arm to the shoulder. Pulling the man’s body forward so he could wash his back took almost no effort on Miguel’s part. He cupped the back of the man’s head as he gently leaned him back again. He re-soaped his hands and rubbed them over the man’s head, the stubble of his close-cropped hair tickling the pads of his fingers. He hated it when he’d had to shave off the man’s hair. When he’d first arrived, it had been silky and golden brown but after months of not washing, it had become a dull and matted mess that left Miguel no choice but to remove it. In the back of his mind, he hoped that one day it would grow back.
If he was being honest, in the back of his mind he was thinking about this man a lot, more than just about his hair. He knew he shouldn’t, but after spending months watching the man wither away from the toxic abuse to his body from the drugs Miguel was paid to inject, the lack of hygiene and lack of human interaction, he’d begun to feel something other than indifference towards this man. This was no longer just a job where he got paid. He was beginning to realize that this was a human being, a man with feelings and possibly even a family or loved ones who were missing him.
As he tenderly bathed the man, he realized that not only had cracks developed in his carefully constructed shield – the damn thing was almost obliterated.
He cared about this man. A lot.
And he hated himself for what he’d done to him.
“Are you finished?” a deep voice barked from behind him, startling him and making him drop the soap into the water.
“A-a-a-almost. It’s been a long time since he’s been bathed.”
The ugly man behind him grunted, “Serves the fucker right. Finish him up and bring him back to his room. We’re changing things up.”
Miguel’s heart started racing in his chest. What more could they do to this poor man?
“Understood?” the man barked.
Miguel jumped again, “Si, Senor,” he mumbled.
“Fucking crazy-ass Mexican,” the man muttered as he left the room.
Miguel sped up his actions and finished washing the man then he reached down to pull the plug. As the water began draining, the man groaned.
Miguel put a hand on his arm, “Shhhh,” he whispered.
“Hurts,” the man croaked, his mouth and throat obviously parched, his full lips cracked.
“Si, lo se, I know. I’ll get you some water as soon as I can.
The man’s eyes flittered and finally opened, and their blue-gray depths had Miguel gasping. He’d never seen the man’s eyes before and they were mesmerizing. He felt like he wanted to drown in them, like they were a vortex pulling him inside. He was lost, dizzy…he was gone.
“Who?” the man whispered as he lifted one finger to point at Miguel.
His gaze softened, “Miguel,” he whispered as he put his hand on his chest.
And then something happened that literally knocked Miguel onto his ass.
The man’s eyes closed as he whispered, “Miguel.”
And then he smiled.
Twenty-Four
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Grainger
His mind was screaming at him as he pressed kiss after kiss to the angry, raised marks. Some were obviously cigarette burns but others, fuck, he didn’t want to think about what made those. Star shapes and half-moons. Did somebody use a small branding iron on Sy? He knew about repressed memories but how could he not remember any of it? Not a single one? Not the pain? Nothing? Had he been so young that he didn’t know any better? Was he a baby when he got them?
He shivered as he placed a kiss on one on Sy’s right hip bone. Then he smiled when the man’s hard dick jumped and tapped him on the cheek. That beautiful, long, hard dick was right there. All he needed to do was turn his head and he could take it into his mouth.
But now was not the time.
He pushed himself up. “Let’s get you into that tub.”
Sy nodded and started to swing his legs to the side but Grainger stopped him. “I’ve got this,” he said as he slid his arms carefully beneath Sy’s naked body.
Sy opened his mouth like he was going to protest but then he closed it and sighed as he wrapped his arms around Grainger’s neck and leaned his head on his shoulder.
“Good boy,” Grainger said with a chuckle as he walked them into the bathroom.
“That’s the first time a man has said that to me,” Sy mumbled.
“Was your dad not around when you were growing up?”
Sy flinched in his arms.
He pressed a kiss to Sy’s forehead, “I’m sorry, babe. You don’t have to answer that.”
“No, it’s okay. I just, I don’t know who my father was. My mom left him when I was just a baby. She never really told me why either. And she never dated anyone after him.”
“And you’ve had the marks…..”
“Forever. Since I was a baby. Yes it was probably him but the few times I asked Mom about it she got so sad that, after a few times, I stopped asking.”
Grainger vowed to himself right then to mark Sylas in his own way, in a way that would leave invisible marks that Sy would remember for the rest of his life – he would mark every inch of Sy’s body with his kisses and give Sy memories that would only make him smile.
He stepped into the tub, and then lowered the two of them down into the shallow water, keeping Sy sitting on the tops of his thighs so he didn’t get his bandages wet.
“How’s this? Are you comfortable?”
Sylas sighed as he leaned his head back onto his chest, “Very.”
He used the washcloth to get Sy’s hair wet.
He squeezed some of his body wash-shampoo into his hand and began to massage it into Sy’s scalp.
The moan the man let out had his dick waking up and taking notice.
“I’ve never had anyone wash my hair before. It feels so damn good.”
“Yeah?” he said after clearing his throat, “You like it?”
“God, Grainger, I feel like I could melt into the water.”
“Please don’t do that. I’d miss you too much.”
“Why?” Sy whispered almost too quietly for Grainger to hear.
He sighed, “We’re not going to go here again, are we?”
Sy’s fingers began fidgeting with the hairs on Grainger’s thighs, showing Grainger that he was nervous again.
“I, I just don’t understand. I mean, look at you. You’re handsome and beautiful and strong and smart. And I’m, I’m just me.”
He pressed his lips to the side of Sylas’ head, “Yes, Sy, you’re you. You’re smart and nerdy and quirky.”
“And anxiety prone and damaged,” Sy cut in.
“And anxious and under construction.”
Sy snorted a laugh so Grainger continued.
“And beautiful and sweet and kind. And most importantly, you’re mine. You are mine, right, Sy?”
Sylas melted back into Grainger’s chest, “If you want me to be.”
“Do you want to be? I want to know what you want.”
Sy threaded their fingers together over his belly but he remained silent.
“Sy?”
“I’m afraid to say it out loud,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to wake up from this dream.”
“Baby, I assure you, this is one dream you can count on coming true.”
Sy closed his eyes as those words seeped inside. He pictured them entering his bloodstream and flying through his veins until they ended up in his heart - where he hoped they would stay forever.
“Yes,” he whispered finally, “Yes I am yours, Grainger.”
Twenty-Five
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Caysun
His heart pounded in his chest and he swallowed down bile as he stared at Vaughn sitting across the small table from him.
“Tell me everything,” he said
With one final deep breath, he opened his mouth and let everything spill out.
Everything.
Every arm he’d broken. Every face he’d punched. Every delivery he’d made. Every woman he’d brought to Grady O’Toole despite knowing the man’s sweet wife was waiting at home for the cheating bastard. Every person he’d intimidated. Everyone he’d scared so bad they’d pissed their pants.
Whiteout Conditions Page 9
