by Lynn Lorenz
Mitchell prayed some cop would spot the crazy driving and pull Moretti over, but no such luck. This wasn’t Mitchell’s day, for damn sure. He’d lost Sammi, gotten a beat down, and now, despite Donovan telling Moretti not to hit him again, he was pretty sure Moretti had other plans for him.
Moretti drove, but his continued swearing under his breath and his sidelong glances at Mitchell told another story. A story Mitchell really didn’t want to hear.
Closing his eyes, he leaned into the corner of the seat, a wad of his shirt held up to staunch the bleeding. The trip to his house was a painful blur as Moretti sped around traffic, hitting his brakes, and tossing Mitchell back and forth. Good thing he’d managed to get his belt on, or he’d have gone through the windshield at several points.
Mitchell opened his eyes and found himself in his neighborhood. They turned onto his street. The car pulled up to his house and parked in front. His Jetta was still sitting in the parking lot of the last bar he’d been to on Montrose.
Moretti reached across Mitchell, flung open the door, and with a shove ordered, “Get out.” The expression on the man’s face told Mitchell he’d better get moving. He fumbled with the seat belt and, at last, it unlatched. Moretti gunned the motor, a threat to take off as soon as Mitchell was clear.
Mitchell scrambled out, bracing himself on the door to pull himself upright. Moretti leaned across the seat. “You are one lucky motherfucker, Collins. The only reason you’re not dead is because Donovan said to not do any more damage to you.” He pulled the door shut and Mitchell stumbled backward out of the way. The car sped off down the street and around the corner.
He stood staring after the Mercedes as if in a trance. The car was gone, along with Moretti. He hadn’t killed Mitchell. With a last glance to be sure the man had left, Mitchell turned back to his house.
He dug into his pocket, found his keys and, with one hand clinging to the railing, the other cradling his nose, he trudged up the stairs to his apartment. He unlocked the door, went in and shut it behind him. With an exhale he leaned against the solid wood.
“Fuck my life.” He tossed his keys onto the hall table and pushed off.
Mitchell headed to the kitchen, pulled the ruined shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, then ran the water at the sink.
He splashed warm water on his face. Watching as his blood swirled down the sink, he was reminded of the shower scene in the movie Psycho, only this wasn’t in black and white, but in glorious Technicolor. Yeah, his life had become a horror movie, complete with crazed psychos, and him as the poor unsuspecting guy caught up in the middle of it all.
He grabbed a few paper towels from the roll, and it spun off the counter and onto the floor. “Great.” He used the ones he had ripped off to dry off his face. His nose still hurt but, thankfully, it wasn’t swollen. Maybe Moretti hadn’t broken it. His cheek throbbed, and he was pretty sure it would bruise up. He pressed on his belly and winced.
Mitchell stood there at the sink, staring out of the window. He had a decision to make and he weighed all his options. Only one made any sense at all.
First things first.
Mitchell got ice from the freezer, put it in a dishcloth, and held it to his nose and cheek. Then he pulled out a chair and sat. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, then took out his cell phone, flipped it open, and punched in Brian’s number.
This time he’d better be home.
* * * *
Donovan reappeared in new clothes with a fresh shirt and jeans for Sammi to change into. He put them on the kitchen table and leaned back against the doorframe.
“Change here.”
Sammi reached for the new shirt.
“No. Take your pants off first.”
Sammi frowned and bit his lip as he toed off his sneakers. The top button was already open, so he unzipped the jeans and shucked them off. He stood in the middle of the kitchen in his briefs, the new ones Brian had bought him with Mitchell’s money.
Donovan’s gaze roamed over his body. Sammi turned away as shame filled him. He’d seen that look so many times he didn’t have to hear Donovan’s thoughts to know what he wanted. Sammi tuned Donovan out, so he didn’t have to hear what Donovan wanted of him.
“Do you know what I want?” Donovan’s voice sent a shiver down Sammi’s spine as he approached. He was a dangerous man at the best of times and Sammi knew his mood could change in a heartbeat.
“A sandwich?” Sammi peered up at him beneath his bangs.
The slap was fast and hard. Sammi’s cheek burned with the sting, but at least his nose didn’t start bleeding.
“Don’t play the smart ass, sweetheart.”
Sammi locked his lips and refused to open himself to Donovan, to read the man’s most depraved thoughts.
“Take off your briefs.”
Sammi hesitated, then did as he was told. What was the point of fighting? Naked, fists clenched at his side, he stared back at Donovan, who unbuckled his belt. The bulge in his pants had become pronounced. Sammi turned his head away.
Sammi didn’t fear the leather belt. No, Donovan wouldn’t dare to use it so close to the sale. Any marks would lessen the money he could charge for Sammi.
“It seems you’ve picked up an attitude while you were on the streets.” Donovan slipped his belt from the loops, hung it neatly on the back of a chair, and with one hand, flicked open the button on his trousers.
“I wasn’t on the streets. I was living with Mitchell.” Sammi jerked his chin up.
“Oh right. Sorry. You were fucking Mitchell for shelter.” He lowered the zipper, pushed his pants down and stepped free of them. After folding them over the chair, Donovan stepped closer to Sammi.
“No. I love Mitchell and he loves me.” Sammi shook his head as he stared at the floor. Donovan’s eyes were cold and icy, like the eyes of a shark he’d seen on a TV nature program.
“He used to love you, sweetheart. Now you’ve broken his little heart and he’s gone home to cry about it.” Donovan’s voice was syrupy sweet, but laced with bitterness.
It was pointless to answer so Sammi kept his mouth shut. There would be no arguing with Donovan. This was all a dance for his pleasure. He loved teasing Sammi.
“You’re a whore, Sammi. It’s all you’ve ever been and all you will ever be.”
For the first time in his life, Sammi knew he could be more than what he’d been and he wasn’t going back. “Not anymore.” Sammi shook his head.
“You’re my whore. I own you, Sammi. You’re going to do what I say, and I say you’re going to give me a blow job. On your knees, sweetheart.” Donovan slammed his fist on the table and Sammi jumped.
“No.” He’d never disobeyed Donovan before. He had no idea where this ballsy attitude came from, but it sent him reeling, as if he were drunk.
Donovan’s eyes narrowed and he took a step closer, bringing him a hand span from Sammi. Anger poured off Donovan. Sammi didn’t need his powers to tell him that. He could smell it on the bastard. And the mix of Donovan’s cologne, his sweat and his anger burned Sammi’s nostrils.
He’d either try to force Sammi to his knees or put him in the closet. If Sammi struggled, Donovan might hit him, but that would damage Sammi further.
It would be the closet.
A week ago, Sammi would never have believed he’d choose the closet over giving a stupid blow job, but right now, it was more important to Sammi to stand up for himself than take the easy way out on his knees.
“Get on your knees. Now!” Donovan’s voice thundered and his face flushed red.
“No.” Sammi had no idea how he’d found the strength to keep refusing. Maybe it had been buried deep inside all along. If Donovan wanted him on his knees, he’d have to force him. Sammi locked his legs and stiffened his spine. This would not be easy. He wouldn’t let it be easy. Fuck Donovan.
The front door slammed shut. Both he and Donovan startled. Donovan grabbed his pants off the chair and slipped them on, then pulled on his
shirt and stepped into his shoes.
Sammi exhaled, slow and quiet, as he relaxed his body.
“Boss?” Moretti called out from the other room.
“In here, Moretti,” Donovan tucked his shirt into his pants and zipped up.
Moretti came in the kitchen and stared at Sammi, then his steely gaze flicked to Donovan, who finished buttoning his shirt. “You need me, boss?”
“Report.”
“Dropped Collins at his place. Unharmed. Came back here.” Moretti twisted his lips as if the words tasted bad in his mouth.
“Good. Take Sammi to the closet. He needs to learn a lesson.” Donovan glared at Sammi.
“With pleasure.” Moretti grabbed Sammi’s arm and jerked him around. Sammi stumbled, nearly falling, but Moretti held him up and marched him out of the kitchen.
Through the purple dining room.
Sammi’s feet moved as if all on their own, without his telling them.
Into the ecru living room with the blood stains on the new carpet.
Sammi fixed his gaze out of the floor-to-ceiling windows and on the skyline of Houston. Thousands of shining lights filled the black expanse. How had he ever thought it pretty?
Then they going down the pumpkin hall.
Sammi stumbled, but Moretti kept him moving. He leaned close to Sammi’s ear. “You’re going in to the dark. To the small and dark.” His breath teased the back of Sammi’s neck and Sammi shuddered, but not because of Moretti.
They stood in front of the white hell door.
Sammi whimpered, but refused to cry out or beg. Pointless.
Moretti pushed Sammi against the wall and held him in place with a beefy arm across his throat. If he struggled, Moretti would merely lean harder and cut off more of the precious air Sammi needed. Sammi held still. Moretti unlocked the door, yanked it open, grabbed Sammi by the back of the neck and pushed him toward the narrow opening.
Sammi dug his heels in as he strained backward. He’d known all along it would come down to this moment, and like a small terrified animal he struggled, knowing it was futile. Fear flooded him. Not of going in, but what would happen once the door closed, shutting out all the light and sound in that too-small space.
What would Mitchell think, if he saw Sammi so scared? He wanted for Mitchell to be proud of him, to think he was worthy of being loved by Mitchell.
Sammi knew what he had to do. He had to be braver than he’d ever been before in his short life.
It would be worth it to keep Mitchell safe.
Sammi unlocked his knees and, with a final heave, Moretti tossed him inside.
Sammi hit the back wall of the closet and spun around in time to see the shit-eating grin on Moretti’s face as he slammed the door shut, bathing Sammi in cool darkness.
The deadbolt slid into place with a soft snick.
Sammi was alone in the dark.
* * * *
The furious banging on the front door brought Mitchell awake. He bolted up on the couch and groaning, pushed to his feet. He used his hands to steady himself as he went down the hall to open the door and let Brian in.
“What the hell is going on?” Brian, like a Texas tornado, blew past him and into the living room. “Fuck. What the hell did they do to you?”
“Like I told you on the phone. Donovan has Sammi and that bastard Moretti beat me up, then dumped me back here.” Mitchell went back to the couch and sat. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
Brian’s fists were white-knuckled as he sat on the coffee table across from Mitchell. “Let me see.”
Mitchell lowered the ice pack as Brian’s blue gaze searched his face, assessing the damage as one hand rested with a comforting weight on Mitchell’s knee.
Brian gave his decision. “He broke it.”
“I know that.”
“It’s not bad. It looks pretty straight.” Brian took the ice pack and replaced it gently against Mitchell’s nose.
Mitchell smiled. “Thanks. Are you sure you won’t marry me?”
“I told you, you’re not my type.”
“Ok, but if we get to forty and we’re still alone, then will you marry me?” Mitchell grinned.
“Okay. But I’m cooking.” Brian nodded.
“Deal.” Mitchell laughed. They both knew Mitchell couldn’t cook worth a shit and they both knew they’d never screw up their relationship by becoming partners.
“Now, tell me everything that happened at the penthouse.” Brian moved to the couch to listen as Mitchell told him in detail as much as he could remember. About finding Sammi on the street, about Moretti finding them, the car ride, the penthouse, getting beaten, about Sammi’s reaction to Mitchell’s pain, and having to leave Sammi there in Donovan’s possession.
Brian didn’t respond, just listened intently until Mitchell had finished.
“So, Sammi’s nose started to bleed when yours did?” Brian leaned closer.
“Right. And I’d swear he felt those punches.” Mitchell punched the sofa, but was so glad Brian believed him. And Mitchell trusted Brian’s experience enough to listen to his advice on what to do next.
Brian sat back, closed his eyes, and chewed the corner of his lip, then let out a breath. “Here’s what I know. I didn’t meet you yesterday because I caught up with the vice cop I know. When I mentioned Donovan’s name, Pete went berserk. Well, more ecstatic. Seems Vice has had their eye on him for years, but have never been able to prove anything and bring charges that would stick against him.”
“Vice? Like prostitution?” Mitchell’s belly churned. It fit with all that talk about Donovan owning Sammi and how Sammi was a whore.
“No. Worse.” Brian reached out and touched Mitchell’s leg. “Mitchell. Sammi is a sex slave.”
Mitchell knew that kind expression in Brian’s eyes. The one he used to break bad news.
“Sex slave?” Mitchell stared at his best friend and the room shrank to Brian’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“After talking to Pete, I’m pretty certain Sammi is a sex slave. Usually, they’re people who have fallen between the cracks, or are living illegally in the country with no resources, no families. They get picked up off the streets by sharks like Donovan. Now, they may already be into prostitution or maybe not, but once these guys get hold of them, they take control. Steal their papers, if they have any, or take all their money and lock them up. Some are sent to houses where the pimps sell them to johns for a few dollars. But some of these people, the ones who are special, are sold to the highest bidder, usually on the Internet.”
For a moment, Mitchell had to take it all in. Sammi, a sex slave. Donovan was going to sell Sammi, that’s why he wanted him back so badly.
“Holy shit. And you think that’s what happened to Sammi?”
“Yes. His history is perfect for it. Lost in the system and fallen between the cracks. Did he ever give you a last name?”
“No. But I never asked.” Mitchell stared at his feet then up into Brian’s face. “I have to go back, Brian. I have to get Sammi out of there.”
Brian shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Moretti is an experienced gun and from what Pete told me, he and Donovan have been in the business for a long time. These men aren’t amateurs, they’re hardened criminals with extensive pasts which may include murder.”
“I don’t care what you say, I’m going back. I have to get Sammi out of there as soon as possible. The sale is happening in a day or two.” Mitchell stood and put the ice pack down. His nose felt better and had stopped bleeding. “Are you coming or do I go by myself?”
Brian got to his feet and faced him. “Do you have a gun?” The hard expression on his face was dead serious.
“You know I don’t.”
“I brought one for you in the car.” Brian gave him a half-grin.
Mitchell laughed and shook his head. “You knew it, didn’t you? You knew I’d want to go back and get Sammi.”
“It’s what I’d do if someone was holding the
man I loved.”
“Thank you. For believing in me and Sammi.” Mitchell held his hand out for Brian to shake, and they gave each other the half-arm bro-hug. They embraced then slapped each other on the back and stepped away.
“What now? Should we call the cops?”
Brian pulled out his cell phone and hit a number. “Where was the penthouse?”
Mitchell told him the name of the building and the street in River Oaks.
“Pete? Brian.” He proceeded to pass on the info Mitchell gave him, then hung up. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and clapped his hands together.
“Let’s go. It’s all arranged. Pete and his men are going to join us when we pay Donovan a visit.”
“You talked the cops into helping?” Mitchell stared at him.
“Are you kidding? Couldn’t keep them out of it. Pete was practically drooling. It’s a big bust. Pete’s getting a warrant for the penthouse right now. You and I will just be there to get Sammi. We’re background, Mitchell. That gun stays in your pocket, get it?”
“Got it.” Mitchell went to his room, got his jacket and put it on. He was ready to go by the time he reached the front door where Brian waited for him.
They left and climbed into Brian’s SUV. Brian reached under his seat, brought out a small gun and handed it to Mitchell. “It’s my backup weapon. I use it in a holster that I wear at the small of my back, but you’re going to put it in the pocket of your jacket. Don’t touch it and keep it out of sight.”
Mitchell had seen Brian’s gun a few times. They’d even gone to the shooting range once or twice. In Brian’s line of work, he had to have a weapon. Brian had never really made a big deal about it and Mitchell respected him for not being a jerk, like some men might be.
“Well, if I’m not supposed to use it, what do I have it for?”
“I didn’t say not to use it, did I? Just keep it out of sight around the cops. It’s a lot easier to ask forgiveness after than permission before.” Brian gave him a wicked grin and they pulled away from Mitchell’s house.
“Where’s your gun?” This was so weird. Mitchell felt as if he and Brian were some sort of film noir private eyes on a case.