“That was great.” Roshan stood. “Did you see how far it jumped?” Sheer joy painted the other boy’s face.
Sam was sure he’d been that enamored with bullfrogs at one time, but he’d seen so many and caught them so often, it had worn off its appeal. But with the way Roshan beamed? He wanted to wade right back out there and catch the biggest one he could get his hands on.
Maybe later. Maybe Roshan would even let Sam teach him how to catch frogs.
Sam knocked off the junk clinging to his hands.
“Hang on. I’ve got some tissue in my pocket.” Roshan pulled a small plastic package from his coat, and Sam was able to get most of the dirt off his hands. His fingernails would have to wait until he got home.
“Hazards of frog wrangling.” He picked at the grit, but it wasn’t moving.
Sam wadded up the used tissue and put them in his pocket.
Roshan took back the package and turned it over in his hands. “Thanks.”
“You’re the one who had the tissues, I should be thanking you.”
“No, I mean…” Roshan shrugged. “For this. I’ve never had anyone want to share something like this before.”
Did Roshan’s mom lock him in a basement or something? It was a ridiculous idea, but if there were schools with teachers who let the students get eaten by wolves…
“I make it sound worse than it is, I know.” Roshan wandered back up the hill to their stuff.
Sam followed.
“My mom and dad are just really protective, and she didn’t want me to get dirty, so I wasn’t allowed to play outside.”
“Never?”
“Well, sometimes, if I went to a birthday party.”
“Why didn’t she want you to get dirty?”
Sam waited until Roshan collected his books, then picked up his backpack.
“My mom was really poor. And she had a lot of siblings. They had a dirt floor in their house and only a mat to sleep on.”
Sam tried to envision having that little and couldn’t.
“My dad said after they came to the US, she didn’t want a speck of dirt on anything.” Roshan cocked his mouth to the side. “She just didn’t want me to live like she did.”
“Yeah, but a little dirt won’t hurt you. In fact, studies show it’s actually good for your immune system.”
Roshan chuckled. “Don’t try and tell that to my mom.”
“But you live with your grandmother now, right?”
“Yeah. Things got bad at the other school, so mom sent me to live with her.”
Sam walked, and so did Roshan. “I hope they’re not that bad here.” Sam would hate it if Roshan left.
Roshan kicked at a stick lying in the path. “It’s been pretty rough.”
Sam dropped his shoulders.
“But it’s better now.” Roshan looked at Sam.
And Sam was pretty sure his heart would explode.
Marcel removed his mail from the box and flipped through the envelopes; light bill, junk, the fatter envelope had an address from Athens, Greece.
The Hall of Justices resided in a far more hospitable climate than the school. Located closer to a populated area meant efficient mail delivery.
Marcel closed the box.
Sam headed up the sidewalk. Just like the day before, the skip in his step mirrored the smile on his face.
Marcel tilted his head.
Sam drummed his fingers against the straps of his bookbag, where he held them. His gaze went from the rock he kicked, to the dog a woman walked across the way, then back to nothing and his smile widened.
It was good he smiled, but the lack of attention to his surroundings made him vulnerable. A blindness shared by so many who hadn’t had their essence stripped from their bodies. One that made it possible for Marcel to move among them without drawing much attention.
Before the car bomb, Marcel would have been invisible or at least unidentifiable, except to the keenest eye. And there were not many of those who had been taught by a House or by institutions Houses maintained connections to.
Today, Sam’s hands were clean, but the cuffs of his jeans were still dark from walking through the grass instead of staying on the sidewalk.
The last week he’d come home late almost every day. Thirty to forty minutes, long enough he could have circled the northern half of the subdivision twice or covered twice the distance putting him south in the newer sections.
Marcel leaned on his cane. Sam stopped at his mailbox and took out the pile of envelopes, then stepped off the sidewalk onto his driveway, putting him a couple of yards from Marcel. Close enough for the scent of mud, the soap he used to shower with, the mellow amber of his shampoo and spice, turmeric and cumin, to fill Marcel’s inhale. The same flavors Sam had carried several days that week.
Sam unlocked the door of his house and disappeared inside.
No, the average person simply could not see what lay right in front of them, let alone who might follow them.
Two of the three boys Marcel recognized from days ago. Despite the crutches, the third carried himself with the same aggression as the others.
They would be back. Probably tomorrow but no later than the day after. Not with the way they continued to cast a look back in the direction of Sam’s house. Their patience for whatever they’d planned had worn thin.
Marcel returned to his house. He left the mail on the table near the door.
He checked his watch.
It had been a week since Jacob told Marcel no. A handful of days down a different life path. A divergence from the norm. Thanks to Ben.
The only question now was how far Jacob would go in his defiance. That would be the real test.
On another day, of course.
Marcel took out his cell and dialed Jacob’s hotel room. It rang twice, and he answered.
Jacob exhaled.
“Have you come, Jacob?”
A tremor shook Jacob’s voice. “No.”
“And where is Ben?”
“I’m not sure. His room, I guess.”
“You have not seen him since last Monday?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Marcel walked to the Bedroom.
“I just don’t want him here.”
“That is not true.”
There was the slightest hitch to Jacob’s breathing.
“You wanted him, Jacob.” Even now his hunger lingered in his silence. “You wanted to fuck him. You dream about fucking him. You wake up with your cock hard, and you think of how it would have felt to bury yourself in his ass.”
“I…”
Marcel lowered himself into the chair across from the door. “Do not lie, Jacob.”
A shuffle played over the line. “Yes.”
“The thoughts make you feel powerful.”
“Yes.” Apprehension weighed down Jacob’s tone.
“Then why did you refuse to fuck him when I asked?” Marcel sat back. “Tell me.”
“You already know.”
Marcel did. But he wanted to hear Jacob say it. He wanted him to lay it out in the light. He wanted Jacob to set fire to the memory. “I will not ask you again.”
“He said no.”
“He said he wanted you to.”
“He didn’t want you to listen. That’s a no.” Jacob’s words acquired an edge.
Marcel smiled, the action pulling the scars tight on his cheek. “No is not enough.”
Jacob’s breath’s quickened. “I was not going to rape him. Not for you. Not for anyone.” The edge morphed into rage.
“Is that how you saw it?”
“He said no, Marcel, it doesn’t matter why. He said no.”
“You fucked him with your fingers. You shoved ice into his ass. What was the difference? Other than the fact it wasn’t your cock?” Marcel would have rather watched. To see each of those shiny cubes pushed beyond Ben’s hole. His body tense. His eyes widen. His skin flush. He’d conveyed much in his breathing and the sound of his movements, but it w
asn’t nearly as intriguing as it could have been.
Would be.
“He didn’t tell me no.”
“Are you sure?”
Silence.
“Answer me, Jacob.”
“I…”
“You do not remember.” Marcel made it a statement because Jacob’s nature would force him to question his actions. Franky’s conditioning had left a man who doubted everything he said or did.
Another trial Jacob would have to face.
One he would have to conquer.
With Ben, he would succeed.
“Tonight, Jacob. Eight o’clock. Between now and then, I want you to jack yourself every hour until you are ready to come. But you will not.”
“Marcel…”
“Do as you are told. And do not be late.”
Marcel hung up the phone.
To Ben, he texted: 8:10
He would either obey or he would not.
But for Jacob’s sake, Ben had better be on time.
Ben looked at his phone like he had every five minutes since he’d received the text from Marcel.
How could four simple characters stir so much rage inside him, while at the same time instilling fear?
But there’d been more than enough time for the anger to fester in Ben’s chest. Growing larger, swelling into an ugly beast.
He’d tried to talk to Jacob, but he wouldn’t answer the door. And if he went out, Ben hadn’t seen him or heard his door open and shut.
Jacob could have slipped out while Ben slept, but sleep had also been intermittent and unsatisfying.
Like the hand jobs Ben had given himself every day. A phantom to the pleasure Jacob had coaxed from him. The feel of his fingers pushing those pebbles of ice, following each one with his finger.
Ben had craved that feeling so much he’d tried on his own. First with ice, then with his fingers, but it still wasn’t the same.
And he wanted it to be. He wanted it to be Jacob.
He hadn’t lied to Marcel when he’d said he was attracted to Jacob. Ben just hadn’t realized how much until he saw him there on his knees, cock in his hand, body flushed and ready to fuck him.
Not because Marcel wanted Jacob to, but because Jacob wanted to.
Another truth Ben had uncovered over the past few days.
Jacob refused Marcel’s command to fuck him because Ben said no to the conditions. And that made what Jacob did all the more confusing and, at the same time, reveal how much the man cared about Ben’s wellbeing.
Jacob owed him nothing, yet had protected his dignity.
As if there was anything left to protect.
Because Ben had forsaken anything he had when he fell for Yvette’s lie and believed Marcel had killed his uncle, then the fantasy that Ben stood even the smallest chance of getting revenge.
He left his phone on the dresser and headed into the bathroom. He’d been too chickenshit to attempt to shave again. If he passed out, there’d be no one to pick him up out of the tub.
But for some reason, Ben had continued the rest, flushing out his body, shaving his armpits and chest.
He’d even gone to the clinic and gotten the blood tests.
Ben didn’t have to pretend why. Because if given a chance, he’d fuck Jacob, and if he did, he wanted nothing between them. He wanted to leave his mark on the man.
The same if Jacob fucked him.
It was stupid. All of it. Yet once Ben quit refusing to admit the truth, he’d been driven to prove the words any way he could. Even if it was something as ridiculous as leaving his cum in the man.
Ben cranked up the shower and got in, going through the motions but not registering the act. There was only the bed where he’d laid in front of Jacob, his touch, his voice, and him.
The erection was instant, and Ben took care of it with the same mechanical movements as he used with the enema, brushing his teeth, wearing the mild deodorant he’d been instructed to wear.
Ben was in his car by five till eight and in front of Marcel’s house with three minutes to spare. Another minute ticked off, and he stood in the foyer, removing his shoes.
He walked to the Bedroom where a closed door and silence greeted him.
Part of Ben screamed for him to run because he did not want to give Marcel anything, no matter how small. Another part reminded him leaving meant possibly dying.
It definitely meant losing any chance to be with Jacob.
Ben opened the door.
Marcel sat across the room in a chair.
Jacob knelt on the floor. Sweat covered his nude body. Small earthquakes danced down his frame.
How the hell had the man gotten all the more beautiful in a single week?
Marcel raise his gaze, his one good eye as dark as it was empty, the clouded one equally cold. Ben waited for the man to speak.
The clock on the wall ticked. Jacob’s breaths puffed. Ben’s heart roared in his ears.
Ben took a step inside. When Marcel didn’t reprimand him, he took another, then another until he stood beside Jacob.
Shoulders drawn, head lowered, his breathing quick, the profile of his face pinched with anguish. The reason hard and swollen between his legs.
Precum glossed the purpled head of Jacob’s cock. Engorged veins, flushed skin: the fever spread all the way to his thighs and stomach.
Who the hell did something like this to another person?
Ben curled his hands into fists. “Why?”
Marcel continued to stare.
Ben faced him. “Answer me.”
The slow rise and fall of Marcel’s chest was the only thing that separated him from a stone statue.
Ben stormed over. He had no idea what he would do, but he couldn’t stand there and do nothing.
Marcel’s expression didn’t change, but he shifted his gaze. As if the light behind them turned black. As if who—no what—he was revealed its presence.
Marcel stood in a flow of grace that should have been impossible for a man as old and damaged. Ben barely had time to stop. Marcel grabbed Ben by his hair and, with one hard jerk, had him on his knees at his feet. He seized Marcel’s wrist, gouging bloody lines into his skin.
Marcel shook Ben. Closer and Marcel left no room between their bodies. Ben had to tilt his head up to keep from having his nose in the man’s crotch.
“There are rules, Ben. Rules you must follow. Rules you will follow.”
“Fuck you and your rules.”
Marcel tilted his head. His hold fell slack, and he dragged his scarred fingers down Ben’s temple, along his cheek. For some reason, it never occurred to Ben to pull away, not until Marcel dug his thumb into the soft spot under Ben’s jaw. The stab of agony brought tears to Ben’s eyes. He bit back a yell.
“Should I remove my seal?”
Ben blinked several times.
“Is your—” Marcel relaxed his hold, moving his thumb to Ben’s bottom lip. “—dignity worth watching the people you know die by Yvette’s hand?” He pushed between Ben’s lips and bumped his teeth. “Is it worth your life?”
Ben parted his teeth. His first instinct was to bite down, but Marcel’s stare held him while he invaded his mouth, caressing his tongue, thrusting in and out, wetting Ben’s bottom lip with the spit soaking his skin.
“Or would you rather give up something so trivial, meaningless, worthless—” Marcel raised his chin just enough, shifting his focus beyond Ben. “—for better?”
There was only one person behind Ben.
The corner of Marcel’s mouth twitched. “Yes, that is what I mean.” Marcel removed his thumb and painted Ben’s cheek with saliva. “It is your choice, Ben Corbin.”
Marcel stepped back, and Ben slumped, his rage, his fortitude torn away.
Jacob’s soft whimpers made it impossible for Ben to resist turning his head, even though he knew once he did, he’d be powerless.
Droplets of sweat trickled down the locks of Jacob’s hair, joining the growing puddle of precum on the fl
oor.
“What do you want?” Ben didn’t look at Marcel when he asked. There wasn’t any need to. The man would know. It seemed he always knew.
“You should ask yourself that question.”
Ben ground his teeth together.
“Now answer your question.”
If he did, it would give Marcel power he didn’t want to give up.
“Go to him, Ben.”
As much as Ben despised the man in front of him, he found himself standing and walking over.
“Kneel.”
The word warmed Ben’s ear, startling him.
“Kneel, Ben.” The command brushed the back of his neck.
Ben knelt in front of Jacob.
“Now look at him.”
How could he not? The dark blue of Jacob’s eyes burned with need. Raw, palpable, an untamed animal. Ben had never imagined a look like that could be real. It belonged to an angel, or demon, not a man.
Marcel moved to Ben’s right. No sound, no scuff of his house slippers on the floor, no whisper of fabric.
Maybe he wasn’t real. Maybe this was all some fucked-up nightmare.
“Touch him.”
Ben lifted his hand.
“Touch him, and tell me what you feel.”
Ben’s hand shook while his mind warred with the command and his own desire. He wanted to put his hands on Jacob, but he didn’t want to do it because Marcel wanted him to.
As if he’d read Ben’s mind, he said, “I do not make you do anything that you do not already wish for.”
If only Ben could call him a liar.
“And you do not do anything that Jacob does not desire.”
Tears filled Jacob’s eyes. He lifted his gaze to Marcel only to drop it as if looking at him hurt.
Ben leaned closer. “Do you want me to…?”
Jacob moved his lips. The yes was so small, Ben was sure he’d imagined it until Jacob widened his knees, offering his swollen cock.
Ben traced the line of Jacob’s jaw, his shoulder, his chest. Tremors danced down the man’s muscles.
“What do you feel, Ben?”
He didn’t want to tell Marcel, but he had to. “His skin is hot.” Ben slid his hand closer to the juncture of Jacob’s hips. There were only the finest of pubic hairs around his cock.
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