Jack

by A M Snead

  Muffled snickering from inside the closet.

  “Scoot your fanny out of here, Bailey,” Gideon spoke up. “It’s time for your boy toy to earn his keep.”

  Moments later, Lucas and Bailey emerged from the closet, fastening their clothes. Bailey smiled, face flushed and streaked with sweat. “How did you know it was me in there?”

  Gideon snorted. “If you’re home,” he said. “It’s always you in the closet with Lucas.”

  43 “The Threat”

  “Don’t…” Scotty whimpered but couldn’t move, frozen in fear. Mickey was equally rooted in place, eyes wide and frightened like those of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Go, Mickey—run! Scotty tried to get the words out, to break Mickey from his trance, but the words refused to form, his voice gone.

  He won’t hurt him. He won’t. Not Mickey. Everyone loves Mickey—even him. Doesn’t he?

  Doubt squeezed his chest, though, as the man moved toward Mickey, eyes cold and fists clenched. Mickey’s paralysis snapped just a fraction too late and the man caught him when he tried to run, slamming him against the thick, rough tree trunk. Mickey grunted hard and his attempted cry for help was silenced by the man’s strong hand on his throat.

  “Shhh,” the man hissed low. He looked down the path. “Where’s your butt buddy? Huh? Is he out here, too?”

  Mickey clawed at his hand, tears welling and spilling down his face. He gasped for air and shook his head, sobs hitching his chest.

  “If you’re lying…” the man growled dangerously. Mickey shook his head harder, eyes round with fear. “I’m going to loosen my grip,” he said. “But if you yell…it’ll be the last thing you do, understand?” Mickey nodded quickly. The man slid his hand off his throat and flattened it against Mickey’s collarbone, keeping him pinned to the tree. Mickey swallowed repeatedly then choked on a rush of sobs. Confused and unable to comprehend what he’d walked up on, despair widened his tear-filled eyes as they darted to Scotty.

  Trembling, Scotty finally found his voice. “D-don’t hurt him…please.”

  “No one is going to get hurt,” the man murmured, his eyes on Mickey’s tear-streaked face. “As long as we all work together and cooperate.” Mickey’s frightened stare remained locked on Scotty, and the man shoved against his chest, causing Mickey to cough. “Look at me.”

  Mickey’s eyes were shadowed in fear and disbelief as he shifted his focus to the man’s face.

  “This is how it’s going to be,” the man spoke low, the threat clear in his voice. “If you tell anyone what you saw out here…” He shoved his hand hard into Mickey’s chest again, making him cry. “…or that you saw me with Scotty at all…” His hand slid up closer to Mickey’s throat and his thumb pressed firmly against his jugular. “…you can kiss your boyfriend goodbye.”

  Mickey shook his head hard, fresh tears streaming. “No…”

  “Sweet little Marcus,” the man murmured. “I’ve heard about his past…the hell he went through.” He leaned closer and brushed his lips across Mickey’s wet cheek and whispered, “You go tattling about any of this, and I will send him back to hell.” His hand squeezed a fraction harder.

  Mickey choked and cried, “I won’t tell. I won’t. Please don’t hurt him…I-I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” He choked on his sobs as he wilted beneath the threat to Marcus’ well-being. “I won’t…don’t hurt Marcus…please…”

  The man relaxed his grip and stroked Mickey’s neck. “He’s in your hands. You keep quiet, and he remains untouched. But you decide to tell someone…and, oh yes, I will touch him…and I will fuck him up until there is no trace left of the sweet boy you all know and love.”

  Mickey was shaking, crying uncontrollably, and swearing emphatically that he wouldn’t tell anyone.

  Tears streaked Scotty’s face as his arms curled around his knotted stomach. He stared at the man’s back, listened to his threats against Marcus. Marcus. Would he really do those things to him? Or was he just trying to scare Mickey into silence?

  “I-I thought…” Mickey choked on a flurry of sobs, coughing. “I-I thought you were…nice.”

  The man chuckled. “I am nice. Aren’t I, Scotty?” His smile faded before Scotty could respond, and he slowly withdrew his hand. “You remember our deal.” He pointed to the path. “Now get the fuck out of here before someone comes looking for you.” Mickey took his opportunity and ran, his sobs carrying back to Scotty’s ears. The man watched him go.

  “You…you were just trying to scare him…right?” Scotty choked. “I mean, you wouldn’t really hurt Marcus…would you?”

  Turning slowly, the man stared at him. “Why do you care? Marcus hurt you. I bet deep down”—he smiled coldly—“you wish someone would hurt him, too.”

  Scotty’s brow knit tight. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t. I…I still like Marcus.”

  The man chuffed. “Sure, you do.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, no need to fret,” he murmured. “If Thing One keeps his mouth shut, Thing Two will be fine.” He walked over to Scotty and slid his hand around the back of his neck, squeezing a little too hard. Scotty winced. “And I know you are smart enough to keep that nasty little mouth of yours shut, am I right?” Scotty nodded hurriedly, tears rising. The man smiled. “Except, of course, when I want to fill it with cock. Then you can open it good and wide.” He smirked. “Speaking of which…” He pushed Scotty to his knees.

  A sudden, debilitating reality gripped Scotty; this man whom he had tried so hard to believe loved him…was a bad man. A dangerous man…not at all the man he had imagined him to be.

  And now…it wasn’t just Scotty caught in his trap.

  ♥

  The path blurred and distorted beneath Mickey’s racing feet. Sobs clogged his chest, lodged in his throat, choking him, preventing air flow. When he felt hard bark against his cheek, he realized he’d stopped running and was leaning heavily against a thick tree, clutching it, crying. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, hugging his stomach as he curled forward, hard cries erupting out of him.

  Marcus’ beautiful, sweet face hovered behind his eyes—so perfect and innocent.

  You go tattling about any of this, and I will send him back to hell.

  “No…” Mickey choked, gagging on a sob. His arms tightened, and he curled his body lower against his knees, tears streaming. Not Marcus. Not my baby. He shook his head and cried harder. I won’t let him hurt you, Marcus. I’ll protect you. I won’t tell what I saw. I won’t tell anyone.

  His stomach hurt, pinching hard, bile rising in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, fighting the need to vomit. I thought you were good. I thought you liked us. How could a monster live in their midst and they not even know it? Not even suspect? But Scotty knew…didn’t he? After this…how could he not know?

  Mickey raised his head and shuddered, swallowing a sob. Cold fear burrowed into his bones, chilled his heart and mind. The woods around him blurred and swam. He was assaulted by images of the knife, the blood…Scotty was cutting again? And…

  Mickey’s stomach twisted tighter.

  You can’t help Scotty. Just get to Marcus. Keep Marcus safe.

  Choking on a broken sob, Mickey clutched the tree and pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook and wanted to give out, but he managed to stand. “Marcus…” He glanced back down the path but was out of sight of Scotty and…

  “Mickey?” Marcus’ voice came to him from beyond the trees. Mickey was close to the head of the path, but couldn’t see the house yet, or the hammock. He had been gone too long. Marcus would come looking for him if he didn’t answer. He couldn’t let Marcus see him like this.

  Mickey cleared his throat and took a deep breath to try and steady his voice. “I’m…I’m here, Marcus! I’ll be right there!”

  “Hurry!” Marcus laughed. “Your king misses you!”

  My king, Mickey thought and leaned against
the tree, throat squeezing, new tears rising. You are my king, Marcus. I worship the ground you walk on. I love you so much. He swallowed repeatedly and cleared his throat again, then used the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face. There was no way to conceal the fact that he’d been crying…or the distress on his face. He had to make an excuse. Anything but the truth. Don’t go anywhere near the truth. The truth was terrifying, and disturbing…and oh so dangerous.

  Mickey struggled to pull his emotions under control and released a shaky breath. There was nothing to be afraid of; if he kept quiet, then Marcus would be okay. All Mickey had to do was forget what he saw. Scotty wasn’t Mickey’s responsibility—but Marcus was. And no one was more important to him than Marcus.

  Wiping his face again, Mickey moved away from the tree and back to the path. Scotty needed help, but he wouldn’t sacrifice Marcus for him.

  Mickey paused at the edge of the trees and gazed at Marcus sprawled out in the hammock, eyes closed, lips stretched with that equally innocent and sexy smile that Mickey lived to see on his face. His throat pinched fiercely but he fought another rush of tears. No one was going to hurt Marcus.

  He emerged from the trees when Marcus twisted his head and opened his eyes, spotting him on the path. “My faery of the woods.” He flung up his arms and grinned. “Do you have my crown?”

  Mickey released a slow breath; he wasn’t close enough yet for Marcus to detect his emotional condition. “I couldn’t find any flowers,” he said thickly. The strain of his voice instantly alarmed Marcus and he sat forward uncertainly.

  “Mickey?” He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Shrugging, Mickey tried to smile but it refused to grab his lips. “I couldn’t…find any flowers,” he said again. A fresh sheen of tears glazed his eyes, causing Marcus’ face to shimmer in the morning sun.

  “That’s okay,” Marcus said softly, as if Mickey’s inability to bring him a “crown” was the source of his tears. “I don’t really need a crown. Don’t be upset. It’s just a game.” He smiled so soft and sweet, and it broke Mickey, bringing on another swell of tears. If anything ever happened to him…

  Mickey’s chin trembled as the tears welled thicker and Marcus’ beautiful face lost focus.

  “Mickey…” Marcus whispered, his own voice beginning to thicken with emotion. “What…what’s wrong?”

  Shaking his head, Mickey choked on a quiet sob then grabbed Marcus and hugged him tight, desperate. “I love you, Marcus,” he cried softly. “I love you more than anything…more than life.”

  Marcus trembled in his arms. “Why are you crying, Mickey?” he choked. “What’s wrong?”

  His breath pushing out unsteadily, Mickey drew back and wiped his face. “Nothing.” He forced a smile. “I just…I’m just having a weird moment. You know me.” He sniffed. “I get all emotional for no reason.”

  “I’m the one who does that,” Marcus said quietly.

  Mickey shrugged and swallowed thickly. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.” He cast a quick, anxious glance toward the woods, then looked at Marcus. “Let’s go back inside.” He rubbed his hands over Marcus’ hair and kissed him deeply then pressed his head to the boy’s brow. “I want to worship you in bed.”

  “But you were the one who wanted to come out here,” Marcus reminded.

  “I know,” Mickey whispered. “But now I want to go back inside.” He smiled and kissed Marcus. “We can lock ourselves in our bedroom…and I’ll worship and adore my king all day long…just the two of us.” His eyes closed, chest squeezing. “No one else…just us.”

  44 The Promo (pt 1)—“Love Your Enemy”

  Jack had been in such a hurry to get showered and over to the day room, that he’d taken just enough time to grab a heart from the box and stuff it in his pocket. Exasperated by Garrett’s delayed arrival and the absence of the film crew that should have been setting up by now, Gideon left the studio in search of the director.

  Lucas followed Bailey to the door and fondled him a bit more, preventing his immediate departure, and Derek commenced to berate Lucas for not inviting him to their closet party. Breaking away from the small group, Jack walked to the window behind the sofa and stared out at the rear property as he dug the paper heart from his pocket. It remained taped and he carefully snapped the seal and unfolded it.

  “Garrett!” Lucas bellowed and laughed. “About fucking time.”

  Startled, Jack jerked toward the door and stared at their late-arriving co-star. Garrett glanced his way, caught his stare, held it briefly then dropped it with disinterest.

  “You missed the fluffing, baby,” Derek chided.

  “Fluffing?” Garrett snorted. “I think I can manage without it.”

  “I believe you, man.” Lucas smiled slyly and cast a quick wink at Jack. “With Jack to inspire you, who needs fluffing?”

  Visible tension pinched Garrett’s face but neither did he dignify Lucas’ remark with a reply, or so much as look at Jack, but merely snorted and walked over to speak with Zachary.

  Jack sighed and shifted his attention back to the heart, lying open in his hand—"Love Your Enemy.” He shook his head slowly and cast a glance heavenward, swearing he could hear both God and Jill getting a good laugh out of this one. Jack scowled. You two are not funny. He looked at the paper heart again.

  Love your enemy. His gaze drifted across the room and settled on Garrett as he spoke casually with Zach. Despite smiling and joking with Zach, Jack recognized Garrett’s tension. It was in the set of his shoulders; the stiffness of his movements. Was he dreading this upcoming promo piece as much as Jack was?

  Are you “really” dreading it, Jack-o? If so, what’s that funny little hiccup in your heartbeat all about?

  Groaning inwardly, Jack tried to ignore Jill’s needling inquiries, not wishing to examine the answers too thoroughly. His gut tightened as he stared at the paper heart and the ensnaring inscription scrawled thereon. Jill had poured her heart and love for Jack into these “requests.” Her last moments on this earth had been spent in joy and amusement, making sure Jack would be okay, giving him a “positive” task for each and every day, many of them steeped heavily in Jill’s unique humor and teasing nature—as with the whistle heart—allowing him to feel her spirit.

  A knot formed in his throat, causing a light sting in his eyes. How could he deny Jill any of these requests? He had to do this promo thing with Garrett anyway…why not make the most of it? Make good on his task of the day.

  Gideon returned shortly after Garrett’s arrival, along with the director and camera crew. Jack sensed Pratt’s eyes repeatedly darting his way, but Jack avoided any direct visual contact. He had enough to deal with, he didn’t need to be thinking about the leering cameraman sporting a raging erection behind the lens as he got a thorough look at Jack’s goods.

  With the excuse of needing to adjust the amount of light coming through the window, Pratt casually made his way in Jack’s direction. By the time Jack realized he was headed his way, he was already there, blocking Jack’s retreat.

  Pratt messed with the vertical blinds, blocking out some of the sunlight. “Hey, Jack,” he spoke low and smiled. “Ready for the shoot?”

  “Yeah,” Jack mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “I guess.”

  Pratt chuckled. “You don’t sound too sure.”

  Shrugging, Jack tried to grab someone’s—anyone’s—visual attention to have them beckon him over.

  Glancing toward the others as he readjusted the blinds unnecessarily, Pratt said quietly, “I hope you’re not fretting over Garrett. Or taking his actions too personally. I’ve been around here long enough to see that the guy is a player. He woos all the hot, young new boys. Fucks ’em then dumps ’em. He isn’t worth hurting over.”

  Jack looked at him. “Who said I was?”

  “Come on, Jack,” Pratt murmured. “You think everyone can’t see it? You were falling for the guy, and that’s understandable; he’s fucking gorgeous and charming. But you will be doing yourself a fa
vor if you just put him out of your mind, and out of your heart. Do what you gotta do on camera, but apart from that…cut the fucker loose. You deserve better.”

  Jack stared at him; anymore, he didn’t know what the fuck to think about Garrett. Even now, after all the incriminating evidence…a part of him wanted to believe he was wrong about the guy, that he had somehow “misinterpreted” the facts. But what was there to misinterpret? He’d caught him in the act—fucking Scotty—and insisting that Jack meant “nothing” to him, that he loved Scotty instead.

  As uneasy as Pratt made him, Jack couldn’t deny the logic in the man’s words. But even so, he didn’t want Pratt to think they were bonding. Jack nodded and shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly and stepped around the cameraman.

  “You do that.” Pratt twisted and watched him leave, his stare heavy and probing on Jack’s back.

  ♥

  “So, we’re all here to tell you a little bit about our upcoming videos,” Lucas spoke into the camera, sitting between Jack and Zachary, arms stretched across the back of the sofa. He dropped one hand onto Jack’s shoulder. “Our newest member—Jack Heart—will be…” He grinned and winked. “…making his rounds, getting better acquainted with us all. Most of you met Jack in his introduction video with our lovely twins, as well as in his debut scene with Mr. Popular here—Garrett North.”

  Garrett was seated on the opposite side of Jack, keeping his distance without appearing to do so. As soon as the director had called for “action,” though, it was like a switch had been thrown and Garrett put on his game face, playing his part. He grinned at the camera and offered a quick wave. “Hey. Good to be back with you so soon.”