by Jamie Begley
Catching one man’s gaze, he somehow knew it was the one that Slate called Butcher. His cloudy-green gaze held a vicious quality, like someone who got joy out of torturing the weak.
“Everyone, let me introduce Reaper. If anyone wants to increase their bet, go ahead. Just raise your hand and Chain will be by to get your money.”
The talking increased in volume as several hands went up in the air. Gavin stared at the faces, memorizing them and adding more names to his mental list of people who would die.
“One of you should really be smart and call the cops, because when I get away from these sick fuckers, I’m going to kill every fucking one of you.” Gavin stared pointedly at every person in the yard.
It didn’t bode well that Slate didn’t stop him from threatening his audience, and having more hands go up in the air made it even worse.
“If that’s it, the betting is now closed. Let’s get the first part of the show over so we can move on to the best part of the night.” Slate took his arm and led him to a plastic blowup pool that reached his waist.
Gavin cocked an eyebrow at Slate when he stopped him. “You want me to swim?”
Slate burst out laughing, and so did the others who were watching. “Nothing as mundane as that. You see, Reaper, I told my friends what you did in the service. We want to see how long you can stay under water.”
“You can all go fuck yourselves.”
The feeling of dread came back when laughter erupted again.
“Reaper, we didn’t expect to have your cooperation.”
Before he could move, Gavin was tackled. Ink took one arm and Raff the other, throwing him to the ground while the one named Butcher grabbed one of his legs and Chain secured his other one in a tight grip.
Cheers of encouragement filled the air as they hefted him over the side of the pool and into the water until all five of them were standing in the middle.
“Reaper, I’d take a deep breath if I were you.”
Gavin instinctively drew in a deep breath, then they pushed his face down just below the water’s surface while he struggled and fought against their restraining hands, hoping they’d lose their grips. They didn’t. They just held on tighter. His starved body tired much sooner than he expected.
Not only was his body giving up the fight, but his lungs were beginning to burn. How long had he been fighting them off? His struggles changed from trying to get away to just wanting to come up for air, knowing he had expended his reservoir of oxygen.
He now fought for survival.
As the burning in his lungs increased, Gavin was an experienced enough swimmer to know that unconsciousness wasn’t far away. He hung limply in their arms as the stark reality came to him that they hadn’t been betting on how long he could stay underwater but how long it would take him to drown.
His body rebelling, he started struggling to get fresh air again in a final bid to live. The water that he loved since childhood and had always been his sanctuary was going to be responsible for sending him to his grave. No, the water wasn’t responsible. It was Memphis, Crash, Vincent Bedford, and Slate.
Hatred fueled him, sending adrenaline rushing through his body in a last-ditch effort to live long enough to get revenge. Using every ounce of his strength, he managed to get a pair of hands off one arm long enough to get a brief gulp of air before he was held back under the water again.
His starved lungs burned like fire when he couldn’t get loose a second time. Even with the stark realization he was facing his death and would never marry Taylor or fix his relationship with Viper, he had no energy left. His body unable to fight made it easier for him by sending oblivion to the rescue, blanketing him in a welcoming darkness.
Hard thumps on his chest tore him from the darkness as he was turned to the side to vomit up the water he’d swallowed. Retching helplessly, Ink and Chain each grabbed an arm and hefted him up. Gavin could only hang there, suspended by Ink and Chain, as he regained his breath.
“Aspen, your time came the closest. Congratulations!” Slate called out. “Once Reaper is good to go, we’ll move the rest of the festivities inside. I hope you saved some money. Aspen and Butcher have already placed their bids on spending the rest of the evening with our champion here.”
Gavin shook his head to get his damp hair out his eyes. He saw Slate standing in front of him, pointing a camera at him. His earlier feeling of dread came whooshing back. Slate brazenly filmed him being drowned and was now auctioning him off.
Yanked upward, he was dragged back inside the house and into the bedroom with the basement door. Ink and Chain threw him facedown on the bed, and he immediately tried to fight them off, hearing the shuffling of several people entering the room.
One of them jerked the handcuffs higher up his back, pinning him down with a knee pressed against his spine. “Hurry, Butcher!”
Gavin turned his head, snarling at the man coming at him with a needle in his hand. The man stabbed him in the arm before he could jerk it away.
“Ink, you and Hock get him hooked up. No one outbid Aspen, so the rest of the night is his.”
Cloudy-green eyes stared down at him promisingly. “How about my bid?” Butcher asked Slate. “Don’t I get second dibs?”
“No, you get third.”
“I’ll take third.” Butcher turned gleeful.
“Aspen, you want him cock up or ass up?”
“Ass.”
Gavin was turned onto his stomach, facing the headboard. He thought his shoulders would dislocate as chains attached to the bedpost were wound through his arms, lifting them higher up his back. Meanwhile, other hands spread his thighs, tying his feet to the posts at the bottom of the bed.
“Why did you have to give him the juice? He’s not going to be able to escape tied the way he is.”
Gavin’s mind was going foggy, but he knew Butcher’s voice.
“Aspen doesn’t want to take the chance when his dick is on the line.” Slate’s voice faded in and out as the drug coursed through his blood stream. “Go ahead, Aspen. This your show.”
Gavin jerked at the first strike to his ass. By the time the belt was thrown beside his head, he couldn’t feel anything, nor did he when he was raped by one, then by another, each heaving over him.
Staring sightlessly out the window, he was forced to look out at the dark night as he endured their torture. The third one took his turn as the sun was coming up. That was when the drug was losing its effectiveness. He felt everything Butcher did to him, and he knew Butcher was aware, which was why he had been so excited to go last. Or, that’s what he thought until he saw Slate hand the camera over to Ink. He took his turn, driving into him with a hatred that finally made him unable to hold back his screams.
When he figured out that his screams excited Slate to slam into him even harder, he forced them back and started praying for death. The wind blew the curtains aside and a memory came to his mind of the last song he heard before he’d been kidnapped.
The words did not provide the comfort the song intended, Gavin having gone past where solace could be found. What he needed, a warm waft of air provided. It was the whisper to endure, stroking what was left of the tiny ember of his will to live with promises of wreaking havoc on those who hurt him, to a love that was waiting for him … just for him.
All he had to do was survive.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Go to the wall.”
Gavin remained sitting sideways on the cot with his back to the wall, one of his arms resting on his raised knee.
“Gavin, go to the wall!”
Unmoving, he didn’t care if they fed him or not. He would rather starve than eat another peanut butter or baloney sandwich.
Watching the side of the steps, he saw three pairs of legs come down.
“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Don’t you know there are starving kids in the world?” Slate picked up the sandwiches while Ink held the gun on him.
Gavin didn’t flinch as the sandwich
es were thrown at him one at a time. He just stared unblinkingly as Ink and Brewer descended the steps to stand next to Slate.
“Do you really want to do this the hard way?” Slate twirled the handcuffs on his fingers.
“Is he okay?” Ink whispered, as if he couldn’t hear him from mere inches away.
“He’s fine. It’ll take Gavin more than being raped a few times for him to lose it. Isn’t that right, Gavin?”
Again, he didn’t bother to give the reaction they were waiting for.
“You think he’s playing possum?” Brewer asked.
“I think he’s waiting for us to drop our guard to kill us.” Slate narrowed his eyes on him. “Make it easier on yourself—put the cuffs on.” Slate threw the cuffs, hitting him on the check. They fell down unheeded to his lap.
“You’ve wasted enough of my time. Give me the gun, Ink, and go get Hock and Chain. When I’m done with him, he’ll wish he’d put the fucking cuffs on.” As Slate took the gun, he also took a syringe out of his back pocket.
When Ink turned to go up the steps, Gavin got off the cot, letting the cuffs and sandwiches fall to the floor. The three men froze in place.
“Be cool, Gavin. I don’t want to kill you. But Memphis won’t have any problem taking out your kneecaps, and Butcher will enjoy putting you back together again.”
Disregarding Slate’s threats, Gavin went to the bucket and did his business. Letting out a steam of piss, he ignored the men staring at him dumbfounded.
“I told you, I think he’s lost it,” Ink muttered.
Slate remained silent, watching his every move.
“I think so, too,” Brewer stated when Slate didn’t say anything.
Gavin shook his dick as they watched. He took the opportunity he had been waiting for, reaching for the almost full bucket, then throwing it at the three of them grouped together. The men tried to scramble out of the way to avoid the contents.
Ink ran into Slate, preventing him from firing the pistol and knocking the syringe out of his hand.
Gavin ran at the men like a bulldozer, grabbing the back of Ink’s shirt and knocking his head against the side of the steps. By the time he crumpled, Gavin was already running, swiping the needle up as Slate turned at him, pulling the trigger.
Gavin kicked the gun out of Slate’s hand, sending it flying toward the far wall. Gavin didn’t even try going for it, knowing the men would take him from the back. Instead, he kicked Slate in the stomach, sending him toward the cot.
His foot was on the first step when Brewer tried to rush him. Gavin did an about-face, picking up the needle, plunging it into his neck, then throwing him backward. Swiveling on the ball of his foot, Gavin ran up the steps, hearing footsteps and cursing behind him.
Reaching the top, he grabbed for the open door and, with a heave of his shoulders, jerked the door off the loosened hinges. Turning back, he threw the door at them, sending them falling down the steps. Hell-bent for leather, he ran through the doorway, out of the closet, and into the empty bedroom.
“Chain, Butcher!”
Gavin knew if he could hear Slate’s yells, then the others could, but he had already anticipated the house was full of Slate’s men. Gavin picked up a lamp, ripped it out of the wall and ran to the window, smashing the glass, shade and all.
Gavin’s body was midair through the window when the sound of bullets exploded behind him. Ignoring the sting on his shoulder and cuts on his arms, he levered himself off the ground and took off running for the thick trees closest to him.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Shit, how can he run that fast?”
Gavin pumped his legs faster. He was within inches of the trees when a hard body threw itself onto his back. Gavin didn’t stop, trying to shake the weight off him as he continued to run.
“Don’t let him go, Hock!”
Reaching the trees, Gavin dropped his shoulder forward and twisted his body to the side, trying to use the tree to drag Hock off his back.
Grunting, Hock held on, refusing to let go. There was no way Gavin was going back alive, and Hock was slowing him down.
In one motion, he raised his arm and yanked Hock over his shoulder. He circled Hock’s neck and gave it a sharp jerk, snapping it. Throwing him to the side, Gavin darted between two trees, feeling the burning sting of the bullet that hit the back of his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain, adrenaline coursed through his veins giving him the impetus to continue the mad dash for freedom. His body’s sole focus to get away, to return to the life that had been taken from him. He used whatever force spurring him on to push past the physical barrier of his limitations, seeing in his mind’s eye those he needed to get back to as a stimulus to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
There weren’t as many trees the farther he got away from the house. Another bullet hit him in the back of his shoulder. Coming around another tree, gasping for air, he saw a large field in front of him and, farther away, he could make out a road. He would be a sitting duck unless, by some miracle, a cop drove by.
No, his objective was the forest on the other side of the road. He might not be able to flag down a motorist on the back road to escape, but he could lose himself in the woods with a little luck.
He had to get through the field and make it across the road. It was a big if, but he would take the one percent chance of escaping versus being taken back to the basement that had become his hell. He had barely taken three steps into the field when he heard bike motors coming after him.
“God, please …,” he prayed, pushing his body harder. “Please ….”
The sounds of the motorcycles coming closer had him praying harder.
“God, don’t ….”
He wasn’t able to finish his prayer as Slate rode his bike closer to him. Holding his bike steady, he kicked out, hitting him in his ribs.
Gavin dropped like a stone, holding his ribs, unable to breath.
Slate spun his motorcycle to a stop, spitting dirt and grass into the air. Gavin was in too much pain to look up when Slate walked over to him and put the gun to his head.
“Do it,” Gavin croaked out.
“Fuck no. I’m not going to let you off that easy!” Slate screamed at him. “When I’m fucking done with you, you’re going to think that going to Hell will be a fucking paradise.” Slate cruelly jerked his hands behind his back, and Gavin felt the handcuffs snap in place.
“Ink, Raff, get his ass back to the house. Butcher, take care of his wounds and make sure Ink and Raff chain him to bed before you work on him.”
Following Slate’s orders, he was jerked to his feet and marched back to the house. When Ink shoved him in the shower, Gavin had to use his shoulder to catch himself. Blood dripped down his body from the cuts and bullet holes and onto the shower floor and ran down the drain as Ink turned the shower on.
“You know he’s going to make you pay for killing Hock, don’t you?”
Gavin used his shoulder to bash the stupid bastard against the wall, sending him scrambling back, his ass landing on the toilet.
“Next time, I’ll make sure you’re the one I kill,” Gavin promised.
“There won’t be a next time,” Slate said, coming into the bathroom and punching him on the chin, sending him back against the wall. Slate got in the shower and grabbed him by the throat.
Gavin met Slate’s furious gaze, raising his chin, silently daring him to choke him out.
“Give it to me, Ink.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw what Butcher handed Ink.
“You’re going to enjoy this trip.”
Gavin tried to throw his body at Slate to knock him off balance, but Slate held him in place as Butcher grabbed his arm, holding it out as Ink tied a tourniquet on his upper arm.
“You’re going to beg to suck my dick to get more,” Slate said, letting him drop to the floor when Ink drew the needle out of his skin.
Gavin slicked his wet hair back to stare up at him. “You do
n’t want my mouth anywhere near your dick.”
Slate smirked, leaving the shower to change his clothes.
Gavin laid his head on his folded legs as he felt the drugs begin warping Slate into a grotesque character of himself. He raised his head to lean back on the shower wall.
“What’s he laughing at?” Ink fearfully took a step out of the door.
“I’m laughing at you shitheads. You smell like my shit and piss, and I’ve already managed to kill one of you fuckers.” Gavin turned his head to stare at the three men. “And the only thing—” Gavin couldn’t hold back his hysterical laughter any longer. “—that Slate thinks can keep me in line is making me suck his dick. I bet you can’t even get it up, you useless piece of—”
Gavin wrapped his arms around his legs, scrunching himself into a ball, as Slate vented his rage on him with boots and fists.
The best part of whatever Butcher shot into him was not feeling a fucking thing. Not one … fucking … thing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gavin paced frantically around the small basement, twisting his hands together. He listened to every sound that came near the door, lifting his eyes expectantly when he heard the slightest creak, then dropping them in disappointment when the door wasn’t opened.
He had lost track of the time and days. He no longer counted the sounds and minutes to get fed. No, what had him jacked up was the shot he no longer fought against. Scratching his arm, he didn’t notice he had drawn bloody welts on his skin.
When was Ink going to come? Had he ever gone so long without getting his fix? Gavin didn’t think so but couldn’t be sure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued pacing, stopping intermittently to look at the door before resuming his frantic pacing.
Had they forgotten he was down here? Did Crash tell them that he no longer wanted him kept alive? Memphis had already stopped coming to taunt him that The Last Riders hadn’t bothered to search for him.
Gavin was glad when Memphis stopped coming. His taunts and insults about Viper being happy he was out his life weren’t believable. Crash had made infrequent visits taunting him with his presence and goading him that no one was looking for him.