Hard Justice: The Asylum Fight Club Book 3

by Bianca Sommerland

  Another bite of waffle and he smirked at his uncle. “You don’t know Jamie. But nice try.”

  “But I’ve heard so much about him.” Rhodey placed his fork on his plate, then rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes, the one he got when visualizing a target moving into his sights. “A pampered little star you’ve spoiled even more. You used him to mock every other Dom because you don’t follow the same rules, do you? How long will that be entertaining enough before you figure out he can’t cut it as your submissive?”

  With a soft laugh, Noah reached across the table and grabbed a handful of blueberries, popping them into his mouth. “You used to be good at this, Rhodey. I don’t doubt what he’s capable of and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

  “So it doesn’t bother you to picture Curtis, holding him down and fucking him until he forgets your name?”

  “Have you seen those two men?” Noah ate another blueberry. “Bothers me more that you’ll probably be jerking off to the visual, but I don’t blame you. Please, do keep it to yourself.”

  The predatory look sharpened. “Oh, I will. Maybe I’ll let you keep the pathetic creature. What I enjoy requires a bit more intense...training. The kind that will shut down every ounce of resistance with a few simple words. Like I did to you, plemjáš.”

  Something clicked in Noah’s mind and he swallowed hard, pushing away from the table. His uncle only spoke Russian to him when he wanted his complete obedience. Noah had been trained to respond to it automatically. The man hadn’t used it in years.

  “Please don’t.” Noah backed up a step as Rhodey slowly rose. “This isn’t a trigger. You can’t—”

  “I could if I wanted to. Syad'te.” Rhodey approached Noah as he dropped to his seat, leaning down, hands on the table. “You respond to one language. To a specific intonation. I was careful to make sure it couldn’t easily be used against you. Did you take the same care with Curtis?”

  Wetting his lips with his tongue, Noah thought fast. Did Curtis respond to others the same way? Not just any Dom, obviously, but his conditioning had eroded his ability to resist direct commands given the right way. With the right tone and power behind it.

  Lawson may have gently pressed along the edges of that for their mutual pleasure. If he really tried...yeah, he could probably get the same response.

  Damn it, I fucked up with you so bad, Curtis. I’m sorry.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Rhodey patted Noah’s cheek hard. “This may be the most enjoyable part of cleaning up your mess, but don’t worry.” His uncle’s tone became cruel, meant to gut him and expose the weakness he’d made much too obvious. “I’ll tell him how much you regret all the mindfucks when I’m done with him. Including the last.”

  The chair hit the floor. A blade flashed. A spray of blood. Bone snapping. Blackness. Flashes of red.

  “Ne dvigaysya!” Rhodey’s sharp voice broke through. He pinned Noah against the floor, knee pressed to the center of his back. “Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking ticking time bomb. This time will be rough. Idi v svoyu komnatu. Ostat'sya.”

  One look at his uncle and the bloody slash down his chest and Noah wanted to apologize. Take care of the wound himself. But the order to go to his room and stay overrode every urge. He didn’t even notice until he was sitting on his bed that his wrist was broken.

  The same one Rhodey had broken when he was fifteen.

  How’s that for progress?

  An hour later, Rhodey came, a large bandage taped to his bare chest. He splinted Noah’s wrist, then snapped his fingers for Noah to follow him. Pointed to the wall across the largest space in the basement. “Strip.”

  Spine stiff, Noah considered mentioning to his uncle that he’d never made him get completely naked for a punishment. But there was nothing to hide. And he knew why Rhodey was doing this. He had no intention of holding back.

  Noah didn’t want him to. Whatever pain he’d endure wouldn’t be enough to erase what he’d done to Curtis. His ignorance had left the man vulnerable in the worst possible way. This was why Lawson had warned him away. He knew what Noah was capable of. The power he’d abuse because he was too fucked up himself to realize he was doing it.

  Curtis might never forgive him. He owed Noah nothing, not anymore. But whatever it took, Noah would never stop trying to make things right between them. The man might not need him anymore, but if he did, Noah would be there. No question. No hesitation. No limits.

  He lost himself to a different time. A time when he’d managed not to be the monster he’d never quite escaped. One that had returned when he’d stepped beyond the prison walls. Fuck, did anyone remember him anymore? He’d give anything to know Curtis did.

  Another box of books with nowhere to put them. Noah shook his head, smiling a little as he brought it to the kitchen, making a mental note to thank his mother when he swung by to see if she needed any chores taken care of. She never came into the guesthouse—part of their silent agreement not to discuss what happened here, though she’d seemed less wary the last time she’d come across Curtis outside, bringing him a glass of lemonade while he worked on one of his new projects. This time, he was building a wine cabinet, wasting much less wood than his first few attempts at carpentry.

  With the bruises from their last intense session completely healed, Curtis had abandoned his shirt, sweat glistening on his lightly tanned skin as he measured each piece several times. Standing in the doorway that afternoon after returning from one of his private lessons at the dojo, Noah smiled at the sound of both his mother and Curtis’s laughter. Only eighteen—three years younger than Noah at times seemed like more—Curtis clung to the rage for what his family turned him into for so long, transitioning to a less intense power exchange didn’t take at first, but they were getting there.

  Still, there was a long way to go before Curtis had all the building blocks he’d need to have anything close to a normal life. And he was safer here than anywhere else. His family didn’t know he was alive and Noah intended to keep it that way.

  They wouldn’t recognize the young man who’d been taken from them almost a year ago. Not unless Curtis was in one of his defiant moods. That fucking mouth of his would always get him in trouble as a sub, but in time training him as a Dom might be a good option.

  When he could be trusted with that kind of control.

  “Coffee or beer?” Blond hair falling over brown eyes that held more humor and less cold arrogance than they once had, Curtis came into the kitchen, his chest pressed to Noah’s back as he rose up on his tiptoes a bit to look over his shoulder. “And you ain’t gonna leave all these in a box in the living room, are you? With the other ones? Starting to get all cluttered in there.”

  Noah shot the younger man an arch look. “I’ll have a beer. I haven’t decided if it’s a good idea for you to have any yet. Technically, you’re not old enough.”

  “Oh come on, I’ve been allowed to drink since I was…” Curtis sighed and shook his head, putting some space between them as Noah turned, arms folded over his chest. “You don’t need to say it. What happened… then...doesn’t matter. Your rules.”

  “Yes.” Noah reached out to pat Curtis’s shoulder, jaw ticking when he flinched. Yeah, this transition would definitely be a challenge. He waited for Curtis to still, then gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “But you’ve worked hard today painting the barn. And my mother seems to think Russian age limits apply. So beer is fine, but no hard liquor.”

  Curtis grinned, heading for the fridge when Noah moved his hand. “I fu—freakin’ love your mom. But speaking of the living room—”

  “Were we?” Noah’s lips slanted at the way Curtis bristled. The young man was fussy about things being kept in order. While Noah appreciated tidiness, he’d forced himself to relax from the strict methods of his uncle, even leaving his bed unmade sometimes just to prove he could.

  Only to find it made perfectly once Curtis was left to his
own devices for more than five minutes.

  “We were—okay, I was talking about the boxes.” Curtis rubbed the back of his neck. “I like making stuff and I have a few ideas for the living room if you’re cool with it?”

  Noah inclined his head, accepting the beer Curtis brought him after popping off the top. “I am. And this is your home now, Curtis. If you want to change something, add something, feel free.”

  That brought an excited light to Curtis’s eyes as he looked around the kitchen as though seeing it for the first time. He shot forward suddenly, brushing a kiss over Noah’s lips. “You’re fucking awesome, man. Thank you.”

  “And you were doing so well.” Noah couldn’t be angry, but he wouldn’t let the rules slide either. “Soap tastes horrible with beer. You really should have waited.”

  With an unrepentant grin, Curtis let Noah take his beer. “Totally worth it.”

  The first lash curled over his shoulder, usually a mistake a beginner would make, but Rhodey didn’t make mistakes. Noah pressed his forehead to the wall and watched a droplet of blood trail down his chest. Not enough to repay Rhodey for attacking him with a fucking knife, but this was what Rhodey would take. The next wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but the impact forced him to tighten his thighs to keep from moving. Another crossed the first and he choked back a shout.

  Warmth slicked his back and Noah inhaled, bracing himself as the rhythm continued. A CRACK. Leather licking across his flesh. Over his shoulders. His back. His ass and thighs. A coppery scent filled the air. Flames licked at him, all over, his stomach turning as his muscles tensed and the burn spread over him.

  His arm shook, but still he didn’t move.

  Footsteps approached.

  He remained still.

  “Come, Noah. You did well.” Rhodey brushed a hand over his hair and kissed his forehead. “Fuck, I should be skinned for this myself. But you remember today, understand? You think before you react. Don’t forget what you are capable of.” He gave Noah’s hair a gentle tug. “And don’t you dare ever weaponize your power over someone like that again.”

  Swaying to the side, Noah sucked in a breath as his uncle steadied him. Gave him a nod. “I won’t. Thank you...sir.”

  Rhodey shook his head and cupped his cheek. “No, not ‘sir’. You’re family, boy. I’m going to be here, putting you back together. If you’ll let me.”

  The offer didn’t make any sense. Why would he stop Rhodey from doing anything? The man knew what was best for him. He’d done exactly what Noah had asked of him. Protected those who mattered most when Noah couldn’t.

  “Let’s get you to bed and I’ll take care of this mess.” Rhodey put Noah’s arm over his shoulder, moving slowly with him toward the cell. He frowned when Noah stopped short. “What’s wrong? I know it hurts, son. Fuck, I know. But just a few more—”

  “Not the cell.” Noah swallowed hard. “The room.”

  “It doesn’t matter right now, Noah.”

  Vision blurring, Noah shook his head. “The room.”

  “Fucking stubborn bastard.” Rhodey let out a heavy sigh. Eased him in the direction of the stairs. “Lean on me and just keep moving. I’ve got you.”

  Somehow, Noah ended up face down on the bed, but he didn’t recall the entire trip. Or Rhodey cleaning his wounds and bandaging the worst of them. He slept the rest of the day. All night. Water had been brought to him. Food.

  He didn’t touch it. When Rhodey forced him to at least have a few sips of water, he almost choked on it before leaning over the side of the bed and puking up the little left in his stomach.

  In the morning, movement from the corner of the room alerted him to a presence. His uncle, in a chair he’d brought in, looking like he’d been there all night.

  Stepping up to the bed, he cupped Noah’s forehead with an ice cold hand. “Shit.”

  Noah blinked at him. Did his best to form words past his parched throat. “Is something wrong? Jamie…” He tried to get up. Or thought he did. The red along the edges of the room was getting closer. “I have to go. He’s scared.”

  “Shh, he’s all right, Noah. You’ll see him soon.”

  “Soon?” Noah shook his head. “Can’t. I’m… I’m not done. I hurt you.” Why was Rhodey so fuzzy? His eyes burned as he remembered what he’d done. “The knife...did I kill you?” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I destroy...everything. I need you. I still need you here.”

  “Damn it, what have I done?” Rhodey crouched down in front of him. “I’m not dead. Listen to me. I’ll stay, but not here.” He straightened and wrapped the sheets around Noah, lifting him into his arms, much like he had when he’d crashed his dirtbike at sixteen and broken his leg. Only...seemed a bit easier for the man then. And his tone was softer. Fading away. “I’m bringing you back where you belong.”

  They were moving. Down the stairs. To the car. And only one thought came to Noah as the world went black.

  I don’t know where that is.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Glitter sprinkled on Jamie’s nose from the shiny silver New Year’s decoration. He swiped at his face, shaking his head with his sneeze. The bar, rafters divested of its Christmas lights and decorations the previous evening, had looked a little barren until he and Reed began looping streamers around the blackened oak beams. Day starting at six, only drowning in coffee would keep him conscious to work the bar until well after midnight.

  After taking a sip from the mug he’d placed nearby, he handed Reed another silver bauble. “Is caffeine poisoning a thing? Because I think I’m gonna have it by tonight.”

  Shoulders lifting, Reed played the bauble in the light like he did with every single one before hanging them. “No clue. I’d say make a pot of decaf, but if Lawson saw anything like that even cross the threshold of The Asylum, he’d lose his ish.”

  Lawson, who’d brought down the boxes from a space tucked behind the dungeon, then promptly disappeared to his office behind the green leather door. With Matt at the community center, decorating for their annual New Year’s youth event, only Reed and Jamie were left to decorate the bar, then assemble the cases of alcohol on the kitchen counters for overflow. They had to serve food to keep their liquor license, but at least tonight’s event was catered. So, there’d be no running in and out of the kitchen.

  “I still think you’re all nuts. Me serving drinks? I can’t even spell Cuervo, never mind read it.” Jamie handed Reed another bauble, thinking of the hours spent over the weekend learning to mix drinks at Dallas’s side. The Dom had the patience of a saint, at least when it came to teaching. “And Wren is all jazzed that I might cut my finger off slicing fruit.”

  That had Reed spitting out a laugh and almost tipping off the step ladder. He righted himself, then shook his head. “First, not many people order fancy stuff. They do, give me a nudge and I’ll deal with it. Two, I’d seriously worry Wren was a serial killer if he wasn’t kinda sweet and doesn’t go anywhere. I can not with the screaming that comes from the loft late at night, even though I know he’s alone in there, just watching those movies. I like ‘em now and then, but watching them alone? No thanks.”

  Jamie dusted his hands on his jeans, leaving a trail of silver glitter behind. “First time I heard it, I thought Noah was punishing him. Then I figured out it was a movie when Noah came in, and I started laughing hysterical-like. Dude thought I’d lost my mind.”

  “I bet!” Reed snickered, dropping down on the top of the ladder and folding his legs. “Okay, we’re done here. Snack break?”

  “Sure.” Head thrown back, Jamie regarded the sub he’d quickly come to regard as a friend. One of two—two more than he’d had when arriving at The Asylum’s gates. Not a bad tally, all-in-all. “Want me to make you a PopTart?”

  Reed nodded, turning sideways and dangling his legs over the end of the ladder. “Would you? I think I still have some of the pink ones with sprinkles Tracey got me for my stocking. I swear, that thing was the biggest one yet. I won’
t have to buy snacks for at least another week.”

  The giant knit stocking, jammed full of candy and treats, had hung from Tracey’s mantle when Jamie arrived with Doc. Beside a few others, all of them a bulky eyesore, but he’d been immediately drawn to the quirky tradition, stunned to see his name embroidered on one. Then almost as bouncy as Reed, waiting to get his hands on the thing. Tracey made it easy to get caught up in the kind of excitement he’d never known before.

  Jamie smiled at memories he was so grateful to be part of as he walked toward the bar, then pulled out the toaster from underneath. “That was pretty epic. Christmas stockings are awesome. Even if I’m alone next Christmas, I’m making one for myself.”

  “Ugh, dude, don’t talk like that. Why the hell would you be alone? You planning to run away with Wren to live in a cave somewhere?” Reed paused, his lips slanting. “You can be alone together.”

  “Dunno. I mean, I figure if statistics are a thing—even if I can’t math—that this year was the outfield. Not like the others.” Unwrapping the confetti-laden treats from their foil packet, Jamie plunked them in the toaster and pressed the lever. “But if I am here, I want to make stockings at The Asylum for you and Noah, and everyone.”

  Tracey had outdone herself, spoiling everyone. Flexing his toes in his sneakers, he enjoyed the soft plushness of the socks she’d put in the toe of his stocking. There had been root beer barrel candies too, and a subscription to a music magazine that showcased Indie artists, with a monthly code for free downloads of a selection of artists. He’d spent an hour sitting with her, answering questions about his childhood—things he hadn’t thought of in years—all the stories of stage mishaps in Glam’s early years, and what it had been like to meet the President as well as the Queen. Then he’d helped Reed and Matt in the kitchen, laughing and joking while holiday music played.