by CJ Bishop
Jacob nodded. “Yeah.”
Eric hesitated then stood up and walked over to the bags of clothes and dug out a pair of flannel pajama pants and a matching pajama shirt. He took the items back to the bed, hesitated again, then began removing his clothes.
From across the room, Jacob watched with nervous excitement as if this were the first time he’d seen Eric without clothes. In a way, it was the first time; the first time that he saw him this way when he wasn’t being abused.
Eric’s shirt came off and Jacob’s heart knotted in anguish not only at the sight of his malnourished body…but the prominent bruises left behind by his abusers. As Eric slowly removed his pants, Jacob’s eyes followed the pattern of bruises that gathered heavily around his waist, hips, and rear. Jacob knew from his own experiences that the men liked to clutch and claw and get brutally rough. He’d been forced to watch Eric acquire some of the bruises that now marred his body. Eric had seen the same happen to Jacob, too.
His eyes growing damp, Jacob walked over to the younger boy. Eric stood wearing only a pair of the new underwear and started to reach for the pajama pants then paused when Jacob approached. “I look awful, don’t I?” he whispered unsteadily.
Jacob shook his head and cupped Eric’s face. “I think you’re beautiful.” He kissed him softly. “Bruises heal, and you’ll gain weight. But even right now, as is…you’re still the most beautiful boy in the world to me.”
Eric began to shake as his eyes filled. “Is it really over, Jacob? This…this isn’t just a dream?”
“It’s really over,” Jacob whispered and wrapped him in his arms. “Everything before today…” he pressed his lips to his hair. “It’s all just a bad a dream now, nothing more.”
Eric clung to him. “What about the other kids at the orphanage?” He trembled. “It’s still real for them.”
“The cowboy and the others,” Jacob murmured. “They’ll do something. They’ll save them, too.”
“I hope so,” Eric said thickly. “I’m so scared for them now.”
Jacob stepped back. “It’ll be okay.”
Swallowing thickly, Eric tentatively met Jacob’s eyes. “Do you think…” he hesitated. “Do you think they’ll kill them, too? The ones who run the orphanage?”
“I don’t know,” Jacob admitted quietly. “Maybe.” He blinked as nightmare memories surfaced from his time in the orphanage. “I don’t care if they do.”
Eric lowered his eyes. “I wanted to kill Barron,” he whispered with a chilled edge to his words. Tears rolled down his face. “I…I hated him so much.”
Barron. One of the staff. Twenty-five and thick-bodied. He had taken a special liking to Jacob and used him regularly, often beating him before raping him because the adrenaline rush jacked the guy up or something. Barron knew that Eric cared about Jacob and found it amusing to mock and taunt him with all the things he did to Jacob, using the vilest, disgusting descriptions he could think of. He took added pleasure in tormenting Eric by insisting that Jacob actually liked it, but just wouldn’t admit it to Eric. Of course, Eric knew that wasn’t true, but it still hurt him to have such things thrust at him on a daily basis.
“Do you think he’s still there?” Eric asked. “Do you think the cowboy will get him?”
Jacob murmured, “If he’s still there…the cowboy will get him.”
“Tell him.”
“What?” Jacob frowned.
Eric sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Tell the cowboy who he is, what he looks like. Tell him to not let him get away.” He swallowed thickly. “Please, Jacob.”
Nodding slowly, Jacob whispered, “I will. If I get the chance.”
Eric relaxed a little and pulled on his pajamas. Jacob found a pair of his own and changed, then crawled into bed next to Eric.
Sighing contentedly, Eric gazed at the ceiling, a small smile on his face as he drew the warm comforter to his chin. “This feels like heaven.” He turned his head and looked at Jacob. “Angels and all.”
Jacob smiled and kissed him. “Angels, indeed.” He stroked Eric’s clean, soft hair that smelled wonderfully of shampoo. He turned onto his side and propped his head in his hand as he gazed down at Eric. “Will you marry me, Eric?”
Eric blinked. “Huh?”
Laughing softly, Jacob said, “Not right now. But…someday? Do you think you might want to?”
“I already want to,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine life without you.”
Jacob sank lower against the bed and kissed Eric again, letting it deepen this time as the other boy curled his arms around Jacob’s neck. The sudden desire that warmed Jacob’s body and stirred his arousal scared him a little. Their only experience with “sex” had been vicious and brutal. He wanted to be with Eric but was afraid it would feel dirty and wrong and even…mean.
“Jacob…?” Eric shuddered when Jacob withdrew. “Are…are you okay?”
Tears stung Jacob’s eyes and he was suddenly so angry at all the men who had hurt them, who had taught them that sex was terrifying and painful and ugly. Jacob turned away and sat up. He buried his face in his hands, sobs shaking him.
“Jacob?” Eric sat forward. “What’s wrong?” He wrapped his arms around Jacob and hugged him tight, his head pressed against his back. “Please don’t cry,” Eric whispered, now in tears himself. “Everything’s okay.”
Jacob hung his head lower and sobbed harder.
“Please, Jacob…don’t.” Eric kissed his shoulder. “Why’re you crying?”
“Because…because I want to…to be with you.” He choked on his sobs. “And it makes me feel…like them.”
Eric fell silent as he held onto Jacob. He pressed his forehead to the nape his neck. “Why do you want to be with me?”
Jacob trembled. “Because I love you, Eric,” he cried softly. “I love you so much.”
Eric hugged him closer. “Those men…they didn’t do those things to us because they loved us. They did it because they were sick and cruel and perverted. Wanting to be with me because you love me doesn’t mean you’re like them. You’re nothing like them. You’re perfect and wonderful and so gentle.”
Turning slowly, Jacob looked at him through a wall of tears.
Eric touched his face and whispered, “I think it would feel nice to be with someone who loved me.” He slowly laid down and drew Jacob with him. “Someone I loved, too.”
Jacob sank down next to him and wrapped him deep in his arms as he looked into his eyes. “I think it would feel good, too,” he said softly, his throat tight. He buried his face in Eric’s neck and held the other boy close against him. “But for tonight, can you just hold me? I’m not ready for the other just yet.”
“I don’t mind holding you,” Eric whispered. “I love to hold you.”
Jacob closed his eyes, warm tears seeping onto Eric’s skin. “I want to give you everything in this world you could ever want, Eric.”
“We escaped the nightmare…and we still have each other,” Eric murmured. “That’s everything I prayed for. And God answered.” Eric pressed closer to him. “Stay with me always, and I’ll have everything I could ever want.”
Lying in the warmth and security of Eric’s arms, their future stretched out before them, Jacob thought maybe there was a God after all…and maybe he did care.
•♦•
The door opened, and quiet footsteps crossed the porch behind Cochise. He didn’t turn around. He knew each of the occupants of the house by the sound of their footsteps. It was John who had come out of the house.
“What’re you doing out here?” John came over and sat down on the step next to him. “After all that…exertion…I thought you’d be passed out with Kane.” He smiled.
“Suppose I should be,” Cochise mumbled. He stared across the yard at nothing, trying to crush the disturbing thoughts that battled for dominance inside his head.
“You know,” John said quietly. “It’s okay to be upset about what happened with the boys. It just shows how much you c
are about them. And everyone knows you do care about them, a lot.”
Cochise leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. He rubbed his hand slowly back and forth across his mouth and remained silent.
“You don’t always have to be the badass gangster all the time.”
Cochise frowned and looked at the young man.
John smiled. “You didn’t really think I didn’t know, did you? I’m not blind or deaf. It didn’t take me long to figure it out.”
Cochise hadn’t wanted him to know, but he guessed it was inevitable that he found out. The kid was practically immersed in the gangster world—at the very least, surrounded by gangsters much of the time.
Or maybe he picked up on things subconsciously. As Gianni Venetti, he’d been the son of a gangster. Maybe not everything from his forgotten life…was completely forgotten. Way down deep. Cochise looked at him a moment. The porchlight was off and there was only minimal moonlight, casting the boy’s face in shadows. Sometimes it was hard for Cochise to look directly at him in full light. The bullet scar low on his forehead was a “magnetic” beacon that pulled the Egyptian’s stare right to it. A constant reminder of who he really was…deep down inside…and what he was truly capable of.
He looked away, out across the dark yard again. “It’s what I’m most comfortable with,” he murmured in reply to John’s former comment.
“I see you with Kane, and with all of us,” John said. “You might think you’re not adapting well to the whole domestic lifestyle, but you’re wrong. You are a family man, and a damn good one.”
Your father was a damn good family man—and I killed him. Because that’s what I do. That’s what I am.
John leaned forward next to him and shifted his stare to the yard as well. “How come you can’t to me the way you do with Donald?”
Tension stiffened Cochise’s muscles. “How do I talk to Donald?”
“I don’t know,” John murmured. “You just seem more relaxed with him. You’re always so tense around me. Or uncomfortable. Not sure which. Sometimes it feels like…” John's voice caught with sudden emotion and he went silent.
Cochise frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you’d rather not talk to me at all.”
Cochise closed his eyes for a moment then opened them. “That’s isn’t true.”
John asked quietly, “Do you blame me for Donald wanting to leave?”
“No.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because everything has been different between us since we danced at the reception,” John said. “I think he’s leaving because he thinks I’m uncomfortable around him now.”
Cochise shifted. “Are you?”
John paused before answering. “I…I don’t know. Maybe. A little. But not enough to want him to leave.”
“Why are you uncomfortable?”
Another pause. “I don’t know,” John whispered. “I know I shouldn’t be. It was just a dance. But…I am, and I don’t know why.”
Cochise knew why.
Chapter 15
Axel was awakened at four in the morning by voices drifting down the hall from the living room. Clint’s side of the bed was empty, and the bedroom door was ajar a couple inches. At the foot of the mattress, Jonah lay against Axel’s leg, but the pup wasn’t asleep as its ears remained as perked as a lab pup’s ears can perk. Axel sat forward and stroked the animal. Jonah immediately wriggled around and into Axel’s lap where the blankets were scrunched around his waist.
Axel yawned and ruffled the pup’s ears. “What’s going on? Hm?” He left the bed and pulled on a robe then exited the bedroom with Jonah at his heels.
Cochise was in their living room.
“Is everything okay?” Axel asked as he emerged from the hall.
Clint nodded. “Yeah.” He didn’t clarify as he and the Egyptian spoke for a few more minutes before Cochise walked to the front door. “Be careful,” Clint told him. “Don’t get involved unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
His large friend nodded silently and left the house. Moments later, a car started up and pulled away.
“Where is he going so early?” Axel asked. And why wasn’t Clint going with him? They usually worked jobs together.
“He’s going to meet up with Cruz and his men.”
Axel waited for him to expound. He didn’t. “But you’re not?” That was fine with Axel. The less often Clint went out on jobs, the better, as far as Axel was concerned.
“I have other things to deal with.”
“What other things?” Axel was prepared to insist Clint tell him when the cowboy did so on his own.
“Deliver the twins to the detective,” he said. “Then check out the orphanage.”
“Are you just going there for a look around?” Axel asked. “Or are you planning on doing something?” He didn’t need to clarify; Clint knew what he meant by something.
“For now, I just want to see what we’re dealing with.”
“You’re not going to be in any danger, then?”
“Unlikely,” Clint said. “But I never enter a situation on assumptions, they can get you killed.” He kissed Axel. “We should get a couple more hours of sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”
“We?”
“You’re coming with me to the orphanage.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want to. Not going to force you.” His lips quirked.
Axel smiled. “I want to.”
They returned to the bedroom with Jonah in tow. Axel dropped the robe and crawled back into bed as Clint shed his clothes and joined him.
“Do we have to go right back to sleep?” Axel cuddled up to the cowboy’s warm, hard body.
Clint ran his fingers through Axel’s curls, a small smile forming. “Maybe not.” He stared into Axel’s eyes, something clearly on his mind—besides sex.
An uncertain frown creasing his brow, Axel asked quietly, “What?”
“The reason I don’t talk about the things I do,” he murmured. “It isn’t because I don’t think you can handle it. I know you can. But you…you’re my escape from all that. This place—our home—it’s a kind of…safe haven. I don’t want all that shit out there…in here.” He stroked Axel’s soft curls and brushed his knuckles down his cheek. “This is my sanctuary. You are my sanctuary. I’m not holding a part of myself back from you because I don’t tell you every sordid detail of my life out there. No one has more of me than you do.” He kissed him softly. “And when the kids are here, I feel safe knowing that you’re with them, protecting them. We’re partners, Axel, I want you to know that. I deal with the shit out there, and you protect the…home front. Your part in this is the most important because you’re protecting the kids, our home. When we have kids of our own, I will never be afraid to walk out that door because I’ll know they’ll be safe here with you.”
Tears swam in Axel’s eyes and he wanted to believe he was worthy of Clint’s faith in him, but yesterday’s incident in the park caused him doubt. “I wasn’t there to protect the kids yesterday,” he whispered. “If you hadn’t called, I wouldn’t have known they were in danger.”
“What happened yesterday wasn’t your fault,” Clint said. “This is a safe neighborhood, you couldn’t have predicted those events. The twins are fifteen. You had no reason to think that they or the little boys wouldn’t be safe at the park just down the block. We can also learn from these things. Teach the kids to detect potential dangers around them. Don’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”
Axel wished Clint could apply the same to himself. What Clint’s brother did to Axel was not Clint’s fault and it wasn’t within his control to stop it. Yet he would never stop blaming himself.
•♦•
With FBI Human Trafficking field offices established in every state, Wil Jordan had received a prompt response to his information concerning the incoming buyers. The Violent Crimes against Children Section was a special task force specifically
dedicated to child sex trafficking.
Gerald Grant, head of the task force, had performed a speedy debriefing of Wil Jordan over the phone on the way to the city and by the time they arrived, knew everything that Wil knew concerning the incoming buyers.
By 4:30 a.m. they were moving in on the warehouse. Grant and selective agents were posted undercover as the sellers and waited for the buyers to contact them. Wil and the SWAT team remained out of sight and served as an emergency backup as the task force agents took precedence. Wil Jordan was neither insecure nor arrogant and had no issues passing off jurisdiction to the agents. His only priority was apprehending the child sex traffickers—by any means necessary.
At 5:15, Wil and his team were informed that the buyers had made contact and would be arriving at the warehouse within twenty minutes.
Right on time, Wil spotted the large, white extended-bodied van turn the corner and roll up the deserted street. A logo for a plumbing service was plastered along the sides of the van. Following the van was a tan four-door Sedan. The two vehicles pulled around back of the warehouse and out of Wil’s line of sight.
Car doors opened and closed.
“They’ve gone inside,” the SWAT leader radioed to Wil. “All but one. He’s taking a piss.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Wil radioed back.
A pause, then. “He isn’t going inside. He’s probably a lookout.”
“Don’t let him out of your sight.”
If all went as planned, the buyers wouldn’t know they were the victims of a sting operation until moments before they were in cuffs.
•♦•
“This is a first.”
Cochise looked at Cruz. “What do you mean?”
“For Clint,” he said. “Turning things over to the cops.”
Cochise looked forward again, eyes on the warehouse. “He explained why he did it.”
“I know,” Cruz murmured. “It’s still a first. The old Clint would’ve waited there himself and butchered them like we did the first batch.”