Four Mercenaries - The Complete Collection
Page 27
The flashback to his time in Riggs’s hands was so intense he could almost smell the dusty floor in that Arizona house.
“You’ve made a mistake!” he yelled when the man’s strong arms pulled him back up, his brain jarring over and over, unable to produce a sensible way out of this.. “I’m gay, I’m of no use to you as a breeder!”
Diana chuckled. “Oh, sweetie. You will perform for me, don’t you worry about that. I’ve got ways to make it happen. But first let’s get rid of that nasty thing in your shoulder. You’re mine now, and no one else’s. And besides, I already have a breeding pair of homosexuals in my collection. You’re here because of your looks.”
Clover’s limbs turned ice cold. Once that tiny chip was out of his body, he’d forever lose his connection with the men he loved. They’d never find him, and he’d spend his life in a cage, ‘performing’ for Diana’s pleasure.
And what would happen if he refused? Would he be disposed of? Sold to someone who might have a different, more sinister use for him? Beaten into submission? All the possibilities were dire, and despite knowing there wasn’t much he could do about his position, he still thrashed when the goon returned with another man and held him down.
“No! I’ll be good, I swear. Don’t take it out!”
“Hold still or it will hurt more!” one of the men yelled, forcing Clover to lie face down in the grass with a knee pressed to his back. Clover smelled the dirt, felt it rubbing against his bare skin. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, but when a sharp pain penetrated his brain, all he could do was scream. He’d be lost forever. Yet another forgotten face. A name that might as well have never existed. The tracker that had been put in him out of love couldn’t help him anymore.
His face was streaked with tears by the time one of the goons finished stapling his flesh back together, and when strong arms hauled him back to his knees, he didn’t even try to resist. The piece of technology that had connected him to his men was gone, and his will—nearly broken, but he still held on to hope. If he wanted to ever get out of here he needed to play Diana’s crazy game.
“There, there,” Diana cooed as she scooted next to him. She rubbed his tears away with her thumbs, as if she were trying to comfort a child. “You’re so, so, pretty, Clover. That little wound will heal in no time. Have a cupcake, it will make it better.”
Clover stared at her in disbelief as the goon removed his cuffs and dragged him to the human-sized birdcage. Its floor was covered with a spongy mattress that dipped under Clover’s weight, and he sat down, resigned to his fate. One look at the bars was enough to tell him they were way thicker than those in a real bird cage would have been. The shock didn’t fully settle in yet when he watched his new mistress through the bars as the only door was secured with two fat padlocks.
His gaze drifted to the cupcakes, and he grabbed one, itching to fill his stomach despite the nausea thickening in his throat.
“That’s it, Clover. I had them baked just for you.”
He stilled for half a second, wondering what kind of drugs they could be laced with, but Diana had put far too much effort into acquiring him to risk damage to her new property, so he bit into the sickly sweet treat, knowing that if he ever got out of there, he wouldn’t touch a cupcake again.
The pain in his shoulder made his eyes well up, but he still chewed until he could force himself to swallow.
“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” Diana said with a smile, cupping her face as a flush crept into her cheeks. “You will only be eating white foods from now on. They will fit with your aesthetic. I can’t wait to see you eat marshmallows.”
“I have no aesthetic,” Clover mumbled but forced himself to swallow some of the frosting. It was soft and smooth, as if the baker used real butter for the cream, but the amount of sugar masked whatever flavor it was meant to be.
Diana grabbed the bars, watching him with her intensely gray eyes. “You do from now on.”
Clover wasn’t about to argue, so he stayed silent when she rose.
“I will be back later. Take your time getting accustomed to your temporary cage.”
Clover watched her step back, pinned down by the dark gaze of her goons. Were they not going with her? He did not want to stay with those people. “Wait. I’ll be cold at night!” Clover said, feeling needles of air push into his skin as one of the men picked up Clover’s clothes from the grass.
But Diana waved her hand at him. “Nonsense. You just need to get used to it all.”
Clover hugged his knees to his chest, and a part of him wanted her to come back just so that he could focus on the terror of here and now instead of sinking into thoughts of the future that awaited him. Of rape, of pain, of captivity, and an endless loneliness he would never get to fix.
Chapter 21 – Clover
Clover was cold.
He curled up on the thin mattress in the hope that some kind of heating system was in place, but as the recordings of bird songs were replaced by howls and other noises one might associate with night-dwelling creatures, he was still cold. In the distance, the dog was still barking every now and again, and his body became number with every passing minute. The new wound ached, but what hurt most was the invisible gash that refused to close.
He’d never again sleep in Tank’s bed. Never again kiss Boar’s lips, be swept away by Pyro’s rough yet intense sexual presence. Drake wouldn’t teach him how to properly throw knives. Without the tracker, he’d be lost to them, and within a few weeks, they’d surely move on. They might have fallen for him while they were all together, but feelings expired fast without physical contact. Clover had learned that the hard way.
And yet he couldn’t make himself wish that he’d gone to Canada after all. The depth of emotion he’d experienced in the last months was like being woken up from a lifelong coma. His heart used to be as numb as his toes now were, and the guys had warmed it, each in his own way. For the brief time together, Clover had been the apple of their eye, and he wouldn’t trade that experience even for freedom.
That sense of belonging, the knowledge that people truly cared about him was priceless.
As he lay still, human voices called out from the other cages sometimes, but he paid them no mind, too far away to communicate. He was too upset to have a conversation anyway. His entire being mourned lost relationships.
So cold. Maybe Diana had been wrong about the weather? Maybe she’d find him dead in the morning and pull at her hair in fury that she hadn’t even gotten any use out of him.
He’d love to see the look on her face.
It had to be late, because everything was dark with the exception of the moon and stars blinking at Clover from above. The background behind the bright dots was so very dark, something Clover had never seen while he’d lived in an urban area. This was the countryside, and nobody would ever find him in a place so remote.
He wished he hadn’t brushed off goodbyes with jokes. When he’d still been with Tank and the others, failure had seemed like such a distant concept. He hadn’t wanted to take it into account, and now here he was, all alone again.
If only he could tell Tank how much he appreciated the chance taken on him. How he loved the care and affection, combined with discipline.
He wished he could have told Drake not to worry. Drake had been through such horrors, and the last thing Clover wanted was to be a source of fresh anguish to him.
And then there was Boar and Pyro. Two men so different, yet who so weirdly complemented each other. Where Boar could be so sweet it bordered on sappy, Pyro was a force to be reckoned with—insatiable in bed, and always trying to pull Clover into mischief.
Even now, in the cage, Clover smiled when he remembered their last night together. He’d never felt alone when they were with him. There had always been someone to talk to, to cuddle with, or to help him out if needed. He’d never imagined himself capable of forming a functional, trusting relationship with one man, so four seemed like a stretch, yet it worked.
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Whatever awaited him now, he’d always have those memories to fall into.
Something hummed in the distance, and he rolled to his back, looking toward the noise. Was someone visiting Diana with another ‘specimen’ for her menagerie perhaps? He exhaled, about to close his eyes when he realized the noise couldn’t have been made by a car. It wasn’t an engine. It was... a rotor?
A series of volleys from a machine gun tore through the air, and he frantically backed against the icicle-cold bars just in time to see the small fiery explosions emerging from someone’s rifle at the top of a watchtower nearby.
Were they… under attack?
Hope was like a beacon inside his chest, but he couldn’t let himself dream of the impossible. With his heart in his throat, he backed into the corner of the cage but dropped right back to the mattress when whoever had been shooting earlier fell off the tower like a man-sized rag doll. Red lights came on all around, pulsating in the dark as the piercing sound of an alarm siren rolled above.
He was no longer shaking, his body warmed up by the upcoming danger. Whoever was about to storm Diana’s property, bullets would fly, and they wouldn’t always reach their intended target. He needed to stay low, as his men had taught him.
A helicopter circled the tower on the background of the dark blue sky, agile despite its size, like a bird of prey on the prowl for roadkill. And just as the machine was about to charge above the menagerie, a large silhouette dropped on top of the building.
Clover’s mouth dried, and he stiffened further when the rotor buzzed, pulling the helicopter across the sky, until it hovered above uncomfortably close. Clover was too afraid to breathe, yet the presence of an enemy of Diana’s still filled him with more joy than it should have. In the blood-red light, a rope fell to the ground only a couple of steps away from his enclosure, and a man in full military gear rode it all the way to the patch of grass where Clover had had his chip removed not that long ago.
The soldier stepped back, making space for another guy. They took hold of their assault rifles, so close Clover could almost sense their smell, but before his heart could have burst out of his chest, one of the men, tall, with shoulders as broad as a bear’s glanced straight at him from behind the black balaclava.
Time stopped. Clover couldn’t breathe, trapped in his cage and torn between begging for help and remaining perfectly still, but when a series from a shotgun tore through the air, he screamed out and covered his head in hope he wouldn’t be in the way of stray bullets.
“Tank!”
Like that time when Riggs had taken Clover, Tank had come for him. He couldn’t be a hundred percent sure because of the balaclava, yet he was. He knew Tank’s shape by heart, with or without the gear. The other man, who’d just rolled behind a decorative fountain with the grace of a wild cat, was Drake. Nobody else moved like him.
“I’m here!” Clover yelled over the noise of the rotor. Tears rolled down his cheeks once recognition kicked in, and he wasn’t even embarrassed. He reached through the bars, desperate to feel familiar touch. He’d never known true safety before falling asleep in Tank’s sturdy arms. And now, even with bullets flying left and right, he felt more secure than he’d had in the peaceful silence of the night.
Tank didn’t even try to hide. He pulled up his rifle, aimed, and shot a handful of times, stopping the onslaught. “Cover me,” he roared, heading toward Clover like a superhero about to break bullets with his body.
Drake was too focused on their surroundings to catch Clover’s gaze, but Clover still stared at him in awe. Drake would put his arm in a lion’s mouth to save him. Despite this place surely hitting all too close to home, there he stood, sending a series from his rifle at two security guards who’d just entered the walled garden.
Tank’s entire weight smashed against Clover’s cage.
“There’s other captives here,” Clover whimpered. “She’s got some fucked-up human zoo here!” He knew he shouldn’t distract Tank, but the need to touch him was too overwhelming, and when he squeezed his man’s forearms through the thick clothes, a helpless sob left his mouth.
He could barely feel Tank’s body heat through the protective gear, but the strong forearm felt solid. This wasn’t a dream. They’d come for him.
They cared.
Tank reached inside the cage, and from up close Clover recognized his dark eyes through the slits in the mask. The firm squeeze on his shoulder was like an invitation home, but Tank let go as quickly as he’d touched him.
“We’ll take care of them later. Now get away from the lock,” he said, and showed Clover his gun.
Clover did as he was told, curling up in the farthest corner and covering his ears. The shots still rang in his head when Tank sent bullets at the padlocks, but with the helicopter flying off into the distance, he could at least hear Tank breathing heavily.
Clover burst out of the cage as soon as it was open and pressed his face against the hard bulletproof vest. A sense of absolute safety settled onto his shoulders along with soft fabric. Dazed by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he looked back, only to realize Drake had covered him with a large black hoodie.
“Are you okay?” Drake asked as if he hadn’t just killed several guards. It was surreal, but Clover refused to write off his joy as a dream.
Clover nodded, reaching out for him with a trembling hand. “Now I am. I was so scared. But now you’re here.” In the red light, the two tall men dressed in black could have been demons with guns in their hands, but to Clover, Tank and Drake were the guardian angels he’d never had.
“Do you know where she is?” Tank asked, pulling Clover into the shadow between the cages.
Clover shook his head, cold despite the hoodie. He stopped breathing when his eyes recognized distinctly human forms hiding between the plants that filled up so much of the space provided for each person in the enclosures. His throat tightened, but as they neared a door leading inside a simple building topped with barbed wire, he dared to speak.
“We’ll be back. I promise!” he shouted to Ava who emerged from the shadow and grabbed the bars as she followed him with wide eyes. He didn’t want to imagine what that woman had been through. Even now, she didn’t say a word.
They walked past the cages and through a wall that led into a more traditional garden, with sculpted bushes peppered around the perimeter and a large flower bed in the middle. A vicious barking erupted from the side, and Clover pushed into Tank before spotting a huge German shepherd inside an enclosure adjacent to the wall. The dog was as tall as Clover when it stood on its hind legs, resting the front paws against the mesh fence, frustrated that it had no means to follow.
“It’s okay,” Tank said, leading Clover through darkness dispersed by the moonlight enriched by the red tint of the blinking alarm lamps. They moved with purpose, but Drake sped toward a small shed hidden among a thatch of conifers.
Tank opened its door, and when the moonlight darted inside, Clover spotted all kinds of gardening equipment. He didn’t question his men when they ushered him inside and shut the door. It was dark inside until Tank switched on a tiny orange light attached to his vest.
“We need to find her, Clover. She’s not running away from what she did. I need you to stay put and not make a sound, okay?” he said from behind the balaclava, but even though his features remained hidden, the intensity of his gaze pierced Clover like an arrow.
“B-but…” Clover didn’t know when he’d become such a big baby, but this was too much. The smell of wood and grass filled his lungs in the uninhabited structure, and he rubbed his face, unsure how to proceed.
Tank shushed him, but the first thing Clover saw when he opened his eyes was a gun, which Drake was handing him, grip-first. The drumming of a shootout echoed in the distance, compelling Clover to accept the weapon. Drake touched the side of his head, his mouth tightening as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he pushed the door with his shoulder and carefully looked out through the gap.
Clover stood still, overwhelmed by the rescue he’d no longer hoped for, but Tank shook his arm and made Clover’s hands close on the firearm.
"You've got to trust me, boy. I will always come for you,” he said, stroking Clover’s shoulder. “Whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself. Only use this if you have no other way to save yourself.”
Clover’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he didn’t know what to say, plagued by the sense that he’d betrayed his lovers. Only minutes ago, he’d been resigned to his fate. Convinced no one was coming for him. But he should have had faith, and it ate at him that he’d given up so fast.
He squeezed the weapon as fear of a different kind paralyzed his body. “What if you can’t come back? What if you get stuck somewhere? I don’t want you to take any more risk than you have to.”
Tank leaned down and stared into Clover’s eyes with an intensity that communicated more than words could. “There is no risk that would stop me. Understood? Trust me. You’re safer here.”
Clover swallowed, too choked up to answer. Drake watched them from the doorway, lifting his rifle when the shooting ceased in the distance. “Stay hidden. You need to trust us on this.”
Trust. That was something Clover still needed to learn, but he wanted to. Even though his mind remained on the lookout for betrayal, for the first time in his life he was among people he could rely on in the truest sense of the word. And if they were willing to risk their lives for him, then he could offer them at least as much in return.
“I will wait. And I’ll only shoot when I need to protect myself,” he whispered to Tank, because Drake was quietly speaking into the communication device.
Tank watched Clover in silence, and the raw nature of the connection had ants crawling up Clover’s body until Drake raised his voice somewhat.
“Four. Three. Two. One.”