Drake’s fingers tightened on Jerry’s shoulders until the man cried out, and Clover was surprised to see Drake’s expression change. His face flushed, and a vein bulged on his forehead. “Who else did you sell him?” Drake demanded in a voice that could rival the Arctic wind in terms of temperature.
It was as if the entire room had been covered with frost, and Clover could sense a huge icicle growing longer, its sharp tip uncomfortably near his nape. Jerry shuddered. He could feel it too. The cold steps of Death, who was already catching up to him.
“I… I didn’t.”
Drake snapped and grabbed Jerry’s head, twisting it back at an unnatural angle. His face was the mask of a demon so vicious Clover sensed his heartbeat in his throat.
“Drake. That’s enough,” Tank growled, stepping closer.
“It’s not fucking enough!” Drake held out his hand in a silent demand for the knife. Clover didn’t hesitate and handed it over. Drake circled Jerry, grabbed the flap of skin that had been separated from muscle, and cut it off in one harsh move, sending rivulets of blood down Jerry’s arm as the man howled in pain. “How about now? How. Many.”
Jerry howled, with saliva dripping down his chin. “I don’t know, ten?”
Clover stood still, his heart beating furiously when he met Drake’s eyes above Jerry. This worm was not worthy of mercy, and they both knew it.
“Come here, Clover,” Drake said, stepping away to make space behind Jerry.
A gun clicked and Clover looked up at Tank, as if pulled out of a dream.
“No!” Drake yelled, with deep grooves forming on his forehead. “Let him have it.”
Tank lowered his gun with a shake of his head. “Clover?”
Clover had to take a deep breath, but he was sure. “He deserves it.”
Jerry thrashed in the chair, but the bindings allowed him no way out. “I told you what you wanted!”
Clover approached Drake and stood behind Jerry, looking down at the man’s sweaty hair. The smell of blood made the air thick, yet it wouldn’t change Clover’s decision. Scum like Jerry didn’t deserve a chance. The bastard tried to scream, but Drake grabbed his face, reaching around Clover, almost as if they were embracing.
“Shut up, or we’ll make it long and painful.”
Clover had never seen Drake in this kind of action, but he had no doubts that Drake was capable of making people suffer without feeling the smallest bit of remorse. He saw Boar, who sat still, covering his mouth with one hand, but Clover knew he needed to do this. Use his own hands, not rely on anyone else’s.
When Jerry had been reduced to loud sobs, Drake’s chest pressed against Clover’s back. Drake cupped the back of Clover’s left hand, gently directing it to Jerry’s hair. They both clutched at it and pulled back his head to expose the throat.
Clover’s head was an echo chamber of pulsing blood. The only thing he felt in that moment was the lead of Drake’s body, and the warmth of the knife handle in his other hand. Drake had him grab it and then tightened his own grip on top, propelling it to the vulnerable flesh.
The whole world sped up around them when Drake led the motion, right under Jerry’s Adam’s apple. Skin and cartilage stood no chance against the blade, but it was Clover’s fingers around the grip when they cut into Jerry’s neck, opening it up to the world and showing everyone just how ugly the man was inside.
Clover could feel the warmth of blood even through the latex glove, and as life seeped out of Jerry, the man made a final gurgle.
Drake was right. Jerry should have been happy his death was fast.
Clover’s entire body buzzed with adrenaline when Drake stepped away, breathing noticeably harder. Before Clover could turn toward him, he rushed through the door and shut it with a loud thud.
Clover’s breath caught, his attention back on the corpse that hadn’t yet lost its warmth. He moved forward with no intention, but the big mouth opened in Jerry’s neck to spit blood made him look at the floor again. He didn’t want to see how Jerry’s face appeared in death, but the growing red pool was a wakeup call. The air thickened with the coppery scent of Jerry’s ugly essence, and Clover dropped the blade mindlessly.
Tank took a big inhale. “Enough, boy, or do you wanna learn about clean-up too?”
Clover’s feet guided him to Tank on their own accord. “I-I will help, b-but I’ll just go talk to Drake first?”
“No, stay outside. You’ve seen enough for one lesson,” Boar said, opening his backpack and pulling out a roll of thick plastic sheet.
Pyro patted him on the back in passing. “Good job.”
Maybe they were right.
Clover nodded, unable to speak just yet, and went outside to find Drake sitting cross-legged in the corner of the yard, a cigarette in his shaky hand. Since when was he bothered by death?
Clover approached him, still disbelieving what he’d done. He’d spent a year preparing for it, yet actually committing murder felt unreal.
“Is everything okay?” Clover asked and, after a moment of hesitation, he sat next to Drake.
A snort left Drake’s mouth, but it didn’t seem to express amusement. “I must look fucking terrible if you think you should be the one asking,” he said and brought the cigarette to his mouth, breathing in the smoke.
Clover swallowed and put his latex-clad hand in Drake’s leather-covered one. It seemed appropriate for two killers. That was what Clover had become. After all, people were not what they thought they were, but what they did.
“You don’t seem… like yourself.”
Drake’s toes curled in his soft fabric shoes. “Have I told you how I got trafficked?”
Clover swallowed. So this was what bothered Drake so much. He must have heard about the people Jerry had sold and it triggered all the bad memories. “No.”
Drake didn’t look his way, gaze wandering as if he wasn’t seeing the shabby yard but some place only he knew. “My parents sold me. To a guy called Apollo.”
Clover froze and squeezed Drake’s hand tighter, but his heart beat all too fast. “We’ll get to him.” Now not just for himself, but for Drake too.
Chapter 9 – Drake
Drake’s head throbbed with images he craved to forget. No matter how much he would have preferred for his memory to blur, his brain had the sharpness of his blades.
He’d been six when his mother sold him off to Apollo. Drake had stayed in the man’s ‘care’ a couple of weeks. He’d slept with four other children in a room with walls painted to resemble a meadow, and every night, My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music was played to them at bed time. Three times. On a loop.
Apollo hadn’t even tormented Drake or the other children the way his later owner, Theo had, but he had been the owner of the enterprise. The one who profited from the sale, and he knew exactly what purpose he was selling the children for. Drake couldn’t even begin to estimate how many people had passed through Apollo’s hands since then, but it had been over twenty years, and the man was still in business.
Apollo had already been grey back when Drake had first met him, so he’d assumed the bastard had passed his business on to an enterprising son or quit and lived somewhere in Bali. Finding out that he was not only alive but still running the same operation, his greedy claws reaching for Clover, made blood boil in Drake’s veins to the point of every move he made burned.
The fact that Apollo hadn’t physically harmed Drake didn’t make him any less of a monster. Apollo was still the man who’d hurled Drake down the mountain and into the depths of Hell. Throughout the years, he’d been an occasional presence in Drake’s life and had caught glimpses of Drake’s torment yet did nothing about it until Drake became an empty puppet whose single goal was to avoid pain.
Drake’s owner had been more than happy to show off his ‘little vampire’, as Drake used to be often called, because of his complexion. It was hard to get a tan when one wasn’t allowed outside. Theo had acted as if Drake really was a human pet, not a person in his
own right. Maybe he hadn’t been. Throughout the years of living under Theo’s roof, becoming a well-rounded man hadn’t been a priority. Survival was.
At least rape had become rarer after Drake had turned fourteen and must have not posed as much of a temptation for the sick pedo and his friends. It had taken Drake years to establish a sexual identity he could call his own, and some days he still had to fight the memories of a time when his body hadn’t belonged to him.
He’d only learned to read later in life, when Theo had decided he could actually use Drake as something other than a sex object. His struggle with reading was still a source of insecurity, not to mention a whole array of life skills and experiences he’d missed out on because his mother had decided drugs were more important than her child. Apollo had snatched the opportunity instead of calling the child services.
Sometimes, Drake thought his life had never truly started until he’d met Tank. ‘Drake’ had been a name invented for the needs of his assassination mission, but when that had gone sideways and Tank had helped Drake get rid of Theo instead, Drake adopted it as his own. Leaving the past behind had been a goal in itself, so he’d followed Tank out of that hellhole like a wary puppy.
For the first time, he’d met a man who offered him a choice. Who didn’t want to use him in one way or another. Despite finding out Drake’s murderous intentions, Tank had given him a chance at a new life. Unlike with Clover, who Tank had been hot for from the moment he’d lain eyes on the boy, Tank had helped Drake without an ulterior motive. It no longer mattered whether he’d done it out of pity or curiosity. Since then, they’d established a new kind of bond. One of brotherhood, support, and now even a shared partner.
Which was exactly why Tank’s dismissal had hurt so much.
“We’ve got an opening. A time and location. Why would we not go?” Drake worked hard not to raise his voice in Jolene’s home, where they’d returned to after the visit at Jerry’s, but he was at breaking point.
They were facing each other in the attic, where Drake slept because ‘the couples’ got the two guest rooms. Apart from a low, sloping ceiling, the room was comfortable, cosy even, but the oppressive feeling created by Drake’s head brushing against eaves was aggravated by Tank’s attitude.
He stood in the tallest part of the room, so he wouldn’t have to bow his head all the time, and the unforgiving expression on his face made Drake itch to claw his eyes out.
“Because we know nothing about who else might be there and frankly, I think you’ve lost your shit.”
Drake spread his arms. “Oh, so now you’re the judge and jury? You know what that motherfucker did to me. I thought I’d never meet him again. I thought he was dead. Now I get my chance, and you’re blocking me?”
Tank squinted. “Thought this was about Clover.”
The bastard damn well knew it wasn’t just about Clover anymore, and had only said it to annoy Drake and try to prove his point. For all his virtues, Tank could be an obstructive piece of shit.
“It’s about Clover too. Can’t I get my revenge and protect Clover at the same time? I’d actually say this is perfect.”
“The timing isn’t right. We can’t just charge into things.”
Drake heaved with fury. “You say that because it wasn’t you who was forced to take an adult man’s cock at ten!”
Tank winced, and Drake hated every hint of pity in his expression. “That’s below the belt, isn’t it? I want to investigate, and I want you to get your justice, but Clover… He’s really not himself. He just killed someone—”
“Yes, he killed the guy who sold him. I can assure you it made him feel great.”
Tank scowled. “You’re not in his head. He’s not you!”
“He’s not the dainty flower you want him to be either!”
“I train him too! I get what he wants, but if you don’t let him get a breather, he’ll charge into something, overly confident after what happened today, and it will end in tragedy. I ask for one day, Drake. I’ve seen shit like this in the army. Cadets thinking they’re ready to be part of complex missions because they finally climbed to the top of the rope.” Tank reached to Drake’s arm, but Drake backed away so fast he hit his head.
“Why do you talk about me when I’m not there?” Clover asked out of nowhere, and Drake shut his eyes, breathing steadily to calm down. Great. Because they needed Clover to hear any of this.
“We’re done anyway. I’m tired,” he said, even though the itch for revenge was buzzing in his veins.
Tank still took his time to rub some salt into the wound. “Because it’s Drake’s unfinished business and he needs things put in perspective for him.”
Drake pushed Tank’s buff chest. “Fuck you! Get the fuck out!”
Tank inhaled very slowly, always eager to show Drake who had more self-control. “We’ll talk in the morning. Come, Clover.”
Drake’s chest constricted, and he reached for Clover’s willowy hand, squeezing it hard. “No. Stay.”
The gentle fingers soothed him with their touch when they entwined with Drake’s. “I’ll stay here tonight,” Clover said.
Tank raised his hands with a growl. “Have it your way. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. This day is such fucking bullshit,” he mumbled the last bit as he stomped down the creaky stairs.
And the worst thing was that no matter how angry Drake was, the room felt weirdly hollow once the towering presence was gone. He pulled Clover into his arms and rested his chin on the smooth, white head. Desperation hadn’t evaporated out of him yet, but the presence of this sweet angel was speeding up the process.
“Thank you,” he whispered, shutting the door with his foot.
Clover hugged him, stroking Drake’s back. Each touch was so unimaginably comforting it could only be compared to the touch of sunshine. For so many years, no one had been able to make Drake feel at ease. No one had stuck around long enough, no one had cared enough to give Drake time. Now here they were, without Drake breaking out in cold sweat just because someone stroked him.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I just wanted to see you. What’s going on?”
Drake wanted to tell him right away, but instead he choked up as memories clogged his windpipe, so he fought through it, burying his face in the sweet-scented hair. “He’s so close. I could strike him down. I could do it tonight, so no one else would be hurt by him again.”
Clover kissed his shoulder, and despite being so much smaller, the boy felt like a rock Drake could hold on to until the raging storm passed. “And Tank’s saying we shouldn’t go? I thought it was a done deal. We have a location and a time.”
Drake nodded and pulled Clover to the mattress that would be both their bed for the night. He slumped to the edge and glanced at the gorgeous boy who offered him so much support. He wanted to discuss this, rant about Tank, he really did, but Tank was right—Clover had made his first kill earlier, and it might’ve been harder on him than it seemed at first glance.
“About Jerry… are you fine?” he asked, gently holding the beautiful hands, marveling at the naturally pink hue of his lover’s nails. He was pretty like a doll but underneath that exterior was a material much harder than anyone expected.
Clover let out a long breath and his gaze strayed. “I’m okay. It’s just… strange. I don’t feel like a bad person, you know?”
A smile tugged on Drake’s mouth, and the sight of Clover’s rosy lips moving chased thoughts of revenge to the back of his mind. He pulled him down. “That’s because you’re not. There’s nothing wrong about taking revenge on someone so horrible.”
“It’s just that I remember the good times with him too. I never knew what he’d been up to behind our backs.” Clover straddled Drake’s lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.
Drake exhaled and moved back to make room for Clover. “Did any of your friends go missing within that time?” he asked. Clover didn’t seem down, but away from the blood and violence, he looked like a normal teenag
er, who should not be exposed to such cruelty.
“People would come and go. No one ever asked too many questions. He could have sold someone from under my nose, and I wouldn’t have known.”
The forlorn expression that briefly passed over Clover’s features made Drake pull him close, until the soft cheek rested on his shoulder and Clover’s palms settled on his back. The boy had showered and now smelled so fresh it was giving Drake’s head a mild spin. “You shouldn’t feel guilty over being a survivor.”
“How do you feel?” Clover whispered. “About Apollo?”
Drake had shared glimpses of what had happened to him with Tank, much less with Pyro and Boar, but Clover’s presence was such comfort. He seemed like the only person in the world who could open up Drake’s wounds without making them bleed again.
He closed his eyes and rolled down, taking Clover with him. They settled on their sides, with faces just inches apart when he spoke. “I loathe him. He’s a vile man, and he needs to die. That’s the only thing I feel.”
There were many more things, layers of hatred for the parents who abandoned him, disgust with the fact that Apollo still ran his business so many years later, fear for Clover, but he didn’t want to worry his lover.
“You know what really scared me today?” Clover whispered into Drake’s lips. “That it felt good. Not in a sadistic kind of way, but I felt no remorse for what I did. Jerry deserved it, and with your help, I ended his life.”
Drake swallowed. In the warm light of the lamp provided, Clover’s eyes seemed even bluer than usual, and his white hair curled against his cheeks like that of an angel. Clover had the appearance of an innocent, but he no longer was, and he could never go back to who he used to be before Drake had guided his hand across Jerry’s throat.
“I’m not sure if it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to force you if you weren’t ready.”
Clover gave Drake a peck on the lips. “I know you wouldn’t. There seems to be this myth about you, that you’re the scariest in our group, but I think you’re the sweetest and the gentlest. Even if you pinch or slap me, tie me up, you’re always so careful.”
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