Even now, after all that had happened, he cared about Drake. This time, to stop tears from flowing, Drake had to bite his cheek until he tasted blood.
“Yes. Let me take care of you. Please,” he whispered before nudging Clover, so the boy would face away from him.
He wanted to offer him a semblance of hope, but what was he to say?
There was no hope.
Clover nodded. He tried to sit, but when that turned out impossible to bear, he lay down on the dirty floor of the storage room that was already marked with his blood. “Who’s Mr. Arnie?” Clover whispered, sending a chill all the way to the tips of Drake’s toes.
It was as if Mr. Arnie wasn’t only a name on Clover’s lips but a real presence in the doorway. Drake’s stomach twisted, and he had to swallow the nausea that rapidly overcame his throat. His insides ached as if he’d been Mr. Arnie’s plaything, not only a witness that still bore scars of what he’d seen.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he should tell Clover, but when he looked at the fresh wounds on his lover’s back, it became clear, lies wouldn’t help. “He’s my personal boogeyman,” he whispered with a heavy heart. There was a bottle of water in the first aid kit, and he used it to clean Clover with a piece of gauze, as gently as he could, but the boy still shivered every time the touch became too firm.
“My past owner, the man Apollo had sold me to, Hank, he had other deviant friends, and he sometimes took me to what he called ‘playdates’.” Just thinking back to it made Drake sick, so he focused on Clover’s bleeding flesh, because even that made more sense than what Mr. Arnie did to people. He needed to be a source of strength for Clover the way Tank was. Steady and trustworthy. “One of those people was Mr. Arnie. He liked boys older than I was back then, and what he liked them do was…” Drake had to swallow the nausea and dressed the wounds as best he could with limited resources. Some needed stitches and would end up leaving ugly, elevated scars once they closed, but he had no means of dealing with them properly. “He’d have these young guys attacked by his dogs. Both for violence, and… sexually. Whenever I showed a hint of disobedience, Hank would threaten to sell me to Mr. Arnie. I saw what that man did and I knew the threat wasn’t empty, because the motherfucker showed interest in me several times.”
He remembered this one guy he met on a playdate. A bit older than Drake but even more scared. It was a shock to see him submit to the torture not long after. But then it had gotten even worse. Arnie sicced the dogs on him, treating Hank, Drake, and his other guests to a spectacle of a most brutal death. Arnie had gotten bored with guys once he’d broken them.
Drake drifted off with his gaze. He hated having to confess this, but how else would he explain how scared he was for Clover?
Clover spoke once the silence extended into agony. “He won’t let us go. You heard him. Diana was his sister. This was just the beginning. If he feels like it, I’ll end up in Mr. Arnie’s hands sooner or later. He doesn’t need to keep a promise to you. He could break it just to spite you.”
The terror on Clover’s usually smiley face made Drake look away. He stared at the wall behind the shelving unit and frowned. There was a vent grille close to the ceiling, quite large too, but as hope bloomed in his chest, Drake stifled it immediately. If they attempted to move through the ventilation system, it would end up causing way too much noise. And there were filters, and fans. They’d end up caught, their situation worsened by the escape attempt. No. He couldn’t feed Clover false hope. The only thing they could do was persevere.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind? You’re unique. He might want to sell you to someone who won’t be too bad,” Drake whispered, though he knew that in a normal person his words wouldn’t inspire any hope at all.
“That’s our alternative?” Clover stared at Drake, his shoulders slouched. The constant movement of his eyes, which Drake got so used to he barely even noticed, seemed to intensify.
Guilt was like endless stabbing, leaving deep wounds in Drake’s chest, but what was he to tell Clover? He couldn’t lie to him in a situation like this one. The best he could do for him was convince Apollo that Clover had played no part in Diana’s death, that it was all on him. Maybe then, the boy wouldn’t have to experience the worst of Apollo’s repertoire.
“Yes, Clover, that’s the alternative,” Drake whispered. He took a deep breath in an attempt to keep his voice level. “My mom sold me when I was still a kid. And I’ve seen some horrible things. But I’ve been a good boy, and no one killed me. I lived long enough to meet Tank and got to live my new life for eight long years. That’s something.”
The tears that instantly welled up in Clover’s eyes and overflowed into streams, forced Drake to grab Clover’s hand even though the boy flinched at first.
“One of those guys you killed…” Clover rubbed his eyes, but squeezed Drake’s hand. “He said he’d knock all my teeth out. It might not sound so scary. Just a threat, but I looked into his eyes, and I knew he meant it.”
Drake looked down, nodding. “You must be obedient. Don’t talk back. Maybe I can do something so they spare you. I am so sorry,” he said softly, each of Clover’s tears creating a new wound in his heart. Maybe it would stop beating soon, unable to take the depth of despair he felt.
Clover’s expression, the pure fear in it, reminded him of his own face. He never broke down when someone could see, but that one time at the gas station when Hank and he had been driving home from a visit at Mr. Arnie’s, he’d cried in the restroom, unable to cope with the suffering he’d witnessed.
Hank had been nervous when Drake had left the stall and squeezed his hand all-too-tightly on the way through the store. That had been when Drake saw it.
Two officers had been chatting to an elderly couple. They were only a couple of steps away, and if Drake had called out for help, they’d have taken notice, demanded an explanation.
But Drake had been too afraid and had meekly followed Hank to their car. Even back then, he’d already imagined the cops being dirty or the couple accepting money to turn a blind eye to the boy who ‘made up stories’.
The threat Hank had held over him had been too stifling back then.
Still, Drake glanced to the vent again. Maybe he’d been wrong not to try to alert the cops. Maybe he’d have ended up at Mr. Arnie’s, tortured to death, but maybe he would have been taken to safety years before he killed Hank to regain his freedom?
Was it even his choice to make?
Clover shook his head time and time again. “I will make a mistake. You know I have a big mouth. I will say something, or flinch, or act out of turn. I know I will because I’m just so fucking stupid.”
The vent called out to Drake, and he squeezed Clover’s arms, his entire body burning from the inside. “You’re not stupid. You are the love of my life, Clover.”
Clover looked up at him with trembling lips, a mouth Drake so loved to kiss was now bruised and battered. “I am stupid. I should have known better than to do this crazy stunt. I should have told you it was a bad idea, but no, I thought we could take on the world. Well, we can’t, and it only took a punch and a few threats to beat me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Drake swallowed. “I’m the one responsible. I’m older, more experienced. No wonder you thought I knew what I was doing,” he said, pulling Clover to his feet. If Clover was to make a risky choice, there was no more time to spare.
“Do you…?” Clover licked his lips. “If… bad things happen to me. What’s the best way to… end things? If I have no weapons, no rope… what do I do?” It was as if Clover’s body wasn’t able to contain the fear anymore, and he trembled under Drake’s fingers.
The idea of Clover dying revolted him to the core, but he pulled his lover into his arms, trying to remember the exact temperature of his body, its scent, how it felt against him. “Don’t drink bleach. Or take pills, because you’re most likely to get very sick than die. I think slitting your wrists could be least painful.” He took a deep brea
th and glanced at the vent. “But you could also try and run. Now.”
Clover let out a strangled laugh. “If you could open that door, you would have done it by now. We’re stuck here.”
Hope shot through Drake’s veins like the deadliest of drugs. But maybe even the small chance of success was worth the risk?
He pulled on Clover’s hand and took a long step toward the shelving unit—or rather tried, because the chain at his ankles made him stumble against the wall. Swallowing his anger, he reached his target anyway and pulled the shelves away from the wall, revealing the grille.
Clover stilled. “Y-you think it’s doable?”
Drake turned to face him, but despite earlier telling himself otherwise, he now wanted to see Clover slide into the shaft and at least try to flee. It was a small space, but maybe Clover, with his slender body, might fit inside.
“It’s a risk. But if you take it, then maybe you can escape. They’ll move us somewhere else soon. Somewhere with real cells. This is as close to freedom as you’ll get.”
Clover whimpered and hugged himself. “I’m not leaving you. We either both go or we both stay. You… you’ve been through so much.”
No. He’d gotten Clover into this mess, and he couldn’t remain a shackle at his feet.
“Look at that opening, Clover. There’s no way I’m going in, but you? You might,” he said, gesturing at Clover’s narrow hips, and already urging him closer. The way Clover flinched at the sudden touch made Drake hate himself even more than before, but there was no time for sentiment.
“If they catch me it’ll be even worse.”
“That’s what I thought when they sent me to kill Tank. I was afraid. They’d gotten into my head so bad I didn’t see running as an option. Even when I was alone and could have gone wherever I pleased. But I took the chance on this guy. I told him I was there to murder him, and he offered me a hand. I can’t force you, but I think you should go, or you’ll regret it for all the time you still have left,” Drake said, his fingers stiffening from gripping Clover’s too hard. Seeing Clover’s hesitation was unbearable, so he went on. “If you go and manage to contact Tank and Pyro fast enough, maybe you could save both me and Boar. He’s somewhere in this building too. We need to at least try it, Clover.”
Drake didn’t really hope he’d be saved, but if that was the incentive Clover needed, that was what he’d say.
Clover rubbed his face with another sob. “I should have stopped you from coming. Alerted Tank. But instead I just urged you on, I drew Boar into it too. I don’t deserve to run from this.”
Drake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There was nothing that could have stopped me from coming here. Not you, not Tank, no one. I wanted revenge at all cost, and look where it got me. Don’t follow in my footsteps. There’s still a chance for you.”
Clover swallowed but didn’t move when Drake cupped his face and pressed their lips together in the gentlest of kisses.
Their last ever kiss, which Drake would hold on to until the end of his days. “Do this for me, Clover. Don’t look back. Go to Tank.”
Clover took a deep breath and looked up at the vent. “I will come back for you,” he said in a broken voice.
Drake offered him a smile, which started deep in his chest. His joy was bittersweet, but if Clover had the smallest chance of getting to safety, all the suffering that followed would be worth it.
He let go of Clover to climb the shelving unit carefully and was relieved when the grille came out after a bit of pulling. The clock was ticking faster now, so Drake didn’t waste any time and focused on the present. “Stay as quiet as possible. Don’t play the hero. Go to Tank, okay?” Drake asked, lifting Clover to the shaft.
Clover nodded, biting his lips, and Drake was relieved to see that the boy’s shoulders fit into the metal tunnel. The risk was incredible, but staying here and waiting for Apollo’s goons to come back could be a worse fate.
When Drake saw one of the wounds on Clover’s thighs open and drip blood down the pale, beloved skin, he had to clench his teeth not to cry. He’d put it there. He’d beat Clover and worse. Just hours back, he’d been Clover’s lover, his protector, and then he’d become his rapist.
Closing the grille behind Clover was both the hardest thing he’d ever done and a relief.
He tried not to think too much when he pushed the shelves back into place, but once that was done, and he remained alone in the tiny room that smelled of bleach with a hint of Clover’s blood, keeping up a facade no longer made sense.
He would never see Clover again. He’d never see Tank, Pyro, or Boar either. He’d die picked apart by dogs, but that was what he deserved. If only Clover managed to crawl to safety, Drake would be happy, but that didn’t stop the tears spilling down his cheeks. He stumbled at the wall and rolled down, curling into a ball.
All he could pray for now was a fast death.
Chapter 14 – Clover
Clover held back sobs so that they wouldn’t resonate within the walls of the narrow vent. This place would either be his road to salvation or his tomb. What kept him going was the thought that somewhere behind him, Drake was on his own. Apollo’s men could enter that room any moment and rain hell on the man Clover loved.
Despite what had happened in that torture chamber where people had watched his suffering and degradation, Clover had no doubt about his love for Drake. None of the endless pain in his body mattered when Drake and Boar’s lives were at stake. He moved his limbs through the dusty passage as if they didn’t hurt. As if he were his own puppet master, he forced them into motion.
Even though he was able to crawl in the dark space sparsely illuminated by vent openings along the way, his task was far from simple. The labyrinth of tiny corridors had him waste precious minutes when time and time again he hit a dead end, a fan, or a vertical shaft. One straight down, as if to Hell, the other, up, but all left him at loss as to where they led.
Drake depending on him was a weight on his beaten shoulders that he struggled to carry. Despite Drake being the one who’d delivered the blows with the cane, the one who… forced Clover’s body open while others watched, he wasn’t guilty of the torture. All Drake had wanted to do was protect Clover from an even worse fate. A fate Drake had seen others succumb to.
Clover shuddered at the threat of landing in Mr. Arnie’s hands, yet here he was, in a vent, trying to get out despite the risk. If he was caught, he’d be as good as dead. Correction, death was preferable to what these monsters would do to him. They would rip him apart, fuck with his mind, mold him into something he feared becoming. He could claim he was no one’s slave all he wanted while not in captivity, but he understood Drake’s advice on obedience loud and clear.
If they wanted to break him, they would, so it was better to succumb and suffer less pain.
But that wouldn’t be Clover’s future. Or Drake’s. Or Boar’s. Clover would get out. He would alert Tank and Pyro. They would come back here guns blazing like when it had been Clover who’d needed saving, and one day, the dark memories of this day would fade, as would the scars.
But none of the metal corridors seemed passable.
Clover had to stop and take a deep breath, fighting claustrophobia and the vision of the walls denting on all sides to crush him, but it was time to face reality.
None of the horizontal shafts led anywhere he could go safely. It was time to attempt climbing up, because he sure as fuck wasn’t going even lower. He tried not to think about the dirt he rubbed into his wounds as he moved through the old vents, because there was nothing he could do about it.
Infection was nothing compared to what Apollo’s people might do to him.
So he climbed. Inch after inch, he made his way up, for once glad that he was naked, as bare skin stuck to the walls, making the whole process much more efficient than it would have been in clothes. He did his best to stay quiet, but had no idea if the noise he made had been noticed. All he could do was keep hope alive. If he didn’t ha
ve that, he might as well hand himself over to Apollo already.
The agonizing burn in his shoulder kept reminding him of the brand he now shared with Drake. Apollo’s mark on his life was evidenced on his skin, and no matter how far Clover ran, he would never be able to escape the clutches of that man’s hands.
By the time he managed to reach the top of the shaft and crawl into a horizontal tunnel, he was panting and dripping with sweat. His heart skipped a beat when he realized this one had fresher air.
He’d seen no windows where his ordeal had started, so they could have been in the basement level. That meant there was a chance he’d climbed to the first floor. He crawled along, as quietly as possible without fabric making the glide smooth. Like a mouse. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t compare himself to them, because he’d found dead mice along the way, and he sure as hell didn’t want to end up like them.
He made his way toward a patch of light, and he could hardly believe reality when he approached a dusty grille and through it, spotted a window.
Apollo’s voice was like pins pushed under Clover’s nails, and he stilled in terror, unable to make himself move.
“Tyrone wants him. Lucky day,” Apollo said from the room containing a desk, a chair, and peeling seventies wallpaper. He had to be talking on the phone because no one else was there. “No, the ginger one.” Boar. “He’ll be a good replacement for last year’s champion.”
What fucking ‘champion’? Clover’s whole body burned with not only pain but the need to avenge himself and his men. But he clenched his teeth and stayed put. He was Drake and Boar’s hope. He couldn’t burst out there and… do what? Strangle Apollo with his bare hands? Drake had taught him fighting techniques, but there was no room for missteps when the stakes were so high.
The devil himself sat in that office and Clover didn’t dare move, afraid to make a noise.
The door slamming open made Clover flinch, but even then he didn’t dare shut his eyes. A pair of combat boots came into view.
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