Tank stared at him with his mouth open. “Are you kidding me right now? We lost Boar, and you’re saying it wouldn’t matter if we lost you too? You see how affected everyone is. Hey, I’m talking to you!” Tank said, and stood in Drake’s way.
Drake’s breath caught when he faced the massive chest, which grew tenser by the moment. But he stifled the alarm at the back of his head and looked up. “Don’t you worry. I’m going to do my duty and help you find him. That’s why I’m away all the time. What’s the point of me sitting on my ass?”
Tank clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared. “There’s shit to do around here too.” It sounded like an excuse. “Where have you been then? Clover worries about you so much I don’t know what to do with him sometimes.”
Drake flinched, and the tension around his heart became hard to bear. “Clover’s better off without me here.” The last thing Clover needed was Drake’s dark appetites for bondage. He didn’t even dare ask how Clover and Tank were doing in that department. With Pyro, it was hard to say, because Drake and him weren’t on speaking terms.
Tank grabbed Drake’s shoulder and shook him. “No, he’s not. He asks about you all the time,” Tank’s voice softened. “He misses you, and you won’t even give him a scrap of affection.”
Nausea rose in Drake’s throat to the point where he found it difficult to speak. Coming here might not have been a good idea after all. He should have just called and have them join him in Denver. “He’s too good for me. You’re the one he needs.”
“You don’t get to make that decision for him. Give him a chance, talk to him at least. For fuck’s sake! It’s okay if you want to break up, but stop tormenting the boy!”
Break up.
That phrase sliced Drake’s heart in two, and he averted his gaze to hide tears that suddenly flooded his eyes. He was a mess. He was a stain on everyone’s life. Hadn’t he done enough already? Raped Clover. Disappointed Tank. Caused Boar’s disappearance, and Pyro’s return to addiction.
He wasn’t only useless to them. He was an illness that kept affecting their group months after its breakout.
“Fine. I’m breaking up with him, so he doesn’t need to worry about me any longer,” Drake choked out and stepped toward his van as the open space around him turned into a trap he was desperate to flee.
Tank grabbed his arm, but Drake wasn’t having it and pulled away with a snarl. He was about to yank it back when cold steel closed around his wrist. Tank had used the oldest trick in the book, and Drake had fallen for it.
For a second, Drake couldn’t breathe from the shock, but then it dawned on him, that Tank had snatched Drake’s own handcuffs. The audacity of such a low move when Drake trusted Tank enough to not watch his back around him! Drake patted his pocket for keys but Tank jangled them in the air to make things final. “You’re not going anywhere until we have some real talk.”
It was as if Drake’s knees had turned to goo, but when he pulled, trying to get away from Pyro’s trailer, he found the other cuff closed on a steel bicycle rack. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Y-you promised to never do that,” Drake said in a voice that was embarrassingly small. His windpipe narrowed, aching when he tried to breathe, but the sparsity of oxygen was already affecting his mind.
Tank touched his shoulder, and the weight of his hand was like a boulder crushing him to the ground. “Listen, I’ll uncuff you as soon as we’re done talking, but I can’t take this avoidance anymore. What is up with you? If you want to break up with Clover, he deserves to hear it from you.”
“Let me go,” whispered Drake, his arm trembling from the iciness of the cuff. He grabbed it with his other hand and pushed, trying to force his hand through, even at the cost of dislocating his thumb. He couldn’t breathe anymore, locked in a state of panic so severe his mind was turning against him and refused to think.
“We talk first!” Tank grabbed his arm to stop him from thrashing. “You clearly needed time to yourself after meeting Apollo again. I get it, but it’s time to stop sulking and talk to us!”
The world was closing in on Drake, air turning into walls about to squash him like a bug. “I raped him. In front of Apollo and the other fucks. Those scars from caning? I did that. It’s better for him to never see me again,” Drake choked out, flinching at the horror reflected in Tank’s eyes. He deserved it. He deserved everything coming his way. If he couldn’t make himself pay for what he’d done, maybe Tank would bring him the punishment.
Still, the moment Tank let go of his dirty hand, Drake yanked it out of the cuff. His thumb screamed in pain, but as the weird numbness spread all the way up his arm, he rolled away, searching for a way out.
Tank’s eyes were wide, and he didn’t even follow Drake. The shock on his face told Drake that in all these months Clover hadn’t secretly shared those details.
“You… what? What are you talking about?”
Drake’s brain was on fire, but despite the ache in his hand clouding his mind, thoughts that emerged to the surface were painfully clear. Drake rose, eyes on Tank’s. “I caned him until he screamed and bled. And then I raped him. I shouldn’t be around any of you,” he whispered, gaining complete clarity.
He reached for his gun and pressed it to the underside of his jaw, struck by the overwhelming sense of relief the click of the safety brought him. One bullet, and he’d be no longer a toxic presence destroying the lives of those who mattered the most to him. He should have done this long ago. “I’ve got a lead in Denver. It’s all in my notebook.”
“Drake! What the fuck?” Tank inhaled so deeply he wheezed. “Put the gun away, okay? I hear you. Apollo made you do it, right? That’s the only reason you did what you did. So it’s not your fault. It’s not. I wish you’d told me sooner. I didn’t want to prod. Just put the gun away.”
Tank. So tough yet always ready to make excuses for those around him. Of course he was denying the obvious. “I care about Clover. About you. I—” His voice broke despite the absolute certainty that he was making the right decision. Tank had helped him out of Hell, but all Drake gave back was heartbreak. “You will all be better off without me. I made him go with me. It’s all my fault.”
Tank raised his hands but didn’t dare take a step closer. “I was there that night we argued. Clover wanted to go as much as you.” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “What you did under duress… I’m sure the alternatives were worse? I know you. If you had options, you would have taken ten times worse for our boy.”
Drake’s breathing evened out, but his heart rushed even faster, making the cool touch of steel against flesh a relief from the heat it produced. “Why are you making excuses for me?” he whispered, fighting the sting in his eyes. “I hurt him. That’s all you should know.”
Tank took a tentative step forward. “If you broke his arm by accident, you would have to apologize, but it’s not like doing it on purpose. Drake, please… I love you, man. Don’t do anything stupid. We need you here.”
The trailer door opened, and Clover came out in fast steps, still just in his T-shirt and briefs. “Drake? Tank? What’s going on?” Eyes wide, he stared at them, but approached like a bullet that wouldn’t be stopped.
Drake froze, his gaze stuck on the sheer power behind those blue eyes. He couldn’t blow his brains out in front of Clover. He’d made him suffer enough already. “No. No, go back.”
Instead of listening, Clover ran. So fucking typical. He never listened.
The boy didn’t stop until he slammed into Drake and hugged him tight, one hand pulling the gun down. “No! What are you doing?” he whined, and the heat he exuded seared Drake’s skin even through clothes. He didn’t deserve to smell Clover, let alone touch him.
Tears spilled down his cheeks and dropped into Clover’s blond hair. He knew he should’ve pulled away but couldn’t make himself push the boy, so he stayed still, lowering his head so Tank wouldn’t see him crumble.
But Tank was already there. Drake stifled a sob when s
trong hands took the gun from him and put on the safety with a loud click.
“What the hell is happening?” Clover whined clenching his hands on the back of Drake’s T-shirt, as if he weren’t hugging a monster.
“Drake told me what happened. With you. At Apollo’s,” Tank said in a quiet voice, but steady as a rock.
Clover stilled.
Drake remained silent too, focused on the pain in his dislocated joint. He didn’t want to go through this again. But even that was taken from him when Tank took his injured hand and popped the thumb into place. Drake didn’t have the strength to fight his care, much less so when his warm fingers lingered, squeezing Drake with a gentleness he didn’t deserve.
“You both deserve better.”
Clover backed away to look into Drake’s eyes. The blue of his irises had that strange pinkish hue that made them unique. Just like before the whole fuckup.
“No, we deserve you being around, not always gone,” Clover whispered, but stepped back, rubbing his eyes.
Drake didn’t dare move, trapped with Tank still holding his hand as if he were keeping a child close. But Drake couldn’t find the strength to fight them anymore. The confrontation had drained all the energy he had left, and now all he wanted was to curl up and sleep forever in the back of his van, sealed away so he wouldn’t fuck up anyone else’s life.
He shook his head.
“Clover?” Tank said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have—we could…”
Clover stood there slouched and wouldn’t look at either of them. “Did you tell him everything?” he asked Drake, the accusation of betrayal clear in his tone.
Drake flinched, his hand getting wet in Tank’s, but when he tried to pull away, Tank held him even tighter. “Not in detail.”
Tank exhaled. “Clover, I should have known this. And so should Pyro. You’ve been through a traumatic experience. We would have acted differently—”
Clover clenched his fists. “I didn’t want to be treated differently! I wanted to forget it happened! I wanted my life to be as if it never happened. I wanted everything to be like before…”
Tank let go of Drake’s hand to reach for Clover and tried to pull him into a hug, but the boy flinched.
“Now you will all treat me like I’m this wounded bird that needs to be coddled! I’m not. I want to be myself!”
Tank’s face was pale when he looked at Clover. “You are yourself, but things like this affect people.”
Clover hid his face in his hands. “I don’t want you to think about it or change your behavior. I want us to move on!”
Drake understood him all too well. He also didn’t want to be reminded of the horrors lurking in his past, which was why he hadn’t told much about it to neither Boar nor Pyro. But how could they ‘move on’ when one of them was missing and everyone else was hurt by the consequences of Drake’s selfish bloodlust?
The door to the trailer opened with a bang, and Pyro stumbled outside, his hair a wrecked bundle on top of his head, his skin stained a reddish brown, and his eyes narrow when he walked into the sun.
“What the fuck is this racket?”
Tank’s arms dropped, and since no one else spoke, he answered. “Drake’s got a new lead on Boar.”
Chapter 4 - Pyro
Pyro leaned against a bench in a tiny park outside of a hospital on the outskirts of Denver. The landscape was bare for the most part, but the two trees offered protection from the punishing sunshine. Pyro couldn’t bear the wait any longer, so he lit himself cigarette number four. Staying sober wasn’t easy, but he didn’t want to fuck up when Boar’s life was at stake. Boar would not have liked who Pyro had become in the past few months, but they could deal with that once Boar was back.
Because he would be back.
That was the only thing Pyro lived for.
He was annoyed when he realized he’d succumbed to the same ritual as Drake, who stood next to a tree on the other side of the bench with a cigarette of his own. Fucking bastard. If he was so eager to die, he should have gone on his own, without dragging Clover and Boar down with him. Pyro could barely even look at him at this point, but the years of camaraderie and Drake’s determination in the search kept Pyro from saying something he would regret. He could leave breaking Drake’s arms and legs for a more convenient time.
Tank paced between them, his face as expressionless as it had been since Pyro had gotten up earlier today. The eerie tension between the others kept him on edge, but he’d been too hungover to ask questions. Boar. He needed to focus on Boar, but the fact that all he could do was wait agitated every single nerve in his body.
Because, of course, the job of going to the hospital to ask about their target had been assigned to Clover, the most inconspicuous of them all. Pyro’s feelings toward him had been warped in those past few months. He hated Clover for not alerting him of Drake’s plans, but also loved him for not giving up on their relationship even when Pyro lacked the skills to express the turmoil within him.
No matter how many times he’d pushed Clover away, Clover would always show up and be his safety net when coke got the best of him. Even Tank had given up, but not Clover.
Clover was a good person. Too good for Pyro, just like Boar was, but Pyro was too selfish to give up on their love.
“How long has it been?” Pyro asked, sitting on the bench and watching the brownish facade of the large three-story clinic beyond the parking lot. The lowering sun reflected off its windows, as if it was a day like any other. People had been coursing in and out, but none of them resembled their boy, who stubbornly remained out of sight.
“Twenty minutes,” Drake said in a tense voice.
“He’s fine,” Tank said, though his jaw clenched in contradiction.
“He was to ask about this Hake guy at the reception. Why is it taking so fucking long?” Pyro looked at the building again, rocking back and forth to deal with at least some of the unease in his body. Someone should have gone with the boy. What if he’d been attacked in the hospital and smuggled out in an ambulance? All this while the three of them stayed behind like the elderly and children during a battle.
Maybe if he hadn’t tattooed his face, he could have gone in Clover’s place, but that ship had sailed long ago.
Drake released a cloud of smoke. “At least five minutes to get there. Maybe he’s stuck in a line. Things don’t happen in an instant.”
Pyro accidentally broke the cigarette in his fingers. “Thank you for that explanation, Drake. I know that. Maybe you could have just dealt with this when you were away instead of coming back to us with another shitty lead. So some guy in a bar tells you about some other guy who has a catalogue of people for sale. It’s gonna be the dancing monkey all over again.”
“At least he’s trying,” Tank snapped.
His words stung like a fist to the cheek, and Pyro glared his way, struggling to keep in his anger. “As opposed to?” he demanded, knowing exactly what Tank was referring to. He was one to talk, always following Clover like a lovesick puppy, as if there were no other things to deal with—like Boar’s absence.
“Fuck you,” he said when nausea clutched at his stomach again. He opened the bottle of water and chugged what remained inside.
“We need to keep trying,” Drake said softly, triggering anger so choking Pyro tossed the empty container at him.
“And fuck you too! We wouldn’t even be in this situation if it wasn’t for you, so don’t you dare tell me to calm down! What was the bullshit fight you had this morning, huh? I think I’m allowed to be as pissed off as I want.”
Drake looked away like the drama king he was. So he had a fucked up past. Boo-hoo. Boar could be going through pain and torture right now because of him, and just thinking about it made Pyro’s skin itch for blood. If he got his hands on the person who’d bought Boar, he’d skin them alive, season them and roast their body over an open fire before calling over a pack of stray dogs to feast on the corpse.
He woul
d not calm down.
Tank glanced his way and crossed his arms. “Are you that eager for a line you gotta take it out on someone else?”
Pyro stiffened, but then he rose, fueled by rage so pure he couldn’t contain it any longer. He stormed at Tank, ready to take him down with a series of well-placed punches, but as he stepped forward, his head spun from the rapid change in position, and Tank got to him first, pushing him back on the bench.
“Clover’s coming. So stay put, or someone’s gonna arrest us before we can check this lead.”
At least they’d find out something from Clover about Mr. Hake, the nurse who moonlighted in dirty dealings. Clover’s expression was tense as he briskly walked their way with his hands in his pockets. His dirty blonde hair was a constant reminder of the change in their group. The spark that had always turned heads had been extinguished.
“What took so long?” Pyro asked when Clover finally got to them.
Tank let out the warning growl, as if he were the boy’s guard dog, but Clover ignored him.
“It took a bit of back and forth, but I’ve got Hake’s address. He hasn’t shown up for work today.”
Tank tried to hold Clover’s shoulders, but the boy stepped back and stood behind the bench, forcing Pyro to get to his feet if he wanted to still see him.
“On your own? Why didn’t you report to us? Did you… sneak into an office or something? They have cameras everywhere. You could have been arrested!”
“No, I talked to another nurse, to the receptionist, to a janitor. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s go.”
Pyro rolled his eyes. Since when was Clover giving orders?
But Drake got up, and Tank nodded, so there was no point in questioning the unanimous decision. At least he had something to do now. A new goal.
*
Hake lived in a three-storey apartment building in a quiet suburb of Denver, not too far away from the hospital. The setting sun colored its beige siding a purple hue, proving color was everything. Fucking beige. Everything was either white or beige around here, and even the beautiful mountains on the horizon couldn’t take away the mundanity of this place.
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