by Jack Parker
"Then you will be contacted an hour beforehand and a car will arrive to receive you. Good day, gentlemen."
* * *
The car ride back to Georgie's flat was dreary. Emery nodded halfheartedly at Georgie's assurances that it had all gone very well, but she clearly caught on that something was off and stopped talking for the duration. He was just so bloody tired. It had been a trying day that he had not been fully prepared for, feeling as though he'd gotten about two hours of sleep. He was extremely embarrassed to learn at the breakfast table by way of a derisive joke from Victor that he'd been up sleepwalking some of the night. It was a frustrating discovery. He didn't know how to control it apart from sleeping pills, and any worth their salt required a prescription and often came with a myriad of side effects. There just wasn't time for this nonsense.
It had the added benefit of making him feel that much more helpless without Kurt, who had easily quelled any startups in the night with just a few soothing words. Without him they were now worse than they'd ever been. The dreams were layered in new fears, the memories more painful, the images more vivid. Emery sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the glass of the passenger's side window. If only he could stop the dreams. He could get himself together in the waking world if he could only stop the dreams.
He was eighteen, just beginning to turn really rebellious and came up with the crazy idea of convincing Hunter to let him jet off to France for the semester to study there. It seemed like the perfect way to escape for a while. He could branch out a bit, get to know people, have a little bit of independence maybe, but he should have known that it would never be allowed. Nevertheless he made all the plans. Did all the research. Built himself a grand case, and even bought a couple of French phrase books to brush up on the language. It was just a year. Hunter would never release his grip, but maybe he could have just one year of his life to call his own. He was not proud of the means by which he sought Hunter's compliance…knocking back a few glasses of red wine to dull the pain…feigning seduction…letting the perverted fiend put his hands on his body, accepting his kiss, pretending that he actually wanted it. That it didn't make his skin crawl and his gut boil with disgrace. But in the end it was all for nothing.
When his request was refused, it was completely devastating. He could have nothing. He would be allowed nothing. He was a prisoner well and truly and he absolutely couldn't take it. He'd shut himself in the bathroom that night and on impulse had swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills to try and make it all stop, and god, how he wanted it all to stop. This life was simply too difficult to bear for such a weak man as he. He couldn't endure one more kiss, one more smile, one more lecture on how being forever tethered to Hunter Eaton was 'in his best interest'. But at the last minute he'd thought of his poor mother and he couldn't do it. He'd thrown it all up and fallen into a deep depression. The agony of that day cropped up often, visceral, humiliating, filling him with so much shame. He'd reflect on that moment with the pills in his hand at particularly dark points onward and wish to god and heaven and earth that he'd just gone through with it.
That dream was always the worst. When it began again, Emery remained locked in the walls of his head like a terrified animal, trying to shy away from the events, trying to tell his body not to do what it was doing, trying to turn away, run away, make it stop, he didn't want to remember this. He could still see his reflection in the mirror, watched as his hand took the bottle, felt the pills slide down his throat. Then he would throw it up, cry about his wretched life, and Hunter would come in the next morning to happily assure him that he was never, never getting out of this. No escape. No hope.
Emery's eyes opened with a jolt, his body twisted, a hand rubbing his wet cheek and a deep voice in his ear insisting that it was alright. Everything spun. He flailed his arm out and it hit a nightstand, making him look up at it in shock before realizing that he was in a bed. Someone was gently restraining him.
"Du bist träumen, Emery, shh…"
Home. He was…home. "Oh, Kurt. Oh…oh god…" he panted in shock.
"It's alright, I'm here."
He could still feel the ghost of sick hands pawing at him, his backend still ached, he could taste vomit and wine. He rolled over, burying his face into Kurt's chest as he struggled not to hyperventilate. Arms secured themselves around him, hands stroking his hair, rubbing his back.
"Are you awake? Hm? Do you know where you are?"
Emery tried and failed to stop the tears from gushing up, feeling stupid. "Yeah. Oh, just…a bad, bad memory, I…I'm sorry. I'll stop. I'll stop."
"Don't stop. It's alright."
Emery found himself unable to do anything else and wept pathetically for all he was worth. It had been so bloody long since he hadn't been scolded for his tears. Don't mourn, don't think, don't feel. Hunter hated to see it. To be able to do so freely was so liberating that half of his tears were pure relief. He didn't know how Kurt could understand so perfectly after less than four months of knowing him, but he did. "I don't want to go back there," Emery rambled. "Not even in dreams, I can't tolerate it, I can't go back…"
"You're not going back," Kurt assured. "This is your life now. Here, with me."
"Mm…"
Kurt tightened his grip and whispered into his ear, "It's terrible, what's happened to you. I know."
It felt nice to hear that. So many years of no one knowing, no one caring. Having to try and rationalize it all to himself, trying to decide if it was he or his stepfather who was the crazy one. He breathed deeply and began to calm.
"But you're safe now. If your dreams try and take you back, I'll pull you out."
"Thank you," Emery sighed roughly, closing his eyes. "Thank you."
"Bitteschön."
The dream slowly faded and his body gradually went limp, giving in to the comfort and familiarity of the blissful present. He didn't know what he'd do without Kurt. He'd be completely and utterly…
"Lost?"
Emery started from his daze of half-consciousness and looked around the car, glancing between Victor and Georgie curiously.
"No," Georgie said with an unfriendly look towards the bearded man in the back. "Traffic's congested. I'm taking the long route."
"Didn't look congested to me."
"My apologies, Mr. Scott. You're more than welcome to a taxi next time around."
Victor grumbled to himself, but was silent the rest of the way.
As they filed through the door Georgie glanced between the two of them and slid out of her jacket. "Quite a day," she said. "I suppose I'll turn in early. You might do the same. Tomorrow's going to be awfully…tense."
Emery nodded to her and she went off to her bedroom, leaving him and Victor alone to stare at one another. "Uh, Em," Victor began.
Emery turned away and went to the dining table against which his bag sat. He crouched down and unzipped it to remove a great deal of cash before coming back to Victor. "Your part's over, Victor. You did what you said and I'm very grateful."
Victor looked down at the bill stacks and took a step back. "What?"
"Job's done with, so take it." He thrust it out harder.
"Emery, it's not over yet. You really think I'm gonna let you talk to that guy alone?"
Emery blinked. "What are you talking about? That was my goal all the while."
"I told you I'd get you to your stepfather."
Emery glanced towards Georgie's room and lowered his voice. "You did. I'm as good as there. Now look, I got you off the hook with Ludkov for now, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to do what you should have done years ago and get out of England."
"Out of England?" Victor repeated. He stared dumbly as Emery slapped the money into his aimlessly gesturing hand.
"It's best if you do." He went back over and pulled his bag up onto the table to remove his firearm and look it over. Victor followed behind him.
"Why? I don't get it," Victor tossed the money down onto the table and set
his hands on his hips. "I…look, I appreciate what you did and all, taking the credit with Ludkov, but I can handle my own shit. You saved my life and I…fuck, well, you know, I never really even said 'thanks'."
"Gratitude accepted, but this doesn't concern you."
"Em, I'm coming with you. It'll set my mind at ease; I'll feel better."
"Well you're not invited," Emery clipped. "Just do as I say, Victor."
"No, huh-uh, I'm not leaving you in the hands of mobsters to do this. That's insane. If something goes wrong you'll—"
"Victor, you're fired, alright?" Emery said, stuffing things into his bag. "I don't bloody need you anymore and you've got a beach in Mexico with your name on it, so go there."
Victor watched from behind for a long moment before hissing out a breath. "You're gonna fucking kill him, aren't you?"
Emery stiffened, pausing midway through zipping up his bag.
"Jesus. That's why you're trying to get rid of me."
"Victor—"
Victor held up a hand. "Oh, no, fuck, you are not serious. Tell me that's not really the plan rattling around in that fuckin' ridiculous head of yours right now."
"I told you this doesn't concern you."
"Emery, if you kill Hunter Eaton, Ludkov will obliterate you. You won't have a chance in hell!"
"Keep it down," Emery ordered gruffly. "I will not let him get away with what he's done, Victor. He almost killed Kurt once, and if I find out he's succeeded this time he will pay for it. If he won't give him back I—"
"No, you'll get yourself killed. That is all that will happen. No, you know what, that's not all—you'll get me killed."
"Not if you run."
Victor jabbed a finger towards Georgie's room. "What about her? You think she's gonna escape this unscathed?"
"It's got nothing to do with her."
"She'll be really fucking lucky if Ludkov sees it that way. Who better to take it out on? Who better to blame for not seeing this coming?"
"They have a history. He'll know she wasn't involved. Anyway, I'm not going to be killed. I have an exit strategy, alright? I know what I'm doing."
"No. You don't."
"The man is evil. Isn't that obvious?" Emery held out his arms. "He traffics cocaine into London. He works with the mob. He's a bastard, Victor, and deserves to die."
"Ludkov will track you down. It doesn't matter where you go. You think it's easy to vanish without a trace? The only reason you got away with it the first time is because no one was looking for you. And then even if you do find Kurt after that stunt, you'll both have a signed death warrant anyway."
Emery clenched his teeth and turned away. "You don't understand."
"I do understand, man, I—"
"You don't understand," he hissed. "Not killing Hunter was the biggest mistake I ever made. I owe it to myself to correct it, not to mention all of London."
"That's psychotic."
"Why? Shall I just stand by and let him keep ruining my homeland? Would that be any less psychotic when I have the power to end this here and now?"
"Oh, so that's all it is? Your goddamn nobility?" Victor stepped closer. "It's not just straight up revenge?"
Emery shot a sneer at him over a shoulder. "That depends on what he's done with Kurt. But either way his reign of terror is over."
"I'm not talking about Kurt; I'm talking about what he did to you."
Emery froze, hands clenching the edge of the table.
A long period of silence passed between the two. Victor sighed and stepped away with a low creek along a floorboard. "…I saw the pictures on Eaton's phone. I get the idea."
Emery was at a loss for words. Instantly he was angry, embarrassed, and filled with guilt. It had been six years since Hunter had put his hands on him that way but it was so damned easy to rip right back up to the surface. He couldn't manage to react.
Victor eased back his tone. "What…did he do to you?"
Emery turned, features tight. "He coerced me into a sexual affair from ages fifteen to twenty. When I tried to distance myself from him he used his fortune to keep me hostage hoping I'd change my mind and fucking marry him or something—is that what you want to know?"
Victor's lips parted. "Jesus…is that…I mean that's really what your situation was?"
Emery rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. "That's really the situation you and your crew rescued me from, yes."
"God. I-I didn't know."
"Obviously."
Victor looked down, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. "You didn't ever…go to the cops?"
"When?" Emery demanded. "When I was a fifteen year old with no wherewithal? When I was sixteen, my mother had died, and he was the only person on earth I knew? Or perhaps when I was eighteen and there wasn't a shred of evidence in my favor."
"The pictures he took—"
Emery flipped up a hand. "I didn't know about those. I was asleep when he took them. You saw. And Hunter Eaton is a bloody media darling. Who would have believed me? My own mother didn't even know and…She died not knowing. She died not knowing anything about me because of him."
Victor stepped forward. "But all that time, man, he was stalking you. You could've proved that."
Emery shook his head. "I was a coward when you met me first, Victor. Wasn't that apparent? I've lived my entire life afraid. …But I don't have any fear left. Fear is what you have when you've got something to lose and all that's left then is anger."
"Em, you've got every fucking right to be angry, but this isn't how to deal with it. Look, I know what it's like to be mad at someone who took advantage of you, alright? But hate doesn't make feel you any better. Wishing them dead is an empty solution, and actually killing them? Not only will you still have been abused, but you'll bring down a fucking disaster onto yourself. Hasn't the guy done enough to you without fucking you over in death, too?"
Emery sank back against the table and continued studying the floor. "He's taken all I've ever had, Victor. Every last thing. My mother. My friends. My virginity. My self-respect, my independence, my potential and my future and my integrity. And now Kurt."
"So don't let him take any more," Victor implored. He carefully set a hand at his shoulder. "And you're not a coward, man. I never thought that. You're the smallest guy I know and you've got the biggest balls of them all."
Emery looked up at him tiredly.
"Now you promised to listen to me from now on, remember? When we talk to that fucker tomorrow, you're gonna scare the details out of him. He'll tell you all he knows. I promise. Killing someone is one thing…making them wish they were dead is where the real catharsis lies. Get me?"
Emery bit his lip and nodded. "…Alright."
Victor squeezed his shoulder. "Good."
Emery watched as Victor went off into the kitchen and began rooting around for something to eat. He sat down at a chair and turned to look at his gun lying on the table. He didn't know if Victor was right, but his resolve was certainly shaken. Hunter was a bad person and he was hurting a lot of people, albeit indirectly. He made terribly vicious criminals terribly rich. But then he was one of those vicious criminals now, wasn't he? Once again Hunter had driven him to horrific deeds. At this point he truly wasn't sure whether it was love or hatred that had brought him here. He would do anything for Kurt, unquestioningly, but killing Hunter would doubtfully help him. Maybe that one he had planned on just for himself…God, he just didn't know anymore.
All he really knew was that he had lied to Victor. He was still afraid, but the fear was not of what might go wrong. The fear was of himself. Of what he might do. …Of what he was becoming.
* * *
It was six o'clock the following evening when the call came in and Georgie notified them that the meeting would take place in an hour. She sat at the dining table with them going over several details, trying to educate them about the inner workings of Ludkov's drug trade and the role that Hunter played. Emery listened astutely to her information and filed
it away diligently. Hunter was an integral cog. Without him they would never be able to obtain their product, and it was Ludkov's job to oversee this affair.
"He became suspicious when heroin suppliers began to ease into his territories and his direct superiors seemed to be turning a blind eye," she said, scraping her spoon at the bottom of a yogurt carton. "He was told that the matter was looked into and dealt with, but that wasn't the case. He's been investigating this ever since in hopes to find enough evidence to prove the betrayal to Beletski. He likes Aleksei, but isn't likely to believe him without something concrete, which is what you've just given him."
"Are coke-heads typically dragon chasers?" Victor asked. "Kind of seems like two different markets. Why's Ludkov so wound up about it?"
"Because he feels it limits his control of his own turf," Georgie replied.
Victor snorted. "Awesome. A good old fashioned pissing contest and we're the ones getting wet."
"It's no contest. Most days he's a rational man, but he has his cutthroat tendencies and I certainly wouldn't want to be sided up with his enemies."
"No kidding," said Victor. "The guy's a legendary brutalizer."
Emery leaned his elbows onto the table and shrugged. "Alright, well I keep hearing it said, but what's so bloody terrifying about Aleksei Ludkov? Apart from the obvious, anyway. He seems like your typical thug."
Victor and Georgie shared a look. Victor then laughed without mirth. "I guess you never operated in London, but trust me when I say this guy's famous in the worst way. He once ripped off a guy's ears with his bare hands in a fist fight."
Georgie pointed a spoon at him. "Allegedly. No one's ever found this supposedly earless chap."
Victor continued. "He killed a guy with a hyena. An actual fucking hyena."
Georgie paused. "That one might be true. He did briefly own a hyena…"
Emery frowned and leaned back. "Well, what is it with his hands?" He held up his own.
"Mm, tortured in his youth for information," Georgie explained. "They forced his hands into an acid bath."
"Lovely…" Emery said, drawing the appendages back.
"Yeah, the best part of that story is it made him so mad he broke free in the middle of it and strangled his torturer to death with acid-soaked hands," Victor recalled.