The Manx Cat Guardians Boxed Set

by J P Sayle

  Feline sniggers had him beaming.

  “Serves him right saying that word. He’ll listen in the future.”

  Princess’s head moved in agreement.

  Though miffed, Martin had worked on improving their day. They’d spent most of their time in the garden. He loved the fragrant smells. The fresh cut grass accompanied the fragrant begonias he’d planted. The weather was perfect. The sun was shining, with light wispy clouds letting the heat build, allowing for them to wear shorts and T-shirts. They had whiled away the time, though Brad was positive he’d been more of a hindrance as his hands had wandered, touching more than soil. He chuckled as he remembered Martin’s insistence they finish the gardening.

  Brad, on the other hand, went with teasing, testing his new found power. Martin’s blown pupils and wolfish grin had him all but jumping for joy. His attempts at seduction had Martin all but gagging for more. Who knew gardening could be so much fun? His knees now bore the scars of victory when Martin had all but dragged him into the house. Carpet, he found, was not that conducive to forceful movement and bare skin. He smirked. They’d barely closed the door before Martin was on him the first time.

  As he went back to Martin’s house to work on his garden in the afternoon, he’d felt something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. At one point, he wondered if the sky had darkened. Looking up, he’d expected the sky to be filled with black clouds but found none. There was something making the day feel darker. The air felt coated with something unpleasant. Dread had sat in the pit of his stomach and made him restless. Feeling silly, he’d brushed it aside. He didn’t mention it to Martin for want of him thinking he was silly; he’d hoped it would fade.

  But it hovered in the background, like a headache that never quite relinquished control. In the end, he put it down to the trip. It had to be the only explanation. He jumped up, knowing he was wasting time thinking. The restlessness from yesterday only made matters worse somehow. Brad grabbed the keys and headed for the door, his decision made.

  Princess quivered when fear slithered up her spine. Something was coming. The lack of response from her mother had her hackles rising. With an unwavering stare glued to the front door, she waited for Brad’s return and worried her paws at the feelings she couldn’t grasp.

  After he clicked answer, Martin’s voice filled the car, making pleasure bloom.

  “Hey, baby, where are you?”

  The low-pitched growl made heat spread to places that made Brad blush. Glad Martin couldn’t see his face, he concentrated on not crashing. “Eh, gimme a sec. I am just about to park.” He moved the steering wheel and parked, grateful he managed to without incident. “Okay, what did you want?” Distracted, he felt something crawl up his back. Brad looked about, expecting what he didn’t know, but he felt uncomfortable for some reason.

  The repeated question drew his attention to the speaker. “I said a big sack so that no one can see your gorgeous little body.”

  He glowed as Martin’s words bolstered his ego. “I’m not buying that.” His indignant tone appeared to amuse Martin when chuckles filled the car.

  The strange feeling increased. Scratching his neck, he wondered if this was just his anxiety about the trip playing games with him.

  “You’re very quiet. Are you all right?”

  The sweet-sounding concern loosened some of Brad’s tension, allowing his shoulders to relax. “I’m fine. Just a little anxious, I think, about the trip.” He hoped it was that. He shrugged it off. “Is there something you need because I need to get a move on as someone is coming to collect my unprepared arse?”

  Martin’s laughter had an answering grin appear. “Nope, nothing special. Just wanted to hear your sweet dulcet tones.”

  Sarcastic sod. He chuckled at the response. “Well, now you have. I will see you later, Mr ‘I will be the one with the suitcase full of God knows what.” Clicking off the phone, he huffed at the laughter. It was all right for him. He had a wardrobe full of great clothes.

  Brad rushed through the front door. Arms ached as he dropped the bags. Shit. He hit the stairs at full pelt. Clothes flew as he stripped. He heaved a sigh. He was going to be late because he’d spent too long shopping.

  “Crap, crap, crap.” He stepped back from the freezing shower and shivered. “Heat up for God’s sake.” Jumping back in, he hoped it was hotter this time, and he washed in quick time. Water dripped as he plonked the towel on the floor, mindful of what had happened to Martin. Tapping nails side-tracked him. “I’m running late. Just give me a minute, and I will feed you.”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap. He gritted his teeth as Princess ignored his request. Tap, tap, tap. He glowered when his eyes stung with the soap he hadn’t washed off properly. “Fuck, just give me a minute here!” Wrapping the towel around his hips, he headed for the stairs, giving in.

  Why had he dithered so much in town? He didn’t need six fucking shirts or five pairs of bloody trousers.

  Brad tugged the fridge open harder than normal. Sounds of crashing had his eyes widening in horror. He watched tubs spill their contents onto the floor. “Why, why me?” Yanking the tea towel off the side and throwing it down, he turned to grab the cat food and slammed the fridge door shut.

  Ominous rattling had hands pushing forward as the fridge door was forced open. He bawled in distress as his fingers barely managed to catch the glass bottle of orange juice before it hit. Tap, tap, tap reverberated in his pounding head. He glared in frustration. “You stop that right now!” He watched Princess prance to the bowl as he dumped food, uncaring where it landed. Her unblinking aggravation had him taking several breaths. His ears rang. This was so not how he’d planned to get ready. Exasperated, he scowled at Princess.

  His eyes ached. What the hell was wrong with him? Foreboding grew. Maybe he shouldn’t go away. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something. Feeling like crap, he got dressed, but his earlier excitement disappeared. He tried to console himself that Martin would love what he had on under his clothes. He fidgeted as he looked in the mirror while his trepidation tied his system in knots. Scarred skin twisted and pulled as the peal of the doorbell had him jerking. “Crap, he’s early.”

  The bell chimed again as he pulled his case behind him. Pocketing his phone, he glanced back at the mess. Sod it, he could clean when he got back. Brad shouted at the impatient ringing. “Coming. Give me a minute. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, you’re…” words died. His jaw hit the floor in shock.

  Unseeing eyes widened and tried to comprehend what was happening. The lump in Brad’s throat made it impossible to speak. His lips moved, but nothing came out. Fists formed at his side as nausea rose fast. Acid burned his throat and nose. The overwhelming smell of his father’s aftershave, Aramis, was suffocating. Fear strangled, immobilising him as limbs trembled in disbelief.

  His mind warred with reality, and he let greedy hands pull him back into a world where pain was all he knew. Words whipped as hard as the belt had, making him shake in terror.

  “Still a little fucking faggot weakling.” Nasally rasp all too familiar had him hunching against the verbal attack. Brad found his hands gripping the door frame, holding on for dear life as he felt pain radiate across his chest. Air. He needed air. As it whistled past his lips, he finally grasped that his father stood in his doorway.

  He was startled, and his heart slammed into his chest as his father pushed him back, shutting the door behind him. The sound paralysed him. His back burned, and memories of his painful touch accosted him. The noise of the key turning in the lock, menacing in the silence, motivated Brad to escape. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. He blinked, hoping it was a nightmare. Tears cooled his heated cheeks.

  How could he be here? How? Thoughts mangled. The ticking clock seemed to slow as Brad’s racing pulse sped up. He was at a stalemate with his father blocking the front door. Brad avoided contact at all costs and leaned back, grateful his limbs obeyed. His mind screamed, telling him to run. Get away from the mon
ster. It got louder as his terror took over. Panicking, Brad froze when his father moved closer.

  Strong fingers twisted into Brad’s carefully selected shirt, creasing it. Brad struggled to make eye contact as his father’s grip tightened. The enemy, a living, breathing, evil monster was here. Why? Why now? Questions circled, but words wouldn’t come, trapped as they were inside his fear. Hiding, they knew better than to antagonise the beast. His father’s fulminated. The hate pounded at Brad, trying to devour him, his fear. Knowing his father thrived on this changed nothing.

  He towered over Brad, broad shoulders encased in the finest cashmere. The dark red jumper showed off his broad shoulders as the muscles bunched. Brad could see that he still kept himself in shape. He wanted to cower when he realised, if anything, his father appeared larger. Brad tried to recoil at the malicious intent. He could see it in eyes so like his, yet so different. They sliced, cutting him to the bone.

  Random thoughts flitted through his scrambled mind. Why hadn’t he inherited the plain brown eyes his mother had? He’d always wondered if his eyes hadn’t been the same as his father’s, that maybe he wouldn’t have despised him so much. With heaving chest, he pushed the thoughts away, knowing he would never get any answers. He forced himself to make eye contact and to face reality head-on.

  Colour caught the side of his eye. The basket full of sweets sat innocently on the table. Love flooded him, making him draw back and shoving his father’s hands away. He straightened his spine. It didn’t matter what his father thought of him. Brad only needed to remember Martin loved him. Martin would come and save him from the monster. Hope spread. He’d promised. Martin just needed time. Brad needed to hold tight till he got here. The clock mocked with every slow tick.

  Daunted, Brad struggled to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Wh…” He swallowed, coughing to clear his throat. “What do you want?” He wavered only a little when his uncertainty bled through. He trembled. The silence was excruciating. What did he want? Their last conversation had been clear. There would be no contact. He had been disowned. Devastated at the time, he struggled to come to terms with being completely alone. Even though home had been something he’d endured. His mother’s lack of interest, disinterested sisters, beatings that broke the spirit, there was little to be missed. But the total loss so soon after his grandmother sledgehammered his broken heart.

  Months of therapy helped, but the hole never healed. His need to be loved, accepted, tore him to shreds. The grief welled past his walls. “Why, why, don’t you love me?” Shocking himself, he was unsure where the question had been hiding. He pulled back. His father loomed over him, spatial spraying his face.

  “Love you.” Disgust dripped from the words. “Look at you. Weak, too stupid to learn, a disgrace to the Cumming’s name. I’d have been better off without you. At least you can drown animals that are defective. Useless, insufferable, you couldn’t even be trained properly. You think I don’t know what goes on in that filthy mind. Men touching men. You’ll burn in hell, boy.”

  Brad shuddered under the onslaught of hate. Neck veins bulged. His crimson face clashed with his jumper, and hateful green eyes made Brad’s blood run cold at the gleam of insanity that stared out. Fuck, he looked like he was going to stroke out. Brad wondered how he’d come from such hate.

  Shifting, Brad stood tall. Fuck him. Confidence grew inside and sneaked past the fear. The knowledge he was loved, cherished, had knuckles clenching, wanting to fight back. No more. This was his home. “I asked you a question. What do you want?” Sarcasm laced every word. “You are in my home, and I’m no longer governed by what you think or feel. So spit it out.” Brad made a show of wiping his face, feeling liberated. His condescending tone pushed back against his father’s anger.

  The blow, though expected, still shocked, and made Brad rock back too fast for him to stop his head from cracking off the wall. Stars exploded, and air rushed to escape as he moved to defend himself. Ignoring the pain that was exploding in his head, he pushed forward. “I’m not weak anymore.” Brad couldn’t resist taunting the beast. “You think I’m going to let you touch me now and not fight back? I’m no longer that defenceless child you used as a punch bag to get rid of your perverted anger. I don’t need your approval, so fuck you.” Disregarding his trepidation, Brad let his rage take over. Facing his father head on, he needed to keep his wits about him if he was going to win this battle.

  As they circled each other, Brad weighed up his opponent. Brad could see the back door. He set it in his sights. Freedom. Martin was waiting for him somewhere, he just had to get to him. Like a serpent that slithered, his father got ready to strike. He watched as if in slow motion. Fists bunched, aiming, firing towards his body.

  Unsure what possessed him, he moved sideways. Blows glanced off his shoulder. The adrenaline pumped. His arm lifted, his palm connected, and he pushed at his father’s nose hard and fast as he was taught. Blood spurted over his hand, making him jump away. The shock that it worked had him stilling as his father staggered back, gawping at his handy work.

  His mind screamed at him, “What the fuck am I doing?” He stopped. The thoughts took too long to register, giving the bastard time to recoil and strike. Brad’s legs buckled as pain exploded across his face. White heat left him breathless as booted feet made contact with his ribs. His vision wavered, and he could feel wetness seeping into his left eye.

  His father grabbed his ankles, dragging him along the floor. What the fuck? Thoughts collided. Brad’s lungs screamed as he tried to breathe in. He took shallow breaths. The ragged pants had him blinking rapidly as the pain morphed inside his chest. He knew he needed to get away. Now. Without thinking, he kicked out hard. He wobbled to his feet when his father staggered back.

  Brad’s strength was a distant memory when pain stole his energy. His feet slipped on the bloody floor. The coppery scent had his chest heaving as the strong scent attempted to drag him into the hell hole of his past. No, no, not anymore. He was more now. He wouldn’t let his father take anything else from him. Brad’s contempt joined the battle with his rage.

  “Argh.” His father wrenched him back, fingers clawing his scalp.

  “Not so fucking smug now, you cocksucker.”

  Brad cringed. Tears sprung out against his will. His father’s satisfaction was humiliating. It was the last straw. Using his momentum, he charged forward into his father when black fur flashed past him. The vitriolic screeching was deafening. Brad watched as Princess sailed through the air. Her claws sank deep into skin, ripping and tearing everything in her path.

  Suddenly he was released, and Brad pumped his legs. He ran towards the patio door. Salvation. Not hesitating for a second as his father’s howls made his skin crawl with fear, Brad ran as if his life depended upon it. As sure as he was of his next breath, he knew death would come if he didn’t keep moving. The roars of fury behind him made his blood freeze.

  He gripped his side, and his uncoordinated feet moved. He tried to make sense of what his blurred vision was showing him. His side was in agony when he moved towards the wavering path. Frustrated, his hands slipping, he struggled to open the gate. He didn’t look back and waste what little time he had.

  Sobbing in relief when the gate opened, he lurched forward. Unbearable pain radiated down his side, but he kept moving. Tripping in haste, Brad slid down the bank. Rocks ripped his clothes, letting sand scrape and burn his uncovered flesh. Heedless, he ran, chanting to himself, “run, run, run.” He wept as his legs struggled to obey.

  Venomous screams plucked at his frayed nerves. Fuck, he was gaining on him. His feet moved faster before his sluggish mind could register. The path, normally so short, now seemed to go on for miles. Stones jarred, sending fresh waves of pain to his already singing injuries. Brad grunted past the agony.

  The heaviness in his chest grew worse, and his traitorous body let him down. He blinked as the sweat made his eyes sting. Unseeing for a second, Brad leapt the last few feet. Unimaginable p
ain ripped his insides. No, please God. Holding his side, he prayed. The grunts sounded far away, and he struggled to pull air into his body. He knew he just needed to get back to Martin. He’d keep him safe. He promised.

  The chanting grew louder in his head. His sluggish feet headed towards safety. Ice water hardly registered as it soaked his shoes and trousers. It forced him to concentrate harder when his teeth chattered. He waded past the rocks. His choices were limited. He realised he wouldn’t be able to climb up the rocks. Clothes hindered, yanking him down. The water and sand sucked him into its murky depths. Clogged shoes cemented into the sinking sand. Muscles quivered as he ripped them off.

  Brad felt the tiredness bone deep. He was not sure how much further he could go. Weary, he couldn’t understand why everything looked so grey. Why wasn’t everything bright from the sun?

  He rasped. Raw breaths were agonising. The reminder spurred him on, knowing there would be worse if he stopped. Oh God, please just a little more. He was convinced he could feel his father’s breath on his freezing skin. The torment made Brad retch. He clutched at the rocks. Knives stabbed in his chest. Every breath made the pain worse. The reassuring smell of saltiness calmed his mind. The familiar offered safety. He just needed Martin.

  “Martin, I need you.” Tears blinded as words floated away on the air.

  His legs buckled as the darkness crept closer. Icy hands pulled at him. Brad turned, seeing the mask of humanity torn away. His father’s insanity forced to show its face. Brad grappled, fighting with everything in him. “No, no, no, no.” The whispered chanting had him kicking back, reinforcing his need for survival. He used all his effort, and his legs connected as hard as he could muster. The sand and water worked in his favour as his father lost his footing, and the sea pulled him away.

  He gasped. His energy was drained, leaving him weak. Pain dragged at him. The blackness rimmed his vision. Martin’s face floated into the darkness, pushing Brad to move his heavy limbs. He shook with the effort. Every step a misery.