by H. M. Wolfe
The door opened, signaling that it was time for lunch, but the boy didn’t react to it as eagerly as he had in the first few days. Putting his head on his knees, he kept them hugged close to his chest as the teen closed his eyes, letting the tears fall freely down his pale cheeks.
“Hello. I brought you lunch. It’s very tasty. Don’t you want to try it?” a voice spoke, making the occupant of the room flinch because it didn’t belong to the guy who usually fed him. “Don’t you want to speak to me? Very well because I don’t want it, either,” the voice continued.
“I’m not hungry,” the boy answered, studying his visitor, a red-haired, dark-green-eyed kid his age, maybe a little older.
“Very well. You could eat later if you want, but it’ll get cold,” the redhead answered, putting the bowl back on the tray. “I’m Alasdair, by the way, and I suppose your name is not ‘kiddo.’”
“It’s Erling, and I would’ve said if someone had asked. I’m seventeen. How old are you?”
“I turned eighteen two months ago, but some people seem to not realize that.” Alasdair huffed in frustration. “I’m dying for some action, but Ardan is so... Ugh! He kisses me, hugs me, shares a bed with me, and he expects me to be a block of ice? Not this boy here!”
“What happened to Carlin?” Erling hoped to change the course of the discussion as the subject made him feel uncomfortable.
“He has other, more important things to do, so I’m replacing him. At least when my schedule allows it. No classes today, so...”
“Classes? Are you a high school senior? What are your favorite subjects?” Erling’s blue-green eyes were shining, while a slight blush colored his until then pale cheeks.
“I graduated almost two years ago.” Alasdair smiled. “Now, I’m a med student, sophomore year. I love what I do, but some of the professors are so outdated, such arrogant, entitled bastards. I can’t stand them.” He let out another huff, rolling his eyes.
“A sophomore at your age? That’s what I call impressive,” Erling spoke, his eyes wide, a look of admiration of his face. Almost instantly, however, the look in his eyes became one filled with sadness and uncertainty. “Alasdair, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, you can. What is it?” The redhead offered him a warm, encouraging smile.
“Do you believe that men, in certain circumstances, can get pregnant? And if yes, how can they tell in the absence of... you know... medical assistance?”
Erling’s question hit Alasdair with the force of a sucker punch. The poor kid sitting on the bed was another victim of the monsters running that lab of fear and horrors, and the men of The Base hadn’t given him any chance to justify himself, to tell his story. Instead, they held him there like he was a dangerous criminal, not even allowing him to eat by himself, out of fear that he would use forks and knives as weapons.
To a certain point, Alasdair could understand the distrustful attitude of Ardan and his men. He had been there when Derek had been caught selling them out. Like all the others, he felt the devastating impact of the ugly betrayal, felt their pain at the thought that it had come from one of their own.
He could understand the precautions but not the lack of interest in the kid’s state of health because, above anything, Alasdair was a healer. But, right then, he was also extremely angry at the men outside, who must’ve noticed Erling’s bad shape but still treated him with indifference.
“Move your sorry asses inside! Now!” he yelled at the two guards, making the younger kid flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the redhead spoke in a much softer voice. “That was meant for the dimwits outside.”
“What is it?” one of them said, cracking the door open. “What’s wrong with you? Did the skinny puppy try to bite you?” The guard grinned.
“Get. The. Hell. Inside. Both of you,” Alasdair said, his voice low and hard as stone. “How stupid can you be?” he shouted. “To not take Erling here to the infirmary to get checked? Where was your head?”
“Not our business, kid,” one of them spoke with an indifferent voice. “We are here to guard the prisoner, not to wipe his snotty nose. We do the job they pay us to do.” The man shrugged.
“The prisoner? Are we at war with someone? Because the last time I checked, we weren’t. As for wiping snotty noses, well, dickhead, that’s what all of us do, and you will do it, too,” Alasdair shouted, making Erling cower in a corner of the bed.
“Listen, boy. Shut the fuck up, or else my fist will meet that foul mouth of yours,” the other guard growled. “The boss said to guard the little pest, so we did that. End of story.”
“You’re wrong, dimwit. This is just the beginning of it,” the redhead replied coldly, furiously typing to the phone. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Not long after that, Ardan appeared, Seymour and Drew hot on his heels. One look at Alasdair’s face was enough for his boyfriend to realize that he and his lieutenants had come in the middle of a very serious altercation. Knowing the redhead as he did, Alasdair hadn’t called them out on a whim, and the sight of Erling, knees hugged to the chest, confirmed his suspicions.
“I want someone to explain to me what is happening or rather has happened here,” Ardan spoke in his usual, flat voice, but Alasdair sensed he was upset.
“The kid here,” the first guard pointed to the redhead, “started to yell, accusing us of not doing our job properly. I replied that we do what we are paid to, but he kept yelling, and my partner told him to take it easy. Then he messaged you.”
“Alasdair? What’s your version?” Ardan’s voice was still neutral. Seymour and Drew, however, identified the tinge of danger in it. The asshole was lying, and their friend sensed that.
“Erling here is in very poor shape, but none of these brainless bastards bothered to escort him to the infirmary for a basic check. I have strong reason to believe he escaped from that goddamn inferno.”
“What! You mean the lab of horrors?” Seymour’s face was white as a sheet of paper when he said the words.
“What makes you think that?” Ardan turned to the redhead, a troubled look in his turquoise eyes.
“He’s refusing food. The breakfast came back to the kitchen almost intact too. Carlin was actually worried, and he suggested Erling might be experiencing an eating disorder because, in the beginning, he dug into the food like there was no tomorrow. That’s why I came to see him,” Alasdair said in one go.
“However, that alone is not enough to suspect he comes from that horrible place.” Seymour frowned.
“You’re right.” The redhead nodded in approval. “However, after I told him that I study medicine, Erling asked me if I believe that male pregnancy exists, which made me suspect his symptoms could be related to that.”
“Hey, how are you?” Ardan spoke in that warm, low voice he used with all the poor souls they rescued. “Sorry for not seeing you earlier. I’ve been busy with... other things.” He cast a sidelong glance to the two guards. “Are you in pain?”
“My stomach hurts, and I’m sleepy almost all the time, drained and exhausted. And I have been vomiting a lot of blood over the past few days.” Erling shut his eyes tightly, a little whimper of pain escaping his lips.
“Drew, call Carlin to take the little guy here to the infirmary for a basic check-up. You and Seymour will take those useless bastards and escort them as far away as possible. I don’t want to see their ugly faces ever again.” He turned to the two guards. “And if you ever think of telling anyone about this place, think again. I’ll hunt you down and make you wish you had never been born.”
As the two men hurried to carry out his orders, Ardan stood there, head bowed, guilt washing over him. Derek’s betrayal had done quite a number on the man, making him so concerned about keeping The Base and everyone in there safe that he’d become paranoid. It had only been a few weeks since Ardan and Ezra had told the Blooms about their past, so to ignore the cry for help of that fragile, vulnerable boy… He closed his eyes, defeated.
Hiring guards from outside was, by far, the worst idea he’d ever had, Ardan continued to punish himself. They didn’t care about the well-being of the people living there. Guarding the place and cashing the money at the end of the month was all they were bothered about. If it wasn’t for Alasdair, the boy could have died, and they couldn’t care less, stating that it wasn’t their business.
“It’s not your fault, Ardan. Don’t do this to yourself, please.” The familiar voice of the redhead made him turn around and face him.
“It is, and you know it,” the older man spat, his voice filled with self-loathing. “I’m a pathetic excuse of a leader, of a human being, a total failure, and the consequences of my stupid mistakes affect those around me.”
“Don't bring yourself down like that, not when you do such a great job keeping everyone safe. Right now, I have work to do since most likely Ross will send and accompany Erling to the Institute, but we’ll see each other this evening.” Alasdair winked.
“I’ll be there, Spitfire.” Ardan offered him a weak smile. “Thank you for staying by my side, in spite of me constantly disappointing you.”
“Don’t you ever say that again.” The redhead gave the man a stern look, his expression changing the next second. “I have to return to my duties.” Alasdair looked at his phone’s screen. “Ross messaged to say the helicopter is here. See you this evening, handsome.” He planted a kiss on the corner of the older man’s mouth, hugging him.
Some good hours and a full day at the infirmary later, the redhead finally stepped inside Ardan’s little bedroom, which had also become his over the past six months. Groaning, he started to remove his clothes, throwing them into the hamper, then hopped into the shower, letting the hot water relieve the tension in his sore muscles.
He was in dire need of a massage, Alasdair thought while drying himself with a big, fluffy towel—his favorite. Going back into the room, the redhead put on clean underwear and a pair of Ardan’s pajamas, his way of feeling the man close to his skin. Sighing, he closed his eyes, imagining his boyfriend’s hands roaming all over his body, caressing every part of it.
Moaning quietly, Alasdair lifted the pajama shirt, starting to run his flat palm over his belly, chest and sides. Soon, the moans became louder and deeper as the surges of pleasure sent by the caresses were balling in the pit of his stomach, sending wave after wave of heat to his groin, making his cock twitch.
At a certain point, it seemed the hand Alasdair touched his torso with started to move at high speed, covering every inch of skin, going to his sides, too, touching in all the right places. The redhead arched his back, eager to meet those magic touches when warm breath fanned against his heated skin.
Opening his eyes wide, Alasdair saw Ardan bowed over him, running his hands up and down redhead’s body, barely touching the skin, only teasing it with the tips of his fingers. He was smiling, but there was a lot of pain, sorrow, regret, and even fear mixed in. Alasdair’s heart wrenched in his chest
And then, Ardan started to touch his young lover’s torso with his lips, planting butterfly kisses all over it, delicate and innocent, as if he was afraid the flawless skin would break and bruise if he pressed harder. Then, the man climbed on the bed and, lying next to Alasdair, cupped his head with both hands, starting to kiss his forehead, nose, eyes, and cheeks. However, when he reached the redhead’s mouth, Ardan stopped.
“I’m sorry, Spitfire,” he said, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. “I can’t do this. Not to you, anyway. To anyone, in fact.”
“Do what to me? Come on, we’ve been together for more than two years! I know the whole twisted story, but what happened there wasn’t your fault. That beast is to blame for everything.”
“The moment I discovered that submitting to his depraved pleasures was the only way to keep my friends safe, I became his whore. I didn’t refuse him anything. I only cried in pain when he asked me to. I was his, body and mind,” Ardan recalled, staring blankly into space.
“But not your soul,” Alasdair whispered, one of his hands rested on the man’s chest. “He didn’t corrupt your soul. No one did.”
“Oh, how wrong you are on this one, my feisty Spitfire! That was the first thing they corrupted as I learned what fear and hate meant. I was only thirteen when I wished death upon someone, and you tell me my soul is immaculate? No, it is as twisted and fucked up as it can be. That bastard would be glad to know what has become of me,” Ardan spat, hate and self-loathing pouring from his voice.
“Don’t do this to yourself! To hell with them all! More than ten years and they still have you chained to the wall, and you’re letting them win!” Alasdair raised his voice, tears of pain and frustration in his eyes.
“Those chains you’re talking about... I made them myself, and I have no intention of getting free any time soon. There is a reason why I’m the only one who does the killing, whose hands are dirtied by blood. The others must have the chance of a fresh start, to raise their heads high when they walk down the street.”
“I don’t care how low you think yourself, I will always be here for you,” Alasdair said, his voice categoric. “And when you fall, I’ll catch you, and if you ever want to get drunk, I’ll drink with you, and when you catch that monster, I’ll be happy to help you cut his goddamn body into tiny pieces, feed them to the dogs of hell and make him watch.”
“No, you won’t. I totally forbid you to do that.” Ardan gave the redhead a stern look. “But, if you want to stick around so much, you could hold me when the burden becomes too heavy to bear, and you could yell at me when the situation requires. But right now, I’d be happy with a massage.”
Alasdair nodded, noticing only then that the older man was completely ready for the night. He got off the bed, grabbed the massage oil from the bathroom and, while Ardan took his pajama shirt off, held the bottle in his hands to warm it up a little. Climbing on the bed again, the redhead straddled his boyfriend’s waist, poured a little oil in his hands, rubbing them together, then he started to work it into the man’s tense muscles.
With each touch, the knots gave out a little more, the tension gradually leaving Ardan’s body. Still, Alasdair continued to massage the man’s back, the oil making his skin slippery and soft to the touch. Although his lover tried to suppress his reaction, soft moans still escaped his lips, encouraging the redhead to continue.
And so, he did until every fiber of Ardan’s body was relaxed and a sensation of peace took over him. Then, as the older man had done not long before, Alasdair started to lightly kiss his boyfriend’s back, no inch of skin left untouched by his lips. At first, Ardan flinched under the kisses as if he was burnt, but then, a sensation of pure bliss enveloped him.
After a while, Alasdair noticed that the skin he was touching had started to go cold, goosebumps appearing here and there, so he helped the other man into his pajama shirt and made the bed for the night. They both slid under the covers, the redhead hugging Ardan from behind.
More than ever, he was determined to stick by his side and help him defeat his inner demons. To hell with them all. We’ll win this battle was the last thought that crossed Alasdair’s mind before sleep claimed him.
CHAPTER 14
The sound was ear-piercing, or so it seemed to Alasdair, who had barely managed to sleep for two hours because he’d spent most of the night watching Ardan, whose screams of terror had woken him. It was a different nightmare that plagued the man’s sleep lately and a horrible one, judging by his blood-curdling screams and the long time he spent staring at the ceiling, obstinately refusing to go to sleep.
“Who’s there?” Alasdair finally answered the phone, going into the bathroom to avoid waking up Ardan. “It’s dark out, and people sleep at this hour. Sleep. Do you understand the notion?” he whispered-yelled into the phone, not bothering to check the caller’s ID.
“It’s me, Luca,” a low voice answered from the other end of the line. “Sorry for waking you up, but since you told me to inform you if
anything changes in Erling’s state of health, I thought you’d want to know...”
“Is it good or bad?” Alasdair asked, fighting the lump in his throat. He already suspected the answer wasn’t going to be a positive one; Luca wouldn’t have woken him if the kid’s state had improved. The young Detroit Mafia don, working as a children's psychologist at The Base, had formed a tight bond with Erling in the six months since he’d arrived and had not left his bedside since he’d been transferred to the Van der Meerwe Institute.
“It’s...” The young man hesitated, enough for the redhead to figure out the answer. “He’s not well at all. The tests are messed up, and Doctor Stark called his team to decide what’s to be done.”
“Oh, so Uncle Rayne wants to see me? Well, give me forty-five minutes to change my clothes and find someone to bring me. Ardan had a rough night, to say the least, and he’s in no condition to drive.” Alasdair sighed.
“Actually, it’s not Doctor Stark who wants to see you, it’s Erling. He keeps asking for you.” Luca’s sad voice brought tears to the redhead’s eyes, while guilt gnawed at him for not spending more time with the younger boy he felt mysteriously connected with.
“Is Erling in pain? What about the baby? Is it all right? What’s going on there?” Alasdair became increasingly worried.
“All I know is that he’s crying, asking for you, and Doctor Stark is worried sick, although he tries not to show it.” Luca sounded tired and defeated.
“I’ll call Ezra. Hopefully, he can be my driver so early in the morning and see you there.” With those words, Alasdair finished the call and stepped back into the room, starting to look for clothes.
Busy as he was, the redhead hadn’t noticed that Ardan was wide awake, looking at him in silence. The man’s eyes were troubled, and the posture of his body was a clear indication that he wasn’t completely recovered from the nightmare. Even so, listening to the conversation Alasdair had with Luca, he didn’t intend to let his boyfriend go to the hospital by himself.