Dangerous Savior

by Wulff, Carson

  Ethan is left sprawled on the table.

  Alone.

  Chained and most horrifically, still aroused.

  What the fuck is wrong with him?

  He presses his face against the table and cries.

  6

  Ethan stifles his sobs when Tom’s heavy footsteps sound on the floor overhead. It’s been a while since Tom first left Ethan alone. Too long and not long enough. Twenty minutes maybe? An hour? Ten minutes? Ethan has no idea. But Tom does return eventually, carrying Ethan’s luggage down the stairs with him, depositing it carelessly in an already cluttered corner of the basement.

  Terror strikes Ethan’s heart like a quick frost, splintering with icy pain. His luggage. Everything in his van that he brought with him. Carried down into this basement to never be seen again. Just like him. Somehow, that disturbs Ethan wholly—knowing that every trace of him has been stolen. What will they do with his van? Will his friends and family ever know what happened to him? Will they think he skipped town and ran away from his life?

  A fresh round of sobs crashes through Ethan’s body, silent but wet. Tears leak sloppily down his face, cooling by the time they hit his hairline, soaking into his scalp uncomfortably.

  Everything Ethan brought with him is in this basement.

  Tom has no intention of letting him go.

  He’s going to die down here.

  The truth about what happened to him is going to die down here, too, destroyed along with all of his belongings.

  Tom pauses at a particularly loud hitch of breath from Ethan. Slowly, he turns and stalks over to the table Ethan’s still curled up and bound on.

  Tom looms like he always does, because how can he not loom with his imposing height and stature? There’s something about the way he looms that prickles Ethan’s skin—there’s no hesitance in it, only confidence. Confidence that he is allowed to look at Ethan unabashedly. No one can stop him.

  Tom’s proximity makes Ethan’s breath stutter and stop, and then start back up again at full speed.

  Tom tilts his head like he’s never seen a rabbit frozen by a predator’s gaze before. Like Ethan is something new and interesting that demands further investigation. The worst part is that Tom doesn’t seem to be disingenuous. It’s like he’s never seen another man for longer than it takes to maim, butcher, and kill them.

  That doesn’t bode well, because it means that he doesn’t plan to keep Ethan alive very long.

  Ethan swallows his tears. Sucks in a quaking breath that hurts like packing air down into his lungs. He needs to say something. Think of something. He can’t give up.

  “There's, there’s, uh, food in one of my bags. The red one.” Ethan feels delirious, asking for food when his stomach is still churning from the day’s events. But he knows he needs to force himself to eat if Tom will let him. Knows he has to keep his strength up. “Do you think you could maybe let me eat some?”

  Asking for food is as good a way as any to tentatively prod Tom’s boundaries again, try to force a sense of dependency on this man. Because maybe someone like Tom, isolated as he is within his family, needs someone to need him.

  Just fractionally, Tom’s gaze hardens at the question.

  Ethan forces an awkward laugh, as if this is a normal conversation in which he’s asking a friend to borrow lunch money, embarrassed at having to ask. “I kinda lost my lunch earlier. I’m just glad I managed to avoid puking all over your boots.”

  Tom’s eyes fall to Ethan’s lips, which are split and bloody.

  This time, Ethan’s nervous laugh isn’t forced. He struggles to wiggle himself into a sitting position on the table. The chain binding him rattles. “I—I’m not asking to be untied. You can just feed it to me. I’d really appreciate it.”

  Honestly, Ethan’s not even sure he’ll be able to stomach even a few bites of food. His appetite is completely gone. He can’t imagine ever wanting to eat again after what he’s seen today. But if Tom takes the bait, it’ll all be worth having to swallow down a few bites of granola bar. He needs to give Tom reasons to be lenient to him.

  “You can have some of my food, too. I don’t mind sharing,” Ethan adds, absurdly. Really, anything Ethan owns is as good as Tom’s now. The man hasn’t asked for permission for anything yet, he’s just taken. Taken Ethan captive. Why should his possessions be any different?

  “The red one?” Tom asks flatly, startling Ethan.

  It takes Ethan a moment to realize that he’s asking for confirmation about what suitcase the food is in. “Yeah—yeah, the red one. There are boxes of protein bars and bottled water in there. You can have anything you want.”

  Tom turns without a word and crosses the room in several strides, hoisting Ethan’s red luggage from the bottom of the pile and rifling through its contents. He emerges with the box of granola bars and a bottle of water.

  Ethan could kick himself for the way his heart soars hopefully at this. As if it means anything. As if Tom isn’t going to do something cruel next, like crush the food and dump out the water right into the drain on the floor.

  But…

  Tom hasn’t done anything cruel to Ethan yet. Unless he counts chaining him up and keeping him hostage—then, yeah, he’s been cruel. None of that feels cruel though, not when Tom is so stoic about it all. It feels more like Tom humanely chained up an unruly animal rather than tied up a human in his basement.

  Maybe it’s Ethan’s own doing that Tom hasn’t been expressly violent. Maybe it’s because Ethan has been trying hard to not kick and scream as any victim should. Maybe he’s still in denial about being a victim, as if he still believes somewhere in the back of his mind that showing this man enough kindness will diffuse this situation entirely.

  It’s never going to happen.

  Tom unwraps the granola bar, peeling it open ineptly, like he’s never done it before. He shoves it in Ethan’s direction so haphazardly that it bangs against Ethan’s lip, splitting it newly.

  “Ow,” Ethan cries out reflexively, pulling back, and then, remembering himself, manages to smile up at Tom. “Sorry, thanks.”

  He’s about to lean forward and attempt to take a bite of the granola bar when Tom reaches forward with his free hand and swipes the pad of his thumb over Ethan’s lip.

  Ethan’s too stunned to recoil.

  Tom pulls back his hand, fresh blood from Ethan’s lip coating his thumb.

  He…

  He wiped the blood off of Ethan’s split lip.

  And—and now Tom’s… bringing the bloody thumb to his lips, sucking the pad absently, as if he’s licking blood from his own wound.

  But it’s not Tom’s blood.

  It’s Ethan’s blood.

  Ethan’s not sure how he feels about that.

  Tom shoves the bar in Ethan’s direction again, seemingly unaware of the blatant shock on Ethan’s face.

  Ethan rips his gaze away from Tom’s mouth and takes a bite. The granola is excruciatingly dry, too sharp when he swallows prematurely. Still, he forces himself to take bite after bite until the bar is gone.

  It strikes Ethan as exceedingly gentle, the way Tom tips the water bottle for him to drink from, next. Even if the water does spill down the sides of Ethan’s face from his own clumsiness. Tom wipes the water from Ethan’s chin too, again, with his hand, rough and unexpected.

  Ethan can’t help but watch the man with festering curiosity. Tom’s intentions feel so… gentle, even though his every movement is rough and forceful. Ethan must have a concussion, he’s completely lost his ability to judge any situation properly.

  A crash resounds from somewhere upstairs, making Ethan flinch. Tom’s family must be home.

  The footsteps that follow overhead seem to bristle Tom—he hurriedly grabs the empty water bottle and granola wrapper, crossing the room and shoving them back into Ethan’s luggage.

  Tom’s trying to hide the evidence that he showed Ethan even a scrap of kindness, isn’t he?

  Ethan’s sure of it when the basement
door opens and Beth appears on the steps, carelessly dragging Ricky’s limp body down the stairs, his head smashing against each splintering wooden step with repetitive thuds.

  Ethan tries his best to look miserable and abused, just in case his relative calm alerts Beth to her brother’s kindnesses.

  “Could’a used you to help haul those bikes into the truck,” Beth grunts as she drops Ricky’s body at Tom’s feet. “You know Sal’s refused to do any real lifting since the pregnancy. I swear one of these days I’m gonna make her wish she didn’t know how to run her mouth.”

  Tom doesn’t respond, just lifts Ricky’s limp body onto the table next to Ethan.

  Ethan scoots as far away from Ricky as possible. He assesses the situation with downcast eyes. Ricky is still breathing, despite the blood oozing down his forehead from his hairline. Wet, liquid red mingling with sticky drying maroon.

  It makes Ethan sick to be this close to Ricky. Even beat up and unconscious as he is. All he can think about is Ricky’s cruel laughter as he fondled him. As if Ethan wasn't even human, just a body to play with.

  Tom hauls a second chain down from the rafters, fastening it around Ricky’s arms, just as he did Ethan’s.

  Yeah. Ethan’s tied up just like Ricky. No difference. He’s a captive here. No difference. No special treatment. His breath quickens. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the memory of Tom hiding the granola wrapper and water bottle in the luggage. As if he didn’t want his family to know he showed Ethan a scrap of decency.

  The thought manages to keep the hyperventilation at bay.

  “This one give you any trouble?” Beth grunts, stretching out a kink in her back. As if dragging a live human captive down the stairs was just some normal everyday heavy lifting.

  Tom’s only response is a blank expression.

  Beth laughs, short and cruel. “No, I suppose he didn’t.” Her eyes fall on Ethan. She sucks her teeth in assessment, amusement in her icy blue eyes. “Course he didn’t. City boys ain’t never got any decent fight in them.”

  Again, no response from Tom.

  Beth doesn’t seem to notice or care, instead she scans the room as if trying to remember if she’s forgetting anything. When her gaze lands on Ethan’s luggage, obvious and out of place in the corner of the basement, she freezes.

  “What the hell’d you bring that shit down here for?” Beth snaps, fixing a glare at Tom. She doesn’t wait for a reply before trudging over to the luggage. “Holy fuck, who raised you to be this stupid? Sure as hell wasn’t Ma.”

  Ethan’s eyes are on Tom as Beth spits the harsh words, so he sees it plain as day when Tom flinches at the insult. It’s obvious. Visible. Backed up by the slight frown that tugs at Tom’s lips in response. The twitch of a snarl.

  Still, Ethan can barely believe his eyes.

  Is it possible that a powerful, dangerous man like Tom is really bothered by something so trivial as an insult from his sister?

  Does the word stupid really strike wounds in Tom’s self-esteem? Or is it Beth’s disapproval in general that gets to him?

  Beth doesn’t wait for a response before she starts ripping through Ethan’s luggage, scattering his clothes and possessions to the floor in successive scoops, like a dog digging under a fence. There’s something rabid about it. Furious.

  And Beth is plainly furious when she finds what she’s looking for—Ethan’s cell phone. She straightens and whirls around, teeth bared.

  “You fucking imbecile!” she screams as she marches up to Tom, waving the phone. She wastes no time reaching right up and slapping Tom across the face so hard his head whips to the side. The sound of skin striking skin resounds sharply off the cinderblock walls.

  Ethan forgets to breathe momentarily, shocked at the sudden casual violence.

  Tom doesn’t budge, face angled towards the floor now. His fists are clenched at his side, and it reads absurdly to Ethan like an attempt to regulate emotion, rather than an attempt to restrain a violent urge.

  No, Tom’s demeanor almost reads as submissive, the way he keeps his eyes downcast. He’s ready for his sister to hit him again, to keep screaming at him. He’s bracing for it. Letting it happen.

  One question runs through Ethan’s mind: how long has she been doing this to him?

  “Don’t you fucking know better?!” Beth screams at the top of her lungs, right in Tom’s face. She’s tall enough that she only has to straighten a little to get in his face. “I know you fucking know better, ‘cause I done fucking told you!”

  Tom is still as he takes the verbal onslaught without even the slightest sign of protest.

  “The government and the law can track these things!” she spits, jabbing Tom hard in the chest with the corner of the phone.

  Ethan hadn’t even thought about that. Beth’s phrasing is beyond paranoid but she has a point—smartphones have GPS. Ethan honestly isn’t sure if the GPS works if the phone doesn’t have a signal, though.

  Still, his phone had to have had signal at some point, right? Even if it wasn’t for ten miles, it still should give people a relative location for where he went missing, whenever someone does realize he went missing.

  Which won’t be for weeks from now when he doesn’t come home on the date he said he would.

  Fuck.

  Weeks. No one will report him missing for weeks.

  His trip was planned for the entire summer. His parents won’t be surprised if he doesn’t call to check in with them, with how much he stressed that this trip was about asserting his independence.

  The worry that he’s not going to survive this pulses in his mind, along with an inappropriate desire to tell Tom that he honestly forgot about the cell phone. That he wasn’t trying to trick Tom into leading law enforcement here or something, by withholding the information.

  Maybe it’s self-preservation doing its job, maybe it’s a concussion, but more than anything, Ethan doesn’t want Tom to think he’s been disingenuous with him.

  “Well?” Beth demands. “Ain’t you gonna say anything?”

  “Forgot,” comes Tom’s grunt of a reply. It earns him another ringing slap across the face—and then another, and another, a barrage of growled frustrations as Beth beats him with both hands, hurling all her strength into the punches.

  Tom stands there. Takes it. Rooted in place, unswayed by the raw power in his sister’s punches that rivals his own.

  He doesn’t hit back. Doesn’t make a move to defend himself.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” Beth growls, whipping around to fix her rage on Ethan.

  Ethan flinches, attempts to scramble away, only to bump into Ricky’s unconscious body with what little give the chain has.

  When Beth starts to advance on Ethan, looking ready to beat him too, Tom grabs her by the elbow, halting her.

  “The other man,” Tom says, voice steady in a way it shouldn’t be after what just happened. “The biker. Where is he?”

  Beth’s nostrils flare and she jerks out of Tom’s grasp, but Tom’s distraction seems to have worked, because she says, “Upstairs. Go get him.”

  Tom nods obediently. There’s already obvious swelling near his eye, the skin red and puffy where Beth’s fist slammed into his cheekbone.

  No.

  No. Ethan tries to will Tom not to go. To not leave him alone down here with Beth.

  Luckily Beth huffs and says, “Thanks to you I’m going to have to drive this phone back down the way it came. Probably two dozen miles at least. Maybe more. Throw off the law before getting rid of the thing.”

  Tom follows his sister when she starts making her way back towards the basement stairs, seeming to forget about her previous bloodlust.

  “Ain’t no way I’ll be back before supper. Hope you’re happy, Tommy,” Beth complains, as she and Tom disappear up the stairs.

  It’s not until the basement door closes behind them that Ethan realizes how fast his heart is pounding against his ribcage.

  7

  Jed, i
t seems, is in much better condition than Ricky. Tom leads him down the stairs conscious, a blade as incentive against Jed’s back. It’s significantly harsher treatment than Ethan was subjected to by Tom, and boy, does Ethan notice.

  It’s awkward, now, thinking about interacting with Tom at all now that Jed is in the basement, fully awake. Ethan bites back the words he wants to say to Tom, a honey-sweet apology about forgetting all about the cell phone in his luggage. The regret wouldn’t even be a lie, either. Not entirely. Not when telling Tom about the cell phone could have been great leverage for gaining Tom’s trust. Ethan would have easily traded the hope of the cell phone for a chance to throw fuel on his hope that Tom will spare him when the time comes.

  Escape attempts are a risk. A quick death, if caught—or not quick at all, maybe just brutal. There’s a slim chance he can escape if he gets another opportunity, and he’s not sure at this point whether he’ll take it or freeze with caution again. But it’s risky. So risky.

  Winning Tom over, though…

  If Ethan can manage it, it’s a certain way out of this mess—because while Tom’s sisters are not dainty, frail women, Tom manages to have at least six inches on them, and ample muscle mass. Either of Tom’s sisters could easily overpower Ethan—which isn’t to say Ethan is weak—it’s just that height and muscle seems to run in these people’s family. The sisters have bodies built from hard labor, and the most physical activity Ethan gets is when he goes hiking on the weekends.

  Tom’s been giving Ethan special treatment. He’s sure now more than ever, seeing the blade held to Jed’s back. That means his plan to try to befriend Tom isn’t so crazy after all. But. As Ethan watches Tom bind Jed on the table next to Ricky’s slumped body, Ethan can’t help remembering the way Tom’s erection strained in his pants in the cornfield.

  Is Ethan really just trying to befriend Tom?

  No.

  He’s not, is he?

  If this is going to be his survival strategy, he might as well be honest with himself: his plan is to seduce Tom. Make him want to keep Ethan alive in the most animal of ways.