Dad shook my head violently by my hair. “Do what she says.”
Still, I fought. I pulled, tried to slide my legs back to kick him, but he stepped down on my feet. I sobbed, cried. Pain raced through me—so much pain over my body.
Mom reached forward with one hand and pinched my cheeks together while Dad dropped his grip on my throat to pinch my nose. My eyes widened, a dull whine rasping out of my tender throat.
I needed to breathe. I needed air.
The crack in my heart grew wider as I opened my mouth wide and gasped for oxygen. In an instant, the liquid, acidic and raw, gushed down my throat. I choked, coughed, and fought for another breath, but they wouldn’t stop. It kept coming.
It burned. My throat lit with a flame I’d never felt.
My eyes welled for a different reason.
Their hands dropped away, and I fell forward, choking, coughing, spitting, gasping, crying. My stomach rebelled and I vomited. More burning followed.
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t. I hadn’t done anything other than want to be myself and want love like my friends had.
I wasn’t a bad person.
Through a shuddering breath, I rasped, “You’ll pay.” The words stabbed my fiery throat, but it was worth it for the look of shock on my mother’s face.
She blanked her features and shook her head. “Lies are a sin, boy. You know this. We taught you this. Do you see?” she screamed. “Do you see how the time away from us has corrupted you?”
I chuckled, pushing aside the hurt. “Always been gay,” I managed to get out.
“Force him to stay down.” Mom walked back over to the bench.
I could take whatever they delivered to live another day, to find what I wanted in life. I could survive this and get back to the people who knew me, who loved me.
Dad’s grip on me fell away. I tried to roll to the side, but he kicked me in the ribs. Another dry cough raked over me as agony burst to life.
He stopped in front of me, kneeling where my hands were tied. He pulled the chains taut. I tugged back on them, but from the agony, I’d already grown weak.
“Move, and it will be worse,” Mom said from my side.
“Stop,” I grated.
Dad tsked. “Not until you’re cleansed.”
They started praying as I felt something sharp dig into the opposite side of my back from where Mom stood leaning over me. The throbbing sting grew across my whole back. I cried out and thrashed, but it didn’t stop.
Glancing to the side, I caught the glint of a sharp knife.
She was cutting my skin open.
“Stop, stop, please.”
She didn’t.
Another slice had me tearing more skin on my wrists as I tried to get away, tried to fight. Still, their voices grew louder with their prayer. It wasn’t until my mom reached my lower back that she stepped away.
“We cut the sins away.” She moved to the bench, and I heard the clatter of the knife even over my heavy breaths and sobs. “We cleanse through the wounds, purging you for the evil deeds you have done.”
She turned with another jug in her hands.
“No, no, no,” I whimpered. I thrashed and screamed, but nothing I did helped. Nothing.
Shaking my head, I begged over and over, but she didn’t stop. She tipped the jug’s contents over my back.
I roared as my skin sizzled. There was nothing but blistering agony until the blackness took me.
Only I wasn’t gone long. I woke screaming when a new scorching heat touched my back.
“He’s awake,” I heard Mom say.
A foot to my ribs rocked me to the side, and I blinked through the tears to see Dad standing there holding a bright red, burning branding iron with a cross on it.
I curled into myself whimpering, crying, realizing he’d just seared it into my skin.
“You will be cleansed after we repeat this every night for a week,” Mom said.
I shook my head.
Mom crouched beside me. “This is good for you, West. God will see the lengths you’ve gone to be admitted into Heaven. He will welcome you with open arms. We’re doing this for you.”
“F-Fuck you,” I managed through what felt like a throat full of razor blades.
“Respect your mother,” Dad yelled.
“Fuck you too.”
“Harold, leave him. We knew it would take time after the evil things he’s done.” With that, they walked out of the room and left me in agony on the dirty floor. Their son.
No. I wasn’t their son. They weren’t my parents. They never would be again.
I wasn’t evil. I was a fucking human being who had been put through hell. I couldn’t move, couldn’t lift my head. I couldn’t do anything but breathe and cry through the pain.
Please, God, if you’re listening, help me or take me away from here. Please.
Chapter Nine
Adrik
This is fucking useless,” I snarled, throwing my phone to the table. Leaning forward, I rested my head in my hands.
“We have to keep trying,” Lucas said softly.
Lifting my head, I nodded as Kylo placed a mug of coffee in front of me. “Blagodaryu vas.”
“If that was thank you, you’re welcome,” Kylo said around a yawn.
I nodded as Lucas said, “It is.” We both stared at him. He shrugged. “I know a little from an online class a couple of years ago.”
Kylo snorted. “Means he knows a lot with that big brain of his.”
“Eto tak?” I asked.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Nyet. It’s not right. My brain isn’t that big.”
It was good Lucas knew some, because exhaustion had me switching between English and Russian, but all of us were tired, having not been to sleep, and it was now early hours the next morning.
The next morning, and we still had not heard anything. Pavel, the man I had on West, was still unconscious from the drug. No matter what happened, his excuse would not be enough. For his mistake, he would be taught a lesson so it would never happen again.
* * *
No one had a clue what had happened.
Meaning no one knew where West was.
I did not like it. My chest ached, and I rubbed at it for the millionth time as worry warred behind my ribs. My gut twisted, and I could not stop thinking the worst. Not knowing ate at me, and I was ready to fight something, anything.
“What about if we did try his parents?” Lucas suggested. I had mentioned them a while ago, but they both waved it off, saying that West did not really speak with them.
“Da.” I nodded, happy to move on with something.
“Might as well,” Kylo agreed, resting his cane against the table before he sat. From my men, I already knew what had happened to Kylo. “What’s their names?” he asked.
“Harold and Grace Millbrook,” Lucas said. “I’ll look them up.” He did and then reached for his phone. “I remember West saying they live over an hour away. This has to be it, since it’s the only Millbrook,” he commented before saying into the phone. “Hello… sorry to disturb you so early, but I’m a friend of your son, West…. Oh, yes, okay.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “I don’t like it.” He glanced at both of us. “They said West didn’t live with them and would prefer not to talk about him.”