Triton
“No! Please, Clay, not again! Nooooo!”
A hand to his face shoved him back into the closet and his screams were ignored over the roar of laughter.
Tripping over the shoes and boxes, he fell on his ass, cracking his head on the wall. The heavy door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. The special lock Clay had installed.
Through the door came the sound of their laughter over his own ragged breath.
“Please, Clay, please. I’ll be good,” he cried, and lifted his hands to pound at the door. When that didn’t work, he clawed and jiggled the doorknob.
A fist hit the door.
He jumped, sucking in one breath after another. Clay, Auto, and their friends laughed again.
It was always the same struggle to breathe in the dark. He sucked in another quick gasp of air, his head buzzed, and white sprinkles edged his vision. He gazed wide-eyed into the darkness and clung to the thin white line of light beneath the door. He’d never liked the dark, even before the cave-in that had trapped him for hours.
Fucking worthless piece of shit.
His father’s words rang in his ears. He whimpered and bit back the sound, pressing his hands to his mouth to keep quiet. They’d only shoved him into the closet. It was nothing compared to what they would do if he continued crying. Huddled against the floor, he curled into a tight ball, choking back sobs.
Laughter and the television echoed from the outer room.
You need to face your fears. Clay had told him that over and over. At first, Triton had believed Clay had his best interests at heart, but after a while, he couldn’t ignore that what Clay was doing was wrong. He often wondered if he had a stamp on his forehead that said “abuse me”.
“You’re just a waste of air, Triton. Taking up space. You can’t defend yourself. If you didn’t deal drugs for me, I’d be tempted to kick your ass to the curb,” Clay had reminded him many times.
If only he used the drugs he carried and sold to the salon for Clay. At least that way, he’d find a small measure of relief, but the one time he’d tried, he’d become violently ill.
He wished he were braver, so he could defend himself against Clay and his gang, but mostly, he wished he’d never been born. Ending it all seemed so much easier, but he couldn’t do that to Maddox or Bull. They loved him in spite of his failures.
The shoe beneath his cheek grew damp and he shifted around. The dark brought back memories, the terror of the abandoned mine, but also the one bright spot in all the horror.
Out of that dark pit of despair had risen his hero.
Diesel Gannon.
He tugged down his jacket from the hanger above and pressed his cheek to it. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend the softness was the muscled chest of his big, gruff savior. Pretend that the soldier with the deep voice and soothing hands was there holding him tight, protecting him, keeping him safe.
And not for the first time, he cried over Diesel. Why couldn’t he have a man like that?
Because I don’t deserve better. He was a worthless, useless piece of flesh taking up space and using good air. He was a nobody. Even Diesel hadn’t thought twice about him.
The soldier hadn’t even said goodbye.
A foot kicked him awake, and he scrambled up, blinking at the sudden, bright light.
Auto snorted down at him.
Triton crawled out of the closet and bolted past the asshole.
“You fucking pussy! Did you learn your lesson?” Clay yelled at him from the bedroom.
“Y-y-yes,” Triton stammered, and just the sound of Clay’s voice roiled his stomach. He raced into the bathroom, where he threw up until snot ran out of his nose and his eyes were too swollen to see out of.
“Doesn’t sound like it to me,” Auto snorted. The ex-con, an imposing figure, stood in the hallway near the doorway.
Triton stayed hovered over the bowl as bile kept coming up. Clay darkened the doorway, drawing his side-eyed gaze.
“Got my stash?” Clay said to his brother.
Auto flipped Clay a baggie, which he tucked it into his front pocket.
“Don’t forget we need to see Sticks about that shit that comes in tonight.”
“I won’t,” Auto responded. “What about doing another bounty, anything on that?”
Triton’s stomach gave up more bile. Clay was a bounty hunter for god’s sake. Supposed to capture bad guys, not be one of them.
“Not yet, but I’ll hit up Benny’s place and see what’s up. Don’t forget about Sticks or we’ll be dead,” Clay repeated.
A few minutes later, the front door slammed, signaling Clay had left.
Crawling up from the toilet, Triton bent over the sink and splashed water on his face and then brushed his teeth. The minty toothpaste erased the smell of losing the contents of his stomach. Placing his toothbrush away, he turned to the doorway.
Auto’s big and bulky frame blocked his escape from the bathroom and his stomach clenched. What did the guy want now? The icy tile of the bathroom floor seeped up through his feet, freezing his whole body.
“You know, Clay’s been having you watched.”
Watched, why? Triton shook, not daring to look away from the guy’s sweaty face and cruel gaze.
“Clay’s told you over and over not to be hanging out with that faggot, Fraser.”
“He’s just a friend,” Triton said, taking a step back from the menacing figure of Auto.
“See, now I know that, but Clay wouldn’t understand. I’ll continue to keep my mouth shut for a price.”
Triton’s breath hitched, and he pressed a hand over his mouth, holding back the building scream.
“Unless you want me to tell Clay?” Auto’s spider-like black eyes gleamed coldly.
At Triton’s hasty step back, the porcelain sink dug into his hip. Why was this happening? He blinked against the tears burning at the edge of his eyes.
“That’s what I thought.” Auto unsnapped his jeans and pulled the zipper down.
Triton’s whole body shuddered before he slowly sank to his knees on the cold, tiled floor.
Diesel
“Get that fucking thing away from me.” He swung at the nurse who was holding a bed pan.
“Sir, sir! Please lie down.”
“What the hell is going on in here?” Maddox’s deep voice boomed in the room.
“I’m not using that!” He pointed to the bed pan with a scowl and crossed his arms.
“Leave us. I’ll take care of it.”
The woman snapped the pan down and marched from the room.
“Come on.” Maddox ripped back the bedding and helped him sit up. From there, it was a quick hop to the toilet. He planted a hand on the wall over the commode and pissed for five minutes.
His knee throbbed, and he bit back a groan when Maddox helped him back to the bed.
“Thanks.”
Flopping back on the bed, he lifted his arm to shield his eyes.
“How’d the surgery go?”
“As well as can be expected.” He lowered his arm. “Doc says I could be laid up six to nine months. That means I might not be back to duty until fucking November.”
“That means you’re officially on medical leave is what that means. And I have a proposition for you.”