Page 55 of Hurt

Dark eyes were looking at him. His thick hair was slicked back, framing his handsome Hispanic features.

His heart dropped into his stomach and a cold sweat broke out along his skin. Trembling, he clutched at his shirt.

“It’s not time…”

Ezra laughed coldly. Never taking his eyes off Kurt, he prowled around the bar. He moved like a predator circling cornered prey. Almost daring him to run. It would be more fun to chase him down.

Fingers running along the polished surface of the bar, he took his time approaching Kurt.

“Time? I decide when, Kurt.” His voice was oily, and Kurt shuddered. He hated when Ezra was like this. He preferred his rages when his patience was at its limit. It hurt more, but he was more predictable. This Ezra liked to cause lasting pain, the kind that haunted him when he slept and stalked his nightmares. The kind that didn’t heal.

“I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors, you know.” He invaded Kurt’s space, standing so close their chests were almost touching. Kurt looked away, preferring to stare at the bar beside him.

“You haven’t been behaving very well. Beating up customers? Hanging out with Weavers?” Ezra’s fingers traced along Kurt’s collarbone. His fingers nails dug into the skin and left a red welt in their wake.

“You know I don’t like it when my pets misbehave. We’ve talked about this before, but it seems the lesson didn’t stick.” He grabbed Kurt’s chin, digging his fingers into the soft flesh behind his jaw. Kurt gasped in pain, wincing as Ezra’s fingers forced his jaw open.

Ezra reached into his mouth and dragged out his tongue, pinching it between two fingers. Kurt gagged, but Ezra held on as he pressed him back against the bar.

“I’ve been pretty lenient, Kurt. I haven’t touched your precious sister, and I’ve let you do as you please. But you’re starting to piss me off. You don’t obey, and now I hear you’re catering to the Weavers? I won’t stand for that.”

Kurt stared up at him with eyes watering from the pain in his jaw. He saw something strange in Ezra’s eyes—something beyond the glee and lust at causing him pain.

Fear.

Dragging his tongue free, Kurt huffed a laugh.

“You’re afraid of them.”

Ezra’s nostrils flared in anger. He hit Kurt hard enough to daze him, spinning him around and pushing him forward on the bar. The edge of the bar dug into his thighs, and blood filled his mouth as Ezra slammed his face into the hardwood. The taste of the chemical cleaner mixed with the copper tang in his mouth.

Pissing Ezra off had done the trick. He used Kurt as a punching bag to vent his anger. Preferable to the mind games he enjoyed playing, and especially better than his penchant for sexual sadism. Kurt collapsed into himself like a dying star. He didn’t even try shielding himself because he knew it would be worse.

The knife Ezra brought with him dug into the skin of Kurt’s back. Tiny wells of blood followed the tip of its blade, not deep enough to be dangerous but enough to send Kurt’s nerves screaming in agony.

Fingers yanking in his hair sent his hair tie flying. Tangled strands of purple tickled his face, and he hid behind them. It was better than seeing. He focused on the warm blood dripping down his back, and in his mind, he heard music. Focusing on notes flowing over and under stanzas. Composing his own symphony in his head because it was better than hearing Ezra’s taunts, or worse, his groans of pleasure.

When he was finished, he let Kurt collapse to the floor. Back screaming where the shelves under the bar dug into his fresh wounds, Ezra grabbed him by the hair and leaned in. For a horrifying moment, Kurt thought he would kiss him. The one thing he had kept for himself.

But he didn’t. “One of these days, I’m going to drag you so deep into Vega territory you’ll never be able to escape. I’ll brand you as mine. You’ll never misbehave ever again.”

Kurt could still feel his fingers on him long after he left.

Staring into the distance, Kurt let his fingers slip into the holes of the anti-fatigue mats that lined the floor of the bar. It grounded him. Helped him stay centered.

When he had been hit so hard he was on the precipice of passing out, he used to picture Noah’s smiling face. That stupid gap-toothed grin—the one where Kurt would swear he could hear the wind whistling through it from all the missing teeth. And it would bring him back. Center him.

But he couldn’t do that now. He couldn’t bring Noah into this. He had to stay far away from where Kurt was.

A glass of water appeared in front of him, and he took it. Chugging down the contents, he felt a little better for it. Someone took it away, but he couldn’t see who. He was just grateful Willow wasn’t here. She would demand answers Kurt couldn’t give her.

The guitar was placed on his lap, and his hands found their places without him having to think. Wood dug into the familiar places on his thighs, and the sharp strings caressed the pads of his fingers. A comforting sting. He let it draw him back to reality.

His thumb stroked the first string. Its vibrations sent ripples through the hollow wood, and he could breathe again.

Looking up, he was surprised to see it was Grant looking back at him. The man looked ridiculous in his suit, sitting on the floor of the bar. His long legs were cramped in the small space. Hazel eyes were staring at Kurt with an unnerving intensity.

“Why did you give me the guitar?” Kurt asked hoarsely.