Page 47 of Redemption (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #4)

Hawk

“And who gave you the order to beat the ever-loving shit out of him?”

An annoyed but hushed voice rouses me from what might have been the best dream ever.

“Oh, come on. We’re just letting off a bit of steam. Don’t worry, I’m sure he looks worse than he actually is. Besides, you didn’t see what he did to Silver back there. This asshole deserved it.”

I highly disagree.

“Deserving of it or not, this guy isn’t like the others; he’s physically fit and well within the confines of the age requirements to be successful.

Stitch actually just informed me this morning that he passed the test and is due in his office for processing and preparation for Ascension.

Now you know as well as anyone else here that we need as many men as we can find to make this operation possible.

What if you just fucking ruined it for us by bashing his fucking skull in? !”

Shit... I mean... I feel fucking awful. Everything hurts.

And I mean everything. There are even a few places that hurt that I don’t even think I want to know why.

But I really hope my skull isn’t bashed in.

That sounds like something permanent and not conducive to a budding romantic relationship with the most beautiful girl in the world.

“You guys are fucking idiots. Y’all say this guy deserved this, but did he actually kill anybody during his abduction?

I mean... I tried.

“No, he didn’t. He just ended up shooting Silver in the leg, an easy fix.

But the other guy? That fucker blinded one of his extraction crew—popped his eyeballs like they were fucking grapes—and then wrapped the van around a goddamn tree, killing all three members of the team while he miraculously survived with nothing more than a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. ”

A weak smile lifts the edges of my lips. I’m not sure if it was Cole or Jax, but at least I know one of them refused to go out without a fight.

And he still lives.

“Now that you mention it, by comparison... Yeah, we fucked up. Sorry, boss.”

“Oh... You’ll be sorry. But for now, you’re dismissed and officially relieved of this duty. Report to Diesel in the transport wing. He’ll take care of your new... position.”

Firm fingers grasp my chin, pulling my face left and right.

I still can’t see shit, and I’m pretty sure I’m drooling, but my fat lip is so numb I could be wrong.

Doesn’t matter though; not my problem if I don’t look stellar this morning.

The pressure of this guy’s hand rouses me enough, however, to make it my problem.

“Hey... watch the goods.”

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr....” He drags out the surname, waiting for me to answer. Too bad, so sad. He’ll have to do so much more to get into my good graces before he gets the privilege of knowing my name.

“E,” I say instead. My clipped response is barely coherent, but they get what they get and better not throw any fits about it.

“Mr. E?” The name is said with such indignation that even without being able to see the bastard, I know he’s standing there with a cocked head, wondering if the other dude was onto something with the regular beatings.

“That’s-a-me.” I open my palms and shrug my shoulders as much as the restraints allow.

“A goddamn mystery. ” I’m hoping the bloody smile I give is straight out of the Joker’s wheelhouse.

Probably is. At least it feels like it is if the never-ending pain and consistently oozing drool are anything to go by.

His shoes click a step closer until I feel his hot breath on my face. “No, you’re an asshole who needs to learn his manners.”

“Eh, pot-ay-toe, tom-ay-toe.”

“Well, either way, David will not be happy when he realizes what’s been going on here behind his back.”

David...

I had a sneaking suspicion that fucknut was behind all this.

The guy fiddles with something to the side, clinks and clanks echoing around the space. “So I’m just gonna—”

Whatever he does, it loosens the hold on my arms and drops my ass like a pile of wet laundry onto the hard concrete. “Son of a! Oooh, not nice.” I grimace as shooting pain ricochets up my spine, adding to the already throbbing mess I’ve been reduced to.

“Well, you weren’t very nice to Silver now, were you?”

“At least I didn’t bash in his butt bone, you ass monkey.” I go to rub said ass to try and ease the abrupt hurt, but my arms are still regrettably held above my head.

You know what? Fuck this. I’m too tired, in too much pain, and too fucking fed up to deal with this bullshit in a manner consistent with typical hostage management.

They woke me up from my nap, and now they get to handle my bullshit.

“Do me a favor next time and invite me to dinner first. Quality cuddles after. It’s just a common courtesy, you know.

Especially when I’m not a natural bottom.

Gotta get worked up for an evening like that, but apparently butt pirates like yourself didn’t get a chance to go to finishing school.

” He mumbles some bullshit nonsense through what I can only assume are a set of clenched teeth, so I set myself up for the old alley-oop, tilting my head back, hopefully aiming my fucked-up mug in his direction while smiling my pretty sparkly reds right at him.

“In other terms... etiquette, my dear sadist.” I hear him growl and wait for the punch I know he wants to throw right into my face, hoping it’ll knock my ass out for another round, but it never comes.

“How about we start again?” Fucking asshole’s ruining my beauty sleep.

“My name is Locke. What’s yours?” He rustles around, the jingling of metal hitting my ears before my arms fall to my sides.

The pain after having them above my head for days on end makes me wince and grind back a groan, huffing a breath so I don’t make a bitch of myself in front of these.

.. fine gentlemen . It’s also the only response this rim jaw’s gonna get from me.

Well, that and the wad of blood I just spat, hopefully on his shoes, because that’s what my blind ass was aiming for.

His frustrated sigh tells me I was spot on.

Bullseye, fuckface.

“Well, Mr. E, for now, let’s get you over to the Infirmary and cleared for processing.

” More footsteps surround me before hands grip me under my arms and knees and lift, carrying me out of the cell and up the stairs.

At the very top, they toss my pitiful ass onto what I can only assume is a gurney and wheel me away.

No blanket, no sheet, just me rolling down the hall with an entourage befitting a stately diplomat while receiving a chorus of gasps and ‘ Oh my Gods ’ the whole way.

I’d like to think it’s due to my newly claimed celebrity status amongst the community folk, but it’s probably just in response to my naked dick flopping about in all its birthday glory.

It is pretty magnificent, if I dare say so myself.

A few minutes later, the incessant rocking stops, bright lights taking the top spot in the annoyance category. Even with no eyesight, I know, down to the marrow of my bones, that it’s a glaringly white room. My spider senses instantly start tingling.

I fucking hate hospitals.

Fingers poke and prod at me. Something sharp pokes my arm, and then again on my other. My mouth is forcefully pried open, and then there’s a crunching sound before cool plastic is placed on my eyes.

At least that takes care of the light.

I try to zone out for the rest of their examination, on edge from the assumed knowledge I’m in a building of death, but more than happy, at this point, to let them do whatever so long as I can go back to sleep.

No food or water for however long, combined with the immeasurable pain associated with multiple beatings, has left me exhausted, barely clinging to consciousness.

After a while, they finally finish with their exploratory poking and prodding.

Suffice it to say, it was just barely on this side of probing, although they almost got very well-acquainted with my booty hole while seeking to take my temperature.

Luckily, I showed enough signs of life that they changed their trajectory.

And now that I’m apparently stable enough to move and not die on their watch, they’ve decided to restrain my wrists to the bed and are in the process of wheeling my ass somewhere else in the building.

Minutes pass. Lights brighten and dim as we move through the hallways.

And then, we turn and come to an abrupt stop.

“Now, you just keep that cold pack on your eyes, and the doctors will be in shortly to do a few tests. Don’t worry, we’ll have you feeling right as rain before you know it,” someone who sounds like Locke states before leaving the room with a soft snick of a lock on the door.

Silence surrounds me amid his abrupt exit.

And now I’m stuck here...

In a building I loathe...

Buck-fucking-naked....

Lovely....

But seriously, what’s a guy got to do to get a pair of scrubs in this place? I don’t even have a blanket to cover my poor, neglected, frozen balls. It’s a fucking hospital, for fuck’s sake! Or, at least, what seems fairly close enough to being one since they refer to it as an Infirmary.

Patients deserve warm nuts!

I’d even cave and take a paper dress at this point. But apparently, everyone’s so enthralled by my dick swinging in the breeze that no one thought to provide such a luxury to their newest guest.

Whatever.

It’s not until sometime later that a new voice enters in the space. “Ah, hello there, Mr...,” he pauses. I smile... poorly. “E.... My name is Forge. I work alongside Stitch, Locke, and a few others in the Infirmary. How are you feeling?”

“Like a fucking wet dream, Fuckface,” I deadpan sloppily, my lips still numb and covered in saliva. “Get on with it.”

Unperturbed, the fuckface, otherwise known as Forge, carries on. “Well, good news. Your tests came back, and everything looks good, but we’re going to take just a bit more blood and run a few more tests if that’s alright.”

“Uh... no fucking thank you. I do not consent. I revoke any medical authorizations that have been taken unjustly in my name. Come to think of it, I never consented to receiving any care apart from that of the life-saving nature. Which you guys are sorely lacking, by the way. I mean... look at my face!” I turn it this way and that, not able to see his reaction through my puffy eyelids or the compress still over them but imaginative enough that I can visualize him scoffing or some other such equally bullshit response.

“I do apologize about that. But, as far as your original testing went, you would be an impeccable addition to Ascension, our regeneration unit. Which is why you’ve been reassigned into our care for recuperation.”

“Original testing? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Ah... Well, I guess I’ll be the person to inform you that your sperm count is off the charts. Very virile young man, if I do say so myself.”

“What the fuck would you need my sperm count for?” And then it hits me... how the hell did he get my sperm in the first place? “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Your initial sample was taken when you were unconscious. A moment made itself known, and we took advantage of the situation, not wanting to let the sample go unused and untested. You understand, I’m sure.”

What the fuck? How? He said they did all this while I was unconscious?

Think...

Think. Think. Think....

I was dreaming.... I was dreaming about Aly... About us and Cole and Jax.... We were... Holy shit... Did they?

“The ends justify the means, my boy,” Forge says, the pompous arrogance in his voice betraying the smile I might not be able to see, but know is proudly showcased on his despicable face.

Despite my lack of sight, I see red. Blood-drenched, psychotic, rain down fire, RED. “You... You fucking bastards. I’ll fucking kill you. All of you.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonishes. “None of that. Now, let’s get you fixed up and presentable for initiation. The Ascension unit should be ready in about a week, as should you now that you’re able to rest and rehabilitate uninhibited.”

He pats my leg a couple of times, ignoring my disdain at his unwanted touch, before he walks out, his steps echoing throughout the room.

My anger surrounds me, pressing down on me like a weighted blanket. Comforting and unyielding. Those fucking bastards. As soon as I’m free of these goddamn restraints, they’re dead. They’re all dead. I’ll end every fucking one of them for taking what wasn’t theirs to take.

The ends justify the means. What Machiavellian bullshit did we end up getting ourselves into?

Regardless of how it presents itself, this isn’t some simple town.

It’s a farce. A living play, acted out in real time to lure in unsuspecting survivors.

And to do what? What did that guy say he wanted me for?

Ascension? Regeneration?

What the fuck does that even mean? Is it a code for something? Regrowth? Rebirth? Renewing something after it’s been damaged or lost?

But what is it they lost? Their livelihood?

The future they saw for themselves before the virus?

Their friends and family? But they can’t bring them back no matter how much they want to.

Once they’re gone, they’re gone. What the fuck does this guy intend to do with me?

And what the hell does it have to do with my fucking sperm count? !

My mind spins with different scenarios, each new situation worse than the previous and adding to my unstable state.

I can feel the restraints creak and pull under my fury, but they’re thick and durable, withstanding my anger while forcing me to stew in it.

Or maybe I’m simply too weak to put up a fight against them.

Hours seem to pass as I lose track of time.

Occasionally, someone goes past the closed door, their footsteps causing my pulse to jump before the sound recedes in the distance.

It’s not until a while later, after the swelling in my ice-packed-covered eyes finally reduces, that the last person I thought I would see enters the room.