Page 33

“You can try.” Kensley pulled on all the courage he had left. “But you’ll leave your own blood on the floor.”

“Hmm.” He made no move to stand or attack, and Kensley hazarded a glance at Sadist’s crotch. No sign of an erection, despite the fact that Kensley was a ball of hormones, his body waiting and ready to be fucked. His traitorous dick demanded attention, and his slick ass demanded filling.

But Kensley remained upright, defensive, unwilling to give in to his base nature—a nature that was only awake because of drugs. Not because he was actually aroused or with someone he wanted to sleep with. Not like the way Bishop made his body sing with every touch and kiss and lick and thrust.

Sadist raised his right hand from his pants pocket, then reached inside of his jacket. Kensley braced for a weapon or cuffs, or something equally awful. Sadist pulled out a slim cell phone and began typing on it.

What the hell is he doing? Calling in help?

Kensley watched him, his coiled muscles screaming for him to either relax or bolt, to do something besides stand there like a spring waiting to pop. His teeth and jaw ached, but he couldn’t unclench. Couldn’t do anything except watch Sadist fuck around on his phone for an eternity.

At some point, Kensley’s bladder kicked but he ignored it.

He wasn’t going to ask to be let out to pee, even if his dick calmed down enough to let urine pass.

He’d rather wet his pants than give Sadist the satisfaction of being asked for favors.

The pants were already half-soaked from his body’s betrayal. What was a little more fluid?

The silence in the room was as stifling as the inaction, and Kensley wanted to scream.

To stamp his feet, to do anything to break the silent stand-off between himself and his captor.

But Sadist ignored him, and that fueled Kensley’s temper.

Part of him wanted to rush the guy, to attack first so they could just get this over with.

But something deep inside, something that sounded a lot like Bishop, told him to wait.

“Be patient, sweetheart. Wait him out.”

Easier imagined than done, especially with his future rapist less than ten feet away.

An eternity passed, and then Kensley’s arousal began to dim. His dick softened, and his natural lube dried up. He wanted to be grateful, but what if Sadist actually preferred it dry? What if he wanted it to hurt? To damage? And Kensley still had to piss like crazy.

Sadist’s phone chimed, and he looked at Kensley. Smiled at his state. “Ah, good. So, our average dose lasts ninety-seven minutes with your metabolism. We’ll have to increase it for your first client. They always pay for at least two hours.”

Kensley had no response to that. This entire thing had been…what? Some kind of sick test?

Sadist pocketed his phone, opened the door and left. Kensley didn’t move, still coiled so tight he might sprain a muscle if he moved too fast. Not until he heard the two newly-familiar buzzes. Then silence. He carefully unlocked his body and ventured to the doorway. No one in the living room.

Dizzy with fear, confusion, anger, and his still-throbbing bladder, Kensley searched every inch of the apartment before going into the bathroom to relieve himself.

Then he showered off the sticky slick residue.

Once he was dried off and in fresh pajamas, exhaustion slapped him in the face, and he fell asleep on the couch.

The twin buzzers nearly knocked Kensley to the floor.

He scrambled to his feet, expecting another visit from Sadist, or maybe someone else intent on causing harm.

Malori shuffled inside and the door closed behind him.

He wore the same clothes as he’d left in, but they somehow seemed looser, as if Malori himself has shrunk.

His lips were swollen, his eyes red, but Kensley couldn’t see any other obvious injuries.

Long sleeves and pants could hide a lot of things.

“Malori?”

He didn’t look at Kensley, simply turned and kept shuffling toward his bedroom.

He didn’t shut the door, though, so Kensley followed, stopping in the doorway.

Malori curled up on top of the covers, facing the wall, and Kensley swore his body deflated.

Kensley’s heart broke for his new friend’s obvious defeat.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked softly.

“No.”

The single word was as much a dismissal as a plea for someone to take his pain away.

Kensley searched through his years of training as a priest, through all the consolations and words of encouragement, and everything sounded flat.

Trite. Weak for the severity of the situation and the years of torture Malori had survived.

Kensley didn’t imagine Malori would believe his prayers anymore than Kensley believed them.

“I’m here when you need me,” was all Kensley could think to say.

When their dinner trays came up, Kensley ate his quickly, and then took the second tray into Malori’s room.

Gently shook Malori awake and helped him eat about half his portion of beef stew and bread.

Malori chewed with the enthusiasm of a dying man who simply wished it was over, so Kensley praised him for each bite. Every morsel swallowed.

They both needed their strength for whatever new nightmare came tomorrow.

He wanted to ask Malori if Sadist had done the same thing to him when Malori arrived.

If he’d tested the stimulant while Malori freaked out, not knowing if he’d be attacked or not.

But it didn’t matter, and it changed nothing.

He didn’t need Malori feeling guilty for not thinking to warn Kensley about the test. So, he put their dishes back in the dumbwaiter and watched TV alone.

A game show had just switched over to a rerun of an old court-drama show when Malori joined him on the couch.

He snuggled up close to Kensley, and Kensley didn’t object when Malori put his head on Kensley’s lap.

Malori’s gaze was more focused but still full of grief and pain.

Kensley rested one hand on Malori’s shoulder and tried to comfort him.

He couldn’t imagine the hundreds of times Malori had returned to this empty apartment, alone with his emotional agony and physical exhaustion. Tonight, Malori wasn’t alone.

They shared Malori’s bed again that night, Malori still curled far away. Kensley wasn’t offended in the least. After his afternoon nap, Kensley had a hard time falling asleep, so he tossed and turned until exhaustion stole him away.

Saturday morning was the same as yesterday, with them taking turns in the bathroom, and then sharing simple breakfasts at the small table. Kensley had just put their plates back in the dumbwaiter when Malori said, “Please, don’t grieve when I’m gone.”

“What?” Kensley returned to the table and sat opposite Malori, confused and alarmed. “What are you talking about?”

“I think yesterday was my last customer. Even with the stimulant, I was…couldn’t provide the lubricant he needed, so he created his own.”

“Created—fuck.” He didn’t need details to understand what Malori’s “customer” had done to create wetness, and it twisted his stomach up tight. Horror made the skin on the backs of his legs crawl. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not the first time, but it’s hopefully the last. I am so fucking tired, Kensley.

If there was anything in this apartment to use, I’d end it now.

Before Master takes me away and does God knows what.

Buries me in a field. Tosses me down a well.

I just want this nightmare to be over. I don’t want to hurt anymore. ”

“I wish I could do more than keep asking you to have hope and not give up, because I don’t think I have the right to. I cannot imagine what you’ve survived, but Malori? You have survived it. I hope you can survive until we’re rescued.”

Malori tried to smile, but it came off more like a grimace. “I’ll do my best. But in case I can’t say it later, I’m glad I got to be your friend for a little while.”

“Me too.” Kensley wanted them to be friends for years to come, but that promise was beyond his control. All he could do was remain vigilant and wait for a chance to escape, no matter what shape it came in.

He did not expect hope to come inside the dumbwaiter when their lunch plates arrived.

Kensley went to fetch the tray, and he froze at the sight of a note on top of something wrapped in a piece of cloth.

He read the note without exposing it to whatever cameras were in the apartment: Leave this here for now so no one sees it. You’ll know when to use it.

No signature, no other marks on the paper. He fondled the bundle while pretending to have trouble with the tray, and his heart leapt with hope. It felt like a small handgun.

King. Please, let this be King and Bishop, please!

Acting had never been his forte, but Kensley did his best to keep his expression neutral, while he carried the tray to the table.

Malori joined him with no enthusiasm for the meal.

He’d moved stiffly, slowly all morning, as if resigned to being carted off to his death at any moment.

But he ate his sandwich at Kensley’s urging.

Kensley forced his own food down into a stomach rolling with nerves and anticipation.

If anything was going to happen, it would be within the hour or so they usually took to eat and return their dishes.

Time stretched out, its path barely marked by the stretch of a shadow from the barred kitchen window. Without a clock, he could only guess, but it felt like close to an hour. Grabbing onto desperation and inspiration, Kensley stood suddenly. Malori startled.

“Sorry, I just, ah.” Kensley pressed a hand over his gut. “I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be a little while, but I do want to finish my lunch. Don’t send it back yet.”

“Okay.”