Their Obsession (Four Mercenaries 2)

When the cane hit his feet, he cried out again, curling his toes despite knowing it wouldn’t help him. Sharp stabs of pain shot up all the way to his thighs, transferred through bone and ligaments, but when the cane swished again, and he braced himself for impact, Apollo’s voice came through the speakers, stopping the torture like a physical barrier between Clover and the goon.

“Bring in the marked one. Now.”

One of the torturers, Clover didn’t even comprehend which one anymore, left, while the other ran his fingers up Clover’s thigh, dipping them in his blood. He reached between Clover’s buttocks, to his desperately clenched hole and teased it with the damp finger.

“May I, sir?” rasped Crooked, and Clover gagged, helpless against the bout of nausea flooding his body.

“Not yet,” Apollo said, bringing no relief, because ‘yet’ meant that Clover would be raped. He’d be caned, tortured, torn apart inside and out, left without dignity for the pleasure of the audience behind the glass. As if he wasn’t even a real person but a character on a perverted TV show.

The big hand lingered, rubbing Clover’s hole in a promise of even more horror, but at least it didn’t bring any more pain. The places brutalized with the cane didn’t burn. They weren’t on fire. They felt as if they’d been chewed by vicious teeth and spat out, but as heat turned into an oddly cold sensation all over the bruised skin, the door opened again.

Clover looked up, choked up at the sight of a familiar face. The lock slid into place, but all Clover could see through the haze on his brain were Drake’s bruised features and naked chest. They expressed nothing, like the blanks masks of people behind the glass. Until Drake spotted Clover, and he came alive, eyes wide, cheeks flushing.

“Motherfuckers!” Drake yelled and bared his bloodied teeth.

Clover shook his head. “Don’t, Drake. Please,” he uttered, realizing his own voice was raspy from screaming.

Tears had given his vision a blur, so when Drake moved, he turned into a whirlwind of flesh and black hair. He grabbed the cane and kicked Big Nose, ripping it from his grasp. Clover screamed when Crooked reached for the knife at his belt, but Drake was on top of him already, screaming like a banshee. The cane went down like a blade, through the bastard’s eye, and deeper. Crooked gave a raspy scream, and his feet broke into uncontrollable shudders. Then, with a twist of Drake’s back muscles, he went silent after a creak that resonated between the tiles.

Clover couldn’t even breathe. Everything happened in slow motion.

Drake and Big Nose got to their feet in the same moment, but as the goon touched Clover’s thigh, Drake threw Crooked’s knife, and the intrusive fingers were gone, followed by the dull thud of a fallen body.

The silence was interrupted by both of their heaving, and Clover looked from one of his rapists-to-be to the other, unable to comprehend just how quickly Drake had disposed of the threat.

But would that save them?

The sudden clapping from behind the glass made Clover stiffen. Drake stood over Crooked’s dead body, his gaze shooting straight to Apollo, as if he hoped to break the glass and pierce his heart with the force of his mind. Teeth bared, Drake dashed at the window but it wouldn’t budge and sent him back to the floor.

Some of Apollo’s guests flinched at the impact and that cut the applause short, but even Drake couldn’t break through the thick barrier.

“Impressive. Where have you gotten your mark?” Apollo asked in a steady tone.

Drake punched the glass again, scrambling to his feet. “I will kill you for this, you cunt!”

Apollo turned around, and only then Clover noticed that there was a man in the shadows behind Apollo. “Check the catalogue. This is getting more and more interesting.” He turned back to Drake. “Must have been quite a while ago that you got the brand, because I would have remembered you, I’m sure.”

Drake was struggling to keep his cool, hands balling into fists as he looked at Apollo, a trapped animal unable to bite into the throat of its oppressor. “Fuck. You,” he said through clenched teeth before gravitating toward Clover.

Stuck in a world of constant pain, Clover struggled against the tears welling in his eyes the moment Drake touched him with the gentle, careful hands he so completely trusted. His limbs shook, but the familiar scent of his lover’s body was a promise of safety, even in this house of horrors.

Apollo’s laugh crackled in the speaker. “The boy refused to tell me anything, but now I’m compelled to think it really is a personal thing for you. Did I know you as Drake when I had that mark put on you?”

Drake stepped toward the glass and spat at it before grabbing the cuff on Clover’s wrist and searching for ways to unlock it. His black eyes met Clover’s, and no words were needed to communicate the depth of guilt hiding behind that gaze. They could have entire conversations without anyone here understanding a thing. But as Drake fumbled with the cuff, Apollo spoke again.