Tank grabbed Drake’s shoulder and shook him. “No, he’s not. He asks about you all the time,” Tank’s voice softened. “He misses you, and you won’t even give him a scrap of affection.”
Nausea rose in Drake’s throat to the point where he found it difficult to speak. Coming here might not have been a good idea after all. He should have just called and have them join him in Denver. “He’s too good for me. You’re the one he needs.”
“You don’t get to make that decision for him. Give him a chance, talk to him at least. For fuck’s sake! It’s okay if you want to break up, but stop tormenting the boy!”
Break up.
That phrase sliced Drake’s heart in two, and he averted his gaze to hide tears that suddenly flooded his eyes. He was a mess. He was a stain on everyone’s life. Hadn’t he done enough already? Raped Clover. Disappointed Tank. Caused Boar’s disappearance, and Pyro’s return to addiction.
He wasn’t only useless to them. He was an illness that kept affecting their group months after its breakout.
“Fine. I’m breaking up with him, so he doesn’t need to worry about me any longer,” Drake choked out and stepped toward his van as the open space around him turned into a trap he was desperate to flee.
Tank grabbed his arm, but Drake wasn’t having it and pulled away with a snarl. He was about to yank it back when cold steel closed around his wrist. Tank had used the oldest trick in the book, and Drake had fallen for it.
For a second, Drake couldn’t breathe from the shock, but then it dawned on him, that Tank had snatched Drake’s own handcuffs. The audacity of such a low move when Drake trusted Tank enough to not watch his back around him! Drake patted his pocket for keys but Tank jangled them in the air to make things final. “You’re not going anywhere until we have some real talk.”
It was as if Drake’s knees had turned to goo, but when he pulled, trying to get away from Pyro’s trailer, he found the other cuff closed on a steel bicycle rack. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Y-you promised to never do that,” Drake said in a voice that was embarrassingly small. His windpipe narrowed, aching when he tried to breathe, but the sparsity of oxygen was already affecting his mind.
Tank touched his shoulder, and the weight of his hand was like a boulder crushing him to the ground. “Listen, I’ll uncuff you as soon as we’re done talking, but I can’t take this avoidance anymore. What is up with you? If you want to break up with Clover, he deserves to hear it from you.”
“Let me go,” whispered Drake, his arm trembling from the iciness of the cuff. He grabbed it with his other hand and pushed, trying to force his hand through, even at the cost of dislocating his thumb. He couldn’t breathe anymore, locked in a state of panic so severe his mind was turning against him and refused to think.
“We talk first!” Tank grabbed his arm to stop him from thrashing. “You clearly needed time to yourself after meeting Apollo again. I get it, but it’s time to stop sulking and talk to us!”
The world was closing in on Drake, air turning into walls about to squash him like a bug. “I raped him. In front of Apollo and the other fucks. Those scars from caning? I did that. It’s better for him to never see me again,” Drake choked out, flinching at the horror reflected in Tank’s eyes. He deserved it. He deserved everything coming his way. If he couldn’t make himself pay for what he’d done, maybe Tank would bring him the punishment.
Still, the moment Tank let go of his dirty hand, Drake yanked it out of the cuff. His thumb screamed in pain, but as the weird numbness spread all the way up his arm, he rolled away, searching for a way out.
Tank’s eyes were wide, and he didn’t even follow Drake. The shock on his face told Drake that in all these months Clover hadn’t secretly shared those details.
“You… what? What are you talking about?”
Drake’s brain was on fire, but despite the ache in his hand clouding his mind, thoughts that emerged to the surface were painfully clear. Drake rose, eyes on Tank’s. “I caned him until he screamed and bled. And then I raped him. I shouldn’t be around any of you,” he whispered, gaining complete clarity.
He reached for his gun and pressed it to the underside of his jaw, struck by the overwhelming sense of relief the click of the safety brought him. One bullet, and he’d be no longer a toxic presence destroying the lives of those who mattered the most to him. He should have done this long ago. “I’ve got a lead in Denver. It’s all in my notebook.”