It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

Maybe he’d been wrong to stick around California like he had. Perhaps he’d needed a fresh start. Maybe he still did. Julian poured himself another shot, this time adding ice to the glass.

Julian’s head ached. He just wanted it all to go away. Never in his life had he felt so helpless, so embarrassed, angry, and— Hell, Julian didn’t know what he felt anymore. But he damn sure wasn’t happy about Thane and Arik going to Beckett behind his back. This shit had to stop.

He chugged the amber liquid, hoping it eased the pounding in his head. The room swirled, his thoughts frantic and disjointed until a dizzying loop of flashbacks from that night began to play like a slideshow in his head.

Confusion and fear rushed like icy water through his body and buckled his knees. He reached out to clutch the edge of the bar, determined to stay on his feet.

Darkness and men’s voices surrounded him. Julian couldn’t see any faces, but he definitely heard voices. His eyes were covered with something, a cloth of some sort. He struggled against the arms holding him in place, causing the covering on his eyes to rise just enough to see some shadows against the cheap orange and brown carpet.

The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey flooded his senses, making him nauseous. Forceful hands pulled at him, groped him, as he tried to remember where he was.

Desperation consumed him as deep laughter echoed in the room. Julian tried to fight. His arms didn’t work. His shoulders ached. Even as he tried to kick at the hands holding him in place, his limbs were just too heavy to cooperate.

Terror seized his soul, sending his heart racing when he realized he was bound. His arms were tied behind him at an uncomfortable angle, his wrists burned, his fingers numb.

He couldn’t remember how he ended up on his knees on the floor. Someone yanked his head back, fingers digging into his skin. The coppery taste of blood exploded across his tongue when a fist struck his face. A dick was then shoved down his throat. Julian tried to turn away; he couldn’t fight. He couldn’t move, held in place by his captors. He was choking, trying to breathe, he couldn’t draw air into his lungs.

The office in Reservations and its surroundings snapped into focus, forcing him back into reality. He felt sick and weak. His brain felt fuzzy. He really needed time to sort out everything he’d just remembered.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been bound and on his knees, but it was the first time he’d not given consent. This memory of the attack was violent and filled with hate. No one in that room seemed to care whether he lived or died.

Not knowing what happened to him was just as bad as knowing. He could still feel the ice-cold fingers of terror wrapped around his neck. Julian struggled to draw air into his lungs. His heart continued to race, and his body shook uncontrollably. He extended his hands, watching them tremble before he fisted both and willed himself to calm down while he tried to process what he’d learned from his latest virtual trip back through hell.

The blindfold explained a lot…

“Julian.”

Startled, Julian jerked around, yelping for help, but no sound came as he swung a fist at the stern voice right over his shoulder. Beckett easily dodged Julian’s uncontrolled punch in a Matrix-worthy move.

Woofer growled, but Beckett’s commanding voice had the dog staying rooted in his spot. “Woofer, place.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people. What the fuck are you doing here?” Julian asked, his heart racing out of control, his breathing still erratic from the extreme fear elicited from his flashback.

“I wasn’t quiet. I didn’t sneak up on you,” Beckett said, taking a step backward to give Julian room. “I said your name twice when I entered.” Beckett’s worried tone mixed with the forceful look on his face. “What’s happened to you?”

Julian turned away as his body absorbed the aftershock of the fear running through him. He raked his fingers over his face then through his hair, fisting them as they dropped to his sides. Julian reveled in the sharp scrape of his blunt fingernails against his palm. If he didn’t calm down, he risked a heart attack with as badly as his heart pounded against his ribcage.

Mere seconds ago, Julian experienced some pride that he stayed on his feet during a flashback. Still, the fear Beckett evoked from being so unexpectedly close had him reaching out for the sofa. Beckett’s strong arm wrapped around Julian’s waist to guide him down to the soft seat. The crystal cocktail glass he’d poured whiskey into entered his line of sight.

“Tell me what’s happening to you, Julian.” Beckett’s voice grew softer as he sat beside him. His tone and proximity were comforting, as was the strong palm that came to rest on the middle of his back before moving up and caressing Julian’s shoulder as he rested his elbows on his thighs.