Manipulate (Deliver 6)

If he was going to cut himself open and expose his miserable fucking shame, he wanted to do it in a place where he felt more secure. Despite the stink and gloom of Jaulaso, the cell he shared with her and Ricky was where he’d experienced the happiest moments of his life.

Not to mention, their cell had a lock on the door.

“Okay.” She gripped his fingers and followed him into the hall.

When they reached their destination, they kicked off their shoes and climbed into bed together. Tula and Ricky sat with their backs against the wall. Martin stretched out in front of them.

With a leg bent and an arm resting on his knee, he braced himself for the pain and let his mind travel back in time.

“When my dad died, the state sent me to live with my only living relatives. Jeff was an estranged uncle I’d never met. My dad never talked about him. Jeff lived out of an RV in Texas, and he had a son two years younger than me. Ford was his name.”

A hot ember formed in his throat, and he swallowed past it. Ricky laced his fingers around Tula’s, their gazes soft and watchful.

“Jeff had been a schoolteacher, and he taught me how to fish and build fires. He home-schooled Ford and me as we traveled from one campground to another throughout Texas. He waited two months—” His voice broke, and he tried again. “I was with him for two months before he raped me the first time. Then he did it again, every night, for the next four-hundred-and-twenty-six days.” A torrent of anguish welled up in his chest. “I couldn’t leave. He told me if I did, he would go to Ford to take care of his physical needs. His own fucking son. I believed him.”

The nightmare tore through him, shaking his shoulders. Instead of fighting it down, he breathed it out. “Ford was only twelve. He didn’t know what his dad did to me every night when he led me into the woods. Jeff kept it from him. I kept it from him. But Jeff got careless. He was drinking the night he sodomized me with the handle of a hammer.”

Tula cupped a hand over her mouth, her eyes soaked with tears. Ricky moved toward him.

“If you touch me right now…” He would break down. “Let me get through this.”

“Okay.” Ricky sat back and wrapped his arms around Tula.

“The hammer…” Martin inhaled, exhaled, and let the pain lance through him. “Ford watched it happen. He found us in the woods, and I’ll never forget his face. The damage to his young mind, the horror of seeing his father doing such a despicable thing… He ran off into the trees, and Jeff was too drunk to chase him. So he sent me. But I was injured, bleeding down my legs from what he’d done to me. I could barely walk. It took me all night and into the morning before I…”

His eyes burned, and his throat closed up. He covered his face with his hands and felt the tears dampening his cheeks.

“Martin…” Ricky’s voice fell over him, soothing. “You don’t have to finish.”

He needed to finish it, purge it from his mind. “I saw him on the railroad tracks not far from our campsite. He just laid his neck on the rail and let a train run over it. That’s how I found him. Without his head.” His guilt over that night cut him to the bone. “If I’d walked faster, searched harder, I could’ve stopped him.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I returned to the RV that morning. Jeff was passed out drunk in his bed. His leverage over me was gone. Ford was… He was gone. So I searched for that goddamn hammer, and when I found it, I beat Jeff’s skull in with it. Then I ran.”

Ricky’s arms came around him, and Tula crawled onto his lap. He let the tears fall as they held him. Then he forced out the rest.

“I was fifteen, homeless, and on the run. Over the next two years, I stuck to the border towns in Texas. Found odd jobs in the ghettos. I slept with women, but not often. My depraved urges started to scare me. Then I met a man.” He drew in a breath, lost in the memory. “He was sitting alone at a club I used to frequent, and he had a gruesome scar on his face.”

“Van,” Ricky breathed.

Tula shifted on Martin’s lap, confusion furrowing her brow as she glanced between them.

“I don’t know if it was the scar that got me. It was obvious someone had hurt him, and I thought maybe he’d been hurt by someone like Jeff. He was also the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. I was instantly captivated. He bought me a drink, and we shot the shit. Then he asked me if I wanted to get out of there. I didn’t hesitate. We walked aimlessly along the dark, quiet streets. I felt comfortable with him. He was easy to talk to. I had never told anyone my story, but that night, I told Van. I told him everything, and he listened without judgment or pity. When I finished talking, he kissed me. And kissed me. The son of a bitch kissed me until I couldn’t think straight. I had never willingly had sex with a man, but that night, I willingly went home with Van Quiso. Only he didn’t take me to his bedroom. He chained me in his attic, beat me, and raped me for ten weeks.”