Their Obsession (Four Mercenaries 2)

Despite what had happened in that torture chamber where people had watched his suffering and degradation, Clover had no doubt about his love for Drake. None of the endless pain in his body mattered when Drake and Boar’s lives were at stake. He moved his limbs through the dusty passage as if they didn’t hurt. As if he were his own puppet master, he forced them into motion.

Even though he was able to crawl in the dark space sparsely illuminated by vent openings along the way, his task was far from simple. The labyrinth of tiny corridors had him waste precious minutes when time and time again he hit a dead end, a fan, or a vertical shaft. One straight down, as if to Hell, the other, up, but all left him at loss as to where they led.

Drake depending on him was a weight on his beaten shoulders that he struggled to carry. Despite Drake being the one who’d delivered the blows with the cane, the one who… forced Clover’s body open while others watched, he wasn’t guilty of the torture. All Drake had wanted to do was protect Clover from an even worse fate. A fate Drake had seen others succumb to.

Clover shuddered at the threat of landing in Mr. Arnie’s hands, yet here he was, in a vent, trying to get out despite the risk. If he was caught, he’d be as good as dead. Correction, death was preferable to what these monsters would do to him. They would rip him apart, fuck with his mind, mold him into something he feared becoming. He could claim he was no one’s slave all he wanted while not in captivity, but he understood Drake’s advice on obedience loud and clear.

If they wanted to break him, they would, so it was better to succumb and suffer less pain.

But that wouldn’t be Clover’s future. Or Drake’s. Or Boar’s. Clover would get out. He would alert Tank and Pyro. They would come back here guns blazing like when it had been Clover who’d needed saving, and one day, the dark memories of this day would fade, as would the scars.

But none of the metal corridors seemed passable.

Clover had to stop and take a deep breath, fighting claustrophobia and the vision of the walls denting on all sides to crush him, but it was time to face reality.

None of the horizontal shafts led anywhere he could go safely. It was time to attempt climbing up, because he sure as fuck wasn’t going even lower. He tried not to think about the dirt he rubbed into his wounds as he moved through the old vents, because there was nothing he could do about it.

Infection was nothing compared to what Apollo’s people might do to him.

So he climbed. Inch after inch, he made his way up, for once glad that he was naked, as bare skin stuck to the walls, making the whole process much more efficient than it would have been in clothes. He did his best to stay quiet, but had no idea if the noise he made had been noticed. All he could do was keep hope alive. If he didn’t have that, he might as well hand himself over to Apollo already.

The agonizing burn in his shoulder kept reminding him of the brand he now shared with Drake. Apollo’s mark on his life was evidenced on his skin, and no matter how far Clover ran, he would never be able to escape the clutches of that man’s hands.

By the time he managed to reach the top of the shaft and crawl into a horizontal tunnel, he was panting and dripping with sweat. His heart skipped a beat when he realized this one had fresher air.

He’d seen no windows where his ordeal had started, so they could have been in the basement level. That meant there was a chance he’d climbed to the first floor. He crawled along, as quietly as possible without fabric making the glide smooth. Like a mouse. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t compare himself to them, because he’d found dead mice along the way, and he sure as hell didn’t want to end up like them.

He made his way toward a patch of light, and he could hardly believe reality when he approached a dusty grille and through it, spotted a window.

Apollo’s voice was like pins pushed under Clover’s nails, and he stilled in terror, unable to make himself move.

“Tyrone wants him. Lucky day,” Apollo said from the room containing a desk, a chair, and peeling seventies wallpaper. He had to be talking on the phone because no one else was there. “No, the ginger one.” Boar. “He’ll be a good replacement for last year’s champion.”

What fucking ‘champion’? Clover’s whole body burned with not only pain but the need to avenge himself and his men. But he clenched his teeth and stayed put. He was Drake and Boar’s hope. He couldn’t burst out there and… do what? Strangle Apollo with his bare hands? Drake had taught him fighting techniques, but there was no room for missteps when the stakes were so high.