Kidnapped Ch. 08

"With the car, Sir," the hulking man says. "What's the plan?"

"Obvious, isn't it? We'll get rid of this embarrassment, his boyfriend and friends, and, with luck, a few of our business rivals, if he brings any with him. They won't know what hit them when they enter my web."

I can't help the sob that escapes, as my father take one stride to me, striking me with a hard backhander, and I taste the iron of the cut from his sovereign ring.

"Uh, boss," Broken nose says, "this isn't the number you called."

"What do you mean?"

"The number you got from our tech guy; this isn't the number" Lackey insists.

"So who did I speak to?" My father sounds confused, but I'm not. If they used their illegal contacts to get a phone number that's registered to me, they must have phoned Leo, and I shiver, keeping my head down. "So, the phone call isn't the reason why he came to my house..." my father ponders, but I stay quiet.

"Who did I speak to?" he turns on me, fury in every line.

"I don't know," I lie, "must have been a wrong number." He doesn't like my sass and slaps me again, harder, though luckily his ring doesn't make contact this time.

"You want to make my life difficult? Of course you do; that's all you've ever done," he hisses. "Well, I will make your life difficult, and after that, I will make it over. I'm sick of your presence."

I can't see a way out, of my bonds or of this situation, and I can only hope that whatever he uses to try and get to Ollie and the others doesn't work.

* * * * *

Ollie

Kostya stands in our living room, making the small room look even smaller. He looks like Mikey, if Mikey had hulked out. The same sharp and elegant bone structure, smooth blond hair, and piercing pale green eyes. But his shoulders are broad, and he towers over Mikey's six-foot frame. Regardless, if I wasn't so uncertain about my gaydar after what happened with Mikey, I'd be honing in on one very obvious reason he was so upset about having to turn his back on his brother. I think Mikey suspects too, even though he's back to his usual reticence about it -- years of keeping it to himself obviously proving too hard to break through, particularly as I note the narrowing of Mikey's eyes when Kostya follows Slater's ass out of the room.

I showed him the message already, and explained why I didn't believe it, but, surprisingly, he doesn't seem to need that reassurance.

"It's obvious, it's a trap," he announces. That isn't what I wanted to hear, though he isn't done. "We can trace where it is, easily, but it's a common ploy the Irish use, so I figure that's who your man is working with. They're lethal, but I see no reason why they'd be after Seb so presumably they're doing it for Senior, which means he must be working pretty closely with them. Probably money laundering," he shrugs, as if it's perfectly normal for a future U.S. senator to be involved in organized crime.

"But that doesn't make sense either. The message came to me; why would his father want me?"

That shrug again: "Two birds with one stone. I guess he's cleaning up potential scandal."

"You're saying he intends to kill us?"

I can't quite believe his suggestion. Sure, we managed to get ourselves involved in some dumb shit, but that was a temporary thing, and we are well out of it. We don't move in circles where shady businessmen kill people who get in their way. Except...except, maybe we do, now. I feel my skin blanching. Not in fear for myself, though I'm not kidding myself that it doesn't scare me, but in fear for Seb, who is in the man's hands even now.

"Your Seb might be dead already, of course. But he still needs to draw you there to tidy things up, so maybe not." Mikey sees the tension in my features at his brother's careless words, that cut into my psyche as viciously as any knife, and he stays the speech with a hand on his arm.

"Kostya, will you help us?" he asks softly.

Kostya looks at his brother with warmth in his eyes, wrapping one long arm over his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. But then he turns to me, and there's uncertainty.

"I don't know what I can do. Andrei will want details; are you willing to let him know how your life got to this?"

"Can't we just tell him Seb's dad is psychotic?" Mikey wheedles. "The guy's homophobic; that's why he has such a problem with Seb and Ollie." And the money, I guess, but we're keeping that to ourselves for now. "Andrei has to feel something about that?"

"Maybe, but I wouldn't rely on that too much. Something changed in him while he was in prison. But it didn't change him that much. Not to the point where I'd bet my life on it."

I feel an urgency that Andrei mustn't know about what we did, some notion that it would be a bad idea to allow him anything he can hold over us. Mikey seems to feel it too, as he gulps, pulling himself away from Kostya's brotherly embrace.

"Okay, K, maybe not then. Can you get us the location of the phone at least? We can deal with the rest."

"No you can't, little bro. No way I'm letting you go up against the Irish. You have no idea what to expect. I'm coming."

Mikey huffs, but I see the sweet little look of pleasure he gets on his face at his brother's protective stance, before Kostya goes to make a phone call, to get things moving for what we have to do.

* * * * *

We park outside the waterside warehouse, in a repeat from that night so many months ago, except instead of Slater's rickety old car, we're in a comfortable SUV, lights off, peering up at this abandoned building. But not so abandoned, as sulfur lamps brightly glow against the rough metallic sides, the paint of a long-forgotten company name peeling down the walls. The small side door is ajar, tempting us closer like candy to the witch's cottage.

"It's like they're not even trying," Kostya rolls his eyes. "We can't go in that way, as they'll be just to the far side of the door, ready to take out anyone and everyone who walks through. If they know who you are, Mikey, which is probable, they may be expecting more people, but they certainly won't be expecting fewer."

"So what do we do?" I'm looking desperately at his handsome criminal, hoping he knows some special trick that will make this bleak situation work in our favor.

"If we look at our information, at least we know it's Seb's father we're dealing with: he owns this warehouse. But, on the downside, we also know he has the Irish mob on his side, and his two bodyguards have been leant to him directly by Sean O'Flannigan, who's their leader. For him to do that, it means the man is useful to him, so at the moment we're only hoping O'Flannigan hasn't lent him more men for this. Best case scenario: the old man wants as few people as possible involved in what he has planned. And with the positives, our side would love to give our own government contact greater power, which he'll get if Winthrop is out of the picture."

"So more positives than negatives then?" Mickey asks brightly.

"Sure, bro. We just have to work out a way to get in without getting tapped in the back of the head." Kostya laughs and ruffles Mikey's hair. I'd find it cute, if I weren't so impossibly highly strung right now.

There's a tinny pop. The distant sound of a champagne cork. But I know it's not that, it's something far less celebratory, and I viscerally feel my heart drop into my stomach. I don't care about my own safety now, less than that; I would pass safety off like a blanket that's just tangling my legs and providing no comfort, flinging it to the far reaches. I'm out of the car and through that small blue door before Kostya and Mikey have even had chance to react, though I hear the former's curse as I stumble into the huge, vacant space of the warehouse.

Contrary to what Kostya expected, there's no one waiting for me, but I can see shadows moving behind the frosted glass of an office up the stairs. I can see the silhouettes of two men, one clearly holding a gun toward the other. I race toward the stairs as the other two enter, missing me, reduced to reaching for empty space as I clamber the sharp metal stairs two at a time. It's too late. I hear another pop, though this one is more of a crack, a shrill cut through the silence, and the taller silhouette falls like a shadow puppet from a broken hand.

I don't think, mind empty, ears deaf to the vague calls from below, bursting through the glass-windowed door, stopping only when I see Seb, bound but alive, blood dripping from a fresh cut to his lip, his face pale. Before me is one of his father's henchman, wielding a gun that is now pointing at me, but not in aggression, apparently, as his hand is shaking and he's chanting 'feck, feck, feck' in a strong Irish brogue. I take in the two corpses: Winthrop Senior and the other heavy, splayed on the floor, shock visible in their glazed eyes. But I'm not interested in them either, and rush to Seb's side.

"Ollie?" he whispers, clearly in shock, his body trembling.

"I'm here, baby. Are you hurt?"

"No. Is he dead?"

"He is, Seb. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Thank god," and he breaks into body-wracking tears as I attempt to undo the impossibly tight knots around his wrists.

I'm frustratedly struggling with the rope when Kostya appears at my side, flicking a shining knife open and cutting easily through the thick hemp. I pull Seb up, holding him firmly around the waist and we guide each other down the stairs and to the welcoming bulk of Kostya's SUV.

* * * * *

After a sleepless night, we're curled up on the lumpy old couch, Seb clinging to me like a lanky capuchin monkey. I take a sip of the strong coffee Mikey brought me but place it on the side table when I see a picture of Seb's dad flash up on the muted news.

"Turn that up, Mikey, please," I request, and he clicks the volume up until we can all hear the pretty blond newscaster using her most serious 'real news' voice.

"...and his bodyguard were discovered in a downtown alley at three a.m. after an anonymous tip off. Cause of death has been reported as a single gunshot wound, and police have stated they will release further information as it becomes available."

I turn to Mikey.

"What did Kostya do?" He'd come out of the warehouse soon after us, guiding the other man to the old navy blue car he drove. Then, without a word, he'd got into his SUV and driven the three of us home.

"He told us, didn't he? It's good for them to have Winthrop out of the picture, but it doesn't do them any good to have turmoil in the ranks of the Irish mob, because then they'd be unpredictable. So his guys sorted it out to look like an accident, like a mugging gone wrong, and now he has a very grateful man on the inside."

"But why did that guy even do it? He wasn't Kostya's man already was he?" I ask, confused.

"No," Mikey glances at Seb, who's nestled into my shoulder, awake but breathing peacefully. "He just said it wasn't what he signed up for. He even said his own boss would never expect him to...do anything bad if someone was innocent. But that both of them were out of control and needed to be put down." I can't pretend that's assuaging the misgivings I have about this whole scenario, but I guess it's what I'll have to be content with it.

When the news has finished, Seb takes my hand without a word and pulls me out of the room. I just shrug at Mikey and he grins knowingly back at me. When we're in our room, Seb pushes my back against the door, taking my mouth dominantly, roaming his long fingers over my sensitive flesh.

"Horny baby?" I chuckle.

"Yup," he grins, but then turns serious. "I guess I should tell you what happened?" I don't answer and he pulls me to the bed and positions himself at the headboard.

"I don't want to make this into more than it is, so I'm just going to be really blunt about it, and you need to promise not to freak out." I nod, not ready to trust my voice. "My father was going to let his henchman rape me before he killed me. And then they were going to kill you and anyone else you came with." Well, I can't complain he didn't warn me he was going to be blunt, but it still steals my breath, making me feel as though I have a crushing weight pressed on my chest.

"Are you okay, baby?" he asks after a few minutes of silence.

"Uh, no, not really. I mean, it didn't happen, but it's still all my worst nightmares in my imagination, so it's gonna take a minute. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, baby. I love you." That simple reminder calms me somewhat, and I feel warmth pushing the crushing weight off.

"I love you too, Seb. Are we free now?" I'm thinking of his father's business contacts.

"I think so. They aren't interested in me, at all, they never were. It was all my father's bigotry that led to him making the situation into something it wasn't. If anything, I have to be glad about the kidnapping and that he found out, because I don't think I'd ever have been safe from him otherwise. He had a complex about it that I'm pretty sure had sent him insane where I was concerned."

"So what happened with that guy? The other bodyguard?"

"He came in when my father was saying what was going to happen. His name's O'Toole, by the way. He listened and then my father asked if he wanted a go after the other one. He had this look of absolute disgust on his face, but it wasn't aimed at me, I could tell it was about what my father was suggesting. He asked him, then, why. And my father said some pretty vile things that I'm going to choose not to go over or ever remember again, and O'Toole looked even more disgusted and told him it was wrong. My father and the other guy didn't back down and the other one started to touch me, said he was going to have his turn. I don't even know...next thing he was on the floor, blood oozing from his chest."

I reach over and pull Seb into a hug. I don't want him to have to relive what happened the night before, but he gently pushes me away.

"I'm okay, Ollie. The guy saved my life. And yours. Whatever reason he had for doing it is his to worry about, and I'm sure there's a story there, but it's his. You realize what it means though? We're free."

We are, and I pull him back to me, this time to taste his soft pink lips, careful of his cut lip, roaming my tongue lightly until he opens up for me. He smells like mango bodywash from the burning hot thirty-minute shower that he had this morning and, whilst I know he might not be quite as okay as he's claiming, I know he will be, we will be. Given time, and patience, and love.

I push him back onto the bed, wanting to taste that fruity soap on his smooth skin, pushing his, my, actually, t-shirt up to reveal his lean torso, his light brown nipples already excited, pebbling even further under my gentle nibbling kisses.

"Fuck, you're beautiful Seb," I can't help myself, as I move down, kissing along his toned muscles and swiping my tongue into his belly button, making him arch and whimper as I harden my tongue and fuck into him.

"Please, Ollie," damn, already begging, and it will be all I can do not to just take him right away, wanting to feel him quivering beneath me.

"Do you want my tongue somewhere else, baby?" I grin even wider as he shoves his trackpants down and off, revealing a lack of underwear and a very hard cock. I don't waste time, pushing my face between his perfect smooth ass cheeks and running the tip of my tongue over the puckered muscle, which twitches beneath my pressure. I run a tickling fingertip up the back of his thigh, chasing the goosebumps, loving the sweet moan it causes, sucking and scraping and exploring.

I push into him, flicking past the tight muscle, tasting his perfect honied musk as his fingers stroke over my short hair and he pushes rhythmically against me. On one of his downward pushes I slip a finger inside him, twisting it around to feel the heat.

"Please, Ollie, I want you," he whimpers, and I think I get why, because I feel a similar way; that need to feel alive in that way that's only possible, or at least more possible, when you are joined with someone who means more to you than yourself. I glide up his body, dragging his legs with me until they're hooked over my shoulders and his limber leanness is bent almost in half. I dip my finger in the lube he grabs from the nightstand and slide my hand between our bodies until I find his hole, still excited and moist from my mouth, watching his face as he throws his head back at the breach.

I don't want him too relaxed this time, want to feel him stretch around me, so I replace my fingers with the head of my cock, just slightly, sharply entering, holding my hips still, waiting for his sign that comes only moments later.

"Yessss, Ollie," he hisses demandingly, "go hard baby, I need it hard." I take him at his word, slamming forward and he bites my shoulder, passing some of the pain to me, gripping my back, nails pressing in. I pause, intending for him to become used to the intrusion but he shakes his head, growling, "Don't stop, baby," his hands sliding forcefully down my back, pressing into my muscles until he reaches my ass, yanking me toward him. I can feel his thighs tightening against my chest as I fuck him as intensely as he wants me to, until we're a mess of growling and mewling and sweat, his precum stickily coating my abdomen until I feel him clenching, whining for release so I make a shift with my hips and know I'm hitting the right spot when he goes still for just a moment before his cum coats the minute space between us and just the sight of his gasping mouth and the feel of him under me is enough to make me follow him.

We don't crawl out of our room for a couple hours, not even dozing, just wrapped around each other whispering about what the future might hold, now that we have a future. I love to feel him against me, the curve of his back pressed firmly against my chest, gently strumming my fingers over his defined muscles, kissing salty sweat from his soft skin. When we emerge, satiated for now, seeking coffee and food, Seb's uncharacteristic squeal sends me bouncing off the door frame in shock. I rub my sore arm, looking to see Leo sitting on the lumpy couch, looking tearful and frightened.

"Leo," Seb gasps, pulling him up into a hug, "what are you doing here?"

"I saw the news," is all he says in response, pressing his face against Seb's t-shirt, clinging tightly.

Mikey comes into the room, holding a soda out to Leo who takes it with a small thanks.

"He rang you," Mikey explains, pointing to my phone, which I'd left on the side table, "I went to pick him up. Figured you guys needed your time. But you're here now," he grins, obviously happy that Seb and I are looking more human.

"Thanks Mikey," Seb says sincerely. "Did you bring your stuff?" he asks his brother.

"Yeah, the important stuff anyway," Leo admits.

"Good, because you're coming to live with us."

Epilogue

Seb

Leo and I run off the sidewalk and up the stone steps to the deep teal door, glossy and freshly painted, contrasting nicely with the black surrounds and bright white weatherboard that covers this detached brick home.

When Ollie and I took it on two years ago it was a complete dump. It had been one of my father's many slum lord properties, with six tiny tainted apartments, that Marcy had inherited after my father's death. It's in a pretty good area though, bustling and bohemian; close to the city; and she'd offered it to us as a gift, suggesting we could renovate it, which we did, converting the first two floors into a luxurious duplex and then the top floor, accessible from the external staircase at the back of the property, into a two bedroom apartment, where Mikey and Slater are currently staying and have done since they finished school.

I love the original features -- like ceiling moldings and fireplaces -- and it turns out I have quite the queer eye for interior design, which I feel pride in every time I enter the space of the foyer, taking a deep breath of home. Leo and I head over the black and white tiled floor, dropping keys in the Spanish bowl on the console table, aiming for the open kitchen. Leo immediately slides onto a chair at the huge rough sanded table, pulling homework out of his bag and setting to work. I open the huge shiny black refrigerator, pulling out carrot sticks and Italian meats, with dips and breadsticks, passing a plate to Leo to munch on while he does his work.