Swim Team Ch. 08 - With a Little...

"Ok--Papa," I said, smiling for the first moment since--since Keith's earlier.

Papa rose and approached the exit, his hips stiff, breathing heavy, exaggerated. I removed my shorts and threw them to the side. After Paolo knocked, Dwayne, like always, jetted his head in to check. Right after, I trudged to the shower.

Both their voices volleyed outside. Paolo left.

Twenty minutes later, the next John stepped through the door. He paid to eat ass and suck cock. Ass in the air and his tongue slathering my hole a commotion rustled in the parking lot nearby. Lights wiped under a slit in the heavy drapes alternating blue and red; officers yelled out commands. I didn't detect a peep from Dwayne. The John and I scrambled for our clothes and retreated to separate corners. We both covered our ears when they kicked in the door, guns trained forward. To different patrol cars, they lead us each.

The officers processed me. Dwayne hadn't given me a towel, wet, I shivered. My lips blue, flesh pale, they delivered me into a stark room with a hard wooden chair, wood table, and white walls. To the ceiling only by a thin black wire connected to a single cold, bright, and naked incandescent light. The wall had a large, peculiar mirror embedded. My teeth chattered and tore up my nails. I stood, then paced, then sat, then stood, then sat, then drummed my jagged nails on the table. The police had everything, my phone, backpack, watch. Barefoot and cold, I couldn't tell how much time had passed nor how long it'd wait.

When he appeared, I made a double take. Short dark red hair, with similar features as Jake, but shorter and thicker, and with auburn scruff on his face. Josh sat in one of the chairs on the opposite me and reviewed the situation's details. If the state could build a case, he told me, they'd consider prosecution. My heart thumped with panic. Josh must have seen my distress, assuring me at once he wouldn't allow that to happen. The police hadn't convinced me to talk, that'd made his job easier, he said. It was time for me to spill it. I had no other option, I told him everything.

By the time he secured my release and I received my stuff, the sun weighed low in the sky. Every part of my body felt weak. My counsel escorted me outside to a familiar-looking silver SUV. Paolo emerged from the passenger seat. My heart stopped, then swelled in my chest, my face beamed and eyes filled. Papa opened the car door behind his seat, holding my hand to help me. Jake eyed me from the driver's side, smiling with relief.

I choked back tears. "You guys, how did you, what did you? Thank you so much!"

"Of course, Mijo," Papa patted my shoulder tenderly.

"Your brother?" I asked, pointing to my lawyer who stood just outside the vehicle.

"That's right, how d'you guess?" Jake grinned wider, adding a wink. "Josh will take care of the legal stuff."

Jake's brother handed Paolo a manilla envelop and instructed him to give it to me.

"Get some rest, Bret," Josh said.

The next thing I remember is Jake's brawny arms lifting my limp frame out of the back seat and carrying me through revolving doors, up an elevator, and laying me onto a memory foam mattress.

My eyes refused to open, and I sunk into a deep dreamless sleep.