Embattled Home (30 page)

I can bury the hatchet and let some shit go

But I got too many grudges to hold!

He’d never let go of one grudge. Awfully hard to bury the hatchet with someone who didn’t exist anymore.

Gino, why did you betray me?

Slap!

Fuck, that hurt! Same spot on his thigh, still sore from the last slap. Did that mean he hadn’t remained awake very long? He’d never played with a tawse and had no idea how long the sting lasted. Yet it was oddly familiar.

He needed to stay awake. He hadn’t even been down here all that long—had he? Hell, he had no fucking clue what time—or day—it was anymore. Every time Marc’s head nodded and he dozed off, Adam slapped his ass or thigh with the tawse and woke him. He also couldn’t control his yawns, although moving his jaw was difficult under the tight hood.

Tired. Bone tired. After a hellacious week of very little sleep, being further deprived of rest while having his senses bombarded by this incessant noise left his body and mind screaming for escape.

No way out. He’d given Adam complete authority—no, control. Adam didn’t remove the headphones to speak to him. Instead, he just kept waking him with the tawse. At least he assumed Adam was doing it. He needed to sleep, though, and if this went beyond eighteen hours or so, Adam would have to bring Damián or Grant from the club to wield the implement in order for Adam to take breaks.

Marc hadn’t been smacked by the tawse for such a long time, he wondered if Adam was still here.

Sleep is overrated.

How many times had he heard Adam say that? So perhaps he hadn’t taken a sleep break. As a Navy Corpsman, he’d seen Marines appear awake who no longer responded to wakeful stimuli. Micro-sleeps lasted mere seconds. Had he zoned out in one of those?

What if Adam had left him here alone, though? Marc didn’t want to be left alone down here.

His mouth was dry, but no one had offered another drink since the first one however long ago.
Auuuggghhhhh.
A cramp in his right calf had him screaming in pain, but he couldn’t put enough pressure on it to relieve it. Would Adam come to his aid or leave him dangling from the ceiling?

“Leg cramp, Sir!”

A tug on the rope above him and Marc felt himself start to fall before his back was slammed against the wall. He’d been cut down. Adam hadn’t left him! Wrists still cuffed, arms aching at yet another change in position, he stood as Adam massaged the cramp in his calf away. He gritted his teeth as Adam’s hands caused more pain than comfort at first, but slowly the cramp eased.

Adam, or whoever it was, broke contact, and Marc continued to lean against the wall, uncertain his legs would hold him without the crutch. The hood lifted off his lower face, and a cold, hard plastic bottle pressed against his lips. He opened wide to gulp down the precious water. When no more poured from the bottle, his tongue reached out to lick the lip of the bottle for any remaining drops.
Dio
, he wanted more!

Marc waited as the minutes—or hours?—ticked away.

The headset continued to blare into his ears. If Adam said anything, Marc couldn’t hear. No one touched him any further.

Abandoned. Again.

Where did that thought come from? Adam wouldn’t abandon him. Even if he had to leave, Marc was merely alone, not
abandoned
. He had spent time alone many times. Sometimes he preferred that to being with people.

Until Angelina.

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Somebody’s Angel
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http://kallypsomasters.com
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