“I’m going to remove my hand, and you’re going to be a good boy and stay quiet, right?” the blond whispered.
Caleb shuddered and nodded. The hand on the back of his neck released him and the urge to run again burned in his thighs. As if sensing what he was going to do, the hand gripping his face spun him around and forced him back. The backs of Caleb’s knees bounced hard off the edge of the table. His legs gave out under him and he slammed down ass-first onto the table, biting his tongue as he did. He cried out, his hands going to his mouth, shaking uncontrollably. He looked up at the man, trying to think of anything he could say that would get him out of this situation.
The blond stuffed his hands into his suit pockets, looking back at Adam who was still curled up near the stairs, breathing heavily with his face buried on the carpet. Caleb knew he needed to be concerned with his own well-being, but he couldn’t stop himself from worrying about Adam as well. He looked like he desperately needed medical attention. He just needed to appeal to whatever was motivating the men in this room. They were part of this Members Only area, right? So they liked privacy to do whatever it was they were doing.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t want to know why—”
A loud crack snapped his head to the side, the pain of a slap burning his cheek. All the words he had planned to say left his mind as the warmth emanating from his cheek burned his tear-filled eyes. He raised his shaking, bloody hand to his cheek, but the man grabbed his wrist hard and yanked it toward his face. Caleb tensed all the muscles in his arm, still not looking at him. He only relaxed the muscles when the man squeezed down hard on his wrist joint, making the bones in his wrist strain like they were about to slip loose from their connective tissue.
“This one follows direction well,” the man mused aloud to the three men behind Caleb.
He could feel the man moving his hand into different positions, like he was trying to get a better look at the open wound on his hand under the black light. It felt… invasive, like getting a physical from a doctor with the door open.
Caleb realized he was too breathing hard, almost panting as he tried desperately to get air into a chest where his heart was bouncing around his ribcage, leaving no room for anything else. Every time he tried to focus on the situation at hand, the panic quickly boiled over, trying to drag him back to other blood-filled memories that involved the stench of gasoline. If that memory took him, he would be completely unable to defend himself.
He felt something cool and wet on his hand, probing the throbbing wound on his hand. He looked back toward the man holding his wrist, nausea roiling up into his throat as he watched the man’s tongue lap at his open wound. He yanked his arm back as hard as could from that iron grip. It didn’t budge.
“Stop!” Caleb cried, trying to pull his hand away again as the blond man’s steely blue gaze met his, a smile spreading across his open mouth, teeth still tinged red.
In one smooth motion, the man released his grip and brought his hand up, snapping Caleb’s head to the side as he landed another harsh slap to the other cheek. “Hold him,” he said.
Big, meaty hands yanked both his arms behind him, locking his elbows together behind his back. The blond man grabbed a handful of his curly brown hair, twisting his fingers against Caleb’s scalp and yanking his head back, leaving his throat completely exposed. Was this how he was going to die? With his throat slit in the back of a nightclub on his first day?
The man moved closer, slipping one leg between Caleb’s. He leaned down, inhaling through his nose as he hovered what felt like millimeters from his face. Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, unsure of what the man was doing but knowing that he didn’t want to see it happening.
“Look at me,” the man said in a low rumble.
Caleb opened his eyes, swallowing as his mouth dried up. He stared up into the cold eyes burning through him, watching the man’s long, dark eyelashes flutter with excitement, the eerie smile still stuck to his face in a way that made him look like he was wearing a mask.
“Your name?” the man asked, releasing his grip on Caleb’s hair but keeping his legs in place, trapping Caleb’s thigh with his own.
Caleb lowered his gaze to his feet, feeling the eyes of the other men drilling into him. He flexed his fingers and winced from the pain in his palm and his shoulders as they were held taut by the large man. Leave it up to the socially awkward guy to try and talk his way out of being murdered by the rich weirdos in the shady backrooms. It was almost so absurd he could laugh.
“Caleb. My name is Caleb,” he finally said, his lower lip quivering.
The man grabbed a handful of his hair again and jerked his head up, leaning down to level their eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he said slowly before letting go of Caleb’s hair. He straightened up, smoothing the wrinkles of his gray suit vest down his torso, not breaking eye contact. “My dear Adam, is he telling the truth?”
Caleb wanted to look at Adam again, but his scalp burned with the reminder to keep staring into the cold eyes in front of him. His entire body was beginning to shake, the fear gripping every inch of his body and drenching his skin with sweat. Silence hung in the air, thick and oppressive. Was Adam alive? He watched the blond man’s cheek twitch with agitation as he looked at the man to his left, jerking his chin in Adam’s direction.
Silently, the man stood up and began to walk over to where Adam lay. Caleb heard a whimper, feeling a small bit of relief when he realized Adam was still breathing, quietly choking out words he couldn’t hear over the growing ringing in his own ears. He saw the silent enforcer move beside the blond, holding a balled fist up and shaking it at him like his hand was nodding.
The blond pulled his hand away and began quickly gesturing at the silent man beside him, allowing Caleb to get a better view of the second man. He wore a smirk as he signed back, his expression somewhat exaggerated as he appeared to form silent words with his mouth. He looked remarkably similar to the man seated on the right, but his undercut reddish-brown hair wasn’t as short as the other guy’s, the hair on the top of his head longer and messily coiffed, matching a full beard that appeared to have gone a few weeks without a trim.
The bearded man glanced down at him, making what looked like a ripping motion before tracing his finger all the way down his own face in the same place Caleb’s scar was.
They were talking about him. Caleb felt his scarred lips twitch as blood rushed to his cheek and ears, his body somehow having found some to spare that wasn’t rapidly coursing through the rest of him at a dizzying pace.
“It’s not that bad, Luka,” the blond said, turning his attention back to Caleb. Caleb recoiled as the man’s hand reached out again, granting himself a momentary reprieve from the man’s all-too-rough grip before another slap whipped his head back. Caleb gritted his teeth, a pained groan escaping his throat. The man brushed his curly hair away from his forehead and scanned his face. “It’s more like a surface scratch. He’s still plenty pretty. Why else would we smell Marcus on him?”
A million questions ran through Caleb’s mind in a flash, but his clenched teeth held them at bay while the blond man forced his head from side to side, his gaze falling to Caleb’s neck. He reached forward and yanked open the collar of Caleb’s new work shirt, the small buttons popping off and falling quietly to the floor below. What is he doing? The blond man’s hands reached inside Caleb’s shirt, running down his nearly hairless chest, over his shoulders and biceps and down his back. The touch was quick and methodical as if he were searching for something, but every inch of Caleb was still screaming to pull away, to headbutt him, to do something to get the cold hands off him.