Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (13 page)

Another man, just as hard-faced, leant against the bar, half-hidden in the gloom, watching the bodies writhe. He caught Hooch’s eye—deliberate, calculating—then tilted his head.

Hooch lifted his chin a fraction, keeping his eyes on the other man’s. He didn’t back down nor look away, and gave a miniature nod after a moment. He was a masochist, but he was hardcore. He wasn’t submissive. He made his way through the bodies that separated them, shouldering through the people as if they were nothing but meat.

The other man peeled himself away from the wall and out of the shadow. Hooch’s height, but bulkier. Muscle, not fat. Cold, dark grey eyes. “You’re new.”

“No.” Hooch appraised the other man with a swift glance, feeling the forced-down heat unfurling at the sight of the cold eyes that promised no mercy. “I’m not the usual client.”

“No,” the man agreed. “You want more.”

“I don’t play.” Hooch’s chin went up a fraction again, the heat now clawing at his insides, as if the darkness was an entity with its own life, feeding on the blood it was sniffing. “I don’t do safe words.”

Nostrils flared. A small, cruel smile. “Neither do I.” A pause. “Not here. I know another place.”

“Where?” One word, all that was needed to negotiate a pact that had no rules, no safety. The beast was raging inside.

The man tilted his head towards the back door. “Near.”

“Walking distance?”

“Short drive,” came the answer. “I’ll lead.”

Hooch nodded, following the man. Every single one of his soldier instincts screamed at him not to do this; not to go down that path of utter insanity into an unknown situation without backup, but his instincts were silenced by the beast. Now that he’d handed over the reins, the creature was full-out flaring, impossible to control.

He watched the other man get into a sleek black car, then followed several miles down the road to a row of abandoned warehouses.

Hooch didn’t hesitate as he killed the engine and followed the stranger. He only had a rough idea of where he was, and he was going to give himself over completely. No backup plan, no safety net. The thrill of danger, and the anticipation of promised pain flooded his system with adrenaline. At last he’d be able to satisfy the darkness he’d been holding at bay for far too long.

The other man’s footsteps were quiet on the gravel as they approached the door of the nearest warehouse. He fished out some keys from a pocket and unlocked the door, opening it and motioning Hooch inside.

Hooch peeled out of his jacket as he stepped through the door. As was his habit, nothing but cash in his wallet, his cell phone and the car keys, no ID, no bank cards, nothing. Flinging the jacket to the floor, he walked into the middle of the wide open space and stopped. The cold air made him shiver in his thin t-shirt, but it didn’t matter, it’d be worse after stripping off anyway. Neither man said a word, not even when Hooch stood naked and the other man pointed to a spot above Hooch’s head. When he lifted his gaze he saw chains hanging from a rusty steel girder, ending in manacles, high up in the ceiling. Looking back down, Hooch spotted the iron rings that had been set into the rough concrete that was wet and ice cold beneath his bare feet. The sound of chains rattling over a makeshift pulley and lever filled the empty space all of a sudden, a sound so loud, and his need so urgent, Hooch never heard the three other men entering the room through a door in his back.

* * *

By the time Matt arrived downstairs, Hooch had taken off like a maniac into the night, leaving Matt with no idea where he was heading. No way could he contact anyone for help, no way could he risk alerting Hooch’s work. Cursing profusely, he went upstairs for his car keys, pushing aside the momentary hope that Hooch just needed some time in the truck alone, because that was fucking unlikely. He started his search along Hooch’s favorite open spaces around the city, which would be deserted now in the cold. He tried, without much hope, at Hooch’s usual drinking haunts, those few which were still open at the late hour. With increasing desperation, he went to the hospitals asking if there had been a man matching Hooch’s description brought in. Frantic with worry, and exhausted from lack of sleep, Matt returned home, defeated, in the pre-dawn gloom. He snuck in the back door of the gym to avoid the early-birds coming for their workouts. Stumbling into the kitchen, he made himself a large mug of coffee and stared at it in his hands.

* * *

The sense of a throbbing, all-consuming ache in his entire body was the first thing Hooch noticed when he came to on the ice cold concrete floor of the warehouse. The next one that registered, was a cacophony of sharp, intense pain in several places on his body. No, not just on. In his body as well. His mind, usually awake within a moment, was sluggish to catch on, as he forced himself back to consciousness. He was freezing, shivering, naked, the sensations blended together into a dissonance of damage. Eventually, he managed to open his eyes, both of them almost swollen shut, his broken nose blocked with dried blood, but he could see enough in the pale grey dawn to take stock of himself. Covered in dried cum and blood. Bruised, in a lot of places so badly, the skin that hadn’t been torn or whipped raw had turned almost black. He tried to move, but a frightening sound, that of an animal growling in agony, stopped him short. I took him long moments to realize he’d been the one who’d made the sound, and that he was alone. The four men had left.

Four men who’d known no limits, no mercy, and no safe words. Just like he’d wanted—with one, not four. They had used him, beaten him, cut and whipped him. They had fucked his ass and throat, had never taken no for an answer, not even after he’d been taken beyond the threshold he needed to quieten the beast, and he had finally begged for his life. Hooch looked around, spotting some clothes in a heap and his cell phone nearby. Nothing else. The jacket was gone, and so were his boots. No keys, no wallet. There’d be no truck either. It took him an agonizingly long time to reach for the cell. He couldn’t think beyond the very real need to survive, and in order to do so he had to get out of that place. He knew only one number to call, the one he had on speed dial.

The shrill, annoying tone of the cell phone jarred Matt from his contemplation of his cold coffee. He only barely glanced at the name before answering it. “Where are you?”

“Not…sure…” Hooch’s voice was low and slurred, raspy from screams he couldn’t remember. It took all of his strength, whatever little was left of it, to recall the last street name he’d seen. “Abandoned…warehouse…” The cough that wrecked his broken body sent him into a spasm of pain. One side of his upper body was in agony, and only lying on his side eased the pain and made breathing easier. He dimly remembered steel-toed boots kicking his ribs. “Need…help.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck
, fuck
! Matt feared the worst at the broken voice as well as the tone and the words. “I’m coming,” he said, unable to keep the trembling from his own voice. Hooch had only been wearing a light jacket when he’d gone out, so he grabbed his own long woolen overcoat. Heading down to the gym, he thanked his lucky stars that it was still early, that Mandy wasn’t in, and that it was the reliable, but not-the-brightest-bulb early shift receptionist Danni on duty, as he got out one of the big first aid kits from his office and went to his car. He drove on auto pilot, through early morning traffic, passing the named street sign, getting more and more frantic until he spotted the warehouse fitting Hooch’s description. He all but ran from the car, heedless of any remaining danger, but the sight that awaited him made him freeze for a moment, before he rushed to Hooch’s side.

Hooch had tried to dress himself, but all he’d managed was to drape the t-shirt across his groin. His body was in a worse mess it had ever been in, short of the torture during capture, and nothing could have prepared Matt for the sight.

Matt’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. His face set in grim lines as he slid the coat underneath Hooch and started to look at the worst of his injuries. No way they could go to a hospital, or even call an ambulance, not without some very awkward questions. There was little that Matt could do in the warehouse, except to bandage the worst of the cuts and scrapes, before wrapping Hooch firmly in the coat and all but carrying him out to the car.

Hooch was quiet all that time, except for some groans he couldn’t suppress, and that told Matt more than he ever wanted to know. When Hooch failed to remain stoic, then things were worse than they seemed—and they seemed fucking horrendous. During the car ride, Hooch kept his swollen eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, unable to breathe through his broken nose. He was half curled up on his side to ease the pressure on his ribs, drifting in and out of consciousness. His mind stuck on one memory, one thought and emotion: fear. He’d been scared. He’d experienced panic in different ways than ever before. Not even during captivity had he felt that sharp, blinding sense of fear and helplessness, the knowledge that he would die and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew with absolute clarity that the reason for that fear was sitting right beside him. He’d been frightened that he would die without Matt knowing where he was, what had happened, and, most of all, why he’d gotten himself into that situation.

Hooch knew what he’d done, but the enormity of that knowledge overwhelmed him into silence.

Somehow, through sheer luck, Matt managed to manhandle Hooch through the back entrance and up the stairs. He answered Mandy’s shocked look with, “idiot crashed the truck and won’t stay in hospital.” Which she seemed to accept, and if she didn’t, Matt was past caring because he knew that Mandy would not say a word in any case. As he closed the door, he heard Mandy remind Danni that nobody was to disturb Matt that day, and all phone calls were to be diverted away from the apartment to the answering machine in Matt’s office.

All but carrying Hooch into the spare room, and onto the bed, Matt took his time washing away the dried blood and the cum, mouth set in increasingly grimmer lines as he had the time to take in the damage. Taking care of the injuries properly, unsure whether to lay Hooch on his back or his front, because both were so badly damaged that it had to be agony either way. He settled him onto his side, as Hooch leaned towards it. At least it would help with the breathing, and the ribs seemed cracked, not fractured. Matt thanked small mercies that it didn’t look like he had concussion, at least.

Hooch drifted off while Matt tended to him. Finally, what seemed to be hours later, Matt picked up the basin of dirty, bloody water, and looked down at Hooch.

“You fucking idiot.” He said without heat. Weary rather than angry, he went to dump the water before coming back to sit in vigil by Hooch’s side.

* * *

Matt woke him every hour to check Hooch wasn’t slipping into full unconsciousness, and fed him as many painkillers as he felt were safe. It took all of that day, until the hours of darkness, before Hooch stirred on his own. Attempting to force his swollen eyes open, he blinked sluggishly.

Matt’s own eyes were red with strain and lack of sleep as he came closer with water, offering the straw to Hooch. “Nothing’s broken, I think, except the nose,” he told Hooch. “Should probably get someone in to have a look at that.”

Hooch took a few labored sips. Even the water burned in his abused throat. He didn’t say anything, despite the thoughts battering at his mind. Thoughts for which he couldn’t find the words to say out loud, and emotions he didn’t know how to deal with, let alone express. Everything had been different the night before, and while the beast was silenced, he’d lost more than he’d gained. He wasn’t just responsible for his own life anymore. He was responsible for another’s life and wellbeing, and all it entailed, but he had no clue how to deal with that realization. So all he did was look at Matt through slitted eyes and nod slightly.

“I told Mandy that you crashed the truck,” Matt said into the gloom, “and I’ll tell the doc that too.” The words hung in the dim room, with only one of the bedside lights on. The rest of what he wanted to say could wait until Hooch got a little better. “Shall I tell your work the same?”

“On leave…this week.” Hooch managed to get out. Every word was a struggle, but he didn’t pity himself. Never had, not even after captivity, but least of all now. This was his own making. He would not dream of blaming the beast, because he should be able to control it, but he had failed.

Matt nodded. “Figures,” he said, half to himself.

* * *

The next week passed in a blur for both of them, as Hooch slept and healed and Matt ran himself ragged tending to Hooch. That included lying to the doctor, tense throughout the whole examination in case the man was more perceptive than he hoped. He thanked his lucky stars that everyone swallowed the story of the accident so easily, and there were no enquiries about the truck, for once grateful that Hooch’s habitual driving habits meant that everyone took the lie at face value.

* * *

It was the night before Hooch was due back on base. He still looked horrendous, but not half-dead, and was able to walk.

Matt stood at the window, facing away from him. He was looking out into the parking lot below, full of movement even at this hour. “I think,” his voice was level and calm, and somehow defeated, “it would be a good idea if we had a break from each other.”