A loud voice yelled in the background. He couldn’t make out what it said but then the punches were gone. The dark figures that he struggled to make out through the blood in his eyes disappeared as well.
“Get up.” This he heard as someone stood over him. Not someone. Dante. He recognized the voice.
Ben ignored him, rolled to his side and groaned. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could stand right now. But his head was silent. Blissfully fucking silent and he wanted to keep it that way.
“Get up.”
“Fuck. You.” Ben spit blood into the street.
Hands touched him, tried to lift and Ben pushed them off. Shoved him away before he heard Dante mumble, “You dumb son of a bitch.”
Pain made his head shatter, and then Ben’s world went black.
***
Ben struggled to open his eyes. His head throbbed in a way it never had before. Not even from the beatings he’d taken from Javier in the house where he’d held Ben.
His whole body pulsed with the same pain. It was like sandpaper rubbing his eyeballs each time his lids fluttered but finally he forced them open.
He was in a home, a bed that he didn’t recognize and then, “Drink this.” Dante put a cup to his lips. He wanted to shove him away but his throat and mouth were like the Sahara.
Dante held the cup while Ben swallowed down all of it. Each movement of his throat hurt but he needed fluids more. When the cup was empty, Dante pulled it away.
“Where am I?”
“My home.”
Jesus. What the hell was he doing here? Ben tried to sit up, tried to push out of bed but dizziness hit him and his stomach lurched like he would lose whatever was inside.
“Don’t move or I’ll hit you again.”
Memories tried to fight their way to the surface. He remembered Dante above him. Pain. Then nothing. “You hit me,” he confirmed.
“You deserved it, and I’ll do it again.”
“Like it rough, do you?” It hurt to talk but he forced himself to continue regardless. “If you wanted to get me to your house, you could have asked. You’re the one who said we wouldn’t fuck, remember?”
He tried to focus, but one Dante turned into two, then three before Ben couldn’t see again. All around him was blackness....then nothing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Are you like them? That how they know you? Do you take it up the ass like Mateo and his maricones?” Javier’s breath was rank in Ben’s face.
“Fuck you.”
“I’m a hospitable guy. Want you to be comfortable. I can stick something up there if you want.”
Ben froze, bound on the couch as he felt something hard and thick rub against his ass. He fought the ties, his heart stampeding against his ribs.
“You want it or not? Or maybe I’ll just let you watch. Not you I want anyway, but that don’t mean I won’t have some fun with you. Mateo should be last. Not sure that’ll work out but you and him can watch me kill that little queer he had in New York with him. Maybe the other guy next. Maybe I’ll fuck him with this stick instead of you. It’ll kill Mateo to see that, then I’ll let you both watch me rip him open before I do the same to Mateo.”
Anger took Ben over. Made his insides fry in the fire as he pulled on the binds again, fighting to get free. He wanted nothing more than his hands around Javier’s throat. Stealing his air so he couldn’t hurt Tristan. Even if he died in the process, maybe it would keep them away.
“That’s your weakness. You are a fuckin’ maricone and you want one of the fags giving it to Mateo.” Javier bent closer to him. “Yeah, I’ll definitely make you watch then. You can watch him get fucked. Watch him bleed and know you’re too much of a fuckin’ pussy to save him.”
Ben’s eyes jerked open. He gasped, trying to breathe, trying to get rid of the weight on his chest and the past in his head.
“It’s a dream. You only had a dream.”
He turned his head toward the soft, masculine voice. It was the most gentle he’d ever heard Dante speak.
“Fuck you,” he managed to grit out.
The room was only dimly lit by a lamp beside the bed he lay in. Next to that, Dante sat in a chair watching him.
He looked different in this environment than he had at the club or the diner. His arms were crossed and he leaned back in a way that should be relaxed but somehow, he still didn’t look it. The man had his shoes off, socked feet on the edge of the bed. He wore jeans, but no shirt. Ben’s head hurt too badly to admire the sight in front of him.