Chapter 112

 

London, England, 1984

 

This morning, the men were enjoying a bit of humor, they were laughing when Rory Hanlon opened the door. David Martin stepped in front of him just as the body came hurling away from the splicing machine. Hot tears of outrage poured from the blue eyes, while the words burst from his throat in a screaming howl. “You lousy, lying, fucking, bastard!” His fists hammered into Martin’s chest. “You fucking fag!” Martin caught the boy’s wrists and thrust his body back but Jason kicked and caught him on the anklebone and he grunted from the pain. “Queer!” Jason continued to screech. “You’re a lousy fucking queer!”

Attempting to halt his own punishment, the man wrenched the boy’s arms behind his back. The sharp pain caused the boy to quiet some and Martin growled, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rory Hanlon gave the answer. “Been watching himself in the movies.” He pushed the rewind button as he chuckled. “Don’t relish being a star.”

“You left that damn tape lying around?”

And Jason, his violence now contained by the strong grip, screeched, “You and your rotten promises. Did you get a pimp’s fee or were you in on the action?” He struggled helplessly as Martin dragged him before the large screen.

“Hanlon put that damn video back on without sound.” With the screen flickering in color, Jason attempted to turn his head but Martin grabbed his chin and forced his face around. “Watch!” he held the boy giving him no choice. The action now on the larger screen caused Jason to shudder in disgust. As the short play ended Martin shook him roughly, and ordered, “Can the hysterics!” He pulled him to a full-length mirror. “Less than ten actual minutes.” He smacked Jason aside the head as he ordered. “Hanlon, take the kid’s jeans down.”

Though Jason continued to struggle his waistband soon end up around his knees. “Look in the mirror.” Martin jerked the tortured arm. “Hold still!” He brought one hand down then up Jason’s inner thigh and drew it across the boy’s crotch as the man on the screen had done but there was no contact between their flesh. “I made it clear.” Martin growled. “They weren’t to actually touch you. Your precious prick wasn’t violated. Nobody laid a finger on you but me.”

“That’s all there was to it, lad,” Hanlon seconded. “When you got in the game, you knew we weren’t playing nice. Davy put you under so it would be easier on you; then he stayed right with you. Fact, so did I.” The older man grinned.

Jason’s chin fell forward as he mumbled, “I felt odd? weird? Like—”

“No doubt you did.” Martin grunted. “I put that catheter in your prick. Like the drugs, the wounds, and the IV hook up it was all for show. Nobody hurt you. Now!” The threatening tone made Jason glance quickly into the mirror. He yelped in shock as he watched Martin unbuckle his own belt and yank it loose.

Not doubting the man’s intention, Jason squealed, “No! Why?”

“Your filthy mouth. If your daddy tried wailing your ass a bit, maybe you wouldn’t always be getting knocked on it.” He forced Jason belly down over a chair. Wielding the belt with a vengeance, the leather smacked against the flesh beneath the thin fabric. The boy clamped his teeth together refusing to cry out. With his upper body pinned by Martin’s knee only his lower extremities were mobile and he thrashed wildly so several blows missed and marked his naked thighs an angry red.

Hanlon intervened by grabbing Martin’s arm as he ordered, “Leave some hide on him. Lad had a right to be upset.”

Tossing the belt, Martin yanked Jason up demanding, “How did you come to be in here?”

“I—Stew—we talked about drug reaction—”

“The son of a bitch!” Martin exploded as he shoved the boy and took the hall on a run.

While Jason yelled, “No! Wait!”

Hanlon’s quick grab prevented Jason from immediately following and he warned, “You lookin’ ta collect more punishment?”

“He didn’t let me explain. He’ll kill Stew.”

“Not hardly. Blow off some steam maybe? It’s the names you called him really ticked Davy off. Pull your britches up and we’ll have a look see.”

~~~

 

Stewart Sheppard swung defensively around the rear of his chair as the raging creature burst through the door. He instantly recognized the only one who would talk to him.

But the violent set of Martin’s uncovered features shocked him into silence as the man growled, “You feeling chipper now?” Stewart allowed a quick nodded to suffice and Martin added, “Good,” before his fist smashed the Englishman in the mouth.

The unexpected blow sent Sheppard stumbling back only to be yanked forward. Instinctively he ducked the next punch but took a right cross beside his left ear. Gagging on a rapidly followed stomach punch, he forgot caution and brought his head up under the Irishman’s chin throwing him off balance. Then he blocked a left feint with his shoulder, threw a brutal jab into Martin’s jaw and dropped into a half crouch. Martin recovered quickly. An uppercut staggered his opponent; he blocked a similar punch with his elbow only to catch a hard right on the side of his head.

Their racket had quickly drawn an audience, but no one appeared inclined to interfere. Rough humor swelled into nasty remarks or cheers as the two young males continued to batter one another splintering furniture and splitting skin.

Jason tugged on Hanlon’s sleeve with the plea, “Stop them.”

But Hanlon only cast an affectionate arm across the boy’s shoulders with the chuckled, “They’re havin’ themselves a grand time.”

“Stew’s bleeding.”

“Sure, but I’d wager he’d rather take his blows and give some then soothe Davy’s temper the way you did,” was followed by a vile laugh as he patted Jason’s rump.

“Shit!” Jason snapped. “Funny-real-damn-funny. Dave don’t look so good either.” He unconsciously shivered as Stewart slammed into a wall.

Hanging a second, the Englishman slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. His breathing was loud and irregular. Blood dribbled from several cuts and creased the edge of his mouth.

The Irishmen, while still on his feet, was bent chimpanzee style. His left eye was already swelling closed and gore dotted his chin. He held himself upright with the aid of the wall and staggered to his opponent. Looming above him, he admitted, “Had it,” and slumped down beside him.

“Never taken on a taig before.” Sheppard grimaced. “Not be in a hurry to do it again. See the Army’s sense in shooting you bloody Irish from afar.”

Taking no offense, Martin grunted. “For a fuckin’ Limey ass, yah handle yourself all right, lad.”

“Good show.” Hanlon stepped over and clapped them both on their shoulders. “Now, Davy, your hard-on’s down? Listen to what the boy has to say?” Giving his arm for leverage he helped Martin stand.

And Jason rushed with, “Stew didn’t tell me I was drugged. He never let me talk about what went on here, kept telling me it wasn’t safe. Only, Dave, he’s worse than you.” His eyes met Martin’s. “He’s always trying to get me to study, to read. We were discussing drug reactions, I asked him some questions. I guessed the rest.”

Martin’s fingers locked on Jason’s arm. Embarrassed, Jason attempted look away. “Look at me! Damn it!” And as Jason obeyed the man growled, “You still doubt me?”

“No!” was punctuated by the added shake of the youth’s head.

“Good,” was a released breath. “Now help me get to the shower,” came through Martin’s grimace as he threw his arm over Jason’s shoulders