Page 72 of Stitches

He smirked once more and drank. “So I accepted their payment. I took in the boy with you in mind. I thought you could use a friend. Something to play with and occupy your troubled mind. It was a kind gesture on my part. Probably one of my finest to date. Do you know why?”

“Why?” I drank, a feeble attempt to drown myself.

“Because you love him. I gave youlove, Dante.” He sat back in his seat and stared at me. “I will admit, I had buyers banging down my door, desperate to have him. Malachi’s beauty was something I couldn’t let go of. So I gifted him to you instead of…well, there were various things. Many wanted to taste him. Devour him. Be inside him. They still do.” He chuckled.

It took all my will to not lose my control as I stared my father down and listened to his sickness.

“I was recently offered a large sum of money for him. He was sick and in the facility though, and I thought it would be best if he were kept there and treated. I wasn’t wrong, and it turned out magnificent. Malachi is such a good boy,” he repeated, smiling.

“What did you do to him?” I demanded.

“I did nothing to him. I gave them free run of treatment for him. Experimental drugs. Some therapy. It seems to have worked.”

“What really happened to him?” I pressed, my words clipped.

He went quiet as he watched me.

“Dante, you are more like me than you care to admit.”

“Perhaps,” I said, not denying my own sickness which had to have been handed down by him.

A smile quirked his lips up at my words.

“Tell me what really happened to him,” I said.

“It was for his betterment. Know that,” he answered, getting up to get another drink. He brought the bottle back with him and refilled my glass before his.

“You know, I supply the alcohol for this room,” he mused, settling in. “I think parents who are dropping their children off to us deserve to have a drink. It’s one of my better ideas for this place.”

I said nothing as I watched him drink.

“You always were straight to the point,” he said with a sigh. He adjusted his black tie. “Well then. I’m impressed Malachi hasn’t told you anything. He’s as strong as I hoped he was.”

“Father, while I appreciate you thinking I’m enjoying this time we’re spending together, I assure you I have more exciting things to be doing than listening as you dance around my questions.”

He chuckled. “Fine. I was offered some money. It was about more than the money though. It was about the treatment and joy, as it were.” He licked his lips. “Malachi is a hot commodity. Many are so jealous that he belongs to you. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“He is my brother,” I said.

“He isyour toy,Dante. Your plaything. A gift to you from me, your father. I’d like to see you use him at some point. Seems a waste not to, but that’s neither here nor there.” He cleared his throat. “Since I wasn’t going to take him from you, I decided to get some use out of him. We used an experimental drug on him. He did well under the influence of it. Incredibly well.”

“It made him hallucinate.” It must have been the drug he’d told us about and how he just didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.

“Did it?” He cocked his head at me, his eyes sparkling.

“Everything he endured was real?”

“Of course it was real. We’re at Chapel Crest. All our nightmares are real here.”

I steadied my breathing. “What happened to him?”

“He paid off some lingering debts his parents had accumulated to some very interested parties. They got what theycamefor, and I got what I needed.”

“You had him raped?” I whispered, my throat tight.

“Believe me when I say Malachi opened his mouth willingly. He paid off debts he didn’t even know he had with each thrust into his body. It wasn’t a sacrifice for him. He did so on his knees, begging. He cried at first and called out for his mother, but he was taken care of. Each touch, each cock, soothed him. I believe he even got some pussy while under. The meds given were a success. A cross of some sugar I’ve gotten my hands on with something a little special I’ve created. Malachi is paid in full.”

I stood abruptly from my chair, my hands shaking with my rage.

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