Page 22 of Ride the Whirlwind

CHAPTER 17

“We have to talk.” Ira took Elias' hand, cradling it between his own. “Something bad is happening to you, and I want to know what it is,” he whispered, looking into the older boy's sapphire eyes. “It's not about Ardan, or better said, not only about him, right?”

“Yes,” Elias admitted, lowering his eyes for a moment. “Look, it's not that I don't trust you, but I don't want Abernathy or Tarrin to find out. I want to protect my brother's innocence, and that sweet, blond boy has been through enough. I don't want to add to his pain, especially now with him blaming himself up for what happened to Ardan.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Ira whispered, offering the other boy a reassuring smile. “When I said that we have to talk, I didn't mean right now if you are not ready but keeping it all inside won't do you any good, either.”

Elias shook his head. “There's no better moment like this one. I...my memories resurfaced. I remember everything that happened to me while...on the island. All those horrible people hurting me...they had no mercy.” The boy closed his eyes, tears sliding down his pale cheeks.

“Ardan will come home, and he'll hunt each and every one of those bastards down and make them pay for what they did to you,” Ira coldly spoke, his blue-green eyes narrowing dangerously. “He’ll make the bloody monsters regret touching you in that vile way, and they'll wish they would never have been born. Until then, you have to stop thinking about that. It'll eat you alive.”

“I've tried, Ira, but I can't,” Elias sobbed, putting his head on the other boy's shoulder. “I keep hearing their voices calling me dirty names, and I see the evilness in their eyes as they hurt me. I feel so filthy and unworthy of love, so...”

“Please, don't talk like that about yourself.” Ira ran the tips of his fingers through Elias' thick, pitch-black strands. “You have a beautiful soul and deserve to be happy and loved. I'm going to make sure you get that happiness.” He kissed the other boy's temples and forehead, enveloping him in a protective hug.

Unable to sleep even though he was dead tired, Matthew left the bed and walked out of the room, heading to the library. Reading always helped him relax, and he hoped to find a good book which could calm his agitated mind, emptying it of the thoughts roiling inside his head like a hive of mad bees.

The library's door was wide open, and Matthew was about to walk into it when a muffled noise coming from there got his attention. Carefully not to be noticed, he peeked inside and saw two of the boys he met at breakfast hugging each other tightly. One of them was crying while the other tried to comfort him, or so it seemed. Matthew decided his life was already complicated enough and didn't need more drama in it, so he discreetly retreated to his room.

A few minutes later, the man heard a soft knock at the door. Thinking it was Lance, he braced himself for what was about to come, and, making efforts to sound indifferent, told the person on the other side of the door to come inside. To his great surprise, it was the boy with caramel skin and blue-green eyes who asked him for help at breakfast.

“This won't take long since you’re probably tired and want to go to sleep,” the kid spoke in a somewhat cold voice. “I know you've heard Elias and saw us in the library, but if you want to rat us out to Granddad or Grumpa, you better think again, because I'll deny everything.”

“Digging into other people's private lives is something I'm very good at, but only when I'm rewarded with a consistent check for my efforts,” Matthew said, trying to be ironic. “Don't worry. I'm not looking for trouble.” He softened his voice a bit.

“You’re not looking for trouble, but you don't want to help, either. Why are you here, then?” Ira looked into the man's eyes, waiting for his reply.

“I was assigned to do some basic research, the euphemism the CIA uses for digging into not-so-legal contracts they can use for twisting big name companies into doing what they want. I came across some documents and a will, and I'd warned my superiors about the things written there. Instead of listening to me, they kicked me out.”

“That's...interesting, to say the least,” Ira said, then paused a little. “You still didn't tell me why you came here.”

“There's this guy in San Francisco, Graeme McGowan. He's the undisputed leader of all the Scottish mafia organizations in the city but isn’t a troublemaker, quite the contrary. The things written in those documents put his life in danger, but I can only warn him if we are face-to-face. My...boyfriend emptied my savings account when I... when he kicked me out of the house.”

“So, you need money to go to San Francisco and warn the guy.” Ira fell silent, staring into Matthew's chocolate eyes. “I think it's time you talk to Granddad and Grumpa.”

***********

“Hello, sweetheart, let's get you inside,” the massive, bearded, tattooed guard softly spoke to the fragile-looking boy standing outside the gates. “You look in dire need of help, poor thing. My name's Digger, can you tell me yours?

“H—hello, Mister Digger, I—I'm Martens,” the kid stuttered, visibly intimidated by the man's impressive stature. “I... bad things happened to me and a friend of mine told me about this place. He said almost all the kids here experienced the same...you know...thing, and he thought...”

“Come on, kiddo, don't be afraid. You’re safe here.” Digger protectively draped an arm around the boy's shoulders. “If that scum comes after you, we'll show him what fuckers like him get for hurting innocent children.”

“He won't,” Martens said in a low, tired voice. “He's in San Francisco, and anyway, his work is done.” The teenager found the man's short burst of anger from earlier strangely comforting and decided to trust him. “Um...can you take me to Doctor Alasdair Stark?”

“Sorry for being so goddamn stupid, son.” Digger opened the gate, storming inside. “Where was my head? Of course, you need to see a doctor,” he continued, taking the boy in his arms, bridal style, and heading to the first car he saw. “Let's get you comfortable.” The guard laid the kid into the backseat, wrapping him in a blanket.

“I don't need an examination. My dad is a doctor, too, and he took good care of me right after...it's healed now, or at least I'm not in pain anymore.” Martens' voice died down.

“Kiddo, listen to me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Doc Alasdair is one of the kindest, most compassionate souls out there, just like the boss himself. He’s dealt with many cases like yours and will treat you gently,” Digger spoke in a soft voice, contrasting with his impressive stature. “Here we are,” he stopped the car in front of a long, one-story, white-painted building.

A few minutes later, the guard, carrying the boy in his arms, stepped inside Alasdair's office without knocking. “Let's see, who do we have here,” the redhead greeted them, studying Martens with a mix of interest and compassion.

“He was outside the gates and wanted to see you. A friend told him about The Base and... you’ll figure out the rest by yourself,” Digger said, his eyes veiled with sadness as he put the boy on the examination table.

“I don't need to be examined,” Martens started once the guard was out of sight. “It happened a long time ago. The friend who told me about The Base...he has a message for you.” He tentatively smiled.

“Does he?” Alasdair smiled gently, doing his best to help the boy relax and feel comfortable. “Let's hear what the message is. This friend of yours, does he have a name?”

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