Page 69 of A Fine Line

I grit my teeth and begin counting again, backward, and forward, multiplication, and even long-fucking-division. I’m not hungry or thirsty, though that could be from shock, and it’s impossible for me to assess the damage that’s been done or the length of time I’ve been in here.

I work on controlling my breathing and heart rate since those are the only things I have power over right now. I’ve trained for this, for deprivation, small spaces, the unknown—these are all things Tony, Darius, and I have spent countless hours training to overcome.

Because we knew this would happen someday.

A loud crack startles me from my meditations, and the darkness through my closed eyelids lightens. I keep my eyes shut and my body relaxed, using my ears to learn anything I possibly can about my current situation.

“Get the fuck out of there,” a gruff voice demands. “We gotta clean you up for transportation.”

“Why can’t we keep him?” another voice snipes.

Hands grab me on both sides, yanking me upward, and then carrying me with my head lolling forwards and my feet dragging on the cold ground. Then, it occurs to me that I’m completely naked.

What the fuck.

They drag me for what feels like forever, then unceremoniously release their hold on me, and I tumble to the floor in a heap where I lay there, biting back a pained groan. Ice-cold water hits me, and my gasp becomes a shout as my entire body recoils in pain, both from the shock of the water and whatever trauma I’ve withstood since I’ve been here.

Laughter echoes throughout the room, coming from what sounds like three or four different people, but I refuse to open my eyes and bear witness to anything around me. I choke back another pained noise, absorbing the shock of the freezing water and the sting of the concrete beneath my cheek.

“Somebody’s gonna have to get in there and scrub him so that blood and shit will come off.”

Someone mutters incoherently, and then someone else says, “Oh, fine, I’ll fucking do it. Not like you all haven’t contributed to the fucking mess.”

The stream of water stops, hands push me onto my front, and a cloth scrubs along my back. I shiver in disgust, swallowing down the retch that attempts to erupt.

“Take your fucking hands off him.” The voice is faint, barely cutting through the laughter, but I’d know that voice anywhere.

“Who the fuck are you—“ The words are cut off by a garbling sound, and then no sooner do I hear a body hit the floor do I hear people shouting and screaming. I curl in on myself, my hands coming up over my head as fists hit flesh, blades clash, then puncturing and slicing skin, and within a few moments, silence.

A warm hand on my shoulder gives me a shove, and I uncurl myself, shoving away across the wet concrete. My eyes fly open, my defensive position faltering as I look up into the stony gaze of Tony fucking Andersen, covered from head to toe in blood.

“You look like fucking shit, Deveraux.”

I choke out a laugh that hurts everywhere, but I can’t stop it. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where I am. I can’t fathom how this kid is in here throwing down with these monsters, and I don’t even fucking care.

Relief overwhelms me, and I manage to push myself onto my hands and knees just in time for the bile to come up, and I retch everywhere. My arms shake as I try to push myself up far enough to stand, but my elbows give out, and Tony catches me, helping me to sit up fully.

He holds out a handkerchief, and I take it from him gratefully, using it to wipe my face, as Dare pipes in from the doorway, “Jesus fuck, Tony. You couldn’t wait for me?”

“You’re too fucking slow, man,” Tony retorts. “I couldn’t sit back and watch these fucking pieces of shit put their hands on him. God only fucking knows what went on here in the time it took us to find him.”

“I’m not going to argue that, but we better hurry the fuck up, or we’re gonna end up boxed in here.”

Tony is opening doors and drawers, finally coming back with what looks to be a mostly clean towel and throws it at me. I use it to rough dry my hair and body, and then I stand there, shivering, with the dirty towel in my hand, unsure of what to do next.

Dare pulls a pack from his back, opening the top and pulling out clothing that I can only assume is his. I take it from him, quickly dressing myself with minimal help. I’ve barely gotten the shoes and socks on my feet when a bit of commotion from down the hallway turns our attention to the door. Dare pulls some weapons from his pack and hands them to me, then turns to Tony and asks, “Are you ready?”

Tony nods, a gleeful glint in his eyes as he says, “Fuck-around time, boys. What are we gonna do?”

I check the gun Dare gave me, making sure there’s a round in the chamber, then secure the blade in my non-dominant hand. I push back every feeling that’s bubbling inside me other than the rage, and then I reply, “Let’s find out.”

Present day

Carolina is clutching Tony’s hand that was resting on her leg the entire time I told the story. She gives me a pained look as she asks, “How old were you?”

I shrug, shaking my head as I reply, “I don’t know. Fifteen, sixteen.”

Tony gives me a look, then turns to Carolina, and says, “He was barely thirteen. Dare and I were around fifteen or so.”

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