Page 2 of Justice For Me

“What’s your name, sir?” the bored voice asked.

“My name is fucking dead if you don’t get the cops on the road!” he hissed into the phone. “Seriously lady, we need help here. It’s the old Victorian right outside town.” He heard her tapping numbers into her computer and he tried, without any reasonable success, to convince himself she was sending the information out to police cruisers that would be only seconds away from saving his ass.

He wondered how far away Frik and Frak were. He’d lost his bodyguard (babysitters) intentionally to visit this up-scale whorehouse. They’d have a great laugh over his shredded body…before his father killed them for letting him out of their sight.

He twisted the knob to the second door and found it tightly locked. As he reached into his pocket for a knife, he eyeballed the locking mechanism to see how easily it would be for him to break into the room. You didn’t grow up as the only son of the director to the FBI without learning how to pick a few locks here and there. Hell, he’d been doing this since he was in kindergarten.

At least the popping noises had stopped. “Are the cops on their way, ma’am? I really need them to be on the way,” he said as his nimble fingers worked the lock. Within seconds, he heard it click open.

“Where are you, son?” he heard her ask politely. Why the fuck didn’t she sound nervous? Sure, she wasn’t the one about to be a bullet-magnet, but it would have to be gross to hear him being gunned down in a hail of bullets, wouldn’t it?

He slipped into the small room and twisted the lock back into place. Turning around, he found he was in a room really not much bigger than a closet but it had about fifteen TV monitors lining the darkened walls. Stepping closer, he studied the small screens until the harsh reality of what he was seeing slowly dawned on him. The monitors were apparently hooked up so you could see what was happening in each of the rooms in the old Victorian and he also noticed that recording devices were hooked up as well.

He saw dead bodies, covered in blood and gore, in almost every room. In one small room, there was a young man, not much older than him, tied to a bed and a bloody gunshot wound to his head. In the main lobby, where he’d been only mere minutes ago, eight people were lined up against the wall, kneeling on their knees, sobbing and clearly begging for their lives. The red-headed beauty that was supposed to be his escort for the evening was one of them. Standing in front of them, holding a gun that was pointed straight at them, was a man about his age, maybe a few years older, but a hell of a lot meaner.

He heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs about the same time the 911 operator said, “There’s no need to hide, son. There’s really nowhere for you to go.”

A monitor in the lower corner gave a clear picture of the front of the Victorian, where a police cruiser sat innocently, cops leaned up against the black and white automobile, laughing and smoking cigarettes.

“You fucking bitch!” He hissed as he pushed the end button and cut her off.

Loud popping noises sounded from below and his eyes fell onto the screen where the red-head had been kneeling seconds ago. As he watched, the man fired wave after wave of bullets at them, ripping them apart until they were no more than a bloody mess on the floor. Justice would have puked right then and there if something else hadn’t caused everything in him to freeze solid. The man lowered his weapon, looked straight into the camera, and waved at him. Then, with a friendly come-hither movement of his fingers, he motioned for him to come to him.

“Oh, fuck me, I’m so dead,” Justice whispered. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” he chanted quietly as his eyes searched the small, dark room for a weapon or a way out. The heavy footsteps were now trudging down the hallway, getting closer and closer to him with every fucking step.

His phone lit up to show his dad was calling. Fuck this shit, his dad did not need to hear him get blown to smithereens. He answered anyway. “Did you get my text? Dad, bad things are happening here.”

“Listen to me, Justice. Where are you?”

“I’m at 4892…”

“No, son,” he interrupted. “Where are you in the house? Help is on the way, but they are about fifteen minutes out, so I need to know what is going on so I can help you. After that, we’ll discuss why the fuck you ditched your handlers!” He growled.

“Gunshots downstairs,” he said. “I think there are about twenty people dead. Cops are outside, but they aren’t doing anything. I called 911, but I’m pretty sure the police are in deep in whatever the hell is going on.”

“Good, Justice. Stay calm and keep talking to me. Where are you?”

“I’m in a room on the third floor but there isn’t a fucking window anywhere in the fucking room.” He heard the doorknob from the hallway jiggle and then a man laugh loudly. “They are right outside the room, dad. Listen,” he said seriously, “I know I’m a lot of trouble, but I really love you and mom. I don’t mean…”

“Stop, Justice!” his father said. “You will get out of this. I need you to stay calm for me, though. Look around. What do you see?”

In the hallway, the man continued to laugh and taunt him, drawing out his torment for his own entertainment. “This room looks like it might have been a walk-in closet at some time. There’s a shit load of recording crap in here and I can see into all the rooms. I saw the guy shoot the ones that were still alive. They know I’m up here.”

Justice heard his dad curse loudly. “What does the ceiling look like?”

He looked up. “It’s just ceiling tiles, I think.” Already knowing where his dad was headed, Justice grabbed the chair that had been in front of the monitors and stood up in it, almost falling straight out of it when he heard the bedroom door crash to the floor as it flew off its hinges. As he stretched to reach for the tile, the cell tumbled to the floor and landed with a soft thud. He could hear his dad screaming his name, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do other than try to continue with his escape. The doorknob to the closet jiggled and the taunting started all over again. Knowing he only had seconds, Justice heaved himself up and twisted and turned until he was able to pull his entire body into the small attic. With one last look at the cell, he slid the tile back into place and started crawling as quietly as possible across the floor and toward the tinier- than- tiny window at the far end. It was his only hope of escape.

“What the hell are you doing, Solomon? Toying with the poor lad?” Marcus asked as he watched one of his men jiggle the doorknob leading into the room where the poor unfortunate kid was trying to hide, which was also the room that had led to everybody’s needless death today. Fucking idiots had thought to record him while he played his sex games and then use it against him as blackmail? Yes, they were now dead fucking idiots.

“Ah, just scaring the kid to death, boss,” Solomon answered with a smile. “That’s okay, right? We enjoy scaring little kiddies don’t we?”

“That we do, Solomon,” Marcus answered, “but I’m ready to call it a day. We need to finish this up, destroy the evidence and be on our merry way. Knock the door down and kill the prick so we can leave before it starts stinking too badly.” Marcus loved the smell of blood when he was torturing someone but after they died…well, it just stunk.

While Solomon focused on the door, Marcus meandered around the room, stopping when he noticed the kid’s clothing neatly folded on a chair. Yep, he’d made many young boys and girls fold up their clothes and place them neatly on a chair before their sessions had begun. Bored, he picked up the shirt, expensive but not too flashy, and held it to his nose. The boy smelled delicious and he felt his cock twitch. Odd, he thought. He usually required more visual stimulation.

A wallet lay underneath the shirt and for some unexplained reason, he felt somewhat giddy when he found it. He heard the door smash to hundreds of pieces behind him, but paid it very little attention. Opening the wallet, he pulled out a driver’s license belonging to Justice Conners, twenty-one years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, and fucking gorgeous. His cock did more than twitch.

“Solomon! Hold!” he yelled. Maybe the boy didn’t have to die? Maybe he could be Marcus’ plaything for a while, keep him until he grew bored of his innocence and then he could kill him.

---