Page 87 of Six
Then I move my eyes to Brad. He hasn’t left Sully’s side since they brought him here from the recovery ward yesterday. He feels responsible for what happened. His head is propped on his hand, wavy blond hair falling on his forehead. His athletic jock body barely fits the plastic hospital chair. Rague had to ask for a bigger one, and a very kind nurse brought an armchair—or maybe Meg’s friendship with a couple of people on the hospital board of directors made that happen.
Rague leaves, and I sit on the edge of the bed, taking Sully’s bruised hand in mine. He tried to fight back—all his knuckles are blackened—but it wasn’t enough. They broke his nose, two ribs, tore his spleen, and perforated a lung—that’s why the doctors had to operate on him for hours. Those bastards also dislocated his left shoulder and wrist and covered him in cuts and bruises.
All the relief and gratefulness I feel at having him back with me is washed away by uncontrollable rage. My brother is the most goofy, gentle soul, and they almost killed him. And for what? Fucking sick entertainment. There was a camera in the shipping container. They took a video of it. A fucking video of an innocent boy being beaten almost to death. Did they do the same with the other boys? Were they killed to amuse morbid, sadistic people?
I could never stomach to watch that video, but Rami will tell me who’s responsible. There were four evil men in that container with my brother, one died, but the other three—including Lenny and Scorpion—are at the base.
“I’ll make them pay, Sully-doo,” I tell his prone body. “I’ll make them regret the moment they laid a finger on you.”
I suddenly feel Rague’s warm chest behind me, and I instinctively lean into it, quickly wiping away the tear that hits my cheek. No more. Now it’s time to get even.
“I’ll do it, kitty,” Rague says.
“No. It’s my responsibility and pleasure.” Before he can say anything else, Gabe wakes up with a jolt, pushing Lori’s head off him.
“What the fuck?” My best friend yells, feet still on the chair while his hands are gripping the armrest to prevent himself from falling face-first on the floor.
Brad springs off his chair and looks around, disoriented, before his eyes focus on Sully, and his shoulders sag seeing him still sleeping. Rague hands me a hot paper cup of coffee.
“A little fucking help!” Lori sputters from his strained position, and Brad quickly goes to him. When he manages to get himself in a standing position, he runs a hand through his curls, and after glancing at Sully and me, he concentrates his sullen look on Gabe. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I woke up with spit on my thousand-dollar suit pants.” Gabe points at the dark, wet spot on his thigh.
Lori keeps talking, disregarding Gabe’s statement. “The list would be too long to finish in a damn day.”
“What are you whining about this time?” Sully’s hoarse voice turns all the eyes in the room on him.
“Sully-doo!” I croak as I delicately cup his face and bump his forehead against mine, the same way we’ve always done, ever since we were kids. Rague’s fingers are stroking my back, and for one blissful moment, I’m at peace.
“I’ll find a nurse,” Gabe says from somewhere in the room, and I pull back, staring again in my brother’s shiny eyes.
“How do you feel, Sully-doo?” Lori asks him. I can hear the tears in his voice, and I feel my vision getting blurry.
“Like I’ve been spit out of a blender,” he replies; his smile is a bit forced.
“Are you in pain?” I ask him. Fuck my trembling words.
He tries to shift and winces. His body is covered in stitches and bandages under the hospital gown.
“Don’t move.”
“The doctor is coming,” Gabe lets us know, walking back into the room.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Brad cries out.
“Hey, it’s not your fault. They injected me with something,”—the same drug they used on the other seven boys—“before I could even realize…they …were close…” Sully’s coughing stops him from continuing. “Dry.” He points at his throat when I ask him what’s wrong.
I leave my cup on the small table near the bed and grab the water glass, bending the straw toward his mouth. He takes small sips, and after a few seconds, is done.
“It’s not your fault,” I repeat my brother’s words, looking at Brad. “It’s those men’s.”
Sully’s eyes turn watery, and he closes them, letting the tears run down. “How did you find m-me?”
“Rami tracked Scorpion’s phone. It led us to the right shipping container,” Gabe explains.
Sully starts shivering after hearing Scorpion’s name, and I grab his hand again, giving it a comforting squeeze.
Motherfucker. Now everything is starting to clear.Iwas supposed to fight against Scorpion.Iwas supposed to get beaten to a pulp and die. That’s why Dick insisted on the fight, and why Lenny was going to pay a larger sum for it. I’m not a teen, but I look like one, and I guess that it was too great a temptation for Dick to get rid of me and at the same time get paid.
