Page 45 of Stabby Little

I bite my lower lip. "Yes, Daddy. I'm ready for you."

Jack brings his right palm down on my cheeks with a meaty slap.

Smack.

"Look at that quiver." A lustful growl escapes Jack's lips as he digs his fingers into my hole. "You like when Daddy spanks you, don't you, boy?"

"I love it, Daddy."

"You get horny when Daddy breeds you?" A zipping sound reaches my ears, letting me know Jack's pulled out his cock. "I fucked one of the Room A boys today, but I was thinking of you, angel. No one has a pretty boy pussy like you do. You're so fucking tight and clean."

"I'm always clean. I wash myself every night to prepare for your loving."

"Ass so tight I think you're a virgin." Jack slides into my hole. "That's right, boy. Your hole is tighter than the boys the Diavolo brothers pick off the street. You'd put a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old who's barely exited high school to shame. I could rut in this little bud all day and lose my goddamn mind."

I pant as my eyes jolt open. The memories of the dream bounce through my mind, terrifying me to the core.

"Fuck." I scoot back on my bed and pull the blankets up to my chin. "You're safe. Jack's dead. He can't hurt you."

Night terrors.

Ever since I got out, these have plagued my brain. They wriggle into my dreams when I least expect them to and sneak into the furthest crevices of my subconscious. When I close my eyes, I'm back in my place of captivity preparing to service Jack.

Sometimes the dreams revolve around my escape. The day I broke through the air vent in Jack's secret closet and snuck Callum out with me. The day I murdered Jack and shoved his body through the vent.

Sometimes the dreams revolve around my failure to leave. The times I failed to convince Jack to break into the medical closet that fateful night to show me the HIV preventative he injected boys with. The time the guards tripled their security and almost didn't let me leave.

These are the worst dreams. The ones that leave me in a cold sweat shaking from head to toe. I try to banish them from my mind, but when I'm stressed, they return with a vengeance.

Flipping over, I press my pillow to my chest. I find the black dragon Christian gave me and set it on my pillow.

"I'm never going back to that place again." My voice is firm as I trail my thumb across the dragon, a rainbow glistening on its scales. "My captors won't find me. They can't hurt me."

I close my eyes and pretend I'm back in the warehouse. This time, it's different. This time, a man muscles through the door and marches to my cage.

He stands in the basement with clenched fists. He's four heads taller than me and his eyes contain flames. His muscular Dad bod bulges out of his dark T-shirt. He's stronger than my captors, stronger than any man who uses me.

Most of the men who visit are scrawny and weak. They're pathetic bastards who resemble the human manifestation of their sick desires. This man is different. He looks like he could beat the Diavolos up with a single punch. Nothing would get past him—they'd try to hurt him, but he'd lay down the law before they broke free.

He clutches the bars of my cage. "Why are you in here, boy?"

That voice. It's so familiar. Tilting my head up, I peer into his eyes.

Who is this… stranger? No one has ever spoken to me with such kindness. I feel like a rescue puppy who finally found his owner.

It hits me all at once that I know this man. "Grant?" I grip the metal bars.

Grant lets out a roar and tears my cage open. He throws the door across the room, slamming it into the concrete walls.

He walks to every cage and rips the doors off. My friends run out and leave Room B, seeking safety in the hallway.

Grant tilts my chin up. "Ollie?"

I stare into his eyes. "I thought you forgot me. I thought you quit searching."

"Never." Grant runs his thumb across my trembling lower lip. "I knew you were out there, boy."

"You did?"

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