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The young man would be dealt with and returned home. He was warned twice not to return, so whatever happened this night, he earned. Deacon put the matter from his mind, satisfied that it had to be done for the sake of security. Sometimes you had to be firm, and this was one of those times.
Deacon went back to his desk and put in a call to Lieutenant McKay to meet him in his office after his shift. He wanted a briefing on the incident and also information on the young man, Gage Montague. Was this isolated, or was this young man working with others gauging our tolerance and pushing the envelope of our security. The Coven had been infiltrated in the past, and their enemies still existed. They could not let their guard down, not even for a hapless human.
…
Gage was hurting. Every molecule of his body was screaming after the beating that man, Trenton, had delivered. He had not anticipated such a brutal reaction. Before, when he was detained, they were obviously unhappy and made that quite clear, but they never physically hurt him. He assumed that calling the Sheriff was the worst thing that could happen to him, but that was before he was introduced to Trenton, a name and a man he would not soon forget.
He was driven back to town and dumped in the alley behind the bar, just left there bleeding on the cold, hard ground. The car barely slowed down before the guy pushed Gage from the back seat with his foot. He landed hard and rolled in the dirt, and although it hurt, he was thanking god that he was finally away from that maniac. The light at the back door was on, but there was no one around.
The bar was closed, and his stepdad was probably in his office going over receipts. He pulled himself up enough to make his way up the incline from the alley to the bar's back door. It was exhausting, but he needed to get out of the night flow of traffic that used the alley. He didn't want to end up as lunch for some rogue shifter or vampire.
He tried to lift his hand to feel his face but was pretty sure his left arm was broken or dislocated because it wasn't moving, and pain radiated to his shoulder every time he tried. His face was a mess. He knew that without having to look since Trenton took great care in focusing much of his abuse on Gage's face. He just hoped that none of the local lowlifes found him before he was able to get to his feet and get inside.
The sound of the back door opening had his heart pounding in hopes of being found and helped inside. "What the hell happened to you?" It was Able, and Gage was so glad to see him.
"I was jumped." He said, and it wasn't a total lie.
"Out here? By whom?" He asked, but Gage was in no condition to answer questions.
“I don’t know who, but they worked me over good.”
"They sure did, come on, let me help you inside, and I'll see what I can do for you. I'm assuming you don't want to go to the ER." Able cocked an eyebrow at him, and Gage shook his head. "Just as well; we don't want them contacting the cops and getting them in our business."
Able got him up, and half carried him inside to the break room that had an old, down, threadbare sofa in the corner. It was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture on earth, but right now, it looked like pure perfection, and all Gage wanted was to lie down and rest. Able got him to the sofa and then left to get the first aid kit from his office.
When Able returned, he had the kit along with a washcloth, hand towel, and a basin of water. "They really gave you a beating. How many were there?"
"I hate to say it, but this was done by just one guy, but in my defense, I think he was paranormal." Gage knew for a fact he was paranormal. The guy was a vampire soldier but had to play it carefully with Able. If he knew Gage was sneaking onto DuCane's property and getting caught, he would be pissed. Able firmly believed in not drawing attention to one’s self, and that was how he raised Gage from the age of five.
Gage's mother married Able Colbert after Gage's father died in Afghanistan. He was a soldier in the Army and was killed when the transport he was on rolled over an IED. Able was a wolf shifter, and Gage's mother wasn't his true mate, but they married anyway, and Able took on the responsibilities of a wife and child.
Unfortunately, she never got over the loss of her husband, and when Gage was twelve, she left to supposedly find herself and never returned. Gage stayed with Able, who, although strict in some odd ways, was also a decent guardian.
The Zen bar had been his home since he was five years old, and at sixteen, Able let him start working part-time, first in the kitchen and then in the stock room. Now, at nineteen, he filled in wherever he was needed. It was considered a seedy bar with a sketchy clientele, but it had provided security when he had none, and it was home.
“What sort of paranormal?” Able was asking too many questions.
"Not sure, but he was well dressed." Gage knew he would draw the logical conclusion.
“One of DuCane’s people?” Able was surprised. “That doesn’t sound like the actions of one of his people.”
"I don't know." That was an outright lie, but he didn't want to tell him the truth. Gage was shocked from his thoughts with a painful gasp when Able abruptly pulled his arm, putting his shoulder back into place.
"You won't see out of your left eye for a few days; the swelling is too severe. If you think you can take the pain, I'll stitch your lip for you. It's a deep gash and will most likely scar otherwise." Able was already sterilizing and threading the needle while he asked for permission.
"Yeah, go ahead. I don't want some gnarly scar on my face." Able stitched it up quickly, and Gage thought he might pass out from the pain, but he didn't.
"You didn't lose any teeth and no broken bones, so that's good, but you're black and blue from head to toe, and your face is a fucking mess." Able always spoke the truth even when it was uncomfortable to hear. "I'll help you up to your room, and you'll need to stay there for a few days; otherwise, people will be asking questions, and there's always that busybody in the crowd that wants to call the cops. You just stay in your room until your face starts to look better . . . agreed?"
"Sure, staying in my room for a few days sounds like a great idea right now." He answered halfheartedly, and Able laughed.
"You'll be fine." Able helped him off the sofa, and again half carried him up the back stairs to Gage's apartment on the second floor. Able didn't live on sight. He had an apartment a few blocks away. He got Gage into bed and then promised to check on him in the morning.
"Thanks for your help, Able." Gage was grateful that he was cleaned up, bandaged, and in bed; it sure beat lying outside in the cold and dark.
"No problem, kid." He tucked him in and put a glass of water and ibuprofen on the bedside table next to him. "I'll see you in the morning." With that, he turned out the lights and closed and locked the door.
Gage lay there feeling better and feeling worse. He was on the mend, but his body ached all over, and he could no longer consider himself a photographer. His camera and phone and everything were smashed beyond recognition. Trenton had taken particular pleasure in reducing his belongings to dust on that tile floor. He had a few shots uploaded to his computer but not the killer shots he got tonight, the shots that would have given him a possibility of winning that fucking contest.
