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"I do not know how to do this," I confess. I'm not sure I know how to be his friend. This pampered man who has everything at his beck and call. The house, the cook, the cleaner and bodyguard. For me, the more I can do for myself, the less I owe to others. It's made me very independent in the way I live.
"You don't have to know. Let me teach you." As Porter tugs on my hand, I fall forwards into him, my head resting on his shoulder. I've never had anyone to look after me before. Even mum needed looking after when she was alive.
"While I love your enthusiasm, Porter, I would rather trust Gladys with the particulars of Nico's care moving forward." Michael states.
"Oh." Porter's disappointment is clear in his tone. To me, it just means owing less things to more people.
"That is good. We have then more time for fun things," I encourage.
"Come into the kitchen and tell me everything," Gladys lures the doctor away from us.
"I can never thank you for all you have done. I am alive because of you." I show my gratitude for what he's done. I understand now why I couldn't go home alone. He saved my life, and it is a debt I am happy to repay.
For a moment, we are alone, and I am in the arms of the boss man's boyfriend. As much as I want to be here, this feels very wrong. Yet it feels undeniably right.
"I like being here. But you are another man's, and yet you hold me like this? He is not minding this?"
"Shhh." Porter sympathises. "I am hugging you because that is what you need. Knox knows and doesn't mind."
That is true. Each time Knox woke me in the night, he would settle me back into Porter's arms. That isn’t something Knox would do; he isn’t known for sharing his things. Porter is definitely one of his things he wouldn't share. I have to wonder if he thinks of me as his too. I don’t understand why, but he does like to give me stuff. I ask for pizza all the time and he never say no to me, but when the other guys ask, he shoots them down. I shouldn't care why he likes me, just be grateful that he does. But nothing comes without a catch, and I can't see what that is. Surely being his new toy's friend isn't enough.
Chapter twenty-two
Knox
Gavriilhasquiteatorture chamber set up at the back of the warehouse. I'm quite frankly startled at what he does behind closed doors. I was hoping for something that would allow me to give a proper demonstration in how to kill someone slowly.
"What about this?" Caeo draws my attention to an oil drum with a circular hole in the middle of the lid. "Didn't them mediaeval Chambers have wooden barrels?"
He takes the lid off to examine and I can see what he is suggesting. With the lid off, a slit from the circle to the lip allows it to widen enough to get it over a man's head, but when fixed to the barrel, escape would be impossible.
"I'm not sure we'll get it on if he's conscious."
"Unconscious it is then." Caeo drops the lid and walks off.
I'm a 'hands clean, don't get caught' kind of guy. Putting a living man in a barrel and waiting for him to become a dead man feels like a 'getting my hands dirty and leaving evidence lying around for days' situation. Time to call in some expendable hands. This is an active police investigation, and I am harbouring their number one subject while torturing the real suspects.
I may be wearing gloves, but just standing with my expensive suit resting on the edge of this old table is evidence enough. Fortunately, Caeo now has help, in the form of two stocky gentlemen I don't know. Caeo knows them, and if he trusts them, that's good enough for me.
I used to relish in watching groggy men manhandled into positions they have no hope of escaping. Now I want to go home to Porter.
I always called this job my family. It always was until I found Porter. Now my family is at home. My boy and - whatever Nico decides to be. He is special to me, whether sexual or otherwise, he is as much mine as Porter is.
Hugging Nico is more important than hurting his abductors.
I have gone soft.
Not even the man's begging makes me feel better. Once the lid is around his neck, the men move him into the barrel, sealing the lid and trapping him within. In the time it takes them to do this, a quick Google search enlightens me on how this form of torture device was used.
"Adding honey to his face will attract flies to feast on him and lay their eggs on his body." It makes my skin crawl with disgust. I assumed he'd just sit there until he died of dehydration, but humans are cruel in any time period. The methods used by our forebearers far surpass anything I can come up with.
"Please don't. We didn't hurt the kid."
"And we aren't going to hurt you," I promise him. "Just leave you there with no hope of release, just like you did with Nico."
"Oh god no, please."
"Unless you bound him too tight to move for another reason? Were the beatings supposed to kill him or loosen his tongue?"
