Ky inhaled through his nose. Teeth gritted, he spat out, “A swastika. The motherfuckers carved a FUCKIN’ SWASTIKA ON HIS CHEST!” he screamed. Disbelief had given way to incandescent anger.
Swastika. The sign beloved by the Nazi gang.
“If they are not dead already, they fuckin’ die tonight.”
Rider chose that moment to walk in. He had removed the sling from his injured shoulder. His jaw clenched as he saw me on the bed, caring for Styx, but he quickly composed himself and walked forward.
Rider opened his black leather bag and enquired, “How’s he doing?”
I leaned back and removed the towel.
Rider gasped loudly. “Cock suckers!” he growled, his cheeks reddening in rage.
“Rider. Please help him,” I begged.
Styx groaned and reached out his hand, slapping the mattress. I looked down, worried he was in too much pain.
Ky interpreted. “He’s wanting you, Mae. He’s searching for you. Go to him.”
As I grasped his hand in mine, Styx immediately relaxed. I bent down, whispering for him to be calm. Shining through his cloud of pain, Styx’s lips twitched and a small smile spread across his bloodied face.
“He needs stitches,” Rider said tightly. I glanced in his direction. Those brown eyes were stone as he watched me comfort Styx.
“Then fuckin’ do it!” Ky commanded, his words kick-starting Rider into action.
Styx had fifteen small slashes, plus his newly carved swastika measuring three inches in both height and width. Rider also found rope marks on Styx’s ankles and wrists; he speculated that Styx had been tied to a chair and tortured.
Tortured; yet somehow Styx had made it out alive.
After an hour of treatment, Styx clawed his way back from the shock of his injuries. His eyes were focusing better and Rider had given him medication for the pain. Styx was still filthy and some of the detritus Rider picked off him made me retch.
Flesh. He had chunks of flesh and fragments of bone all over his clothes. What had he done to the other men? I tried very hard not to think about it.
“We gotta get all this shit off him,” Rider stated. “Don’t wanna risk getting the sutures infected. I’ve covered them with waterproof strips. We don’t know what kinda shit those fascist bastards had in their blood.”
“I’ll do it,” Ky volunteered. “He’ll hate it, but I’ll do it. Stubborn bastard hates getting help.” Ky edged toward Styx, who fought to sit up in protest.
“I will do it,” I whispered, the words escaping my lips. Ky’s surprised eyes fixed on me. “I shall care for him. It is my responsibility,” I said with growing confidence.
Styx squeezed my hand in thanks or adoration—I did not care which, but I found that I could not look directly at him. My heart thundered in my chest at the very thought of what I was about to do. I would see Styx naked… I would bathe Styx. In commune, it was regarded to be a sensual act between man and wife. The act of bathing was a rite sacred to lovers.
But we had become lovers in a fashion… At least we were about to be. It was going to happen soon. Our bodies and our desires were in perfect balance. I needed Styx; he needed me. I wanted him; he wanted me.
“Like fuck you will! Ky does it,” Rider suddenly demanded. His voice felt as cold as ice.
Styx’s chest tensed, then he dragged himself up off the mattress. A pained grunt accompanied his movement. As I surveyed Styx’s face, I knew things were going to escalate very quickly if I did not intervene. I shook my hand free from his and jumped up. Styx’s hazel eyes narrowed and I knew it was his way of warning me not to go with Rider. But Rider was my best friend and, right now, he was hurting badly.
Walking to Rider, I gripped his arm and led him from the room into the hallway. I quickly closed the apartment door behind us.
I could still smell the strong scent of liquor on Rider’s hot breath as I swung around to face him. “Rider, Styx needs my—”
Rider cut in. “I can’t stand the thought of you with him!” Torment was etched on his features. His brown eyes were bloodshot and his long hair ratty and wild.
My heart fell. What have I done to him?
When I reached for his arm, he snatched it back, shaking his head.
“Rider, please—” I begged.
“Are you fuckin’ him, Mae? You his bitch whore now? I mean, isn’t it against your religion or some shit?”
I stumbled back in shock; my back hit the concrete wall with a dull thud. “How dare you?” I managed to whisper. I stared at the man before me, a man who definitely looked like Rider. But this man had transformed into a bitter version of my best friend.
Leaning forward, Rider went nose-to-nose with me, his anger ebbing, and a flash of sadness ghosted across his face. As I swallowed in nerves, his hands cupped my face. “Have you fucked him, Mae? Have you given yourself to him? It’s driving me insane. I can’t picture you like that with him. It’s fuckin’ killing me… killing me…”
I tried to push him away, but I could not move him. “Rider, what I do privately is none of your business.”
“Are you kidding me?” he hushed out quietly. “Of course it’s my business!” His head tipped back and, taking a long, deep breath, Rider met my gaze and confessed, “You’re mine, Mae. I fuckin’ want you in my bed, not Styx’s. We’re good together, Mae. Real good. I’d never fuck with you, never fuck anyone behind your back—”
“Nor would Styx.” I interrupted.
Rider regarded me as though I was simple. “You sure about that, sugar? Styx ain’t who you think he is. He fucks sluts. Drinks. Kills. He hasn’t earned the rep he’s got for nothing.”
“He is very different with me. And anyway, you kill too. People in glass houses should not throw stones!”
“Maybe I do kill, sugar, but I’d leave all this shit for you. I’d leave this club behind for you. I’d change. Go straight if you wanted me to.”