“Yeah, I know that now. It’s just that, Carl was so… mad. All the time,” he murmured. The tears were coming, full force and hot, and Miki sniffed, trying to keep his nose from clogging. “But see, Shing… he was worse. With Carl, I’d get bruises or he’d bloody my nose, but at least he saw me.”
Kane tried to pull Miki closer, but he wouldn’t let him. He needed space if he was going to tell Kane how he felt. Miki knew he needed air between them if he was going to hold it together long enough to finish ripping himself open for Kane to wade through.
“But Shing? He acted like it was just something he had to do, like brushing his teeth or eating dinner. He wouldn’t say anything, not really. He’d just make noises and take. He’d take what he wanted. He’d do it for hours, and then he’d get up and go. He’d lock the door behind him and just leave me there. Like I was nothing. At least with Carl, I wasn’t nothing, Kane. At least Carl saw me enough to hate me.”
Chapter 10
Sinjun, I swear to God we’re almost done.
D, why the hell am I doing this again?
For the chicks, man.
I don’t like chicks.
I do. Okay I like both dick and chick
but do it for me so I can get laid.
Give me one good reason I should worry about you getting laid?
Fuck, I don’t know. Finish this up and I’ll buy you a car. A nice one. Old Detroit steel.
I don’t drive, D. I can’t drive.
I’ll teach you. Just finish the damned song.
—Negotiations at four thirty in the morning
HE POURED Miki into bed.
It was more of a bare mattress with a fitted sheet stretched over it and a nest of pillows and linens, but to Kane, it looked like a shelter against Miki’s storms. They’d stayed on the couch until Kane’s back creaked in discomfort, and when he tried to get comfortable, Miki let go of his sorrow, choking out sobs hard enough to rip Kane’s soul from its roots. He let the singer cry himself out, gently rocking Miki in his arms until there was nothing left inside of Miki to give.
Miki grumbled a bit but let himself be carried to bed. Boneless, he slid over the mattress, barely cognizant of anything around him. Kane worked Miki’s shirt off and then stared at the other man’s jeans. Resigned to the stiffness in his own dick, Kane undid the buttons on Miki’s waistband and tugged his pants off, working them off quickly. The dog jumped up on the mattress and curled into the curve of Miki’s back before Kane could spread the covers.
Kane knew it was wrong to look at the exhausted man, but he was too tired… too tempted… to ignore the sprawled out body in front of him. The long-limbed singer was a stretch of pale skin and sinew on the merlot-hued sheets. His knees were up, and he was twisted slightly so one of his shoulders lay against the bed. He shifted and murmured in his sleep, throwing one arm over his face to block out the light coming from the living room. Miki’s breathing was steady and slow, but tiny shuddering hiccups punched through his sleep, remains of his crying jag coming back to haunt him.
“God, baby. What the fuck did they do to you?” Kane sat on the edge of the bed and brushed Miki’s hair out of his face.
The knee was the worst of it. Angry red scars wrapped around Miki’s leg, looking like barbed wire rising up out of his skin. Even without touching the man’s leg, Kane could feel the heat coming off of it. Frowning, he wondered if he could wake Miki up long enough to take an anti-inflammatory, but the mumbled sighs of comfort from Miki’s parted lips threw that plan out the window.
Echoes of older pain lingered on Miki’s skin. Several light parallel stripes marked the curve of his ribs and across his back, ending in a curious curved T. The scars were faint, barely visible, but one in particular stood out. Slightly darker than the rest, the stripes ran down the line of Miki’s side, ending in a tiny puckered keloid. Unthinkingly, Kane skimmed his fingertips over the scar at the end of the lines, trying to reason out its cause. Too small for a bullet wound and too round for a knife tip, it took Kane a moment to realize he was looking at the remnants of a beating Miki took from a thick belt. The starry depression at the small of his back had been formed by the belt’s prong puncturing Miki’s tender skin.
“I’d kill them if I thought it would help,” Kane whispered, shocked by the well of emotions rising up in him. He meant it. There was no doubting his desire to rid the world of the men who took a lost little boy and made him into a broken young man. “Is that who killed Shing? Someone who knew what he did to you? But why now? After all these years?”
He covered them, dog and man both, figuring the terrier could worm his way out if he wanted.
Kane risked a kiss to the corner of Miki’s lips, then stepped back, forcing himself to walk out of the bedroom.