Infuriating, p.19
Infuriating, page 19
By the time they made it back to the office, a dozen people stood in the conference room, but only half of them still worked for him. Wyatt and Charlie sat on the conference room table with actor Elijah Dunne and his former boyfriend, Robby Shaw. Their husbands, Jayne Shepherd and Calder Seton, stood against the wall along with Donnelly, another of Linc’s men, and Webster as well as Jackson’s second-in-command from the Miami office, Hurley.
The only people who were supposed to be there were Webster and Hurley, who’d flown in to take a meeting with a potential client. “What’s everybody doing here? How is everybody here?”
“Day’s our friend,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah,” Charlie seconded. “We want to help.”
Jackson looked to Shepherd and Calder. “You guys don’t work here anymore.”
“We were in town for Charlie’s birthday,” Robby said, smiling at the brunette sitting cross-legged on the conference room table.
“You’ve stepped up for us, even when we no longer worked for you. Now, it’s our turn,” Shepherd said.
Elijah smiled at his husband before nodding his head towards Wyatt. “He says this boy, Day, means something to you. So, he means something to us. We’re all here until we find him.”
“You always show up for your family,” Calder said. The others bobbed their heads in agreement.
Jackson swallowed the lump in his throat, looking at Donnelly. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Australia on mandatory vacation?”
The burly former boxer shrugged. “Wyatt caught me at the airport. Figured this was as good a use of my vacation time as any.”
“I appreciate you all coming, but I don’t even know where to start. All we have is one grainy sketch and Day’s cell phone.”
Wyatt scrambled across the table. “Do you know his access code?”
Jackson frowned. “It wasn’t locked.”
Wyatt smiled. “Give it to me.”
Jackson frowned harder but handed the phone over, grateful he didn’t give it to Jimmy when he’d asked for it. They all watched while Wyatt went through Day’s phone, scrolling far faster than Jackson could have managed. “No pictures of the guy or the location. No phone calls. Hah,” he cried. “Look, he tried to text you, Jackson. He never got a chance to hit send,” he added, his voice not nearly as excited anymore.
“What’s it say?” Shepherd asked.
“Ser.” Wyatt now sounded deflated. Jackson didn’t blame him. What the fuck was he supposed to do with S.E.R.?
“Is it a code of some kind?” Calder asked in his slow southern drawl.
“None that I understand,” Wyatt said. “Only the first letter is capitalized. Could it be a name? A place?”
Jackson racked his brain to try to understand what Day might have been trying to spell and why he’d suddenly been interrupted. Was he still alive? Was he still breathing? “Fuck. I don’t know. He had a friend. A girl. Sarah.”
“Maybe she’s his stalker?” Charlie asked.
“She’s dead,” Jackson said, voice dull. “She died when Day was seventeen.”
The room went quiet, eyes downcast, nobody speaking. Jackson understood, though. There was nothing to say. They had no leads. No evidence but for a grainy photo of a man who meant nothing to any of them. Any of them except Day. Day who couldn’t tell them anything because he was gone. Snatched right out from under Jackson’s nose. Was he scared? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was that fucking piece of shit hurting him even now while Jackson sat there, useless? Why hadn’t he just taken Day back to the office first?
“We’re gonna find him,” Webster said.
There was a sharp exhalation of breath from Wyatt and a strange almost moan of dread that chilled Jackson to his core. “I think maybe he found us.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jackson snapped.
This time, it was his own phone that Wyatt held up. He handed it to Jackson. “I subscribed to Day’s OnlyFans account the day we met at the office. It just sent me a notification that he’s planning on going live in an hour.”
All eyes looked at Jackson, and all the stalker’s taunts about Day staying untouched, about the stalker intending to take Day’s virginity, came rushing back. Hands shaking, he handed Wyatt back his phone.
“What’s that mean?” Robby asked. “What’s OnlyFans?”
Robby was the most naive of the group, a preacher who rescued kids and animals on his little farm up north. Charlie leaned close enough to whisper in Robby’s ear. The color drained from the boy’s face. Jackson was sure his complexion was ashen. He dropped down in the conference room chair. What did they do now?
Webster began typing on his laptop. “I’m going to try to find an IP address. The guy clearly seems to be unraveling. Maybe he’ll make a mistake.”
The man already made a mistake as far as Jackson was concerned, and as soon as Jackson found him, he wasn’t going to put him in jail. He would put him under it.
The scent of rot permeated Day’s nose, causing him to cringe away before his eyes were even open yet. He wanted to open his eyes, but it was almost like he couldn’t. It couldn’t be from the taser. His brain felt foggy, his tongue too big for his mouth. The rot stench got closer as Day realized he was on a mattress. Was that the smell? A finger with a jagged nail traced along Day’s cheek and the scent of musty earth made Day recoil. He recognized the smell immediately, and he tried to keep the contents of his stomach down when chapped lips wormed over his.
Carl. Why? How could this be happening again? Day laid there, eyes closed, hoping his former landlord wouldn’t rape him while he believed Day to be unconscious. He tried to stay limp until Carl moved away, leaving a trail of saliva across Day’s chin. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Dayton. I can feel the way your breath increased when I kissed you. The drugs should have worn off by now. Open your eyes.”
How long had it been since he’d last heard that nasally, gasping voice? Three years? Four? It still made his stomach clench and his whole body heavy with dread. Carl had always sounded half out of breath, even when he’d just been sitting there, petting Day’s head while he blew him and telling Day he was worth every penny in that whiny, disgusting voice. Day didn’t want to open his eyes. If he looked at Carl, then this was all real, it was all happening, and once again, Day’s chance at a fairy tale was snatched away from him.
“Don’t push me, Dayton. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble for you. The least you could do is show me the courtesy of looking me in the eye.”
Day could do this. Day was good at this. He’d been faking this for as long as he could remember. He just needed to buy time. He’d never gotten to finish his text. He didn’t even know if he was spelling it right, but he’d been too afraid to use his voice to text. Would Jackson figure it out? Would he find him in time? Day fought back the bile rising in his throat. He’d rather die than submit to whatever Carl had in mind for him. He just couldn’t do it. Not again. But he could pretend… That was his goal. Pretend and fake interest to buy time until Jackson found him. Fuck, Jackson. Please, find me. Please.
Day forced his eyes open and gave a weak smile. “Sorry,” he croaked before clearing his throat and trying again. “Whatever you gave me is making me groggy.”
Carl hadn’t aged well, though it was clear he’d tried to hide it. Despite being well into his late fifties, the man had dyed his thinning hair shoe polish black, his lips looked puffy like he’d had lip injections, and his unlined face seemed shiny, like it was pulled too tight. Like a mask. A grotesque mask.
“You look…different. Good,” Day said, trying to ignore the stench coming off the man and his soiled, unwashed clothing.
Day forced himself into a sitting position, his head swimming and stomach sloshing when he saw the usually dim motel room was eerily bright from stage lighting, cameras surrounding the old mattress he’d once shared with Sarah. It was like being sucked back into a nightmare after he’d fought so hard to claw his way out. The walls, which were once a dingy white, were warped and dotted with brown water stains, and the dark carpet had a fine layer of fur that Day could only imagine was actual mold. The mold that had killed Sarah. Rage flared in his gut. Why the fuck would Carl bring him back there?
Carl ignored Day’s compliment, sliding off the bed to busy himself making adjustments to the cameras surrounding the room. It was obvious Carl planned on getting what Day had dangled before his audience, with or without Day’s consent.
“So, what is all this?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice casual, even pleasant.
Carl’s gaze flicked to him from the camera directly in front of the bed. Behind him sat a laptop. Day recognized the dashboard for his OnlyFans account. Jesus. Was he planning on broadcasting this to Day’s fans?
“Are we recording?”
“No, not yet. I thought you’d want to fix yourself up a bit before we go live. I know how important your appearance is to you. You’ve always been so fastidious with your clothes and hair and makeup, even when this was your home. But now that you’re a big star, it’s much worse. I watch you get ready for your videos almost every night.” Day’s stomach dropped, but he fought to keep his face neutral. “Or I did,” Carl said, his voice quivering, “before you moved in with that…man.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “If I’d have known you were going to throw yourself at the first cock you saw like some nympho whore, I would’ve just skipped killing that attorney and taken you that night. Luckily, the cops are stupid and still have no idea it was me.”
Carl didn’t even seem to be talking to Day anymore, but himself. Some kind of stream of consciousness rambling that Day suspected happened often. Day really thought he might be sick. How different it all could’ve been if Carl had simply kidnapped him that night. He would have never met Jackson, would have never felt his kiss, his touch, would have never known what it felt like to have him inside his body, his heart. Jackson had made Day losing his virginity a moment that had meant something to him, even when Day had sworn virginity was just some mindless, human construct created to police people’s bodies. Jackson had made Day feel loved.
Day swallowed the lump in his throat. No matter what happened, Carl couldn’t take any of that away from him. Even if Jackson never found him. The last few weeks with him would be enough to sustain Day, no matter what came next.
“The clock is ticking, Day. I put your things in the bathroom. Mind the broken tile. There have been so many vandals and squatters since the motel shut down. You can’t shower, I’m afraid. No running water anymore. But I put a light in the bathroom for you. I want you to look perfect for our special night. It is your final performance, after all.”
The last comment froze Day’s blood in his veins, but he slowly crawled from the bed, aware of the gun tucked into the waistband of Carl’s filthy shorts. He recoiled at the spongy feel of the carpet beneath his bare feet. This had once been his home. He’d felt safe in this horror show of a room. He did his best to blink back the tears threatening to escape.
Once he entered the bathroom, he paused. There was a light on a tripod highlighting the gaping holes and graffiti on the crumbling walls. The mirror was cracked, tiny hairline fractures crawling along the glass like a spiderweb, as if somebody had punched the surface in a fit of rage. Was it Carl?
“Keep the door open,” Carl said from behind him.
True to his word, a bag full of makeup sat on the counter. Not Day’s makeup, but his favorite brands and products were in there. How long had Carl been watching him? His hands shook as he applied his makeup in the cracked mirror, doing his best to take his time without looking like he was deliberately dragging it out.
“That’s enough. Here, I bought you something special, for your special night.” Carl smiled, revealing a mouth full of chipped and broken teeth.
Day forced a smile onto his face as he took the zippered bag. “Thank you,” he said, batting his false lashes.
Day started to force the door closed, but Carl slammed a hand against it, his watery blue eyes hardening, his lips flattening into a thin line. “I said, door open,” he snapped.
Day’s heart skipped at the barely contained rage in his trembling voice and the spittle glistening on the man’s lips. He lowered his gaze. “Sorry, Daddy,” Day said, his organs quaking as he felt the words leave his lips. Sorry, Jackson.
Carl’s anger seemed to dissolve almost immediately. His rough hand with its filthy chewed nails cupped Day’s cheek, and he did his best not to recoil. “Get dressed, baby. I want to show you off to your fans. I want them to see how a real man treats his boy.”
The word ‘baby’ falling from Carl’s lips was a punch to Day’s heart, but he nodded and turned his back to lower the zipper on the bag. He recognized the lingerie immediately. It was designed by the same woman who did all his custom designs, but this one had been on a mannequin in the back. A custom order for a man online. A bridal set. Jesus. Carl was living out some kind of fucking wedding night fantasy with Day starring as the blushing bride.
How did this get so far out of hand? He withdrew the items, a lacy, deep-v camisole in snowy white and a matching set of lace panties that had a ruffle around the waistband and nothing to the back except two straps that hugged the bottom of each ass cheek. He wished there was more to it. Something complicated with lots of buckles, straps, and a thousand buttons, anything to slow the progression of what now seemed inevitable. But before he knew it, he was all finished. He turned and gave a shy smile. “How do I look?”
Carl’s beady, insect eyes took him in, his tongue darting out of his mouth with obvious excitement. “Perfect. You look perfect. Just as I imagined.”
How many times had Carl imagined their current scenario? How many times had Day been just a moment away from assault each time he’d met with Carl to ‘pay’ the rent? He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think about all those times he’d convinced himself that going to his knees for this foul creature was somehow the safer option than walking the streets. How had he not seen the obsession that must have been there all that time? He’d been so in denial. He’d been a coward. He should have fought. He should have tried harder, somehow. But he couldn’t even imagine what that would have looked like. His shoulders sagged. It was useless to blame himself for something that had happened when he was barely fourteen.
When Carl leaned in like he was going to kiss Day, his hand shot out without thought, covering the old man’s mouth. “Wait!”
Carl’s hand shot out, fire trailing across Day’s cheek, his head jerking from the blow. He cupped his cheek, eyes wide. Carl’s expression became instantly apologetic. “Daddy doesn’t like when you touch him without permission or when you refuse him.”
Day gave a shuddery breath. “I-I wasn’t refusing you. I just wanted to save it for the show. My audience expects a show. Don’t you want to show them how good we are together?”
Carl’s gaze narrowed, and he studied Day’s face as if to see if he was tricking him somehow. “I suppose you’re right. After seeing you with that…overly muscled freak in the mask, I suppose they deserve to see you with somebody who knows how to treat you.”
Day’s chin started to wobble, but he clenched his teeth to keep himself from bawling. He could do this. He had to do this. He just had to find little ways to keep stalling. He’d been through things far worse than this in his life. Jackson would find him. Day just needed to give him time. Jackson promised he’d always take care of Day. He’d promised.
Day walked to the bed, his knees quaking with each step. When he knelt on the mattress, Carl almost tripped over himself to follow. Day tried to think of anything to stall the man once again, but he knew his time was running out. Carl wouldn’t keep letting Day put him off. It was clear he’d had this planned for so long.
Too long.
“Tell me something good, Webster.”
Webster gave an apologetic look that sent Jackson’s stomach plummeting to his feet. “Sorry, boss. This guy is bouncing his IP address off a dozen satellites. It’s impossible to trace.”
“I don’t want to hear what you don’t fucking have!” Jackson shouted at Webster, slamming his palm down on the table. “He’s had Day for three fucking hours. Do you have any idea what he’s probably doing to him right now?” Jackson’s voice caught, and he turned away from the others, trying to get a grip on the terror clawing up his throat at the thought of whatever this anonymous maniac might be doing to Day right then.
“Give us the room, guys,” Linc said.
Jackson listened to furniture move and scrape as people exited the conference room. When the door shut, Jackson turned and dropped into the chair at the head of the table, burying his face in his hands, bracing his elbows on his knees as he tried to pull himself together.
When he opened his eyes, Linc was leaning against the table beside him, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, expression pained.
Jackson gave him a stubborn look. “I’m not apologizing.”
Linc shrugged his broad shoulders. “You don’t have to apologize to me, brother. But we both know that what’s happening right now is not the fault of anybody in this room and you exploding at them won’t change a goddamn thing for Day. All you’re doing is stressing them the fuck out more than they already are. We all want Day back. We’re not going to stop until we find him. It’s as simple as that.”
Jackson looked up at Linc, his chest feeling like there was a gaping hole in it. “I promised him I’d keep him safe, man. I told him I wouldn’t let anybody hurt him. He’s had him for hours. We don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
Even saying the words gutted Jackson. If Day was dead, Jackson wasn’t sure he could survive it. They were supposed to have more time, time enough for Jackson to convince Day they were soulmates, destiny. He shook his head, his brain rejecting the idea that this was the end for him and Day.
“We do know he’s alive. Whoever has him set up that livestream. They have an agenda, and as fucking disgusting as it is, his stalker showed his hand with those messages he sent each time a video went up. He thinks Day is a virgin, and he’s living out some warped fantasy where he is the winner of Day’s virginity auction, and he wants us all to see his prize. He wants you to see it.”
