The Bad Life – Chapter 12.2 – The Road to McDonald’s

Author: nicotine

It made sense how they found out about Julia. When I was a minor, the guardian listed on my documents was one of Julia’s close associates. With a bit of deduction, they could easily figure out I was her son. I don’t know how they uncovered the incest between my dad and mother, but… if they’d been tailing me for five years, it’s plausible they managed to dig it up.

In many ways, James’s judgment was correct. Going through Mexico instead of leaving directly from the U.S. was a much smarter choice. Given the situation, it seemed we’d need to avoid checkpoints even when entering Mexico.

Lost in thought, I stared blankly at my lukewarm coffee. Suddenly, I noticed James tapping my arm with his finger. I looked up. He had a bit of cheeseburger sauce on his lips, wearing a deeply serious expression.

James, with sauce on his face, looked intently at me.

<…>

It seemed Simon hadn’t told him about us. Well, there was no need for that. I pulled James’s cola toward me and took a sip instead of my coffee. If we were going to stick together, there was no point in keeping secrets.

James nodded, chewing his burger. I stared into his eyes.

<…>

<…>

After a brief silence, James put his burger down on the plate. His appetite gone, he pushed the plate away. I laughed and handed him his cola.

To lift his mood, I changed the subject. We went over our plans. James had spent the last two weeks, unable to meet because of Jerome, devising all sorts of plans to save me. He’d considered every possible trap and misstep. If George was really with the FBI (or, worse, the CIA), tracking us would be easier than eating porridge. So, our best move was to leave as few traces as possible.

By the end of dinner, our plan had a clear outline. First, we’d reach Denver by tomorrow. We’d switch cars, secure as much cash as possible, and leave the city immediately. Staying at motels would end in Denver. After one last rest, we’d drive in shifts, sleeping in the car if needed, to cross the border quickly.

The situation wasn’t all bad. James, in his early twenties, had traveled across the Americas several times, so he had a good sense of direction. I was a former soldier. Reading maps and navigating was something I could do even in the middle of nowhere.

Though scared, I also felt immense relief at escaping their clutches, and we finished our meal peacefully. I drank a beer for the first time in ages. James worried about drug side effects, but I thought differently. Thanks to Jerome’s tireless rehabilitation efforts, I’d largely overcome the aftereffects.

After dinner, we drove slowly to the motel, drinking beer and smoking. James, in a fit of anger, threw a beer bottle out the window and shouted.

At the motel, James used a fake name and paid in cash. While he organized the items from the car and brought them to the room, I finally shed the oversized clothes.

I went straight to the bathroom and turned on the cold water. It wasn’t hot—the car had AC—but I felt unbearably filthy. Only after cold water raised goosebumps and made me shiver did I slowly start washing.

When water and soap bubbles touched the tattooed area between my legs, it stung and burned intensely. As expected, the tattoo didn’t wash off. The word, as large as my palm, looked even redder in the soap suds.

If I could escape properly, I’d have plenty of chances to remove the tattoo later. After shaving cleanly, I doused myself with cold water again and left the bathroom. James was sitting on the edge of the bed, flipping through TV channels. He glanced at me and quickly looked away—I was still naked. I tossed him a dry towel and said calmly.

<Shower.>

James nodded, avoiding my eyes. He slipped into the cramped, plain bathroom without undressing. I could guess why he didn’t strip in front of me. I stared at the closed bathroom door. Only when I heard the water did I turn away.

I lay naked on the bed. The room’s air was lukewarm, the AC just turned on. I didn’t wear clothes because of the pain from the tattooed area, which hurt whenever fabric touched it. The tattooed skin was red, swollen, and scabbed. I carefully traced the wound with my fingertips. .

Thanks to the chaotic escape today, I hadn’t thought much about George’s words from last night. His face, scorning my filthy blood, came to mind. The tattoo artist’s expression, half-mocking, half-repulsed, also surfaced. But those faces faded quickly. Julia’s face emerged instead.

The last time I saw her was the night before leaving for Bluebell, at twenty. Julia didn’t see me off the next day, citing an early schedule. The night before, as I left the house, she barely looked at me while saying goodbye.

I could hardly recall what we talked about. I didn’t try to remember. Back then, I was too excited, like an idiot, at the thought of being freed from confinement. My only memory was rushing to the airport, caught in a vain fantasy of returning someday for glorious revenge. Not a fragment of our last moment together remained.

After the Bluebell fire, we lost contact completely. I don’t know what Julia thought about it. Was she sad to lose a child? But was I ever her son? Born from her, yet I never felt a mother’s affection. She likely felt the same. She bore me, but never felt a child’s bond. If so, the fire must have been a relief for her. I vanished without a trace, and my dad had long been in the grave. The secret stayed buried forever.

Now she’s free. Living happily with the man she considers her real husband and the children she sees as her real kids. While I, her other child, branded as an incest child, was tortured by strangers, Julia would be watching basketball games and eating ice cream with her husband and kids.

Bitch. Lying on the bed, smoking, I thought matter-of-factly. If she’d wanted to find me, she could have. A missing person report and a check of my travel records would’ve been enough. I enlisted almost immediately after returning to the U.S., so tracking me would’ve been ridiculously easy. She chose not to.

I placed an ashtray on my stomach and flicked ash into it. My shoulder, once shot, ached suddenly. Bitch or not, I had no intention of seeking revenge now. My business with Julia ended long ago. Maybe she and my dad were siblings, and maybe that’s why she confined and abused me, or didn’t search for me when I went missing, but what did it matter? George’s talk of incest or filthy blood changed nothing between her and me.

The bathroom door opened. James came out fully dressed. He frowned slightly at me lying naked on the bed. His gaze lingered briefly between my legs. I knew he saw the tattoo but said nothing. He didn’t mention it either, just towel-drying his wet hair and scolding lightly.

I playfully replied, moving the ashtray from my stomach. James shook his head.

He checked the door latch, window locks, and bathroom window multiple times before lying beside me. Our bare arms touched. Despite his cold shower, his skin was hot. We lay in silence. The quiet was awkward and heavy. Staring wide-eyed into the dark, James suddenly spoke.

<Let’s get some medicine tomorrow.>

He mumbled awkwardly.

I heard him swallow dryly. He called softly, almost inaudibly.

<Raymond.>

<What.>

<…>

James was silent so long I thought he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he managed a word.

<I’m sorry.>

I turned to look at him. The curtained window left the room pitch-black, hiding his expression. Feeling my gaze, he avoided my eyes and continued.

His voice choked, and he stopped, unable to go on.

I reached out, gripped his shoulder firmly, and pulled him into my arms. James stiffened, then held his breath and sank into my embrace. His trembling hands clung tightly to my waist. I turned, wrapping him in my arms, and closed my eyes. James exhaled shakily in my arms. He sobbed for a long time before falling asleep. I stared into the darkness until he slept, only then drifting into a light slumber.

Four hours later, in the still-dark dawn, we slipped out of the motel. James, in better shape, took the wheel first. I covered myself with a blanket in the passenger seat, reclined, and slept. When I woke, a thin handkerchief covered my face, likely to block the sunlight.

I removed it and sat up. The dashboard clock neared ten. The morning sun spread across the wide plains, now dotted with rocky outcrops. The road still held only us. As I drank water, James reached back and handed me a plastic bag.

Inside were a black t-shirt, athletic shorts, underwear, and ointment. I unbuckled and changed, tossing the oversized shirt and pants to the back. After changing, I rolled up the shorts to apply ointment to my thigh. The wound stung. James, glancing over, commented.

<Probably…>

I covered the glistening brand with gauze and pulled the shorts down.

<I’ll drive now.>

After switching, James, exhausted, rubbed his neck silently for a while. I thought he’d sleep, but he turned on the radio and unfolded a map. A loud pop song played. He’d be better off sleeping. I stole a glance at his profile.

He was much thinner than when we met. His life had flipped in an instant, so his complexion was bound to suffer. His drama shoot, career, social reputation, family, friends, colleagues—all vanished like a mirage. Yet I understood why James chose to come with me. Carl had told me why long ago. If he didn’t help me now, he’d carry that memory for life.

Remarkably honest and just. I felt it was just. Unlike Carl, James had done me grave wrong, yet I felt it. It would’ve been easier to do just enough to rationalize and walk away. Or, like Matt, to comfortably fall for the top-floor boys’ persuasion, believing I was a filthy human deserving punishment and they were just doing their duty—a convenient ending. But James didn’t.

I grinned and snatched the map from James’s lap. When I tossed it to the back seat, he frowned.

James grumbled.

<You’re exhausted. You can rest a bit.>

<…>

A Britney Spears hit played on the radio. I loosely held the steering wheel and opened the window wide. James finally began to relax, leaning back in his seat.

I tapped the cigarette pack on the dashboard. As I put a cigarette in my mouth, James lit it for me, muttering.

<Like, for example, how you screwed over Matt.>

The radio singer crooned seductively about not being that innocent. For a moment, we listened to the song in silence.

Finally, James asked with a sigh, as if exasperated.

<I’m… not great at reading people.>

Saying it out loud, I realized it was true. I flicked ash out the window.

<I’m just floored you got mixed up with a lowlife hustler like that.>

My eyes widened at that. Hustler? James glanced out the window, then back at me when I didn’t respond. He looked as dumbfounded as I did.

I trailed off. Matt’s reckless actions flashed through my mind. Taking advantage because I was kind, stealing my cash and car, dragging Jerome to Laberham, and instead of freeing me when I was captive, whimpering and dithering until he fell for Jerome’s sweet talk.

…Wind power, affairs—none of it could be true. I was stunned. So that’s why he was so good at covering his tracks… I sat there, blinking, mouth shut, and James clicked his tongue.

My mouth tasted bitter. I chewed my lip, then flinched. The cigarette had burned down to the filter, nearly singeing my fingers. I tossed the butt out the window.

His expression was so grim as he clamped his mouth shut that I didn’t dare ask more. I shut up too and kept driving.

So far, we’d only passed one other car, racing down an otherwise empty road. James stared at the road with a troubled look, occasionally smoking.

Around noon, we spotted a sheer rock face near the road. Feeling hungry, we parked in its shade. With the car doors wide open and seats reclined, we propped our feet on the dashboard and sat back leisurely. Eating canned food and bread from yesterday, we listened silently to the radio. When I handed James a cola, our eyes met.

James sipped the lukewarm cola, staring at the can. Hesitating, he spoke.

I ate canned pasta and looked at James. He poked at his can, mumbling.

Threatened to spread rumors about him being gay, it seemed. I nodded lightly. James continued.

I teased lightly. But seeing James’s head drop, I sighed and nudged his shoulder.

<Kidding. You cried enough yesterday. Keep talking.>

If I got really mad? Oh, come on. He really had no sense. It was exasperatingly foolish. But blaming it all on James’s stupidity wasn’t fair. George had already set a trap for me in Laberham. James was just an unforeseen variable. They probably didn’t expect me to find a lover in that backwater. If I suddenly disappeared, James would’ve gotten suspicious, so they made him an accomplice instead. To the top-floor boys, James was just a problem to deal with.

To James, struggling with guilt, I said.

James couldn’t respond.

<…>

<Raymond…>

James added bitterly.

<Punish?>

I asked absently, then grew curious.

At that, James’s face darkened, and he hesitated. I realized he was faltering from guilt again. Pretending to be casual, I grabbed his cola can and chugged it. Crushing the can and tossing it to the back seat, I said nonchalantly.

<Anyway, you got me out. Enough moping—tell me how you screwed Matt over. Lay it out clean.>

I playfully poked his side, and James finally gave a faint smile. He grabbed my elbow, pushed it away, and chuckled again. But the conversation didn’t continue.

After eating and smoking, we hit the road again. The sun blazed on the horizon as we floored the accelerator. The stinging sunlight made us both wear sunglasses. We rolled the windows down and sped freely. The wild wind tousled our hair.

The road was ours alone. Everything was up to us. We cranked the radio, listened to pop songs, and switched lanes freely. James propped his feet on the dashboard, reclined his seat fully, and continued. He was talking about how he outsmarted Matt. The mood had lightened since lunch, finally giving him the courage to speak.

James gave a wry smile at my words.

<Well, when I heard that, I realized something was going very wrong. It wasn’t what I’d expected at all.>

Instead of replying, I listened quietly. James slowly recounted that day.

I lowered my sunglasses and looked at him. James, one arm hanging out the window, continued.

<…>

That was unexpected. If true, it meant James heard me trying to escape and did nothing. I looked at him for confirmation, and he nodded.

<Yeah. Caster and Mr. Acacia knew I let you go on purpose.>

That’s why Simon and Mr. Acacia didn’t trust him. Knowing them, they’d have retaliated… James laughed hollowly.

I knew why.

<Yeah. That guy, Jerome. Mr. Acacia called him right then, and in less than an hour, he dragged you, unconscious, to the cabin.>

The rest was a story we all knew well. Half the workers there were bought off by George, like Lasso. Even the unbought workers, swept up in their incitement, unbuckled their belts and gang-raped me in a frenzy.

James said he was genuinely terrified my finger would be cut off. But looking back, what scared him more was that only two people screamed in that moment: James himself and Matt. Everyone else didn’t even flinch.

The more James thought about it, the more chilling it was. Being among people who weren’t remotely sane. Only then did he fully realize he’d stepped onto a completely wrong path and was too deeply involved to ever escape. But the punishment for James came later.

James continued in a weary voice.

James’s low voice cut off. His sunglasses hid his expression, but no tears fell.

He rubbed his chin, staring silently at the horizon. After a brief pause, he finished in a calm, steady tone.

<…>

Even through my drugged haze, faint memories surfaced. A night when James, crying, raped me and whispered about helping me escape behind Simon’s back.

After finishing, James closed his mouth, as if awaiting judgment. But I had nothing to say. The pop song on the radio echoed hollowly in the silence.

If I had to nitpick, Simon’s obsessiveness angered me more than James’s actions. Simon always retaliated against anyone who showed me even a hint of pity or affection. Not just Carl, but James too, and he’d once brutally beaten Matt. He was viciously cruel to anyone I cared for, acting as if I’d committed some betrayal. I couldn’t comprehend Simon’s obsessive madness.

After a long silence, I spoke.

<Simon’s real name is Kraus. Simon Kraus. Seems he goes by Caster now. If you’d mentioned the name Kraus even once, I might’ve gotten suspicious.>

<…>

My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard.

<…he pushed him away too. Matt got on Simon’s bad side too. I doted on Matt openly, and Simon grabbed him by the hair and beat him. You got caught by a lunatic like that.>

James muttered hollowly. He leaned his head against the seat and turned to look at me.

I stared at James, too shocked to ask for clarification.

James suddenly gave a faint smile.

He laughed, clearly finding Matt’s misery amusing. But his words weighed heavily on me.

If James was right, and Simon tried to kill Matt, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t try again. With the perfect excuse of me escaping, he might actually do it. Matt was a bastard, but that wasn’t reason enough to be brutally killed. Seeing my darkened expression, James stopped laughing. I said nothing more and kept driving silently.

We didn’t talk about Laberham anymore. The more we revisited it, the heavier our hearts grew. Instead, we discussed escape plans or made idle chitchat. But soon, exhaustion silenced us both.

By evening, we didn’t stop driving. James, as at lunch, ate canned food and bread, then we switched. I scarfed down a can of beans for a quick meal and closed my eyes. My mind was a mess.

I couldn’t stop imagining Matt’s grim fate. James, driving silently beside me, weighed on me too. Things had gone smoothly so far, but I was anxious about what might happen next. Looking up at the darkening sky as the sun set, exhaustion overtook me, and I fell asleep.

When I woke, things weren’t good. James had taken a wrong turn, delaying our arrival in Denver far beyond our plan. By the time we entered the city, it was nearly dawn, too late to switch cars and leave as intended. We had no choice but to wait until morning. Plus, we were both worn out from constant tension and anxiety. It might be better to rest for the night.

After discussing, we decided to stay at a motel. James was beside himself with guilt. He was visibly nervous, paranoid that were hiding somewhere in Denver as we checked into a rundown motel. To make matters worse, we were low on cash and had to use a card. Our original plan was to withdraw cash quickly in Denver and leave, so using a card at the motel felt risky.

But… if we stayed… maybe I could address the guilt that had been nagging James all day. We decided to leave the motel at dawn and finalized the stay. The next day, we’d withdraw cash as soon as the bank opened.

Once in the room, James, worried, locked the door and drew the curtains. I let him use the bathroom first since he was drained from driving, and turned on the AC. The stuffy room cooled quickly. Since we were staying the night… I sat on the bed’s edge, thinking, then opened the bedside drawer. Condoms were there.

James, fresh from his shower, seemed relieved by the cool air. While he dried his hair, I showered, taking my time to relax my body. The hole that had been eagerly used just days ago accepted my fingers with a familiar sensation. After thorough preparation, it took three fingers easily. I washed off the soap suds and stroked myself to an erection.

The TV blared beyond the bathroom door. I considered going out as is but hesitated. The brand on my thigh bothered me. But if we were going to have sex, I couldn’t hide it. I just hoped it wouldn’t kill James’s mood. Steeling myself, I walked out naked. James, sitting with his back to the bathroom door, flipping channels, turned to me.

<You’re out…>

He froze mid-sentence. Visibly flustered, he gaped at me. I strode toward him, erection unhidden, and pulled him up from the chair to sit on the bed. Kneeling, I propped my arms on his thighs and kissed him. James met my lips dazedly, then turned away.

<Why, why…?>

He asked in a trembling voice. I looked at him and said.

James, staring blankly, shook his head and pushed my shoulders.

Instead of letting him push me away, I grabbed one of his feet. Holding his ankle, I brought it between my legs. Rubbing my erection against his smooth sole, I whispered.

Instead of answering, James bit his lip. I didn’t expect him to agree easily, given his bad memories of sexual contact with me.

That was the issue. James had wronged me, true. But afterward, we were both victims. He was forced to rape me while drugged. I didn’t want James to remain a victim of the top-floor boys. I wouldn’t let him meet the same fate as my six predecessors or me. I’d never let things go their way.

Rubbing my erection against his foot, I pressed closer. We were finally close enough to face each other. James squeezed his eyes shut and pulled back. I pushed his shoulders, laying him on the bed, and straddled his waist. Slipping my hand into his pants, I gently grasped his unaroused cock. Leaning close enough for our lips to touch, I whispered.

James slowly opened his eyes. Our gazes met up close. His lips trembled. Then he closed his eyes again, lifted his head slightly, and kissed me. I leaned in, tangling our tongues. James cautiously held the back of my head, pulling me closer.

I licked his lips, then sucked hard. A soft moan escaped his teeth. Even as I deepened the kiss, twining and rubbing our tongues, James kept his hands still, just holding my head. When I sat up, his hands naturally fell away. He looked up silently, his expression confused.

Sitting on his thighs, I grabbed his arms and pulled lightly. As he sat up, he avoided my eyes, resting his forehead on my shoulder. Pressuring him wasn’t my goal. It would defeat my purpose.

I guided his hand to wrap around my cock. His hand, tense and sweaty, was cool. Covering his hand with mine, I moved it slowly. James, still burying his face in my shoulder, stayed silent, but I began to heat up. Leaning my cheek against his hair, I exhaled languidly.

I whispered into his ear, my hot breath brushing him.

James, silent until now, slowly shook his head.

I wrapped my arm around his neck. When my hand fell away, James still held my cock but didn’t move.

That was a lie. I remembered some things, but I didn’t need to be honest. Instead, I rocked my hips, rubbing my cock against his palm.

James didn’t move. I kissed his ear and whispered.

<Hurry, James. I want to do it with you like before.>

He fidgeted his fingers, then began rubbing my cock fully with his palm. His face, pressed against my bare shoulder, gradually warmed. I leaned my cheek against him and exhaled.

But James couldn’t follow through. He awkwardly fumbled with my cock before letting his hand fall away. The mechanical arousal I’d stirred began to fade too. Like James, I buried my face in his shoulder. We didn’t say a word.

As I started to pull away, James tightly wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed my neck, then playfully nipped at it. I let out a laugh, and James gave a faint smile. He sucked and bit at my skin, leaving red marks. There was no sexual undertone. Like playful boys, we stifled giggles, biting each other’s necks and leaving marks. James pulled me down onto the bed, still holding me. We lay facing each other, gazing into one another’s faces.

<Raymond.>

<Yeah.>

<Tomorrow…>

<Yeah.>

<Let’s get a Big Mac. Why do I crave it so much now that I can’t have it?>

The randomness made me burst out laughing. I buried my face in James’s arm, laughing for a while, then nodded. I kissed his smooth, chocolate-colored cheek, then his nose, and looked into his dark eyes, nodding again. James stroked my wet hair and closed his eyes. We fell asleep facing each other.

I slept only briefly.

Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine, and my hair stood on end. It felt like looking down from a rooftop without a railing—shoulders hunching, neck prickling with cold. The sensation hit me out of nowhere while I slept.

My eyes snapped open. James was fast asleep, oblivious, his arms tightly around my waist. Careful not to wake him, I gently disentangled myself. Silently sliding off the bed, I tiptoed to the door. I pressed my ear against it.

No sound came. My pounding heartbeat was louder. Steadying my breath, I stood close to the window by the door. Without lifting the curtain, I peered through a tiny gap. It was hard to see, but I had no choice. Touching the curtain felt too risky.

The motel’s pool and courtyard were right outside, wide open, with the parking lot nearby. I saw red and blue lights flickering from the lot.

Police cars.

There wasn’t just one flashing light. If it had been one, I might not have worried. But so many police cars at a rundown motel in the middle of the night, moving so quietly without commotion…

I didn’t hesitate. I returned to the bed and shook James’s shoulder. He hadn’t been deeply asleep, as he woke quickly after a few shakes. As he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, I swiftly covered it, pressing just enough to muffle sound but let him breathe, and whispered.

James’s eyes widened. Like me, he must have thought of George.

As soon as James nodded, I let go. While he gathered his clothes and wallet, I grabbed a chair and placed it under the ceiling vent. Using the edge of a card from James’s wallet, I started unscrewing the vent cover. Luckily, it seemed recently cleaned; the screws were greased and came out silently.

I quickly unscrewed them all and removed the vent cover. Stepping down, I gestured to James. As he climbed onto the chair and braced himself against the vent, I tugged his clothes urgently. He leaned toward me.

James stuffed the card into his pocket and started climbing but paused. He grabbed my collar.

<You’re screwing it back on? What about you?>

His voice was low but intense. I shook my head.

<I’m too big to fit in the vent.>

James tried to climb down.

There was no time to waste. I grabbed his hair and pulled his face close. James glared at me, his expression fierce, tears streaming down his face.

I whispered, staring at him. As he tried to speak, I shook my head to stop him and continued.

<Sure, you might not care if you die, but I’d have to live with the guilt forever. I’ve already lost one person that way. I can’t do it again. So stop dragging this out and get in there, you bastard.>

James gritted his teeth and glared at me. I wasn’t in the mood for more talk. I shoved him toward the chair. Tears falling, he finally hooked his arms into the vent. As he lifted himself, I supported his legs, pushing him inside in one motion. As soon as he crawled in, I quickly reattached the cover, loosely screwing in two screws. I took the other two to the bathroom, dropped them into the drain, closed it, and returned to the bed.

I pulled the covers over me and closed my eyes quietly. How much time passed? It felt like an eternity, though it was probably only minutes.

The sound of a key in the lock faintly broke the silence. It was extremely quiet. The doorknob turned slowly. Eyes closed, I exhaled softly. How did they know? The thought hit me. Where did they catch on? Road CCTV? No, wait—because James used the card today? But could they get to Denver this fast just because of a card? Laberham to Denver wasn’t a short distance.

They must have known our destination in advance… Would they tell me if I asked how? Maybe they guessed we’d escape through Denver’s airport and set an ambush. Hasty guesses and questions tangled chaotically in my mind.

The door flew open, the knob hitting the wall. It was safe to open my eyes now. A group of men stormed in. They weren’t police. Helmets, night-vision goggles, body armor—their coordinated entry screamed tactical team. Splitting into two groups, one searched the room while the other subdued me. Three aimed guns from all sides, and two rushed forward.

Since we didn’t resist, it all happened in silence. They flipped me over, pressed my face into the bed, and cuffed my arms behind my back, holding my head down tightly. I hadn’t planned to resist, but at this point, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Thank God I’d gotten James out. I knelt quietly before the bed, silent. Two kept their guns on me.

Soon, the search ended, and one spoke into a radio.

The voice on the radio was familiar. Even through static, its distinct tone was unmistakable. It was George.

The agent’s voice sounded displeased.

<That’s not all. No trace of terrorist intent either. No incendiary materials. What’s going on?>

George replied.

The man on the radio paused, clearly annoyed by George’s words. I kept my head down, staying quiet. It seemed I was being framed as an arsonist or terrorist. Moments later, I was pulled to my feet by my arms. Dragged out of the motel room, I kept my head low.

James must have heard the conversation. That George showed up and pinned arson charges on me. He probably claimed I was holding him hostage. It was plausible—James wasn’t a star, but he was a somewhat known actor.

But arson charges? So very George. Still, blowing things this big might mean he couldn’t take me. As I thought this, I was forced to keep moving. Two days after escaping, I was dragged barefoot before George.

As soon as we left the room, I was made to kneel again and tightly bound with rope. The security was tight—George’s doing, no doubt. Dragged barefoot to the motel parking lot, I saw George standing among police cars. No one in the lot looked ordinary. Police, tactical teams, even a bomb squad. That a twenty-five-year-old like George could orchestrate this meant he was no ordinary figure.

Dressed in a suit covering him head to toe, George was talking to an officer when he spotted me. He stopped, staring intently as I approached. I held my head high, walking straight toward him. As the agents positioned me before him, George, wearing a silicone mask that hid his expression, asked.

<Where’s James Ranger?>

He played dumb. I just stared, not answering. He asked again.

<…He went to get waffles. With cream.>

Behind the mask, his eyes blinked rapidly. Silence fell. No one interrupted his questioning. George spoke.

A rundown motel like this wouldn’t have CCTV. George and I both knew it. We stared at each other.

Suddenly, George grinned, his mask wrinkling oddly. He asked again.

<Really? He’s not still in the motel?>

A bad feeling crept over me. Hard to explain, but a distinct, chilling premonition pricked my neck. I shook my head to dispel it.

We all stayed silent. Then a voice crackled from George’s radio.

<Chief, we’re ready to pull out.>

George slowly raised the radio. His deep blue eyes glinted strangely behind the mask. He spoke into it.

As the response came, a deafening explosion rocked my ears, nearly making me collapse. Everyone in the lot dove behind cars or hit the ground. Too stunned to look back, I stared blankly at George’s face.

In the darkness of the dim parking lot, George’s face, shadowed in the gloom, was suddenly illuminated by flames. The light glinted off his silicone mask, and a spark gleamed in his blue eyes. We stood facing each other. His mask wrinkled once again with strange contours. I slowly turned around. At that moment, another explosion erupted, and soon the shabby motel was engulfed in flames, beginning to collapse.

The heat from that place spread all the way here. My mind felt hot. No, the inside of my mouth felt hot. It was as if my tongue had swollen, clogging my throat. I couldn’t breathe. My head grew hotter and hotter, as if my eyeballs were about to cook.

The motel, consumed by flames, completely collapsed. I could no longer hold on. I sank to the cement ground, staring blankly at the fire. The flames, soaring high into the night sky, burned fiercely, driving away the darkness.

The parking lot quickly descended into chaos and clamor. People called for fire trucks and ambulances, requested backup forces, and several cars sped out of the parking lot. Some approached the pile of rubble that had just moments ago been a motel.

I felt detached from everything happening around me. As if separated from their panic, shock, and fear, I sat there like an invisible man. Even though my cheeks burned from the heat spreading to the parking lot, nothing felt real. Nothing. James. James… Oh…

Startled by a voice whispering close to my ear, I flinched. But there was no one. I was sitting there, bound, with only two agents standing tall beside me, guarding me. Then, another low whisper came.

<Wh-who’s there?>

Like a madman, I shook my head and looked around, but there was still no one.

I wanted to cover my ears, but my arms were tied, and I couldn’t move. Twisting my body, I let out a scream, and an agent pushed me to the ground, pressing down on the back of my head. Tears welled up.

It was Simon. Simon’s voice. Tears streamed down my face. As I writhed, the agents pinning me down pressed harder. Please stop. Just stop. No more, no more, really, I’m done. I wanted to cover my ears. If I couldn’t, I wanted to tear my eardrums. I wanted to go deaf forever!

<Lies… Lies… Lies… cough, choke, l-lies, lies… ugh.>

I blinked blankly. All the strength drained from my body. As I stopped moving, the hands pressing me down also lost their force. But soon after, someone grabbed my arms from behind and pulled me to my feet, and I had to lift my head, still fully conscious. They put me into the escort vehicle.

Author's Thoughts

There are numerous stimulating scenes involving rape, gang rape, violence, abuse, and drugs. Please practice discretion as you proceed.

Join my discord to be updated on advance chapter, free chapter updates!