Dating Rules and Pretty Fools Chapter 30

Dating Rules And Pretty Fools – Ch. 30

By Laura S. Fox

Gay Erotica

Intended for Mature Audiences Only

This story will contain graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, strong language and it is not meant for readers who are less than 18 years of age.

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Chapter Thirty – The Lovely Eye

Keres sat half-turned from him as if looking out the window could help him recollect those memories of a different time. Hudson looked the same way briefly. The sun was going down; soon, it would be evening. What was taking them so long?

"I've always believed myself to be a redoubtable opponent, regardless of the conflict I was engaged in," Keres began. "My accident that I told you about didn't happen like that. I crossed the people I was working for at the time. They decided to teach me a lesson, torture me until I cracked. They were bad people, you might say, but I was worse. I've always been the worst," he went on with delight. "Too bad, there was a good soul among them. See, I was not yet twenty when that happened. He thought that saving me would be a good thing. For his soul or something of the kind. He dropped me off at a hospital. Other good souls took care of me there."

"I searched your accident online and couldn't find anything," Hudson said.

"I'm afraid it happened well before the Internet was a thing. Older archives should have it all on paper. In case you're wondering, yes, it was about forty years ago, and I'm far from being a young man. Back to my story now. Don't think you're buying time for yourself. I'm the one who does that."

Hudson shrugged, his ears perked up for any noises in the hallway. As long as Keres was here with him, he couldn't give orders for the innocent people on the premises to be killed. His statement about buying time, however, was unsettling.

"Once I was back on my feet, I went after my enemies. But the first person I killed was the man who saved me."

"Why?"

"Excellent question, Mr. West. Because kindness is a close sibling to stupidity and that's something I can't tolerate. He should have finished the job. If he had, a lot of other people would have stayed alive. Do you disagree?"

"Go on."

"Holding on to your principles. Of course. It's this sort of inflexibility that draws trouble. I set the hospital where I was treated for my wounds on fire. I couldn't kill everyone, although the death toll was impressive. Should they have known who I was, what I was, do you think they would have chosen to smother me in my sleep? Cut off my air supply? What's the limit of kindness, Mr. West?"

"I would have killed you," Hudson replied calmly.

A short bark of laughter followed, mechanical and otherworldly in the worst kind of way. "You're a man to my liking, as I thought."

"Have you done this often? How many people have you killed for your sick entertainment?"

"Now you're skipping steps. And I thought you liked the idea of keeping me here, hostage to your will, until your guys arrived. You see, there was another – quite important if I may say – drawback to my accident. I was left without my sexual organs. Let's say that the suckers who tortured me found it funny to leave me without the possibility of procreation." Keres put one hand up. "Please, don't pity me."

"I have no intention of doing that."

"Very good. I hate pity. Such a muddy, disgusting sentiment. Not a lot to be gotten out of it. Being left without the ability to satisfy myself in the base manner humans and animals share, I had the unique opportunity to refine my pleasures. And I discovered them, little by little. It started off with the thrill of killing, of course. But that had been a pleasure of mine even before my so-called accident. The downside was that it lasted a very short time. Torture was the next logical step. But even that grew stale after a while. And soon enough, I realized what was missing." Keres stopped for a moment as if he was goading Hudson into asking him for details. "I wanted to share my pleasure, the exquisite sophisticated pleasure of watching a man drained of his life at my hands. I love the Internet. So many dark corners, where you can find people like me."

"Did you start a Facebook group?" Hudson asked.

"Such a plebeian sense of humor. No, of course not. But I found my people, so the idea of having some organized places where I could put on display the beautiful exhibits I intended to destroy became very appealing. Imagine, Mr. West," Keres said and swiveled his chair to face Hudson, "how it would feel to walk into – let's say – the Louvre, and start destroying those precious artworks. Slash the Mona Lisa, cut the canvas right through with no one to stop you. Smash the Venus de Milo into pieces. You know, she's so beautiful already, without her arms. Why not make her perfect? Have you noticed how many artworks celebrate death?" Keres's face seemed animated by dark glee as the sun was setting down behind him. With no lights whatsoever in the room, even the mundane furniture ended up draped in new shadows, lending the atmosphere an eerie, disquieting quality. "Beauty is unnatural. It fades, never lasts. Why not destroy it at its peak? Young people, in particular, appeal to me. Why let them become wrinkled and gray? Why let them suffer?"

Hudson shifted his weight from one foot to another. By now, he should have seen some action.

"Enough talk," he said abruptly. "It looks to me like no one's coming to save you. Or wonder what's keeping you. That means that it's over, Keres."

"Now it is quite rude, interrupting me like this. But I suppose I don't mind it that much. You'll give me so much pleasure later."

Hudson frowned as he felt the prick in his neck. He brought a hand up and touched the area, surprised with some latency of feeling the needle embedded already in his skin and deeper.

"What--" he mumbled, as his body became heavy and the room tilted.

He was still conscious as Keres walked over to him.

"I could take you down at any moment. Now you will serve my pleasure."

***

He gasped as he realized he couldn't breathe through his nose, but even that didn't help. The water entered every way it could find, making him sputter and heave.

"Finally, awake," someone commented.

Hudson grunted as the punch to the stomach took him unaware. He bent over and lost some bile; he hadn't eaten for the last twenty-four hours or so.

"Not such a fucking big man now, eh?" the same man asked and hit him again.

"Don't break anything. The boss wouldn't like it."

"That doesn't mean that I can't hit him where it's not so visible, right?"

Hudson curled on the floor to protect his head. That was the one thing he couldn't afford to lose. The asshole hitting him chose to kick him in one of his shins instead. The pain was searing, overwhelming. He had the feeling that he was already battered and bruised; had they kicked him at leisure while he'd been unconscious?

Keres must have used an automated trigger to take him down like that. A detail that he must have overlooked when walking into the room. But he'd had eyes only for Keres, and no one else had been there. It wasn't an excuse, just a fact.

"This fucker killed like twenty of us," one complained. "What can't we just gut him like a fish? And then, we'll tell the big boss that he tried to run."

"No, we can't do that," the first one spoke again. "Be happy with beating the crap out of him. If you don't deliver him still breathing, there's going to be hell to pay. These assholes here dabble in torture if you didn't get it. I don't intend to become a replacement for this fucker."

Hudson grunted but didn't give the scumbag the pleasure of hearing him scream. The mind had to remain in one piece. And hold on to the hope that the good guys in blue were on their way.

***

"Tie him up." A short barked order from Watkins.

Jackie had his lips pursed when he appeared in Otis's field of view. "Don't worry," he whispered as he fastened one of Otis's wrist to a solid surface. "I'm sure those guys are coming."

Otis couldn't close his eyes. He felt so tired. Jackie's hands were gentle on his skin, and he could tell that the ropes were barely restraining him.

"Hurry up already," the same Watkins ordered. "And don't worry. Your boyfriend is bound to survive the show. Keres wants him."

"What the fuck does he want him for?"

"That's no business of yours. Come on, as I told you. Do as I say, and we're going to leave this place rich."

"If we get to leave at all," Jackie commented under his breath. "I'm staying here. I want to keep watch on Otis and Jasper."

"You don't have to do that. The way they look to me, they're not going anywhere. Fine, suit yourself. But I have things to do. The guests are getting restless. Ah, by the way, your good friend Vegas, he's a fucking cop."

"What?" Jackie asked, his surprise sounding convincing in Otis's ears. "No way he is."

"Yeah, and he's now getting the royal treatment from our guys. He's going to pay for the shit he pulled on me. He's getting on the stage too. How does that saying go? Death by a thousand cuts? That's one thing I want to watch. To watch that pig bleed out."

Fear coiled like a snake inside his gut, although he couldn't tell if he could still feel it or it was nothing but a ghost of the real feeling. Hudson was in danger. And yet, he still couldn't move or do anything to save himself. To save... Hudson.

"Why are his eyes still open? Didn't Angel give him that shit?"

"He did," Jackie replied. "I guess he can't close them."

"This won't do." Otis felt the rough hands grabbing his chin, forcing his mouth open, and then something at the back of his throat.

"What the fuck? Are you trying to make him choke?"

"It's not as good, but it will have to do," Watkins commented. He patted Otis's cheek. "Good boy. He swallowed it."

Now his tiredness was slowly turning into something else. The world around him was an array of muted colors and sounds, moving further and further away.

***

The scent of ash tickled his nostrils, and his eyes snapped open. Dim, flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the rough walls, while the air was thick with a metallic tang. He couldn't tell what it was, that sickening smell. A muffled scream reached his ears, while otherwise the room appeared to be sunk in an oppressive silence.

He couldn't get away. Something was burning. Could anyone else feel it?

She was sitting at the table, one arm slung over one corner.

The silence wasn't perfect, no, far from it. A constant drip broke it in places, edging in on his consciousness like a memory that served better being buried and forgotten.

Drip, drip, drip. Or was it just an echo?

He walked closer, although he should have known better than to bother her after draining her bottles. Drip, drip, drip. One bottle lay on its side, and the liquid poured from it, directly onto the kitchen tile floor. Drip, drip, drip.

"Mom?"

There was no reply from her, so he walked closer. And closer. Drip, drip, drip. Her arm stole all his attention. There was something wrong with it. He touched her fingers, so cold and scary. She jolted in her sleep, so he stepped back.

Only then he saw it. The second dripping noise, where it came from. He looked at his own hand. So red. And that metallic tang he couldn't escape.

"What are you doing here?" A hiss, aimed at him. "Go to your room."

"Mom," he called out, not knowing how to say that he was scared.

She pushed herself up from the table and grabbed him. She hadn't ever been fast, and other times, he would have escaped, running to his room and hiding, hoping that she'd forget until the next day.

"You go, run from here," she ordered him while digging into his arm with her cold fingers.

"No," he cried. "Mom."

Her laughter only scared him more. And then, her voice, tiny and unlike before. "You better run, Otis. Leave mommy alone."

"No," he insisted.

"Go! How stupid are you? Ugly and stupid."

Otis gasped as he took in the scene before his eyes. Was he dreaming? Was he still remembering that night when he had lost everything he thought he had?

People were gathered there, sitting at tables. Their whole undivided attention seemed to be trained on him. No, not only on him. He was on some sort of stage, and he couldn't move. But he could use his eyes and watch those who watched him back.

Their faces were partially obscured by masks, and the long shadows from the candles cloaked them in darkness. Otis took them in, as much as he could distinguish from that distance. The masks left dark eyeless holes right in their centers, and their expressions varied from leering grins to grotesque red pouts, the unmoving faces of dead clowns.

Someone in a long dark hooded robe moved into his line of sight, obscuring the frightening audience momentarily. Otis turned his head and saw someone to his right. A young man, bound to a strange cross, tied to it with ropes going around his wrists and ankles. He then turned to his right. Another young man... he thought he knew him.

His head was dropped low, to his chest. His chest heaved. He was making those sounds. Otis moved his eyes over his figure and gasped again when he saw it. Drip, drip, drip. Right from his mouth. And then, another thing.

A long red gash across his abdomen. Otis could feel the metallic tang in the back of his throat now. The hooded figure moved close to the young man and pushed something that looked like a pair of long metallic tongs, the kind used in the kitchen, into his abdomen. No, something looking as horrible as that had to have been made for other reasons.

The gurgling wail that rose from the bound figure made Otis's hair stand on end. A part of him was reacting to the physical pain that was being doubled by the overwhelming fear taking root in the young man's mind.

The dripping sound faded away, as if it were already only a memory. But it was now replaced by something else. Ra-tat-ta-ta. A cadence, like a song made out of a single note. Ra-tat-ta-ta, for a second time.

The audience began to murmur among themselves.

"A bit of an inconvenience, but we're taking care of it as we speak," someone said.

A metallic voice he knew. Was this the perfect nightmare? Or was reality twisting around itself to make him go mad? Ra-tat-ta-ta, again and again.

"Please, continue to enjoy the show," the man named Keres said. "As promised, we're bringing in an addition. The beast on which you bet so generously today. I hated to disappoint my audience, but I am the only one responsible for cutting his performance short today. The final death toll was high. All the more pleasure to have him destroyed slowly in front of you."

Otis watched everything as if he were underwater. It had to be a nightmare, nothing real. Even bloodied and bruised, he would recognize him. Two men pushed Hudson down and he fell on his palms, while the audience gasped as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing.

"Of course, he'll have to wait a little since right now we're taking care of our first darling." Keres moved past Hudson and close to the young man being tortured. "Have you seen such a beauty often in your life, ladies and gentlemen? And yet, his physical appearance, no matter how pleasing, has no merit. What has merit is his, let's call it, rotten personality."

Only muffled groans of pain came from the victim now.

"A traitor," Keres said and smiled.

Otis was looking at him. Keres looked back, their eyes clashing. Otis held that gaze, while he moved his wrist slowly. The ties weren't tight at all.

"The punishment for traitors must always be the same. A good ol' fashioned execution. What? What are you saying?"

Keres leaned over, pretending to listen to what his victim was trying to get out of himself. But he wasn't listening, because he kept on looking at Otis, his filmy eyes unmoved and cold.

A sudden gasp from the victim made Otis flinch. Keres laughed and brought up a gloved hand, red with blood.

"What is pain? Pain is nothing. Death, however, is everything," Keres said and walked over to Otis. He caressed his face, making the smell grow unbearable. "As you can see, my esteemed guests, I have brought forward, for your sake, my own beloved. He's special. I know, everyone must think the same when they're in love, but in this case, I'm telling the whole truth. Look at him, unafraid, staring back at me with his lovely eye." Keres carefully draped the hair over his scarred eye and sidestepped as if he were dancing, to allow the audience to have a good look at Otis.

"Leave him alone," came a growl from the floor. "You bastard!"

Hudson grunted as one of the men who had brought him in kicked him with his foot.

"Let our presentation truly begin," Keres declaimed, raising both arms in the air.

Otis didn't blink. One of those horrible men took out a knife and stabbed Hudson in the shoulder.

"You don't want to leave? I'll make you leave." That bad smell she smelled of when she emptied all the bottles. The pain in his arm where her fingers sank into his flesh.

She dragged him through the house. The smell of ashes, of smoke, grew stronger. He tried to get away, but he couldn't shake her off.

She made him watch. The long metal bar growing white-hot on the stove. He trembled and cried out.

"You will leave, Otis," she said, so softly he could barely hear her. "Mommy doesn't want you here anymore."

He didn't know that was his voice, so ragged, so like an animal's. But it had to be, as he was blinded, and pain crushed his skull, and she let him go. He stumbled over chairs, bumping into the corners of furniture. Out, out, he needed to get out.

The air outside, finally, so clear, so good. But the pain! So hot, and his skin, as he touched it, melted like butter, soft and foreign under his fingers.

He looked back. She appeared so lonely, in the frame of the door. And the whole house was so bright now, yellow and warm like it was during the holidays. She yelled something at him, but he couldn't hear her anymore. He broke into a run, stumbling at times, landing on his knees and palms, but getting up, relentlessly, far, as far as he could, the smell of ashes haunting him already.

"Now how did you do that?" Keres scolded him as if he were a kid.

One of his hands was free. He didn't remember freeing it himself. He stared at his own wrist, so pliant in Keres's gloved hand that left smudges of red on his skin.

"No," he said and flexed his hand into a fist, preventing Keres from tying it back up.

Keres tsked. "And I just praised you. Ah, I believe I know what this is. You want me to punish you. You're eager for it. But, my love, this isn't punishment. I would never punish you. I only have affection for your lovely self in my heart."

Otis struggled some more but Keres's was stronger than he was.

"Let him be," Hudson growled while crawling on the floor toward them, jerking upward as his tormentor sank his blade into his hand, pinning him down for a moment.

Ra-tat-ta-ta, closer now.

Otis only watched. Hudson pulled out the knife that had been left stuck into his hand and used it to slash his attacker's chest in one swift move.

"What is this?" Keres asked in an annoyed voice. "Okay, feel free to shoot this damned cop."

"Otis, close your eyes," Hudson shouted at him, but he wouldn't listen to his boyfriend. Not this time.

The other man, who wasn't writhing on the floor like his partner, aimed his gun at Hudson, whose arm moved in an incredible wish to be faster than a bullet.

"I don't fucking think so," someone spoke from behind, and the man trying to shoot Hudson fell backward, dropping his gun. He cried like a baby, clapping one hand to his opposite shoulder.

Otis knew that voice, too.

"The cavalry is really here," Jackie yelled from the top of his lungs. "Get the fuck out while you still can!"

The audience ignored Keres's calls for calm. Candles fell to the ground as the men and women in masks rushed toward the exit behind them. Hudson was by his side, helping him out of his ties, kissing him shortly. "You go with Jackie now, Otis," he said quickly.

"No," Otis whispered, an echo of the same word from a long time ago.

"Yes, I need you safe. Jackie, come on. Get Jasper and Otis out of here now, before this whole thing comes crashing down."

Otis was only dimly aware of being pulled away. Jackie was struggling with another young man, who seemed unresponsive. He hurried to help while they hurried down a long corridor.

***

"Damn it, Angel," Hudson murmured as he struggled to get the guy out of his bonds.

That wound didn't look good at all, and he had to work fast. Angel stared at him, his eyes shiny, his mouth so red with blood. What the hell had they done to him?

When Angel tried to open his mouth to speak, he understood. Those bastards had cut out his tongue.

All around them, there were cries of fear and anguish, but Hudson didn't care to stop. Angel couldn't talk, but he'd be able to write down everything that he knew. As long as Hudson managed to get him to help him in time.

He could hear his guys overcoming the resistance outside. It had to be nothing short of a war zone. But Otis had to be safe now, along with Jasper and Jackie. That mattered more than anything. Now he could see about doing his job, securing a witness.

He heard the door slamming and turned to see Keres, who calmly took a long metal bar and pushed it through the large handles, securing the door from the inside. Then he turned and started strolling toward him, hands in his pockets, as if he were taking a pleasure walk.

"It's over, Keres," he said. "What's happening outside now, you can't stop it."

"No, and I have no intention to, anyway. I'm not in the business of false hopes, Mr. West. Although I applaud your persistence. And yes, I know there's another way out and that you're thinking you could still get to it."

Hudson turned, his whole body tensing. He put himself between Keres and Angel.

"You're here because of your duty. Correct?"

Hudson nodded shortly while keeping his arms loose. He was bone-tired, but adrenaline had kicked in again, whatever reserves his body still had. If Keres made the mistake of coming close enough, he'd fuck him up.

"Even now, you're hoping to get this dying man out of here. Step out of the way, Mr. West."

"No."

He moved out of the way a second too late. The metal probes from the taser struck him, making his muscles spasm out of control. Down to the last nerve, his body screamed in protest. A searing pain, sharp and unrelenting, carved its way from the point of contact, sending waves of agony through all his limbs. In a moment, he couldn't move at all.

He could only watch as Keres took another gun out of his opposite pocket, seemingly bored and calm, and shot Angel in the head, cutting off the young man's muffled cries.

Keres walked over to him and prodded him with his boot. "You see, Mr. West, what sets me apart from most people is that I'm not afraid of dying. Death has been my friend for a long time now. She's a faithful mistress, I must add. And you, the rest of you, are all afraid of her, as if it's such a big deal to die. Here's a little secret. Dying is a soothing experience, no matter what doctors and priests and whatnot tell you."

***

They walked and walked down the long corridor, the smell of ashes growing stronger. The walls were smeared with blood, and the sound of weapons being fired continued. The young man called Jasper was heavy, but Jackie fought to take most of the burden.

"Hudson," Otis managed to mumble and stopped.

Jackie stopped as well and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The hand in which he still held Hudson's gun. "Otis, my man, Vegas told me to take care of you. Let's go."

"And who..." Otis struggled to speak. "Who's taking care of him?"

"Come on, he's a big bad cop," Jackie said. "He needs no taking care of."

Otis pulled one fist tight. "I am going back for him," he said and began walking back the way they had come.

Jackie grunted and tried to rest Jasper against the wall. "Vegas is going to have my head if I lose you."

Otis turned to face him. "He will understand."

"Ah, damn it, you two are in love and all that." Jackie shook his head. "But I can't let you, not like this."

Otis walked over to take the gun from Jackie as it was being held out in his direction, its butt to him. "Thank you, Jackie," he said. "For everything."

The floor was cold under his feet, the gun moist from Jackie's sweat in his hand. But more than everything, he smelled the stench of ashes deep inside his mind.

***

"Are you going to give me another speech?" After the initial shock, he was getting some of his lost control back. "Why the hell did you kill Angel?"

"Watkins told me he tried to rat us out to the police. Staged a raid at one point, thought he could get away with it. A small town boy." Keres tsked. "Thinking he could play the big boys' game. Don't tell me you're going to cry for him? You know, he was a part of it all. He just got a little bored, wanted out, and thought treason was the way. Too bad for him. This isn't the kind of game you get out of. It's for life. Well, now his is over."

"What do you want? They'll come crashing through those doors any time now. And you'll die." Breathing alone was pain.

"I am well aware of all that. Don't insult my intelligence, Mr. West. But I love cutting it close, didn't I mention that before? And you'll die first anyway. The only question, which will remain unanswered for you, is whether you will die alone or if you'll have me as company on the way to the great beyond."

Hudson could barely move his head. Dammit, he needed full control of his already battered body if he wanted to have a chance at taking down this fucking asshole. Hopefully, Keres was still into long speeches.

He watched as Keres turned his head, his gun still trained on him.

"What are you doing here?"

Someone was coming. Someone was there. An operative? But Keres seemed too relaxed for that. Dammit, if he could only move his head.

"Now, now, what do you intend to do with that? Ah, you came back to me, didn't you?"

Hudson forced himself to roll onto one side. He watched in horror as Otis walked toward them, his flawless naked body marred by smudges of blood here and there. He was holding a gun. Hudson's gun.

"Come into my loving arms, my love," Keres chanted. "You belong to me."

Otis didn't stop. Hudson didn't even dare breathe. Keres could shoot at any point, and it didn't matter the order he chose to execute them in like he'd done with Angel.

Otis stopped only a few feet away.

"Why do you keep that pointed at me?" Keres asked. "You're not going to shoot me." There was a touch of incredulity in his voice.

Hudson heard the click, calm and steady.

Keres went on. "You'll hesitate like all good people do when faced with the opportunity of taking a human life. And I really don't want to hurt you like this. Forgive me for--"

The bang from the gun sucked the air out of the room and out of his lungs. It was as if his field of vision suddenly tilted until he realized that he was staring at Keres's body, dropped to the floor, one knee bent as if the guy was lounging, enjoying a rest.

Otis appeared in his field of view. "Hudson," he whispered and touched his face gingerly.

"Give me the gun, Otis," he whispered back. "Put it in my right hand. Yes, like that. And now, lay down on your belly, hands behind the back of your head. They'll be coming in strong. Do you understand?"

Otis nodded. "Yes, Hudson," he replied in that manner of his that couldn't be shaken if the world was coming down around them.

It was over. And the last thing he saw before his eyelids dropped was the amazing sight of that lovely eye, the same that must have looked down the barrel of the gun while shooting Keres.

TBC

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