“I won’t be surprised if you spend most of this session in the yellow zone because we’re going to be pushing harder this time,” he said, his expression somber. “If it gets to be too much, tell me you’ve gone red, and everything stops, but I don’t want you to use the red zone as an evasive maneuver either.”
“Yes, sir,” Hunter said. At least he knew going in that Payne intended to be rough on him, but he was honest enough to know he needed it. This wasn’t going to be pleasant, and part of him knew he deserved whatever Payne did to him. He wasn’t even sure he could stop what was happening even if he wanted to, but he knew Payne would put a stop to things even if Hunter didn’t.
“Then get up on the cross,” Payne said, beckoning to Hunter.
Hunter rose and moved to the cross, taking up the position he had the last time. “I might need the thigh straps, sir,” he said.
“I’ve got them right here.” Payne gestured to the cart, which was already positioned next to the cross, and Hunter could see the thicker thigh straps and the blindfold on the cart along with Payne’s usual supplies, which meant Payne must have set up the playroom while Hunter was out.
Payne fastened the wrist and ankle cuffs with swift efficiency, checking in with Hunter to make sure they weren’t too loose or too tight along the way. Then he strapped on the thigh cuffs before stepping back.
“Do you feel secure?” he asked.
Hunter let his body go limp, testing the straps to make sure they would support his whole weight. They did. “Yes, sir,” he said, closing his eyes. He didn’t know how to even begin preparing himself for what was to come, either physically or mentally.
He heard the footstool being dragged across the floor, and then Payne eased the blindfold over his head and settled it in place.
“I’m going to use a cane, just like the first time,” Payne said, smoothing his hand up and down Hunter’s back. “You can do this, Hunter. Whatever you feel, let it happen. I’ve got you.”
The caress of Payne’s hand would have been comforting, but Hunter couldn’t give in to it or he’d beg Payne to let him go, to not make him face any of this. So instead he gripped the chains holding the wrist straps to the cross, feeling the cold metal in his palms. “Yes, sir.”
Payne moved away, and to Hunter, it felt like an eternity of silent waiting before the blunt end of a cane being pressed between his shoulder blades alerted Hunter to Payne’s return.
“Go back to that day,” Payne said, drawing the cane down the length of Hunter’s spine. “You’ve heard Blaze yelling. You go outside. Tell me what you see.”
Hunter didn’t understand why Payne was going back to the day Mark died, since they’d already been over it, but he didn’t protest. “I saw Blaze standing with his back to us, looking at something. When I moved forward, I saw Joker talking on a walkie and waving for the other guys to get away. When I reached Blaze, I saw he was looking at the kid with the suicide vest.” Hunter had replayed the scene so often in his mind, he didn’t even have to see it again this time, just repeat the facts.
“Tell me about the little boy,” Payne said. The press of the cane disappeared, replaced by Payne kneading Hunter’s ass in preparation for the inevitable blows from the cane. “What did he look like? What did he say?”
The way Payne was touching him distracted Hunter from the question, but he forced his attention back. “He was dirty and barefoot and dressed in rags like most of the kids who hung around camp. Just a little kid, maybe seven, but he could have been younger. He… he was crying. There were clean streaks down his face from the tears. And he said...” Hunter stopped, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, wishing he could cover his ears as the kid’s voice seemed to ring in his ears again, the tone of fear and desperation that should never have been in the voice of a child so young.
The first blow came swiftly, and the sting was enough to make Hunter’s body jerk instinctively, but he had nowhere to go to escape.
“What did he say?” Payne’s voice was quiet but held a note of command.
“'Ana la 'urid 'an 'amut!” Hunter gasped out. The line of fire across his ass helped him focus. “It means ‘I don’t want to die,’ sir.”
“How did you feel when you heard that?” Payne asked.
“Like I wanted to throw up.” Hunter’s voice was thick with remembered anger. “Like I wanted to find the miserable bastards who’d strapped a bunch of C4 to a kid and give them a nitroglycerin enema. I was pissed off enough to have killed with my bare hands. Sir.”
“Tell me what happened next,” Payne said. “Focus on the boy. I want to know what he looked like when you and Stack helped him.”
Hunter didn’t want to remember the kid. He didn’t want to relive this again. Tightening his hands on the chains, he shook his head. “I can’t…”
Another blow landed on his ass, harder this time. “You can and you will,” Payne said, a hard edge in his voice. “Tell me what the little boy looked like when you helped him. Tell me anything he said.”
Hunter growled, cursing himself for letting Payne strap him up here, cursing Payne for making him remember, cursing the monsters who’d wired up the kid and sent him out to die. He cursed the L&G and the U.S. military fucking advisors, and Stack for being a goddamned hero and getting himself blown away.
“How the fuck do you think he looked? He was fucking scared! And he had a right to be! I was scared, too, because if we fucked up it would mean akiddied! How would you like to have that on your conscience,sir?”
Whack! This was the hardest blow yet, and Hunter couldn’t hold back a cry of pain.
“Focus,” Payne said sternly. “This isn’t about me. I wasn’t there. You were. Why are you angry right now, Hunter?”
Hunter was breathing hard, his ass burning. “I’m angry because they stole my life,” he said bitterly. “I didn’t die, but they might as well have killed me. Better than being left like this.”
“Like what?” Payne tapped the cane lightly against one of the welts on Hunter’s ass, exacerbating the sting. “How was your life stolen?”
