The boy shook his head.
Did he not know his name or did he just not want to tell a total stranger? Both reasons were valid. Arsen opened his mouth to assure him it was okay to keep the information to himself, but before he could, the boy’s gaze landed on the gun in Arsen’s hand, his eyes going wide.
“No. No. No,” Arsen chanted, raising his hands to show he meant no harm but the boy was already stumbling back, shoving the door closed.
Arsen caught it with his booted foot, pushing his way inside. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The boy wasn’t having it. He was fighting back with every ounce of his strength, clawing and biting at him. He hissed as blunt nails dug into his skin and twisted, then teeth latched onto his hand.
Arsen grimaced, taking him to the ground. “Ow.Ah ti malen'kiy chertyaka.”
The little demon had teeth, all right. It was only after he had him pinned beneath him that the boy stopped fighting. He just went completely limp, glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling. Something about the way the fight immediately left the boy stole Arsen’s breath, leaving him choked up. How many times had he been held down like that?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Arsen said again. “I promise. Do you believe me?” The boy continued to stare up at the ceiling, Arsen set his phone down, flashlight up, to illuminate the small space, then placed the gun out of reach, turning the boy’s face to meet his gaze. “Do you believe me?”
The boy blinked at him, his wide brown eyes wild, pupils blown. He was breathing heavily, either from the fight or adrenaline, maybe both. He just stared at Arsen for a long moment and then reached up, touching his hair, the fear replaced with a look of curiosity. Arsen wasn’t sure how long they laid there, the boy’s hands in his hair, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
Arsen knew he should put a stop to it, but the way the boy was petting him, staring at him with this sort of wonder, made him loathe to move. Every soft touch sent goosebumps rolling along his skin.
When it seemed like the boy had soothed himself, Arsen finally said, “I’m Arsen. Can you tell me your name?”
The boy hesitated, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, then pushed on Arsen’s chest, reminding him he was still holding him. He sat back, letting the boy scramble out of reach. Arsen frowned as he began to go through his stack of books, settling on what looked like a children’s book of fairy tales. He flipped to the last page and showed it to him.
And they lived happily ever after.
The boy stabbed his finger over the word ever, then pointed to himself.
“Ever?” Arsen asked. “That’s your name?”
The boy nodded, still guarded.
Could he not speak? It didn’t matter. Arsen had to get him out of there. They’d deal with everything else later. He got to his feet, leaving Ever looking up at him from his knees. “We have to go. Come with me. I’ll take you somewhere safe. Find you help.”
Arsen pulled him to his feet but, almost immediately, he began to struggle again. Arsen tried to tug him towards the door, but he dug his heels in, shaking his head vehemently. What the fuck?
“I’m sorry but we have to get out of here,” Arsen tried again, pulling once more.
“No!” the boy shouted, voice raw, then yelped when a snapping sound filled the room.
Arsen’s blood ran cold. No fucking way. Had that bitch put a shock collar around his neck? He grabbed the boy’s head and pushed it upwards. “Let me see. Let me see.”
It wasn’t a typical collar like they used on dogs. There was no buckle, nothing to easily remove it. What the fuck? Arsen pulled the knife from his pocket, flicking open the blade. “Hold still.”
Arsen’s heart twisted as Ever stopped fighting, once more limp in his arms. He worked the blade beneath the leather, then placed his fingers between Ever’s skin and the sharp edge. The collar gave in to the blade, easily falling to the ground. Arsen tried not to look horrified at the scarring where the box had been, but it was hard. Ever slapped his hands over the scar.
“Now, can we go?” Arsen said, practically begging. “Please?”
Ever looked torn, like he wanted nothing more than to say yes, expression miserable as tears sprung to his eyes. He shook his head.
“Please, little one? Let me get you out of here? Please?”
“We can’t,” he whispered.
Was his voice permanently damaged from the abuse or had it just been that long since he’d spoken? Arsen wanted to revive the bitch so he could kill her again. Slowly, this time.
“But why?” Arsen asked. “She’s not coming back. I promise. She’s very dead.”
Ever shook his head, then yanked his t-shirt up, turning around. Once more, Arsen had to fight the urge to recoil. There were hundreds of marks, all in various stages of healing. So many, in fact, that it took far longer than it should have for him to realize what Ever was actually trying to show him.
