“Don’t like it? Don’t like being manhandled? Getting what you give?” Jackson laughs and starts to undo my pants.
Despite how much I do not want him to touch me, and would rather stick my dick in a light socket, my length starts to harden.
“You sick motherfucker,” Jackson practically croons at me, like it’s funny.
Suddenly, I can’t move. My entire body is frozen. My heart is pounding in my chest against my ribcage so hard that it hurts, and I want to tell him to stop. I want to kick his fucking chest in. I want to kill him.
I can’t.
Jackson tugs my pants and boxers down as best he can with the gun still pressed to my head.
All my words and my breath is stuck in my throat.
I can’t do anything.
As Jackson reaches for my dick, my fingers twitch, and I try to squeeze his wrist harder, but my strength feels like it’s being zapped out of me.
His fingers touch my length.
The room around us disappears.
I disappear.
Somewhere inside of my head. It’s dark there, silent, and there’s no one else. I’ve been here before. Mostly as a kid. I remember it. Soon, the darkness will start to take form of something else. Something, no somewhere, warm and soft. Somewhere far away from everything.
A second later, maybe three, I can’t be sure, the sound of a gun with a silencer clicks in my left ear, wetness splatters on my face, and Jackson’s body falls over with a thud on the floor to the side of me.
I open my eyes, not realizing I closed them.
“Carmine.” That voice. I can’t quite process it. The room still seems dark and empty. I still can’t move. My pants are down to my thighs, and my hands are at my sides. One of them becoming increasingly more wet. My eyes burn.
“Carmine, are you okay?”
I shadow lingers over me. I feel a touch on my face.
“Carmine. Look at me.”
I try to. Everything feels far away.
“Breath. In and out. Come on.”
I do as he says. I take a breath in and a breath out. Then again.
“Good. Let’s sit you up.”
Soren.
It’s Soren. I realize that at the last second. The room fades back in a little bit at a time. The shadows first, then the light, then everything inside of the room, and finally him.
One of his hands rests on my back as I sit up, the other still touches my face. His hands seem so cold compared to me. I feel like I’m a thousand degrees. Sweat drips down my neck to my collar bones and gathers in my hairline.
“Oh, fuck. Carmine,” Marko’s voice comes from the doorway.
“Where the fuck were you?” It’s not me who asks, but Soren.
“We decided to do a shift change because it was getting so late, and Carmine—Mr. Dresvanni—didn’t seem to be going home anytime soon. Tony and Greg needed to leave,” the other guard, apparently, whose name suddenly escapes me, replied.
As quickly as I can manage, I pull myself together.
