Page 1 of Knox

When Knox was twelve, he ran away from an abusive foster home. He and his foster brother, Dean, had nowhere to go but the streets. At fourteen, he found himself in a dangerous situation with a drunk. Picked up by the police, he was taken to the station where he was introduced to Robin Foster, a social worker. Knox knew not to trust anyone in the system and was not happy to find himself in Robin’s home. He runs back to the city to find Dean, only for him to tell him to go back to the house, to have the chance of a normal life.

When Knox finds an MMA fighter, Maddox Levin, on a YouTube channel, there’s something about him that intrigues him. But he pushes it aside, not giving it much thought. His new relationship with Roman, a sub from Bound, the all-male kink club, takes up his time and his pleasure.

A random chance has Maddox and Knox questioning each other’s identities.

Are they the two lost brothers from all those years ago? Is the spark they feel for each other real? And what happens when Maddox sees Knox and Roman at Bound? Perhaps there’s a spark between three, not two.

Time will tell.

I can hear his heavy footsteps; they stumble a bit, which means he’s really drunk tonight. Not the usual just a bit drunk, the one with some slurred speech and tears of regret afterwards. I know he doesn’t regret a thing. How do I know? Because it’s always planned, the nights when his wife is on a late shift, the looks as he downs can after can of the cheapest, strongest lager he can buy. Or it’s him stroking himself over the fly of his oily jeans.

I shrink down in my bed, the covers coming up to my eyes. Why me? Why does this happen to me? There has to be better foster homes or children’s homes. I should run away. I can’t, though; I can’t because of Dean. He’s only two years older than me, but he knows everything. He keeps me safe; he keeps him away from me. Sometimes by letting him do to him what he wants to do to me. It’s not the first home that has had me in this situation. I lost my virginity too many years ago, and the men seem to know this. My conclusion is the social workers know what goes on, even placing kids like me with men like him.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

Thank god! Dean’s here; he’ll make him go away. I’m trying to be as small as possible. All I want to do is shrink away from him. I don’t want him to touch me anymore. He’s dirty, and his breath smells horrid.

“If you touch him again, it’ll be the last time you hold your cock in your hand.” Dean seems to growl at Wayne and steps closer. I’m peeping over the sheet at them both as Wayne turns, and it looks like he’s going to hit Dean.

“Stop!” I shout, pushing the sheet off my face. “Don’t hit him. It’s okay. I’ll do what you want. Dean, he’ll leave us alone afterwards.”

“See, the kid likes it, so just fuck off before I break your fucking face.” Wayne turns back to me and steps closer. “Roll over, kid, you know what to do.”

I’m frozen in place. I know what I said, but I can’t. Not again. But Wayne stops, his eyes go wide as Dean stands close, really close. There’s something in his hand. A knife: Dean has got a knife.

“Take one step closer and I use this.” This isn’t a threat. Oh no. My best friend, my protector is stating a fact. Wayne knows this too.

Wayne gets out of Dean’s grip and moves away from me. “I’m gonna make that call, and you’ll be out of here. They’ll split you up this time, especially when I tell them what you were doing to the pathetic runt.” He sniffs loudly, the phlegm thick and wet when he coughs and spits it on the floor.

As soon as he’s out of the room, Dean is by my side. “He means it. He’s going to get us separated. Have you got your bag?”

I nod and push the covers down my legs. I’m wearing my jeans. I wasn’t going to make it easy for Wayne. Dean told me how to make a go bag, one that had enough of my belongings so that I could run away. I pull a jumper on and find my trainers. I nod again. “I’m ready.”

It doesn’t take long for us to hear the door-rattling snores as he passes out on his bed. “Where are we going to go? We’ve got no money, and the police will be looking for us,” I say as we run out of the house. I’m not even sure if we’ve closed the door.

“I’ve got a friend that will let us crash with him. He’s like us, the thrown away kids. The police won’t give a shit about us. We’re just two more runaways.”

It’s Dean’s turn to go out to get us something to eat, which means he’ll find someone who wants their dick sucked for a fiver. I hate that we’ve come to this: living on the street or in an empty building to sleep in. I know we’ve not been missed or looked for—the cops pass us by without a glance, let alone any questions.

Something is wrong. It’s been hours, and Dean isn’t back yet. I don’t want to go out in case I miss him, but we didn’t have anything to eat yesterday, and I’m so hungry. I scribble a note on a piece of cardboard from the floor. This empty shop has been our home for a couple of days. He’ll look for me when he makes it back.

I squeeze through the window in the tiny toilet room. There’s a bar a couple of streets down. It’s a rough, downtrodden place, and I can usually attract some bloke, get some money off him. It’s never a gay bar since those guys aren’t interested in some half-starved kid. But the straight guys with a few beers in just like him.

It doesn’t take me long to see a pissed-up bloke stumble out. “Hey, mister, you got any spare change?”

He looks me up and down, and his eyes seem to clear from the blurry drunk state to a greedy, mean look. I know I’ve got him.

“Wassinit for me?” he slurs, his words all strung together.

“I can suck your cock for a fiver, if you like. Or you can fuck me for ten.” I doubt he can keep his dick hard for him to fuck me, but the glint in his eyes says that’s what he wants.

“Get down ‘ere.” He points to the dark alley way at the side of the pub where there’s only the huge rubbish bins, the ones on wheels. I’ve hidden behind them often enough, as well as checking them for food, especially the ones at supermarkets.

I follow him, glancing over my shoulder one more time. He’s already fumbling with his belt when I reach him. “Money first,” I hold out my hand, but he slaps it away.

“Fuck off, you’ll run.” He pushes me down to my knees and pulls my face into his groin. I nearly gag at the smell. He pulls his dick free, and it’s as limp as days old lettuce. There’s no way that’s getting hard. I try not to vomit as I attempt to get it hard by using my hand as well as my mouth. It’s pointless; even the bloke knows, and he pushes me back, making me fall on my arse.

“Fucking useless,” he mutters but does give me a five-pound note.