Break Free & Be Broken (20 page)

Bottle in hand, the girl straightens back up and begins to leave. Juxtapo stops her with a hand on her wrist. She flinches at his touch. "Did you like what you saw, boyo?"

"What?" I heard what he said; I can't believe that he said it.

"Did you enjoy the look of Krista's ass?"

My eyes shoot involuntarily to Krista, then down to the floor. What the fuck do I say? "I uh..."

Jux chuckles, bringing forth a murky cloud that wraps closely around each of us. "We're friends now, remember? If you want something, you need only to ask and it will be yours."

"Okay. Thanks." I say, hoping to end this unseemly altercation.

"Finish cleaning this." He orders Krista.

She rushes from the room. Seconds later, she returns with a towel and begins cleaning the mess. She has to stretch herself across the table to reach the far borders of the spill. Without warning, Jux grabs her by the hair and viciously slams her down. As she connects with the table, everything scatters away amid dark red waves of wine.

Krista, bent flat against the table with her head toward me, is motionless; her eyes fixed somewhere behind me. I watch helplessly as a drop of wine slides down her forehead. I was paralyzed by the sudden violence. I'm not even breathing.

Juxtapo stands. He keeps one hand in her hair and uses the other to grab the bottom of her skirt. He smiles, then yanks it up over her hips, exposing the black tights beneath. He grabs a handful of them and pulls, shredding them away from her body, leaving nothing but a pair of sheer white panties to unsuccessfully cover her curves.

"Aye, boyo." It takes a brief moment for it to register that he's talking to me. My eyes move from Krista's ass to him with a shameful amount of reluctance. "Maybe you didn't quite understand what it is I was offering."

He slaps Krista on her thinly clothed bottom. The blow causes her to jolt, and for the briefest of instants, her eyes meet with mine in terror, but then a second, harder slap falls, and her eyes revert back to the place behind me in submission. Ridiculously, I blush, and all I can do is shake my head.

Juxtapo snorts, seeming to enjoy my trepidation as much as Krista's helplessness. He grabs her panties fiercely in preparation to pull them down, causing some of the fabric to slip into the crevasse between her cheeks. "You sure you don't want this?" He asks, tugging up on her underwear, burying them the rest of the way up her ass. It lifts her up onto her toes. He angles her toward me like a street vendor showing off his wares, giving me a clear view of her humiliation. A timid whimper escapes her throat as she struggles to keep her weight above the cotton that is ripping into her most private places. I feel sick. And even worse than that: aroused.

Disgusted with myself and what's before me, but too shocked to say anything and too shitty to do anything, I just shake my head again. "Okay then." He says, giving her panties one last tug. She cries out as she is lifted off her feet, practically being split in half. Her eyes reconnect with mine. They are pleading for help. I'm finally drawn back to my senses. Blood boiling, I lunge forward, catching Jux's wrist just as he's about to bring it down and rob this poor girl of the little cover she has left.

"That's enough." I growl. Jux stares at my hand. Next thing I know, something connects with the back of my dome. I go down like a log, somewhere between conscious and not. I look up to see Roger standing above me, the pistol he just whipped me with held tightly in his hand. Jux, looking as furious as I've ever seen him, flings Krista back against the wall.

"What the fuck was that?" He yells. I notice with pure delight that his anger is not directed at me. It's directed at Roger, who doesn't even know it because he's still leering over me with a bully’s grin. Jux doesn't wait more than two seconds for a response. With seemingly no effort, he swings a hand across Roger’s head. The innocent blow is enough to launch him forward onto his face.

"God, what the hell?!" He shouts.

Jux marches over and scoops him up by the collar
.
"Do you really think so little of me you thought you had to intervene on my behalf? Huh?" With another effortless movement, he bombs a fist into Roger's stomach, sending a sticky glob of vomit across the floor. "You thought this young man was a threat to your leader, is that it!?"

Roger never gets a chance to reply. Jux lifts him into the air by his head, his two heavily muscled hands all but covering Roger's entire face. Jux crams his thumbs into Roger's mouth and starts squeezing with murder in his eyes. He smiles as Roger gurgles and squirms. It is as disturbing and one sided as watching an adult crush the life from a baby. I expect any second for Roger's head to burst like a melon, but Jux releases him by throwing him against the wall. He hits hard enough to rattle every painting in the room, then slumps down into a seated position, bawling.

He tries to gasp out an apology but one of Jux's massive knees collides with his chest-this attack thrown with actual effort. Roger's eyes go wide and every molecule of air inside him comes out. Jux pulls back his knee and delivers another blast to the same spot. It seems to go straight through Roger and into the wall. A splash of blood spritzes out of his mouth, accompanied by a dull pop that carried the hollow tone of death. His head droops into his caved in chest, blood drools off his tongue, and he’s gone.

I have to look away. I notice Krista is still in her embarrassed state of disarray, stuck against the wall where she was thrown. I wonder if I look as horrified to her as she looks to me. I wouldn’t be surprised. Jux turns his attention onto me, a warm smile once again softening his features. "Fancy yourself a hero, aye?" He laughs and pats me on the shoulder. "Men like you have a tendency of getting themselves killed." He turns around to Krista. "Thank Chales for saving you." He says.

"Thank you." She mumbles.

"Don't mention it." I reply, unable to meet her gaze.

"Now get the hell out." Jux demands.

Hair disheveled, red from both embarrassment and spilt wine, she scrambles to her feet. She struggles unsuccessfully to get her skirt back over her hips as she hurries from the room. I can't help but take one last look at her exposed butt as she goes.

Fucking pathetic.

Neither Jux nor myself take our seats or speak for the next minute or so, both of us content to just stare at time as it crawls by. I can tell Jux is hoping I will say something; problem is I have nothing to say. When that fact becomes apparent, he breaks the silence.

"Are you really not going to give me the man’s name, Chales? I seem to find more reasons to like you with each passing minute. People who hold to their values are even more rare than those with discipline, and values, whatever they may be, are important. You aren't a man yet, but I can see you becoming one in short order, and under my supervision, you'll become a great one. What do you say, mate, shall we make peace? Or am I going to have to take your cooperation by force?"

Too much has happened for me to form any words. Besides, my words would only upset him. He's right. I do have values. And one of them is loyalty to those I care for. I may not know Sage well, but he was my first guide into this new life, and for that, I'll always be grateful. I divert my eyes to the ground and hold my tongue. I hear Jux sigh.

"The hero type: tis your destiny to suffer. Very well."

His hand moves toward my face in the same easy manner with which he so easily and ruthlessly disposed of Roger. I put an arm up to shield myself. His hand hits my arm; my arm hits my head. Judging by the way the room is now spinning, I don't think my shield was very effective.

I slam against the ground, bouncing on impact. If it wasn't for the lavish rug beneath me, I could have easily cracked open my skull. I lay unmoving, trying to get my bearings. Juxtapo laughs. "You continue to impress me Chales. Most do not stay awake after a meeting with my hand. Francis!" He shouts. I hear a door open and feel the rumble of heavy steps. I continue to lay motionless-not because I need to-but because I'm scared stiff of what's to come. "Our friend here is refusing to talk. I trust you can change his mind?"

"Of course, sir. Of course."

The high pitched, sing song voice is so slimy and grotesque I have no choice but to turn my eyes to the source.

Oh shiii...

Standing over me, wearing a dirty wife beater and camo pants, is what appears to be an oversized, over stuffed baby. The monstrosity-who's slightly taller and wider than Jux-is completely hairless. Even his eyebrows are missing. Although he's bigger than Jux, where Jux is hard, he is soft. Only a shadow of the muscle he possesses is able to stand above the heaping obesity oozing over him, but the effortless way he moves and handles his bulk indicates that he’s in some kind of shape. He reaches down with a fat hand and pulls me up to my feet.

Jux takes a long look at me once I’m up. "Chales... have you ever considered that maybe you want to die?"

"Huh?"

"I'm being serious. From what I've seen of you and what you've told me, I'm starting to think you may have a deep rooted desire to be dead, and you'll never be happy until it happens."

I take a long look back. "That's crazy."

"Is it? Is it really so outlandish to think that perhaps some minuscule percentage of people are born with an intrinsic desire for death? I've never met anyone quite like you, so I've never thought of this before, but think: think how miserable an artist would be that never allowed himself to paint, or an athlete who never allowed herself to run, or a chef who never cooked, a teacher who never taught, a murderer who never killed! You claim you don't enjoy your suffering, and I can tell by your eyes it's the truth, but what have you done to change it? Why would you subject yourself to so much pain unless somewhere, deep down, you were hoping that if you got enough of it, you'd finally be able to set yourself free? Why else would you be so hesitant to claim the happiness around you? I think your curse is that you're stuck in a life you don't want to live, and no matter what happens, until you reach your hidden goal, you'll never be okay."

We hold each other’s gaze for a time, and then he continues.

"Just think on it. You have no chance at life until you find the answer, and I truly do have an interest in you. I want you to work for me. I want to see how far your potential can go. I really hope you choose life before Francis destroys you." By the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, it's plain to see he means it. For some stupid, unfathomable reason, disappointing him hurts me as much as anything else tonight. "And Francis! Give him three strikes before you take full liberty with him. No permanent damage unless it is clear he isn't going to speak, and even then, don't cripple him in a way that makes him useless."

"Sir, with all due respect, who do you think you are talking to? I know exactly what I'm doing."

"You're right, of course. It's just... I really do like this one." Jux threads his fingers together. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was gunna cry. "Look at me, acting like a mawkish father. I need some sleep. I expect his confession by morning. Now, get him out of here."

Francis nods and tugs my arms behind my back. My shoulders and wrists are still intensely sore, and the thought of being restrained again is almost enough to make me confess everything Jux wants to hear on the spot. Fortunately, he halts Francis before he can secure me. "He's had enough of that. Leave his arms forward."

Francis pauses. "But sir..."

"What, Francis, are you afraid? You think this man half your size will be able to best you just because his arms are strapped in front of him rather than behind?"

Francis grunts but doesn't reply. He pulls out some zip ties and fastens my arms in front of me, then grabs me roughly and drags me from the room. We go out the back, the way Krista came and went. There's a long hallway with doors on either side. I can hear muffled voices behind some of the doors. If only one of those souls would come out to save me. Francis leads me down the hall toward a door near the end.

That must be the fucking place.

Images of dusty old torture chambers once again fill my mind, only this time, my future is certain. This time, that is where I'm going. Terror gobbles me up. "Hey, please don't do this." I beg. We keep moving forward. "Francis, seriously, I'm begging you, just let me go. I don't want to go in there." The door looms closer. "Stop! Please!"

I remember my feet and start digging into the ground. Francis tightens the hand on my shoulder and places the other on my head, continuing to push me along. Physically trying to stop and not being able to adds a whole new dimension to the fear that is seething within me. We reach the door and Francis throws it open.

The cold, stale smell of a grave comes up to greet me.

On the other side of the door there are stairs leading down into black. We are going somewhere new: somewhere less beautiful, probably colder... more dark. My apprehension becomes unbearable. Evil is calling to me, murmuring wretched tidings of a twisted fate. Francis is taking me down there to hurt me. That is an actual fact, something I must come to terms with.

"Please don't." I beg. Francis pushes me forward. "Please, I don't want to go down there." Step by step darkness swallows us. The anxiety in my stomach has knotted into a clump of solid pain, more difficult to endure than even the pain in my wrists. Each step we take brings us further from light and deeper into black. Panic consumes me. "I said stop! STOP! I'm not going down there! Let me go! LET ME GO!"