Page 6 of Dark Side of the Cloth

The guard’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes, his jaw tight with obvious annoyance as he marched toward Dean. As the man rounded the end of the bed, Dean launched himself over the bed and ran for the door. Before he could make his daring escape, the man crashed into him from behind, and he smashed into the wall face first. Sliding down the wall, Dean landed hard on the floor, dazed, and gasping for air. He wanted to cry out as pain exploded behind his eyes. His bloody nose meant that it was probably broken, but weakness in any form would only infuriate his father further.

The guard grabbed his arm in his massive hand and squeezed hard as he was dragged to his feet. No matter how hard he tried to pull away, the iron-like fist didn’t loosen in the slightest. He knew where he was being taken. His father had a sitting room attached to his office, and this was where he spent most of his time and usually had most of his depraved fun.

As they neared the room his father was in, he looked up at the guard and tried one last time. “Please, not tonight. Let me go for just tonight, and I won’t tell him. All you have to say was that I wasn’t in my room,” he was trying for sympathy, but he should’ve known that wouldn’t work. His father handpicked the men that were around him all the time. They all had two things in common. The first was that they were loyal fuckers, and the second was that they all loved the same type of debauchery.

“Mejor Tu que yo.”

“And here I thought it was better you than me. I will remember this.”

Dean cast a dark glare up at the guard, memorizing his face in case the day ever came that he could escape. He had a list, a list of those that if they were not already dead, he’d make sure they were before he left.

The guard sneered at him as he tossed him through the wooden doors into the room. Dean stumbled, and his angry gaze lingered on the guard before he turned to look at his father. The doors closed loudly behind him, effectively sealing him in and to whatever fate his father had planned this night.

“Ah, my son.”

“Father.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest but bowed his head in submission. Better to not enrage him.

“Tonight, you become a man. Come look what I have for you.”

Dean flinched as his father wrapped his arm around his narrow shoulders. Dean had no interest in whatever his father had planned but followed him to the adjacent room that already held the lingering scent of metallic blood and fouler things. A man and a woman were on their hands and knees, bound and mouths gagged.

Dean thought he recognized the man as someone that did business with his father and the Cartels, but so many faces passed through the halls it was hard to be certain. The woman he didn’t recognize at all.

“This is your gift.” His father waved his arm toward the two people kneeling. “Well, what do you say?”

“Thank you, father.”

“That’s better. You need to learn respect. You are too much like your mother with that defiant mouth.” His hand unconsciously balled into a fist as his father dared to mention his mother.

“Well, have at it.” His father wandered over to the large wooden desk and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The bottle was already almost gone, which was also not a good sign.

“Father, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with them.” The glass slammed down on the desk sending alcohol flying. His father marched toward him, and he instinctively flinched back, then sucked in a breath to hold still as the fist came for his face. He closed his eyes a second before the blow struck. His already sore face took the powerful strike, blood flying as he crumpled to his knees. Groaning, he held the side of his face, and Dean stared across at the two strangers. His eyes locked with the man’s, and they shared a moment of understanding. Like flies in a spider’s web, they were all stuck.

“Get up!”

Dean pulled himself to his feet, his head pounded, and the room swam a little, but he knew that if he didn’t stand, the night was going to get a whole lot worse.

“This is why you need to learn your role. You should already know what is expected of you. You are going to run this cartel one day, son. I keep telling you that you should be more involved.”

Dean swallowed and tasted blood. He didn’t know what to say to make this night end faster. One thing was certain—he would never run the cartel. He would die before he was put in charge.

His father turned his large fist, sinking his fingers into the woman’s hair. She screamed through the gag as he pulled her crudely to her feet. He had a terrible feeling he knew where this was going, and his suspicions became a reality as his father bent the woman over the desk. His father snapped his fingers, and the guard that had been standing in the corner stepped forward and grabbed the rope that held the woman’s hands together.

The man on his knees tried to get up, but Dean shook his head at him, trying to tell him that was a mistake. The man didn’t take the hint, and the guard that had dragged Dean in here picked the man up like he weighed nothing, only to slam his ass down in a chair. The man struggled in the guard’s hold, but much like Dean had conceded to his fate, so did the man as the guard easily held him in place.

“Now, son, this is what you do when your father gives you a gift.” His father lifted the bottom of the woman’s dress, balling it in his hand at her waist. A tearing sound could be heard as he ripped the underwear she’d been wearing off her body. She wiggled and tried to scream again, fighting against the two powerful men.

Her underwear hit him in the face, and he looked up to his father as the man laughed. “Smell them, son. That is what a real woman smells like.”

Every part of his face ached as he made a face of disgust. A hard crack sounded as his father smacked the woman across the ass.

“I said smell them, or she gets another. ”Dean stared at the white material, and he slowly brought the small piece of fabric to his face when another crack sounded. “Faster!”

The woman was now whimpering in steady sobs, tears running down her cheeks as her ass clearly showed the bright red of his father’s palm print. Dean quickly realized this was another of his father’s lessons. Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to get out of this one, but his father only tortured him with more than physical pain when he wanted Dean to learn something. Dean crumpled the material in his hand and held it to his nose but didn’t breathe in. His father laughed a deep and deadly sound that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck as the two guards smirked.

He made the mistake of staring the woman in the eyes. Her fear was palpable as she begged with her eyes for one of them to help her. If he could, he would have killed his father and the guards, but even at fifteen, he was a skinny kid and no match for one of them, let alone all three.

The unmistakable sound of a zipper sounded loud in the room. Only the woman’s increasing whimpers were louder. Dean didn’t want to watch this. Sadly, he had watched his father rape women before tonight. It had become a regular occurrence that he managed to avoid by hiding, most of the time, but there had still been many times he was ordered from his bed to watch these events. Once more, the man behind him fought the guard holding him and fell silent as a fist connected with a loud thud to the poor man’s face.