His Reluctant Savior (The District #3)

7. Chapter 7

My lips still tingle and burn a little where Dalton bit me. Hell, the memory of his blood on my tongue is visceral. I’m starving for more of him like some damn vampire. As I drive home, my fingers touch my swollen mouth. Why did he kiss me back?

That look he gave me and him telling me he’d date boys for the right person… Could he really have meant me? Does that mean he’s willing to give me a chance? Why? I want it to be true. I’m desperate for it.

I’ve resented him for so long, filled with jealousy, and not trusting his perfection. Now, I view him so differently, and for the first time, I want a different life. No. I’ve always wanted a different life, but now, I actually want to do something about it. My obsession with him makes me want to do better so I can have him and call him mine, but I don’t know how. I’m fucking trapped, and I don’t see a way out. I’ve made plans to leave, but I can’t yet.

God, I’ve suffered for so long, used by my criminal uncle—who is also my guardian—for years. My life has been consumed by fear and being gaslighted. I’ve been fucking helpless for too damn long.

My parents were murdered when I was around five, and I’ve lived with my uncle since then. I never learned who took their lives and probably never would. My uncle, my father’s brother, is all I’ve got left of my family, along with the crime syndicate he’s a part of. But he belongs to them, not me. They would never protect me against him. That right there is what holds me back the most.

“I won’t tell you which crime syndicate, Boy Scout. While I want to trust you, you’re still a cop at heart, and you’ll want to research them to see what you can dig up. While I no longer have loyalties to them, they let me leave alive… barely, but they could’ve killed me. And they will kill us both if they learn I’ve betrayed them to the Feds. Despite who and what they are, they also saved my life, so I’m not going to turn them in.”

I looked at Dalton, who was lost in thought, no doubt wondering who I could’ve possibly worked for all those years ago.

“Get it out of your head,” I insisted. “You’ll never know.”

“I’m just wondering. I gave you my word, Sid. Besides, organized crime isn’t my area of expertise.”

I eyed him for a moment and nodded, then took a sip of my drink and continued with my story.

I sit in my truck, parked in front of my house. It’s a nice house. My uncle makes enough money to allow us to live comfortably in Vienna. But I learned at a young age that money doesn’t buy happiness or keep you safe when you lack power or money. It’s used as a tool to control those who have nothing—a dangling carrot just out of reach.

I’m reluctant to go into the house. A part of me wants to run, to just keep driving until everyone but Dalton is away from me. He’s strangely become a new light at the end of a pitch-black tunnel.

I can’t remember a time when I’ve been filled with so much anxiety and so many emotions. I’ve been dead inside for so long. It helped me survive my uncle, but it’s not sustainable.

After I finally climb out of my truck, I walk into the house. It’s dark inside, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s sleeping. I sneak upstairs and go into my bathroom for a quick shower because I hate to go to bed unclean. I ignore the little thought that it’s a habit my uncle instilled in me at a very young age.

I crawl underneath my cool sheets and close my eyes, trying to come up with ways to get out of here and not have my uncle hunt me down. He has too many resources and an entire gang to find me. He’s made that loud and clear over the years, and it isn’t a lie, either. I’ve met them often enough. Those men are dangerous.

I don’t know when I fall asleep, but I wake up to the familiar pricking sting in my neck and the wave of dizziness that soon hits. My mind is slow and tries to clear, but the drug doesn’t let me. I try to struggle and get away, but my uncle has me face forward in my bed, and he’s on top of me.

“Shhh, you’re fine, Sid,” he whispers and kisses my head. “You understand, I’ve got to subdue you. You’re getting too big and strong. If you wouldn’t fight me, I wouldn’t need to drug you, sweetheart.”

His words are muffled as I try to comprehend what he’s saying while my mind screams at me to run, but I can’t. I’m so tired of this, but I also know it’s easier to give in.

Uncle Duane started drugging me when I was fifteen after I fought back. The drug keeps me immobile, but aware, and I feel fucking everything. He needs me to feel it.

My tears soak my pillow underneath me as I think of Dalton, of all people, realizing I’ll never be able to have him. Not with my uncle controlling my mind and body, which he’s been doing since I was ten. My uncle has made sure there is nowhere for me to run to and no one to turn to. I’m alone in my suffering.

I’m only in my underwear, so he yanks those off. At least he takes the time to open me up with lube instead of just shoving it in there. Still, he’s not gentle.

I shut my leaking eyes to the burning.

My uncle is a rapist, yet he tells me he loves me. I know he’s a liar. I’ve never believed him. It’s just gaslighting and manipulation. I’ve always known what he does to me is wrong.

“You’re such a good boy for me,” he says, licking up the tears from the side of my face. “Such tasty tears. You’re so beautiful, Sid.”

I know he’s close when he lifts my ass in the air and pounds into me. There’s no enjoyment—only humiliation and pain and hatred.

All I can do is wish him dead because I’m helpless to do anything about it. I’m alone in my anger and vulnerability. No one can help me. There are no cries for help. No one else lives with us. All I have are threats of death if I tell the truth. And if I run, he’ll send the family after me with promises of pain.

It doesn’t take him long to finish when he pulls out. But he’s not done with me when he rolls me onto my back and kisses me as if we’re fucking lovers. He’s demented.

I told myself Dalton was my first boy kiss. My uncle doesn’t count because I don’t kiss him back, even if I could move.

“I wish you would appreciate my love for you,” he whispers his manipulations in my ear while he cups my junk. “I could give you such a good time.”

No words escape me as I try to scream no, that I hated him. The only one I want is Dalton.

When my uncle finally climbs off me, leaves, and closes the door behind him, reality sets in. Dalton will never want me. It doesn’t matter if I change for him, whatever that means. I could never turn into a Boy Scout like him. He’s pure. I’m not sure I can ever let a man touch me like that, either. Kisses are one thing, but sex? No. My uncle didn’t just ruin me. He took away any chance at hope. It had only been a flicker, but Uncle Duane snuffed it out.

As I lay in bed, slowly regaining my body movements, I’m left with my rage. For the first time, someone saw me. The real me. Someone noticed that I’ve been suffering. Dalton recognized my pain. How? In the end, does it really matter? I’m ruined. My body, mind, and soul have been slowly blackened and destroyed over the years.

Tears continue to spill, but they’re tears of anger instead of my usual despair.

It takes about an hour to regain full control of my body. I sit up, and I’m still wobbly, but I can stand on my own two feet without falling over.

After sliding on my underwear, I head to the bathroom with a sudden need to vomit. The drugs always make me sick. When I finish, I can’t look at myself in the mirror as I wash out my mouth in the sink.

My stomach still has sharp pains, but I can’t throw up anymore, and my body shakes violently. I walk down the stairs and head to the kitchen, dying of thirst. I pour myself a large glass of water and chug it down. That’s when my eyes glance at the knives in the butcher’s block whispering my name.

They’ve always sat there on the counter, but I never dared contemplate using them from fear until now.

While my uncle keeps the guns locked up and away from me, there are other ways to hurt a person.

With no hope left, I’m also no longer afraid to die. The last remaining light in me died tonight. My uncle couldn’t threaten me anymore because there was nothing left to threaten. I grab the largest knife, slowly pull it out of its wooden sheath, and head upstairs, straight to my uncle’s bedroom.

With my free hand, I grab the knob to his bedroom and carefully open his door, making sure nothing squeaks, and he doesn’t hear me come in.

The room has a quiet hum from the ceiling fan, and his snores are light. I take tentative steps toward his sleeping form, feeling strangely calm. When I reach his bed, I hover over him. There’s no fear anymore—only determination. Killing him will be my only salvation. If I die for this, so be it. As long as he’s dead, nothing else matters.

I raise my hand, holding the knife over his chest, and watch him sleep. He looks so peaceful, not the grotesque monster I always view him as. He has no idea I’m there and has no idea his life will soon be over.

Instead of plunging the blade into his heart, I use the sharp edge and drag it deep over his exposed jugular.

My uncle is instantly awake and lunges for me, but I take a jump back, falling on my ass because I’m still not stable from the drug. He drops to his knees, bleeding fucking everywhere, holding his throat as he growls at me and attacks. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life.

He snarls and lunges at me again and manages to punch my face several times. I nearly black out before he falls on top of me, hot blood leaking all over me. The stench of copper makes me want to throw up again.

His heavy body sags on me as blackness takes over both of us.

Dalton rubs his face with his hands and growls. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sid! I knew something was wrong… But this? Never in a million years. I am so sorry.”

“How could you know? Hell, killing him had been my therapy. There was no remorse. No horror that I’d taken a life. But I probably would’ve let it continue had you not given me that flicker of hope. Granted, my uncle snuffed it out, but it had been bright enough for a moment to choose a different path. ”

Dalton’s eyes were red-rimmed as he shook his head—always the empathetic Boy Scout. “I’m not your savior, Sid. I was just a kid.”

“I didn’t say you were. But how you interacted with me that night and saw me like no one else had before gave me the courage to fight back.”

Dalton stood, poured himself another drink, and tossed it back like a shot. He coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand before he poured another.

“What drug did he use?” he asked. “You can’t use paralytic drugs like that without some respiratory assistance. He could’ve killed you. Some can be used, but the dosage has to be precise, like when using the ancient drug curare, for example.”

“That’s exactly what he used. The crime family I was a part of used it frequently in their… extortions. The person feels everything, but they can’t move. You need to use the right dosage, and some have definitely overdosed. My uncle was very good at what he did. He was in charge of extracting information from our enemies. He knew exactly how to subdue me.”

“Fuck me,” Dalton groaned, sitting back down, and resting his head back on the couch to stare at the ceiling as he rubbed his wet eyes. “I’m so damn sorry, Sid. No kid should ever have to suffer like that. If only I had known…”

He sighed and looked at me when I said nothing. I couldn’t change my past, so there was no point in what-ifs or apologies.

“What happened after that?” he asked.