Chapter 6
Six
“The longer you stand over my shoulder and watch me, the longer it's going to take.”
Carver raised his hands and stepped back.
“I’m sorry. It's hard not to whenever things don't look so good. Can you tell anything yet?” Carver asked.
Doc sighed and rubbed his temples. “I can tell you a few things off the bat.
The boy is dehydrated and malnourished. His body is trying to shut down due to the lack of care he's had. From the wounds on his arm, he was either stuffed full of recreational drugs, or they were working hard to keep him alive just enough. I will need time to X-ray him to see how long this has all been going on.”
Carver frowned. “What's an X-ray going to tell you?”
Doc took a deep breath, then turned to face him. Carver braced himself because he knew whatever the other man was about to say would anger him. If he wanted to get the boy well, he needed to not go off on the one person he trusted to treat him.
“X-rays will show if he's had any broken bones,” Doc said slowly.
“I will also be able to tell just how long ago they were broken.
When children are small and break a bone, it grows back differently than if it'd been recent.
There's scaling and a number of other medical things I won't dive into to help figure it out.
My point is I need more time. For now, we can hook him up to an IV and get some nourishment in him. He'll need a feeding tube as well.”
Carver frowned at the mention of a feeding tube. It was a fucking travesty for someone this young to have lived with this level of neglect. And to be called pet…
He pushed the thoughts away, instead focusing back on Doc.
“You can have whatever you need. Just take care of him.”
He gave Doc one more serious look before he took off to find the rest of his men. It hadn't been that long that he'd gotten back, but enough of the Angels had stuck around that he had men to consult with.
His anger had grown worse after talking to Doc. He needed an outlet for it. Someone who could take the blows without feeling as if the exchange were personal. It was the healthiest way he knew to handle his emotions.
When he walked into the common room, he saw Silver standing around with a few of the Angels. Carver whistled to gain the other man's attention.
"Yes, Boss," Silver said as he walked over.
"You want to go?"
At the three words, Silver grinned. "Always. Let's do it, old man."
Carver scoffed, then turned toward the gym. Eyes followed them along the way. Everyone knew what it meant when the two of them made their way to the ring. Several of them followed. They spoke loudly amongst each other, excitement building at what was to come.
Inside the gym, there were standard weight machines and even a treadmill, which a lot of the men hated using since they said it made them feel cooped up. They preferred to run around the borders of the property instead.
The true focal point of the room was the boxing ring. Centered in a slightly elevated space, the area was sectioned off with ropes, just like any real ring would be.
Carver knew that his men needed the outlet at times. He did as well. If he had an agreeable partner who was willing to take a hit to the jaw to save the team, then it was a good day.
And Silver always seemed to be that person.
They took their vests off and laid them to the side. Next came their shirts. They even stripped their jeans, leaving them in just their underwear to truly give them free range of movement.
No one batted an eye. It was normal for the pair.
Carver fought not to think of how in a different situation, it might be arousing to be this bare with another man. He didn’t want to think of how the rush of adrenaline could shift into fucking his partner hard and fast like a feral animal.
Now wasn't the time.
He could fuck or he could fight. Today he needed a fight.
As soon as they stepped in the ring, Bookie, one of the probies, jumped in to officiate. He was charismatic and often the life of the party.
Raising both of his hands, he tried to hush the gathered crowd.
“Today we have an impromptu event. In this corner we've got the prez, also known as Carver, also known as The Butcher.”
Cheers went up at the introduction. Carver didn't give in to the urge to preen at their words. His focus was on Silver, who watched him back with a calculating glare.
“And in this corner,” Bookie continued, “we have Silver. The man who keeps coming back for an ass whooping. The Casanova of the Angels of Ruin.”
Wolf whistles went up. Silver went so far as to bow at the praise.
Carver shook his head at the display. There was no denying the truth of Bookie’s words. If there was someone to be seduced into his bed, Silver was the one to do it. Even people who were solidly against the idea of sleeping with him somehow woke up beside him sated.
Silver never compromised anyone's morals or didn't get consent. It was just that he was so devilishly handsome and convincing. He could persuade a camel to buy sand in the fucking desert.
It was astounding. To make matters more awkward, the people he took to bed often wanted another round with him. As a general rule, he didn’t go back for seconds. It often made for men and women shouting at him as they stormed from the compound during their walk of shame.
Carver was thankful that Silver worked for him and not against him.
He had no clue how he'd handle it if the other man was trying to pull one over on him or his men. The only reason none of them slept with him was because he felt like family after all his years as an Angel. If they’d met him somewhere on the street, he had no doubt Silver could bed them in an instant.
“Everyone knows the rules, so I won't yap anymore. Men to the center, we shake, then we fight,” Bookie said.
The two men approached one another and shared a firm handshake. Carver’s expression was focused, while Silver still wore a smirk.
Bookie took a large step back and then slashed the air with a flat hand, yelling, "Fight!"
Silver took the first swing, as he always did. Carver ducked, then came back with an uppercut. The move only managed to clip the edge of Silver's jaw.
The other man gave a dark chuckle as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Going for the knockout this early, boss?"
Carver grunted rather than answered. He didn't want to talk back and forth. If he wanted that, he would have gone to speak with Fury. He was the resident therapist at the compound after having joined the Angels with a full-blown medical degree under his belt.
Fury would talk people down when they were having a moment, and he helped manage everyone's mental health. Of course, that's not what they called it to the guys, because they were tough men who needed to believe that everything was fine with a little duct tape and spit.
Still, Fury wasn't what he needed right that minute. He needed to focus, to make someone bleed, to feel better about the man on his compound who had been tortured for so long.
Silver came to deliver a jab, and Carver telegraphed the movement before it landed. He released a combo that sent Silver wobbling. The other man shook his head, his grin turning to a grimace.
"What? I get nothing?" he said. "No words or explanation? I thought we were friends, Boss."
Bookie snorted from the sidelines. “The only friends boss has are Slash, Slayer, Fury, and Hex. Everyone knows this. I happen to know that they had a really fucking tough morning with all those victims.”
“Survivors,” Carver grunted as he landed a blow to his opponents’ ribcage. Silver grunted, taking a large step back to get out of his reach.
Bookie snapped his fingers, then returned to talking to Silver. “Right; survivors. Anyway, there were a hell of a lot more of them than they expected. There's even one here on the compound.”
Carver froze, then straightened. "What do you mean there's one here on the compound?"
He cut a glare over to Bookie, who raised his hands as if asking for forgiveness.
"I didn't know it was a secret, Boss."
Carver shook his head because as much as he did want to beat the shit out of someone, he could tell that Silver wasn't going to go along with it blindly anymore. And if he was going to talk about it, well then he probably wasn't going to get to fight about it after.
He dropped his hands to his hips and tilted his head up to the ceiling.
With closed eyes, he said, “There were twice as many survivors there than we thought. We had to coordinate a second truck, but before we could leave, they told us that there was another person there. Someone who had been singled out by Mordecai.”
"Fuck," Silver dragged out slowly.
Carver opened his eyes and looked at the other man. "Yeah, exactly."
Silver scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m guessing that's the one that's here. The one who suffered the most?”
Carver shrugged. “I don't know that he suffered the most, but he's definitely barely hanging on to life.
Doc is working him up to see if he can pull through.
It might be one of the times that I actually have to hand him over to a hospital, though I don't know what the fuck I would tell the authorities when they come knocking.”
"You tell them to mind their fucking business," Bookie shouted.
A bunch of the other Angels standing around grumbled their agreement. It was only then that Carver realized just how many had gathered. He wasn't paying attention, his thoughts so wrapped up on the boy and the mystery of what had happened to him.
He couldn't wait until he woke up. Carver needed to know what all had gone down, if he had family, and how long he'd been with Mordecai.
He needed to figure out if the boy—because compared to Carver that’s exactly what he was—wanted to go somewhere or if he was going to need counseling.
What was he thinking? Of course he was going to need counseling.
Carver shook his head as the thoughts rushed through his mind one after another. People didn't survive experiences of this nature, then turn out to suddenly be okay. It took work and healing. It took time and patience.
Something the world probably wouldn't give the boy.
But could Carver? Could he be the person that the boy opened up to and trusted? Did he want to become caregiver to someone in that way?
He had never wanted children. Carver didn't see the point after the life he'd grown up in.
The club would be passed down to someone else eventually.
And sure, it would suck that it wasn't his family line, but since the day he'd realized how much he liked men, he had a feeling that was the way it would go.
Of course he could always have a surrogate or, you know, adopt. He didn’t need to think about those details now. If it were to happen, then he still had plenty of time to make decisions.
His focus was on getting the boy the help he needed. It was also on his club and making sure Royce had everything in order to take care of the people the Angels had sent their way.
Thinking about his friend, Carver turned away from the group and pulled out his phone. Royce answered on the first ring.
“I was wondering if I'd hear from you again today. Word is you've got yourself a stray.”
Carver bristled at the word. “Don't call him that.”
Royce hummed, letting the sound of their voice and the lack of words speak their thoughts.
“I see. Well I'll just let you know that everything here is going well. Slash was a pleasure to deal with, as always.”
Carver could taste the sarcasm. Royce didn't truly mind Slash like he was insinuating. They were total opposites but not enemies.
Royce was more clean-cut than Slash. Considering their family was worth literal billions, they had an image to uphold.
They had a face that was often photographed for news articles and asked to do interviews.
They avoided any unnecessary public appearances considering the overlap of their business and all that publicity.
But they were still pretty damn noticeable.
Slash hid in the shadows. If you met him, then it was likely you weren't going to see the light of day again. The only other option was if you were in some kind of trouble and he was there to help.
It's part of the reason the Angels of Ruin existed still, and it was why they would continue to exist.
“I want to make sure you understand that I'm here to help should things arise. I want all those people taken care of, Royce. They deserve the best.”
“Agreed,” they replied. “I intend to ensure they go on to live well after this.”
“Good. I'm getting the boy some help now.”
Royce hummed again. “Boy?”
“Yes, boy. He was in a separate space from the others.”
“My question wasn’t to correct you. I spoke with many of those you rescued.
There was a bit of a language barrier, but we brought in specialists and according to them, the one called ‘pet’ was not a boy.
From what they've suggested, I’d say early to mid-twenties.
A few of the older ones have been there as long as he has.
They saw him come in as a young child. He couldn't have been more than five or six years old at the time.”
Carver's heart sped up at the news. “What's the longest someone remembers?”
His words were broken.
His emotions shattered.
Royce paused. Their voice came out softer as they replied, “One person had been there for twenty-two years, and they said he'd been there almost just as long.”
Carver ripped the phone from his ear as he roared in outrage. His phone flew across the room, smashing against the wall. The audible crack of the screen didn’t even make Carver flinch. He was too lost in his own dark thought to even care about the fucking thing.