Chapter Two
“Wren, you ridiculous wretch. Why isn’t my bed turned down? Where’s my chocolate? There’re dishes still draining on the damn rack. Where the fuck are you?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Wren had learned to move fast because he had to.
The moment his laptop was stashed under his mattress, Wren ran into the bathroom, tugged off his shirt, and grabbed a plunger.
Straining his butt muscles, he managed a solid fart – damn, I hope I didn’t shit my pants – all before Michael smashed open his bathroom door.
Head over the toilet bowl, bum up, Wren flinched as the door hit the wall.
“Sir, you’re home. I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.
” He looked over his shoulder, the pitiful look Michael preferred on his face.
“There was an…incident…with the plumbing.” He pulled the dripping plunger out of the toilet, silently crowing as Michael moved back, disgust twisting his features.
“Something got blocked. I didn’t want you to have to call a plumber. I think I’ve got it fixed.”
“Gods, you’re disgusting. It absolutely stinks in here.
” Michael waved his hand in front of his nose.
“To think I came home early just so I could take you out, seeing as that’s all you keep whining about.
But eww…not now. You’ve spoiled your chance because you didn’t care for me the way you’re supposed to. ”
Wren’s heart dropped as if someone had punched it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed out of the house. To be able to breathe fresh air, feel the breeze on his face…
Michael always does this. He never intended taking you out in the first place.
Wren nodded, turning his head away. It was easier looking in the toilet bowl than it was looking at the man who ruled every aspect of his life.
“I am so sorry, sir,” he said, using his most plaintive tone. “I didn’t know this would happen.”
“Something always happens with you,” Michael sneered from the doorway. “You’re just useless. Pathetic. Gods, you can never do anything right, and you’re always messing with my plans. No wonder I can’t do anything nice for you. You always fuck things up.”
Tears dropped down Wren’s face and into the pristine toilet. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself words couldn’t hurt him, hearing them night after night, repeated day after day – they just did. A little piece of Wren broke every time, and Michael knew it.
“Look at you.” The sneering tone intensified. “I don’t know why I bother keeping you around. You’re completely useless. I should just kill you. Wipe your miserable existence off the face of the earth once and for all.”
“Please, no.” Wren didn’t know what he was pleading for. He didn’t want to die. But he already knew Michael would never let him go.
“Oh, that would be too easy.” Michael laughed.
“Face it, little worm, the only way you’re getting out of here is when I’m dead, and we both know that’s not going to happen.
You’re mine. Bought and paid for. Your parents never loved you – they proved that when they handed you over for a fistful of cash - and no one else ever will either.
So you’d better make sure you keep me happy, because I can replace you at the drop of a hat. ”
“I’ll do better, sir. I promise I’ll do better.” Wren stifled his sobs. “I have to… I’ll fix this toilet.”
“Saves me calling a plumber, I suppose.” Wren closed his eyes as he heard Michael stomp away.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, or you’d get a damn good thrashing.
Get that toilet fixed and then finish the dishes.
The kitchen needs to be scrubbed from top to bottom, and I want that done before you think of sleeping tonight.
Every single cupboard inside and out, and don’t forget the oven, the refrigerator, and the freezer.
I want that place completely spotless before you make me breakfast in the morning. ”
The sobs came as Michael slammed the door shut. I hate my life. Wren savagely forced the plunger into the toilet and out again, even though there’d been nothing blocking it in the first place. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.
Using the side of the toilet bowl as leverage, Wren stood up, his knees complaining after their time on the floor.
As he cleaned up the plunger, his hands, and wiped the water droplets off the toilet, he spared a thought for his anonymous friend, Bear.
More specifically, how he’d stopped messaging mid-sentence and then gone offline. You probably hate me now, too.
Bear had said once that he was an assassin, and as Wren washed the tears from his cheeks, he really wished that was true, the same as he had at least a dozen times since he’d first read that message.
Michael was getting tired of him. Wren could see the writing on the wall.
His rages were more frequent, the beatings were longer, and the man seemed to be drunk every night of the week.
It hadn’t been so bad when Michael had a girlfriend.
He would be out more often, sometimes even staying out all night.
But the last girlfriend had been gone for more than a month now.
One day the man was going to come home, angry about something, and Wren’s life expectancy would be cut short.
He wasn’t under any illusions about that.
Oh, Bear, I’m so sorry. But perhaps it’s just as well our conversation got cut short.
Because Wren knew the only person who had a chance of taking Michael out would have to be a trained assassin or someone with similar skills.
How I wish people like that actually existed.
More importantly, I wish even just one of them knew about me.