Chapter Eight
One week later.
W rath’s good morning text came in at six forty-nine and he clutched the phone, staring at the words.
No emojis accompanied the words anymore, but Rogue would take whatever he could get.
He kept reliving their kiss and his cock remained in a semi-state of perpetual hardness no matter how much he jerked off. Fuck, he was losing it, he groaned internally.
He’d gone to the hospital the very next day to take Wrath home, only to find out that the man had already been discharged.
He also thought that maybe when he trained Azrael, Wrath would be there, but that was not the case.
Gazing over at the large room in the Erebus facility, Rogue watched Azrael swing the swords. “Widen your stance, bend your knees more to improve your balance when you lunge.”
Azrael quickly complied with his instructions and continued with the arching moves he’d been going over the past two days.
Rogue planned on training twice a week. That would give the boy time to recover from muscle strain from wielding the swords. Although they were light, the strength to swing them took time to build up.
Out of breath and covered in sweat, Azrael stopped swinging, laid the swords on the mat, and bent over with his hands braced on his knees. They’d been at it for a couple of hours.
“Let’s call it,” Rogue said.
“I can go longer.”
“You want to be able to move tomorrow. What if you get a job?”
“Fat chance of that.” Azrael scowled. “Savage says I’m not ready.”
“Are you?” Rogue countered, walking over to lift the swords and return them to their sheaths. He kept the swords with him, just in case Azrael got it into his head that he was ready to use them for real.
“I worked for Solomon.”
“How many people have you killed?” Rogue squinted at the sweaty boy.
Something dark swirled in Azrael’s eyes. “I can’t remember.” The words were hissed. “You should know, didn’t you keep track?”
Rogue paused for a split second and then swung the strap of the sword case over one shoulder.
Whatever words he could come up with right then wouldn’t change a fucking thing and none of it mattered.
What mattered was that he should have done something, anything.
Azrael marched up to him and shoved him in the chest.
“Why didn’t you help us!”
Pain pierced his heart, and a burn hit his eyes. Rubbing a hand over his face, he turned away.
What could he say? That he thought Solomon was doing them a favor by taking them from the streets and giving them a place to sleep with food?
“Tell me, motherfucker!” Azrael’s voice lifted with rage.
It was better this way. Having Azrael angry at him was better than having the boy break down in tears.
Rogue walked out of the facility, further hardening his heart.
And the wreckage of his past followed him.
Wrath entered the room the minute Rogue left.
“Azrael,” he growled, and the boy swung toward him.
“What!” The word was snapped angrily.
“Rogue isn’t to blame.”
“But he could have saved us.”
“No, he couldn’t have. Do you remember how old you were when Solomon took you?”
“Yeah.” Azrael swallowed. “I was sixteen.”
“Rogue was six or seven when that sick fuck got ahold of him.” Wrath reached the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Rogue didn’t kill Ice when he had the chance,” Echo’s voice came from the doorway.
Azrael glanced over at Echo and sighed. “I didn’t mean it.” Wrath squeezed the teenager’s shoulder.
“There’s a book I want you to read,” Wrath said.
“What’s it about?” Azrael gazed up at him curiously.
“It’s about how people handle captivity differently.”
“I don’t want to read it, sounds boring. Can’t you just tell me?”
Wrath smirked at the boy’s typical teenager response. With a hand firmly on Azrael’s shoulder, he guided the boy over to sit at one of the tables just off the training mat. Echo joined them after snagging three sparkling waters from the mini-fridge.
“Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is?” Wrath asked, popping the top of the can with a hiss and fizz.
Azrael’s head tipped in thought and he nodded. “It’s when someone trusts or loves the person who kidnapped them.”
“That’s right.” Wrath nodded.
“But why? I hated Solomon and couldn’t wait to kill him.” Azrael squeezed the can of water tightly between his hands.
“Rogue hated him too, but Rogue also trusted Solomon to keep him off the streets and give him food and a home.”
“Why didn’t he feel the same way as me?” Azrael argued.
“Essentially, nobody really knows the exact reasons why some people develop Stockholm Syndrome and others don’t,” Wrath murmured. “It could be several factors. Like the intensity of the threat to their survival. It could be that Solomon showed Rogue more kindness than you.”
“Solomon never showed me kindness,” Azrael said tightly.
Nobody knew exactly what had happened between Azrael and Solomon, but they suspected that Azrael had been sexually abused while Rogue had not.
“Solomon treated Rogue like a son, and he used his bond with Rogue to make him do horrific things,” Echo said tightly.
“While Solomon treated the others like objects, Rogue was groomed to someday take his place,” Wrath said.
“But he had to have known it wasn’t right keeping us locked up.” Azrael caught his long, loose hair at the back of his head and quickly tied it away. The move left the boy looking vulnerable.
“He knew, but after so many years beneath Solomon’s rule, Rogue became paralyzed,” Wrath murmured.
“Not completely,” Azrael said with a gulp and opened the sparkling water can. “He didn’t kill Ice.”
“That’s right. In his heart, Rogue’s a good man. Only…he doesn’t think he is.”
“I screwed up.” Azrael thunked his forehead on the table and kept it there.
Wrath placed his hand on the top of Azrael’s head. “It’s okay to feel the way you feel.”
“I didn’t understand. He won’t teach me swords anymore, will he?” Azrael lifted his head to hold his eyes.
“He’ll teach you. Just let him be for a few days,” Wrath said gently.
“I’ll send him a text,” Azrael said decisively.
Echo snickered.
“That’s a great idea.” Wrath smirked.