~Formay, police station~
He was gone. Jayce had run off for the past few days and had not picked up Jamisen's calls. Milo tried to reach him as well; for the third day he hadn't shown up, the sheriff knew he had to fire him. He was missing too much work—they needed someone to fill that place.
Again.
Ronny was still in recovery, still burned badly. The station had been told about his discharge from his position, so now Milo needed a new person to fill in more than ever. But they had Jayce—where had he gone? Things were happening without the sheriff knowing, and the sheriff knew everything.
But he didn't know everything.
Jamisen rushed into the office and stood by the door to let a few men come in. They followed behind in a cool fashion until all three of them stood in Milo's small office. Milo stood up straight before he realized that the men were from the fire department.
"Adam? I got the call about a fire. How bad was it?" Milo sat down across from the lead fireman, Adam, who wore a cool expression.
"Not too bad, but we came to tell you about it since it was caused by a gang in the Grubs."
Jamisen stiffened, shutting the door after the other two men who'd come with Adam left. He walked forward, looking at Milo with concern. "How do you know for sure?"
"My men caught a few guys from the Grubs watching. They all left at the same time. The people we talked to said they were there before the fire started."
Milo gulped, trying to think. Looking back up at Adam, he spoke confidently. "Do you know if anyone got hurt, killed? Whose apartment was it?"
"No humans were harmed. We did find a dead feline in the building, though..." The man's voice trailed off, and he cast his eyes down. His whole figure stiffened, his body language sending a message to Milo.
"Adam, what is it?" Milo asked softly.
The fireman cursed to himself. He lowered the hand he'd been holding up, giving the sheriff a serious look. "The main reason I wanted to talk to you about this was that the hero was there." Adam gulped, glancing at Jamisen. The man looked to Milo, who shooed him away without meeting his eyes. Jamisen huffed and left through the door. Milo turned back to Adam, who continued with a sigh. "He rushed in first, put out the fire, and actually carried out a cat that had been crushed. He left with it..."
Milo began to shake his head, fearing what he was about to hear. He didn't want to believe it; he was hoping it wasn't true. But his blood ran cold when Adam continued.
"We believe it was his apartment. The cat was his—the men attacked his home in revenge. All the gangs teamed up just for that foul reason." Adam shook his head, feeling sorry for the curly-haired man. He had watched the hero walk out the door with the small creature in his arms, head lowered, tears running down his face in grief.
It was like when the hero's home had been destroyed once before—burned and toppling in on itself. It had been his mother's home; she hadn't survived.
It felt the exact same, watching Oxzy leave with his head low. Adam felt a chill run up his spine, his heart pounding with thoughts. He looked back at Milo, and it seemed the sheriff was in an even worse state—like he was ready to pass out. Bloodshot eyes, an open mouth, sweat dripping from his pale skin.
Before Adam could ask, Milo spoke first. "W-Where was the apartment in t-the town...?"
"Uh," the fireman looked aside, avoiding Milo's eyes as he spoke, "it was in... Cleoi, I think, where not much crime happens..."
Milo felt his whole being freeze. It was Oxzy's apartment—his home.
Milo and the station were the only ones who knew where he lived. He had tried to keep it secret, knowing something like this would happen if it fell into the wrong hands.
And it had. Someone told the gang, and now Oxzy had lost his home. He was lost now, broken somewhere—all because of Milo, the sheriff who was supposed to save people.
The sheriff gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning a painful white from how tightly he clenched them. His mind grew cloudy; he could hear Adam trying to speak to him, but he was filled with rage and worry. Only one person could have done this: that bastard Jayce.
Why had he trusted him? He'd left him alone with Oxzy's location. He must have done something—that's why he wasn't here anymore. That sneaky brat!
Milo stood up fast, walked right past Adam, and swung the door open. He found the other two men by the desk, talking among themselves; they turned when they saw the sheriff emerge. Jamisen stood by the door and straightened when he noticed Milo up and alert.
The sheriff turned his attention to his man. "I need you and Group C to search for Oxzy."
Jamisen looked completely taken aback and shook his head in hesitation. "What? Group C is still looking for the Grubs killer. Why would we look for the hero—?"
"Nothing will be found by anyone. Oxzy is more important. Don't talk back—get the men ready." Milo turned toward the dressing room to tell the others about the new arrangement.
Jamisen huffed, reaching for the man and grabbing his wrist. "Milo! What the fuck are you thinking? I thought you were over the hero. We have more important issues than—"
"Do what I say, or you're fired." Milo glared over his shoulder.
Jamisen stood wide-eyed, staring at the man—his friend, a brave and smart man. He had gone mad; this wasn't the Milo he knew. He was completely entranced by Oxzy, still.
He had thought Milo was over him. That he'd given up on the hero.
But no.
Milo was fully set on finding the hero. To do what? Was it guilt? Was it pity?
It didn't really matter—the man was lovesick. He was abandoning his duty as lead sheriff of the station to chase after a man, a man who wasn't in love with him. He was almost as crazy as Pierce.
No, no one could be as insane as him.
Jamisen looked down, not wanting to see his friend like that—embarrassing himself, losing all control over Oxzy. Everyone in the station stared; the firemen looked very confused. Adam appeared almost concerned, and the policemen who knew Milo could tell he was distracted, preoccupied with something.
The man let go of the sheriff and lowered his head. He nodded. Milo huffed at him, turning back to his men to shout orders. Jamisen looked up with shaded eyes, watching as Milo stormed off.
All Milo could think about was the hero—the man he had fallen for, who had rejected him.
Where was he?
Was he safe...?
~The Grubs, Pierce's home~
The villain woke to something warm on him. He felt very comfortable, his body soaked in warmth; not even the cold air from the open roof could cloud him. He stirred, sensing someone next to him. Well, on him.
He opened his eyes, seeing through a mess of curly black hair. The villain looked down at his chest, where the curled-up hero lay beside him. The man was almost on his chest, lying on his side with his hands grazing Pierce's exposed skin.
The villain had his arms wrapped around his hips, finding that the hero wore nothing except the green shirt he'd given him. He smiled lightly; it didn't seem to bother him that a man was in his bed, nor did the memories of last night. The hero, of course, wouldn't leave—he had nowhere to go.
So he lay next to the villain, providing him warmth and comfort. Pierce felt a bit happy, too happy. He wasn't alone for the first time in years.
The villain wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling the warm man closer. With the hero's head resting on his chest, Pierce noticed he was far too hot. He pulled away to touch the man's head. He was burning up; sweat dripped from his brow, his hair stuck to his skin from the dampness.
Pierce shook his head—he had to get up and help the man with the fever. It had gotten worse after last night; it seemed Oxzy was out cold. So Pierce had to help him, though it didn't bother him too much. What did bother him was having to leave the warmth radiating from the man.
He carried him to the restroom, setting him down in the tub. He quickly removed the shirt, leaving him in nothing but his bandages. The villain began washing him off, running warm water through his messy hair. He used soap to clean the sweat and residue from his skin, finishing before sitting up to look for a towel. He found one on the counter, knelt back down, drained the tub, and set the towel on Oxzy's black hair.
It amazed him how the man's curls stayed intact even when wet. He cupped Oxzy's drooping face in his large hands, looking deep into it. Oxzy gave a low wheeze, water dripping from his flushed face, his eyes slowly opening. He looked completely dazed, too tired to understand where he was or what was happening.
"Mh..." Oxzy whined into Pierce's grasp, his face turning so his lips grazed the villain's hand.
Pierce felt his world spin; he suddenly felt intoxicated by Oxzy's expression. The man was warm, water falling and dripping along his chest. His eyes closed again, his whole weight resting in the villain's hand. It made Pierce feel powerful, hot, almost giddy.
Oxzy was turning him on without even trying. His unconscious face alone was enough.
Pierce sighed, rubbing Oxzy's warm cheek with his thumb. "You're pretty cute if you look close enough."
The hero moaned into his hand, sighing out tired, pained breaths. The villain nodded, finishing with his hair before lifting him to dry the rest of his body.
Moving Oxzy around felt easy, since he was sick and very weak. Pierce thought he might have improved by now—throwing up should have emptied his stomach of whatever drug had been used. Yet Oxzy was still very sick.
Pierce carried him back to the bed, setting him down before searching for clothes. He only shrugged, figuring Oxzy must have a weak immune system, which was why he remained so ill.
The villain dressed Oxzy in what he'd been wearing, except he searched his closet for a new shirt. He didn't own many long sleeves, so he chose a reddish-brown sweater. It would be big on Oxzy, but he was too sick to resist. Pierce put it on him before covering him back up.
He wheezed slightly, pain evident throughout his body. The villain rested a hand on his hot forehead. "It's okay, you'll feel better soon, Ox."
The villain went down to his darkened kitchen; he'd apparently forgotten to open the blinds as he usually did upon waking. He'd been too distracted by Oxzy, who had consumed his entire morning.
Pierce slid the blinds open, letting the morning sun into his home. He went to the faucet, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. He headed back to his room, finding the hero in the same position.
Gently, he lifted the man up, coaxing him to drink the large glass of water. Oxzy gulped it down, fighting back tears from the force of the water rushing down his throat. His mouth was dry, water leaking from its corners. Oxzy used a weak hand to push Pierce away.
"Sorry, you gotta drink it, Ox," Pierce mumbled, continuing to press the water to his mouth, ignoring the weak protests. The hero grabbed the hand holding his face, gripping tightly, holding onto his wrist as if to endure the pain.
The villain felt the soft hold, his lips curving into a small smile. He realized the hero had a habit of clinging to something, especially when in pain—he'd noticed it the night before, during sex. The hero had held onto him, grabbing, clawing at his skin with every thrust.
Maybe it was just how the hero endured pain.
Either way, Pierce found it adorable.
The water was finished when Pierce finally pulled away. The hero gave short gasps, his hands trembling slightly. His eyes were shut tight, tears still clinging to his lashes. Pierce felt a pang of guilt, seeing the man in such a deep sleep yet still registering that he was being made to drink. Oxzy couldn't even wake to stop him.
It gave the villain a lot of free rein. It also made him temper his strength—Oxzy was weak right now. One strong shove, and the man might break.
Pierce leaned down, kissing Oxzy's head softly, then pulled away with a gentle smile. The hero turned toward him, his small breaths confirming his comfort. The villain sat at the end of the bed, eyes completely absorbed by Oxzy.
His hand ran through the black curls, soft as they slipped from his fingers. The villain couldn't help himself—he wanted to do it all again, everything they'd done last night, over and over. It was amazing; the hero remained just as breathtaking now, lying in bed, as he had been the night before.
In the villain's bed. Resting with ease after being thoroughly ravished the night before.
The villain muffled a giggle. He turned from the man upon hearing a familiar but distant commotion. He sat up, noticing a group making its way to his door. The voices reached him immediately.
In walked his father, mother, and two of his siblings. He recognized them as he looked down from the stairs—Buck and Brit. They walked in, and Azeral immediately went to the fridge, his wife following.
Pierce sighed, closing his door before heading downstairs. "Don't know how to knock?"
His voice made the group flinch. His father closed the fridge door, hiding a beer behind his back. The two siblings huddled together, inching toward their mother for a protective wall.
The mother walked forward to the stairs where Pierce stood. "I have a new job for you," she said. "You weren't responding to my messages, so I came to tell you."
"Did you bring the dropouts too?" Pierce motioned to the siblings behind her.
She shook her head, pointing to the man by the fridge. "We were doing business with them when he had the bright idea to come over as a family."
"You don't seem very fond of that idea." Pierce crossed his arms.
Zella gulped. "Well, obviously not. It's just business."
"Right, because family doesn't mean anything to you, nor do the cowards behind you." Pierce shook his head; he didn't care either way. He walked to the fridge, making his father jump back.
"Hey, we all care! Just have a lot going on," Azeral said, pulling the beer from behind his back and offering it to Pierce. "Sorry—have a drink!"
The son looked at it, rolling his eyes before pulling out a box of juice instead. His father gave an awkward laugh, taking a swig of the beer himself. Zella, seeming fed up, kept her voice low but stern.
"Look, I have a job you need to do right away."
"Sorry, can't," Pierce responded, reaching for a glass.
"What?" Zella shook her head. "What are you talking about? You're not busy, and it's damn important."
"If it's so important, why don't you do it?" Pierce mocked, pouring juice into the cup. "Plus, I have a guest over, so I'm busy." He finished by taking a sip, leaning against the wall behind him.
"A guest...?" Buck mumbled from behind his mother.
"Obviously he's lying," Zella muttered. "He just doesn't want to do it."
"Right and wrong," Pierce said, glancing at Buck, who flinched into the shadowed part of the living room. "I just don't want to do it."
Zella growled under her breath. She wanted to shout, to force him into it, but she was also a bit afraid. If Pierce said he didn't want to do something, that was his choice—and it seemed he truly didn't want to.
Before the mother could continue, Azeral stepped between her and his son, turning to Pierce. "Hey now, I bet he does! I heard some of your neighbors, like Finn, talking about the noises he heard last night." The father smirked at his son. "Had a fun night?"
"Yep," Pierce replied plainly. He heard his father cackle like a hyena. The man tried to get his wife to loosen up; she pulled away from him, turning toward the door. The siblings looked thoroughly confused.
The father handed his son a beer, gripping his shoulder. "Hey, loosen up! Have some drinks—we can have a little family get-together!"
"Oh, screw off!" Buck pulled away but took a gulp from his own beer.
"God, I don't want to be here..." Brit looked down, a chill running down her spine. She caught her older brother giving her a look. Her whole body felt cold, so she turned toward the door to leave. Azeral grabbed her wrist before she could.
Brit tried to pull away. "Hey, no, come on—let's stay a little longer!" the father pleaded, intoxication running through his voice.
"I need to check on Kinsey..." Brit said, sweating bullets.
"That little angel is at school. Stop whining—now, hey, babe!" Azeral let go of her to stop his wife from leaving as well. She stood by the door, trying to quiet her raging thoughts. "Let's stay a little longer."
"No, Pierce clearly doesn't want us here!" Zella hissed.
Azeral shook his head, looking at the man in the kitchen. "Hey, can't we stay a little longer?"
Pierce looked at him, glancing toward the ceiling where his room was. Shrugging, he mumbled, "Don't care."
Azeral turned back to his wife. "Just for a while—maybe you can convince him during that time!" He tried to smile, kissing her cheek and neck.
It had no effect on her, but the idea lingered. She could try to persuade him, though she also feared that pushing too hard might make him explode. She had enough time, too, and with everyone here, Brit and Buck might not ask questions about the drug trafficking. They already knew about it, since Corbin couldn't keep his mouth shut, but if they stayed in the dark about the details, they might not think to mention it to their father. That was all Zella worried about.
She pushed away from Azeral, heading to the fridge for a beer. "Fine, but only a few minutes..."
The husband cheered, sitting on the couch where Buck was scrolling through his phone. Brit walked to her mother's side, questions about the drug business already forming.
The group began to relax once Pierce had gone upstairs. The villain climbed the stairs after letting them stay, walking to his room to check on Oxzy.
He didn't care if they stayed or not, wasn't worried about them finding the hero. They couldn't hurt him with Pierce there, nor did he owe them any explanation for Oxzy's presence. He didn't think they could do anything—he knew they couldn't.
He watched the man sleep in silence, his hand finding its way back into his hair, running through the curls as though they were all he wanted. It seemed they were. He was completely absorbed in him.
Pierce didn't care about the pathetic excuse of a family downstairs. He was only focused on Oxzy—the man who had warmed his bed all night, the man who'd been on his mind since the moment he first fought him.
He watched, and watched.
He could never grow bored now.
~The Grubs, the warehouse~
Mercy couldn't look him in the eye. He didn't seem like the same person anymore. The woman had always suspected Felix was a bit crazy, that he had a certain determination—but going THAT far...
She felt uneasy, a bit unsafe in the same room as him. It was different with Pierce; she'd known that man for years. She barely knew Felix, and already she'd discovered how dark he was. He was willing to do anything—anything—just to please Pierce.
Mercy shook her head, her eyes fixed low on the soft cushion in the office.
Felix was waiting for someone. He was about to stand and look for them when a few men entered. One of them was Alex, who was always by Felix's side. He looked uncomfortable, shifting in place.
Felix crossed his arms, leaning against the desk behind him. The men kept their eyes to the ground.
It was silent.
Until—
"Well?" Felix asked firmly.
The other men's gazes pushed Alex forward. He shrank into himself, looking fearfully away from Felix. "Well... we got the first shipment of drugs out..." He gulped. "But, uh, I think Zella changed it to another day since she's with Pierce today."
"She's trying to get Pierce to come tonight, but he isn't answering her texts or calls," another man by Alex added, shifting his stance.
"Yeah, I know that. Pierce also didn't respond to the video I sent him. I wanted to show him—that's another reason Mother went to get him. That, and the job marks the start of the drug transfer we're waiting on him for."
The men saw the uneasiness in their leader's eyes. "Well, we're getting it ready, so as soon as he comes, it'll go off without a hitch!" the shorter man beside Alex offered.
The upbeat tone made Felix growl. He held his head in his hands, a deadly aura surrounding him. The men edged away, afraid of what he'd say next. "You already told me that..." Felix mumbled. "I want to know about Oxzy. You searched for him, so where is he?"
He was dead serious, his eyes and voice making that clear. The men exchanged glances before both looked at Alex. He sighed. "We did search. We still don't know where he is."
"Oh my fucking god!" Felix exploded, leaping up from his slouched position. "Your group had one damn job, Alex! The easiest and most important—find the hero before Pierce gets here!" Hot rage rose in his throat, his vision clouding with anger. "That was the last part of the plan. I need him by tonight!"
"How did he even get out?" one of the men asked, eyes darting away from their furious boss. "His body was wrecked—he could barely walk or see with the drugs in him. Someone must have let him out."
"Ugh," Felix groaned, trying to steer away from the topic.
Even if it annoyed him, it remained the question running through the warehouse. It was true—Oxzy had still been drugged when they'd left him. The warehouse had been locked; he'd had no way to escape. But he had.
That meant someone inside the warehouse had let him out. It was the only explanation.
Felix looked at Mercy, noticing she hadn't smoked anything yet. What also puzzled him was the untouched food in front of her—a bag of chips and a soda, neither touched.
That was unlike her.
Felix turned back to the men, who were murmuring among themselves. He needed to finish with them before checking on Mercy. He stood and walked toward them; they parted immediately for their leader, who made his way to the door.
He opened it, turning a glare on the three. "I want the hero here before nine, when Pierce arrives. Get it done now."
The men shuffled out, nodding to their leader. Felix watched them leave, closed the door, and turned to Mercy. His friend sat with her knees drawn to her chest, eyes closed as if sleeping—but she stiffened when he approached.
She opened her eyes as he sat beside her, offering a tight smile. He tilted his head, studying her with concern. "You okay, Mercy? You haven't touched the food I got you."
He gestured to the snacks in front of her. She sighed, resting her head on her knee. "I feel sick..."
"Sick?" Felix repeated, looking away. "Is it because of what happened Thursday?"
"You mean when your men raped the hero?" Mercy deadpanned. The young leader nodded, his eyes sad, and Mercy buried her face in her legs. "Yeah..."
"You don't seem like the type to be grossed out by that stuff. I didn't realize it would affect you this much. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Felix. It's just..." Mercy sighed, her body language signaling discomfort with the topic.
He looked away. "Don't share if you don't want to—"
"I hate the sounds of death and pain. I hate the look of pain, the feeling of it—not just hearing it from others..." Her voice was low, almost submissive.
Felix looked back at her in shock. She'd never shared something this personal with him before. He couldn't help but feel it was special—that she trusted him with it.
"It's weak. I don't tell others about it, but I couldn't act normal after seeing it. I'd just be hiding how I really feel—who I am, how weak—"
"It doesn't change you." Felix placed his hand on her shoulder; she looked up with broken eyes. He gave her a smile. "I'll always see you as a strong woman who eats a lot!"
The words made her giggle. She shook her head. "Well, it feels a bit better getting it off my chest."
"Think you could eat now?"
Mercy looked down at the food, her stomach turning. "Maybe. If I'm alone."
Felix laughed to himself, standing when he caught the look in her eyes. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. Don't eat it all at once, though—it might make you sick."
"You're not my dad, little leader," Mercy said, uncurling herself and rolling her eyes. He waved goodbye, leaving her alone in the office while he went to work outside. She watched him go, then looked at the food with disgust.
She hadn't totally lied, but she'd needed an excuse to avoid suspicion. The men were already talking about the hero's escape. Mercy had opened the warehouse door for him, given him the shirt, and told him when to leave.
Why?
She hated him. He'd taken Pierce's attention away from her.
But... hadn't he been doing that forever? Why should it bother her now?