And maybe it could help him, too. Pushing, daring, teetering on that edge. That’s what the sex started out as for him but since he wasn’t enough, maybe this would be. “Come.”
He stepped closer, right in Ben’s space. Ben took the leather from his hand and then said, “Kiss me.”
He wasn’t sure why he asked for a kiss. Ben didn’t usually start this way.
Ben closed his eyes after the boy pushed up onto his toes, his mouth slowly, tentatively coming down on Ben’s. There was fear behind the kiss, fear and nerves and that’s not what Ben needed right now. He pushed his tongue into the other man’s mouth, wanting to possess. If he couldn’t control his life, he could at least control this.
Suddenly, his vision swam. It wasn’t the darkness behind his eyelids he saw. It was blood—Bonnie’s or Javier’s he didn’t know. Maybe it was his own. Ben jerked back. He felt like he would heave. Christ, would he ever get a moment of peace? For once to not see the sister he failed or the pieces of brain from Javier’s head splattered on the floor and walls? Know that death was dealt from the hand that touched Tristan every day because Tristan had someone who would kill for him when all Ben had ever had were words. And even when it mattered, he didn’t always use them.
He jerked back. Shook his head to clear it before lifting his shaky hands to slip the leather over the sub’s head. Just as he got it into place, went to tighten, a hand on his arm stopped him.
“That’s enough.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ben shook off Dante’s hold. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t give a shit if it does or not.” He stepped between Ben and the boy. “Look at you. You’re dead on your fucking feet. You have circles under your eyes. Your head isn’t in the right place. You’re obviously too weak right now to think clearly.”
I’m trying not to be weak, Benny. It’s just...don’t tell. Promise me you won’t tell. He tried to shake Bonnie’s voice from his head but it just turned into another. His father.
You’re a deviant.
You have to be strong in your mind to survive in this world, Ben. She was weak. You don’t have to be weak too.
“Shut up!” Ben backed up. Ran a hand through his hair. Shook his head and closed his eyes but then jerked them open again, afraid of what he would see.
That’s because they’re right. You’re weak, his own voice echoed through his head.
“Ben. Come here.” The voice was stern.
He hadn’t even realized he’d stumbled away from Dante. His legs didn’t want to hold him up any longer. His eyes screamed at him, begged him to close them, but he had so much tension and anger, fear and hate inside him and he didn’t know how to let it out. He couldn’t let it out anymore with sex. He needed a release.
“Ben,” Dante said again but Ben just turned around. Walked away. Hoped the music would make the voices stop. Didn’t want to think about what the voices meant.
Where was the Ben that was always in control? He’d taken control in the little house that day. Saved Tristan and his men yet that person was gone and he couldn’t get him back. Why couldn’t he be that Ben any longer?
He grabbed his chest while he walked. Then his throat, which felt as though he was the one with leather wrapped around it. He couldn’t breathe. Why the fuck couldn’t he breathe?
He could have hurt that boy back there.
The kid had wanted to be hurt.
Maybe that’s what Ben needed.
Maybe he needed to hurt.
Ben shoved his way out of the building. Went left instead of right. Went toward the back of the building and the alleys that ran behind it, where dealers—scum who dealt in both drugs and humans, people who sold pussy, ass. It all went on back here.
His eyes still burned and his bones felt brittle but Ben pushed himself to keep going, hoping pain would be the release he needed.
A group of three men stood in a circle, talking in hushed tones. A woman got in a car across from them, wearing hardly any clothes. Anything someone wanted they could find here and Ben wanted pain.
He went toward the men. One of them noticed, who nudged another but Ben kept moving. It was Ben who threw the first punch. Ben who made contact, his fist against one of the men’s faces.
That was all it took for all hell to break loose. One of the other men hit him, then another. The first went at him too and Ben didn’t fight back. Pain pierced his stomach with a hit. Blood gushed from his nose with another.
Over and over fists rained down on him and Ben took them all. Went down to the ground as they wailed on him. Waiting for it to help. Wanting it to make him forget. Wanting to take away all the shit in his head that he couldn’t forget.