THE RUN AND GO : JOSHLER

11 : CAPTIVE

His name was Dallon.

He was the one.

The one Mad Gear hated more than he had hated anyone else in his entire life.

He was the one that took Missile Kid away.

It was the dead of night when Josh was taken.

It was a strange night; everyone in the Clique was asleep, even Tyler. An eerie silence filled the corridors of headquarters.

Something was going to happen. The Clique could feel it.

He put up a fight, Josh did. When two masked figures came into his room and nearly killed him, he put up a fight.

In the struggle, Josh had ripped off his attackers' masks. One boy he had seen before, the other he hadn't seen in a very long time.

One of the boys was Brendon.

He had left the Clique after attempting to murder Tyler, and started his own gang-the Sinners.

And the other boy was his right hand man.

His childhood friend.

Dallon Weekes.

Now, three weeks later, Josh's hands were tied. He couldn't do anything. He had no options.

Josh's hands weren't just metaphorically tied. They were literally tied. Tied with a heavy steel chain, right behind his back. His shoulders and arms ached from being stretched behind his back.

Not only that, his entire body ached. His skin was covered in cuts and bruises. His bones ached from being trapped in the ice cold basement of the Sinners' headquarters.

Josh winced as he took a breath of air. It hurt just for the oxygen to fill his lungs.

He slowly closed his eyes. Instead of seeing the backs of his eyelids, he saw Tyler. Smiling and laughing and moaning-

Josh was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when the door in front of him creaked open.

When he opened his eyes, he immediately wished he had kept them closed.

Standing before him was Dallon.

"Rise and shine, baby boy!" Dallon said with sarcastic enthusiasm, smiling widely.

"Baby boy?" Josh scoffed. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?" Dallon's smile was instantly replaced by a scowl of annoyance.

"Just look at me," Josh replied. "Do I look like a bottom to you?"

Dallon looked down at the boy chained to the wall, at his tattoos, his piercings, his wild green hair. His muscles were tense, his toned chest rising and falling heavily. Raised veins trailed down his forearms. Dirt, blood, and cuts covered his face, with his eyebrows angrily drawn together and his mouth in a stoic straight line.

The answer was no. No, he definitely did not look like a bottom.

But Dallon ignored him and averted his eyes from Josh.