Your son for Mine

chapter 18

Lucas sat curled up on the end of his sofa facing the two agents. He knew they were talking to him, explaining some plan they had, but the words all swirled around in the air, nothing registering. He wasn't there. He was still in the hallway. Still feeling the scratch of Mario's goatee on his chin. Still feeling the sting of the man's hand pulling at his hair. The coarse hair of Mario's chest under his fingertips. The sounds that vibrated from his throat. Still feeling the hard erection against his hip. Mindlessly, he reached up and brushed his fingers over his lips.

"lucas?"

"What? Sorry, did I miss something?"

Agent Andersen looked at Lucas like he was annoyed. Lucas straightened his back and squared his shoulders before crossing one leg over his knee. He smoothed his hands over his leg, and then picked off a piece of imaginary lint. His voice had gone high when he brought his narrowed eyes down on Agent Andersen. "Can we go over this from the top? I think I missed a couple of things. You know how it is. So much going on around me. FBI agents with all their energy, and their big, um, guns. I get a little distracted." Agent Andersen gave him an eye roll. Lucas smiled on the inside.

Whatever.

Mario looked around his yard. It looked pretty good. Grass mowed and raked. Flowerbeds weeded. Weeded. He'd never really paid much
attention to the perennials before. They'd been left behind by the previous owners. But in the three days, since he'd left Lucas with the FBI, he had been left with a lot of time. He hadn't gotten any new clients, and the paperwork and billing hours were caught up.

That first day, he'd watched a movie, or at least pretended to, but after half an hour, it became clear he wasn't paying attention and every other man that appeared on the screen looked like Lucas. That's when Mario realized he needed a new plan. So he moved on to physical labor. He felt tired. He took a deep breath through his nose and coughed when he realized the stench he smelled was coming from him.

He headed into the shower, where he promised himself he wouldn't think about Lucas. He ended up breaking that promise.

Lucas hurt— again. His head hurt. His shoulders hurt. Everything hurt. He was dimly aware of someone moving about in the room, but his eyes felt too heavy to open. He knew he was sitting down, but he couldn't move. His arms were tied behind him, whatever was binding them, cutting into his wrists.
His legs were bound together. He knew he needed to focus, and figure out a plan.

Since the FBI's plan didn't turn out so well. Don't provoke your captor. He thought he'd read that in a book once. Made sense, though he was pretty sure his captor was, at this point, provoked by his sheer existence.

Lucas tried to open his eyes, only to shut them quickly when he saw the fist that was barreling towards his face. His head was snapped back and his eye felt like it was going to pop. Shit

I know you're awake." His head was snapped the other way, this time it felt like a backhand.

"Open your eyes, you little faggot."

Lucas forced his eyes open.

"Well, hello, there. I was wondering when you'd join the party."

Lucas looked back down at the floor, praying the spinning would stop. His world spun more when the fist connected with his nose and blood started pouring out and down onto his jeans.

Okay. Just need to last long enough for someone to find me.

I can handle punches. If it hurts, I'm not dead.

His head felt heavy, despite the recent loss of blood through his nose. He struggled to lift it but couldn't, so he raised his eyes instead. The first thing he saw was a broad chest covered by a brown T-shirt, as his eyes slowly traveled up, he saw a thick neck with straining tendons, and then the sneer and cold blue eyes. Abraham Leby.

The man in front of him bent his knees so his eyes were level with Lucas's. "Having some trouble there? Well, I'd
say it'll get easier, but I was never one to lie."

Another punch to the face, this time coming from the left instead of the right. Great, he's ambidextrous.

"I can tell you, for whatever comfort it might give you, that I'm not going to kill you straight away. I'm going to take my time, like those prison faggots did with my son."

Lucas's eyes got wide. An icy went down his spine, and he fought to keep his body still when the urge to pull at the restraints was greater. Fuck. Please, Mario. Find me. Soon

My son never would have been there if not for your mother. Everyone knows how bad that place is. She could have sent him somewhere else. Hell, the whole thing was rigged from the get-go. Every objection was overruled. Evidence is not allowed. And your mother was the one responsible.

That bitch that birthed you. Jesus, she couldn't even do that right. Look at you, for Christ's sake. Little girly-boy. The way I figure it, I'm doing the world a favor. But know this, none of this would be happening if not for your mother. Everything that happens to you here is because of her.