To Trust A Cop

Beta: working on it
Notes: Yes, as some of you have commented, Seifer’s been a kind of mystery. This is something I’ve done intentionally. Actually, I’m surprised no one commented on that before, like ten-twenty chapters before :p

Anyway, I got some more review comments at the end of the chapter because I know you’re dying for the continuation, so here you are...


46

“Tell me where my run away brother is.”

Squall stared into those so familiar green eyes. Brother? It made kind of sense. The man wasn’t so old that he truly could be the cop’s father.

“Don’t know, I don’t know. Please, I’m telling the truth,” he breathed.

Fear of a grade he hadn’t felt for years started to bite down around his chest and stomach and head. It was that instinctive voice that was blaring at him. The same instinct that had told him the platinum haired guy, Serano, was bad. The same voice that had told him that Seifer wasn’t to play with. But this man…

The man slightly tilted his head and Squall stared like a deer into those expressionless eyes. The pressure on his fingers weren’t released but he didn’t hear any sickening crack yet.

“Really?” Almasy asked in something akin to skepticism.

Squall nodded because his voice wouldn’t carry.

“Then, perhaps, you could tell me where his apartment is at?” he asked calmly but with a familiar tone of a no nonsense quality.

Squall opened his mouth to answer but widened his eyes at the realization that he didn’t know. He licked his dry, bloody lips while raiding his brain for an answer. As the man tilted his head again Squall wanted to whimper.

“I-I don’t know,” answered weakly.

He steeled himself for pain. The man, the brother, hardened his stare. It was just the look Seifer would give him when he was being obstinate. He would have laughed hadn’t the situation been so grave.

“You’ve been fucking like insane rabbits the last year and you don’t even know where he lives?” Almasy asked in true incredulity.

Squall shook his head but realized with sickening despair that the man wouldn’t believe him. Squall wouldn’t believe such a thing. Thinking about it, it sounded weird. To know a man for a whole year without even knowing where he lived. It shocked him to realize it. Not once had he heard the cop talk about home or given the address, even less taken Squall there.

“What about a mobile number then?” the man asked but it was evident in his voice that he was irritated.

Squall numbly shook his head. No number. He had Teo’s number and the numbers to his jobs, but Seifer had never given him any number of any kind. Then again, Squall didn’t have a phone, he used the payphone.

“I-I don’t have a phone,” he added weakly, breathlessly.

Was he going to die? Would they kill him? He flinched at the sudden flare of anger in the so far calm, hard green eyes.

“Don’t be ridicules. Who fucks around with someone for a whole year without even getting a phone number? Or is he buying you?” the platinum haired man sneered.

Squall felt cold. Small, cold, in pain, confused and tired. How could he possible convince them that it was true? The older Almasy gave the younger a silent stare, at which Serano looked away from and shut up. The hands around Squall’s damaged one, suddenly let go and only stroked it gently.

Oddly enough, the calm and gentle touches were worse than the beating he had gotten. Any fool knew to be wary of an intelligent man. Almasy soon released him and sat back in the chair. One foot rested crossed the knee and he drummed his fingers while thinking. Squall recognized that contemplative look too. It made him shudder.

The thugs released him since the torture for now was over. Squall curled up on himself. He cradled his hand close to his chest but was careful not to touch the throbbing, swollen fingers. No one spoke. No one moved. It seemed no one dared to breathe too loudly. Squall was no exception. He wanted to be forgotten. He wanted to be a child again so he could hide under the table without losing his dignity.

“For Hyne’s sake, Serano, give the boy some ice,” Almasy suddenly growled as if that was what he had been silently waiting for.

Serano jumped at the command and the older man was soon lost in thoughts again. Squall silently accepted the towel with ice. He laid his injured hand around it. It didn’t lessen the pain and the seemingly kind gesture didn’t lessen his fear and confusion.

“Sir.”

A tall, broad, black suited and bald man suddenly stepped into the kitchen. He held Squall’s backpack in one hand and his wallet in another. Squall looked away again. Hyne, what the fuck was going on? He couldn’t even start figuring out this whole affair. Why couldn’t people leave him out of their businesses?

Almasy was idly going through his wallet. Reading his ID and counting the little cash he had. Then he found the card with the few phone numbers he had. Squall’s stomach tightened at the sight of Teo’s card. Hyne, would these thugs go after the teacher?

“Teo Tornquist…” the man said lowly.

“What’s your business with this man?” he then asked and waved the card.

“He’s my tutor,” Squall admitted,”He doesn’t know where Seifer is either. They had a fight,” he added.

Strangely enough it made the man seem amused.

“Afraid I’ll go after him instead?” he asked amusedly.

Squall didn’t answer but hoped it was obvious what he thought.

“Don’t worry little one,” the man said still with an amused quirk to his lips.

He put the card back in the wallet and dumped the wallet at the table.

“I wouldn’t go after that man when I have something much easier to handle,” he said with a shark grin also so very familiar.

The man rose and slowly took on his cloves and retrieved his walking cane.

“Take him down to the car,” he said to the silent guard still standing in the kitchen entrance.

Squall’s eyes widened and the panic and fear returned with a vengeance. He was lifted from the chair by the thug and easily moved over to the guard.

“Wait, you can’t just take me someplace,” Squall argued.

The guard gripped his arm hard enough to not lose the grip but not to hurt. Squall almost sat down but was dragged along anyway.

“Stop! You have no right!” he cried with a humiliating, desperate tone in his voice.

He did not want to go anywhere together with this brother. No way, no never. Every fiber of his being told him that leaving his apartment was the same as suicide. Being a bit suicidal, he stomped at the foot of the guard but only got a grunt. Not easy to do damage when he didn’t have boots on.

“Well, well, still got some spirit left?” Almasy said with amusement but made a wave of his hand.

The guard made a yank and Squall had little choice in the matter. Outside the apartment another tall, broad guard stood. He still struggled to not get dragged out of his apartment.

“Wait, I don’t even have shoes,” he argued.

Hyne above. Stop them. Someone. The silent guard looked back, gave him an arched eyebrow and looked him over. Squall wondered just what he was thinking while studying Squall’s comfortably dressed form. No shoes, he was barefooted damn it! The youth yelped and hissed as he was suddenly yanked off balance and hoisted over the guard’s shoulders. One arm down one side of the thick neck and one leg down the other side. It made his ribs cry bloody murder.

As such he was carried outside. The guard outside the apartment took the lead down the stairs. Hyne, hyne, hyne. This wasn’t happening! It was futile to try and fight it though. Injured as he was and in, or atop, the bodybuilder like man. Hyne, where did villains find minions such as these?

Outside the apartment stood a long, black limousine with black tinted windows. What was this? A bad gangster movie? Who the hell was this man? Everything spoke of power and wealth. Squall was let down and the driver positioned by the back door opened it. Since he was being shoved in first, Squall had a chance of escape. It was some primal part of him that saw and took the chance.

He bolted across the insides of the car to the second door. He got it open but then his ankle was grabbed and dragged back. He cried out, angry and afraid and desperate therefore. He kicked lose and had almost crawled out of the door. Then the other guard was there and easily hauled him back in where the first one waited. That was it.

He was shoved down in a seat and his carrier sat down beside him, the other closed the door again and walked around the car. Squall didn’t have time to take in his surroundings before the elegant form of Almasy entered the car. One fine, blond eye brow arched in question at Squall’s ruffled, panting form. The man sat down in the seats across from Squall’s and soon Serano followed.

The younger Almasy sat down beside his father after which the door closed. Once the driver and the other guard had gotten in, they were off. Squall had a moment of dizzy surrealism when watching his home disappear. It wasn’t really happening, was it?

The journey was spent in silence at Squall’s part. They soon left the city and the windows were too dark for Squall to make out any details. What was happening? Why was he… kidnapped? They would kill him, right? Why else didn’t the man bother with a blindfold or something? Or try and hide his identity.

What did he want with Seifer? They might be brothers but they were like night and day. Seifer was a cop for crying out loud.

“I told you I had everything fixed.”

Squall slowly returned from his musings to look at the two men. The older Almasy was seated with his hands at the top of the walking cane, arms straight and eyes closed or half way there. Serano, Squall noted with surprise, sat with his hands in the pockets of his jacket and had a positively sulk in his face.

“Oh, yes, and you was doing such a splendid job,” the older man sneered.

“He deserved it! He’s the one that almost bit Jenkins’s hand off and he kicked me in the nuts!” the platinum haired male shouted.

“Perhaps this Jenkins figure should learn what he can and can’t handle and you,” Almasy turned his head slightly and green slits for eyes opened,” hopefully learned a painful lesson.”

The younger man snorted but looked away. Those green eyes turned to Squall instead and he wanted to sink through the floor of the car.

“I want my brother, Squall, this is nothing personally against you. See this as a sudden vacation although if you cause too much trouble I’ll cut through your achille’s tendons, understand?” the man said firmly.

Squall nodded, pale in terror at that promise. Then those green eyes shifted subtly. They traveled along Squall’s shivering body and it made him feel as naked as when Seifer did the same. But there was no embarrassment from arousal accompanied with that scrutiny. Only a cold, breath constricting fear at what it meant. He felt dizzy at the realization of what situation he was stuck in.

If this man was Seifer’s brother they were sure to share more than looks. He knew better than to look away, but he did anyway. A small, hopeful voice said that this older Almasy had actually yet to hurt him. Correcting his fingers didn’t count. It had to be done and he couldn’t have done it himself. Maybe, if he didn’t cause trouble, he would be left alone. The whole idea of a hostage was to keep the hostage unharmed until the person being extorted did something stupid, right?

The drive was long and dreadfully silent. He was cold and his whole body ached or throbbed in pain. He wanted to go back home. Then the car passed a huge gate and they were driving up an ally with trees lining the road. As the car stopped and Squall was ushered out after the guard, he could just stare up.

They stood in front of an insanely huge mansion. He had never seen the likes before. Where the hell were they? Then Almasy preceded his minions and entered the mansion like Squall would his own apartment.

Stepping inside the building was like stepping into a royal castle. Marble floor and marble pillars and marble stair. Lush, very expensive carpets and tapestries and paintings and statues. Everything was pristinely clean but the smell was sterile. How very much out of place he was standing barefoot at the expensive, deep mat with his ragged, old clothes and less than unharmed appearance.

He had little time to take it all in before the guard dragged him away in the direction of a corridor to the left and behind the stair. The master of the house proceeded to climb the stair and Squall noted, which had been a guess, that the walking cane was just for looks. Thankfully Serano followed the other man muttering something.

The corridor he was dragged into wasn’t less grandiose than the entrance hall. He recognized a lot of art from very famous and since long dead artists. Expensive. Very, very expensive. He didn’t think all of it was copies either. There were some doors along the wall but they all looked the same and it was impossible to guess what lay on the other side.

The guard stopped by one and opened it, pushing Squall into the pitch black first. The light was lit and it showed to be a guestroom, he guessed. A guestroom two sizes his apartment. The door was closed and resolutely locked. The youth glanced back at it before looking around the room. A bed the size of his kitchen with bedside tables and lamps, a big drawer that looked to cost half of what his motorcycle did. There was another door and some fancy paintings but that was it. No window.

It looked like a very fancy prison cell. Squall stood there, feeling the shivers run along his back and the fingers throb in time with his heart. His mind was reeling and he had no wish to go any further into this prison cell. He didn’t hear anything from the outside. It was so silent that this could have been a grave. He found himself wishing the cop was there to take him back home.

Then he thought that maybe Seifer had hightailed it out of the city if this sinister man had been on his heels. Squall tried to tell himself that the cop couldn’t know that Squall would get involve. Still pangs of betrayal shot in his chest. Just like with Nida…

He quickly shook his head and regretted it the moment pain made bright stars in front of his eyes. Squall grunted and sat down at his haunches as nausea erupted together with the sickening sensation of fainting. For long moments he sat there breathing through the nausea and pain. A concussion? He knew what one felt like.

Once the sensation had faded he rose slowly again. Maybe, if it was as he suspected, going to the bathroom was alright. He was right. It was a bathroom, not just a toilet. It had a large bathtub which he would fit in laying down and a shower stall. Not 2 in 1. But separate.

Squall slowly stepped onto the pristine white tiles and couldn’t help but marvel over a simple bathroom. Everything was shiningly clean. White floor tiles, walls in some swirling blue cloudy pattern. The sink was huge. What in Hyne’s name did you use such a huge sink for? The sink where the water was poured wasn’t so deep or big, but the surrounding edges could be considered as tables.

He stepped inside to the middle. He would be able to hold a small party at this space. Damn, rich guys surely enjoyed their space. All this beauty and riches and it only made him feel more of a prisoner. It felt so alien to stand there that he could have been on a different planet. Squall happened to look into the window and almost recoiled from it.

His face was a swollen bruised history but worst off was his lips and a cheekbone. The lips, as he already knew, were cracked and so was the cheek. Oddly enough he hadn’t gotten a black eye. Then again, and Squall shuddered, that Serano had clearly planed something else after he had gotten what information he wanted. Maybe a black eye didn’t appeal to the man?

Squall stepped over to the sink and put down the towel of ice he still clutched. How had he managed to keep hold on it? Thinking back was like thinking back on a dream. But everything had happened recently? It hadn’t even been an hour, right? And still it felt so distant already.

He washed up. Slowly cleaning aching bruises and hurting lips. Pouring cold water on the fingers hurt like hell for starters. But cold was good for swelling, so he endured it. The throbbing was dampened some and the cold made them numb enough to dampen the pain. He had gotten blood on his sweater and guessed it was his own. He didn’t feel secure enough to take it off even to try and clean it. It wouldn’t get clean anyway.

He sat down at the toilet seat then and pressed the remaining ice against his lips and cheek. So tired. When the adrenaline left him and his body got to realize just how banged up it was, it started to demand he slept. But he couldn’t if he had a concussion. He had a vague memory of some school nurse telling him to sit up and not sleep for a certain amount of time. Honestly he wasn’t so sure he wanted to sleep in this house with that Seifer-look-a-like and that cold eyed son of his.

So instead he sat there at a loss of what to do with a head that ached and thudded. Once he looked at the toilet door. If he could lock it then there was a small way of shielding himself from those strangers. But it had no lock which intensified his suspicion that this was an overly fancy prison.

At some point he vaguely thought of finding some kind of weapon. But what little thing he could find wouldn’t stand up against a gun. He held no disillusion about no guns in the house. Besides, the youth was very fond of his achille’s tendons.

He stayed at the toilet seat. Too tired and unwilling to move away. The bed might be heavenly. It sure had looked heavenly. But laying down would surely make him sleep in minutes.

Squall jerked and blinked. Had he slept anyway? His back and neck said he had. Then he heard what had woken him. The door had opened and someone had stepped into the room. The youth contemplated going out but thought against it. He was too weary and maybe if the person thought he was doing what a body needed the person would leave. No such luck.

The door swung fully open and the towering form of Almasy stood there. Squall’s throat hardened and his chest ached at the sight. The man had dressed down to sleek black pants that looked like silk of a kind and a black shirt with rolled up sleeves and buttoned down to show off the hairless chest. Squall had to blink and consciously find those dissimilarities to make his brain understand that no, this was not Seifer. Still, the older man crooked his head like the cop sometimes did and an amused but cold quirk played at his lips.

“Hiding are we?” he mused.

Squall shivered at the voice. How could even twins be so alike? And these two could impossible be twins. If Squall could judge age even a little, he’d say this man was at least ten years older than the cop.

“No,” he answered but it sounded slurred through his hurting and stiff lips.

The man silently held out a hand. Squall’s stomach knotted instantly. He didn’t want to leave the bathroom. He did not want to enter the bedroom with this man. Yet he knew there was no arguing. He could walk on his own or be dragged kicking and screaming. Squall gave the man a leveled look, not a glare, before gathering himself and slowly getting to his feet.

The older Almasy shrugged but there was amusement in the green eyes. Dark amusement. Squall reluctantly followed the blond back to the bedroom. He didn’t want to think about… rape. About this man or that other touching him when he didn’t want it. Still it was impossible not to think about it.

There was a first aid kit on the bed and a chair had been dragged forth. He couldn’t remember if the chair had been in the room or not. It was clear he was to sit at the bed edge. He didn’t want to. They held a silent debate about the matter. The tall blond staring at him as if telling him to sit down. Squall staring back and willing the man to go away and leave him be. He needed no help in patching up his wounded pride. In the end, at a hardened glint to the man’s eyes, the youth slowly sat down at the soft bed.

He sank down almost a foot in the soft bed and his body ached to lie down fully. Almasy sat down at the chair in front of him and opened the first aid kit. In this the man was different. He didn’t speak when Seifer would have. He had an air of almighty. As if what he said was to be. He had a certain aura of someone that so clearly knew and enjoyed his power. It was odd, Squall thought, that such a man did menial tasks like this himself.

The brunet was silent during the gentle treatment. It didn’t make him less tense or suspicious. This gentleness and soothing gestures did nothing to fool him into naïve trust. This man was a worse predator than that other. Not even Seifer had this underlying flow of violence. Of cruelty. It was the constantly hard green eyes that set him off, Squall thought. The way no warm emotion crossed them. Not even when he seemed amused.

“How did my brother find such a creature like yourself?” the man asked calmly.

Squall felt his hackles rise at the use of creature. So he stayed silent. It made the man’s lips quirk in that cold amusement again.

“You’re not a whore, no prostitute has the eyes you have,” he mused.

It raised those hackles a little more.

“My name is Seraph Almasy, you may call me Seraph,” the man presented himself.

He’d call him snake if he wanted to. It was close enough to serpent and it seemed fitting to call him snake. Squall looked away from green eyes as to not have his thoughts spied at. Long fingers tugged at his shirt.

“Take it off,” Almasy said and Squall clenched his jaws so hard his lips complained at the move.

They had a silent debate again. This time Squall wouldn’t budge. Like hell he’d undress in front of this man. He flinched as said man suddenly leaned closer. So close Squall’s eyes crossed to keep focusing.

“If I want to fuck you all I’d have to do is to flip you over and do so. Take the shirt off,” the man said lowly and Squall felt the hot breath over his face.

Well, yes, that might be true. The youth reluctantly complied. Soothing ointment was rubbed into the blossoming welts from kicks. Deceivingly gentle hands prodded his ribs until it was clear that none was broken. They weren’t wrapped in bandages which Squall was grateful for. It would just hurt more.

As the fingers traced his skin in a way that was far from injury searching, his body tensed and prickled. The hairs on his arms stood straight and it felt as if wherever those fingers touched his skin would tense up and shiver. His nipples tensed from reaction. There was no arousal in this reaction. It was a pure, primal disgust at being so close and personal with this man. As a thumb brushed his nipple Squall had had enough.

He slapped the hand away and glared warningly. His heart was beating in his throat and his stomach wouldn’t unwind for years to come. The youth knew better than to accept such touches. Had learned that lesson long ago and could not accept it. Seraph arched an eyebrow in that amusement again, but he withdrew his hands.

Instead the sinister man took Squall’s injured hand and then the youth was busy not uttering one sound of pain. He knew it had to be done. Knew that it would feel better having the fingers splintered and bandaged into a compact steadying package. It didn’t lessen the pain of forcing swollen, blood-filled fingers to straighten. He was shivering and a light coat of cold sweat had broken out over his body once the ministration was done.

Almasy closed the first aid kit and the youth hoped the man would leave. Every second in the blond’s presence put strain on already frayed nerves.

“Have you eaten anything?”

The question was a bit surprising. All about this man was odd. His cold aura clashed with his gestures of thoughtfulness. It made a body apprehensive about the motives behind it.

“Yes,” Squall answered.

He reached for his shirt but had it tugged out of his reach. The blond rose with kit and shirt.

“Good. Go to sleep, you’ll get breakfast early in the morning,” the man said calmly and went for the door

“Hey,” Squall called as he stood.

He got an arched eyebrow over one shoulder.

“My shirt,” he pointed.

“Is beyond use. I’ll get you something more suitable,” Seraph smirked before leaving.

Squall swallowed hard and since he was alone he hugged himself. Bad. Very, very bad. He had known taking off his shirt was bad. The brunet snorted. This whole situation was ridiculously bad.

The bed was heavenly. Deep, soft, warm. It cushioned his hurt body to the point where he almost didn’t feel any pain. The ointment helped too. There had been some painkiller in it. Against better judgment and belief, the brunet fell asleep the instant his body relaxed.


Author’s Note: No, we’re not at the worst part yet. Sorry.

This is mostly for “Anonymous”, but maybe a lot of you have the same questions?

About the age of the boys… Actually, I hate putting numbers on them. Somehow I’ve felt, though out the whole story, that if I did say a particular number I’d be hindered in some way. They would mold into something I didn’t want. It’s probably because I was younger when I started writing and age wasn’t my thing. So, it’s simply one of those things that happens when a story takes three or more years to compete ;)

And about things being a bit different between the first three chapter one.shot and the epic tale is just because it fit better for the story. I wasn’t planning a follow up story when I wrote the one-shot. Stuff happens that you can’t control when you write like this.

If it’s just Trixy you’re agonizing over I suggest you get over it. I’ll think of it in future stories and put some effort on the side people, but now we’ve come too far for me to change it. Let’s just make her a hot 30 something woman with nice curves and blond but colored red hair. Blue eyes I think, or maybe grey-green. ;)

About the plot, something I love to talk about. I have not left any lose ends, they are as they are. If you think about it I have, through the whole story, not told of anything the particular character doesn’t speak freely off. For example what Seifer do at his work. We don’t get to know all the details because we’re hardly ever with Seifer and Squall never asks.

I for one hate when a writer jumps from one pow to another within the beat of two sections. It takes away all the brooding and wondering in the story. But, this is my way of telling a story and my way of how I think it gives a story a taste of true life. But perhaps I’ve failed in this and have just frustrated my readers.

Nida was only supposed to make the idiots realize they have something deeper than mere lust. For example it gave Squall a chance to truly compare the two relationships. The other plot stuff you’ll have to ponder yourself.

I can’t give you any numbers on Squall’s years, but I can tell you that Nida is supposed to be two, maybe three years older and yes, squall was only a teenager when they first met but not as young as 13.

The key thing is for you and Squall to guess and me to know :p


But please, tell me all your thoughts and what buts you off. Some stuff I don’t see, like the side persons being forgotten. I will remember such a thing for future stories. And plot things, love plot things. Perhaps I will have to brush up on a few in future chapters or in the sequel but I don’t think I will but anyway.

Please keep reading and reviewing

//Shehanitan