Eleven Tobias

Isat on a cold metal chair waiting for Sterling to go away so I could figure out my next step, but he was in no hurry. He hummed, making his way inside the bedroom—if you could call this stark eight-by-eight room that. "They gave you one of the nicer ones." This is nice? The walls were a lifeless shade of gray, adorned with cracked paint and scuff marks. It was dreary; desolate. "What do you think about your room?"

"Cozy." I scanned the small quarters for any signs of surveillance cameras or tracking devices, breathing a sigh of relief when nothing obvious stood out. What you couldn't miss was the acrid smell of disinfectant and bleach, making every breath feel like a bitter reminder of my childhood when I used to clean up blood stains on the floor every time Father beat the shit out of other drug dealers. There were only two ways to get on his list: get caught dealing or stealing. "That'll be you if you don't fucking learn," he'd told me once while scrubbing the pool of blood of one of the teenagers from the block. I tried to help the guy, but Father grabbed me by the ear when he saw me propping him up. "That's not your fucking job. Clean up or you're next."

I rose to my feet, rushing to the only window to let fresh air cleanse the harsh memory this small confinement had dragged to the surface. I tugged on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. The lever was stuck in a locked position.

"Windows here aren't designed to open," Sterling said.

"How do you get air around here?" I asked, maintaining my composure by staving off the panic attack that was threatening to make an unwelcome appearance.

"From those." He pointed at two small white vents on the ceiling.

That wasn't good. There were few things that could bring me to my knees, and two of them happened to be present in this room: confinement and the smell of chlorine. Cold sweat dripped down the sides of my neck. My vision went out of focus. Breathe, Tobias. This will pass. My senses frantically searched for something to divert my mind away from my triggers. I stared at a water damage stain on the wall; its pattern resembled a horse floating on clouds. Next to it was a mismatched drywall plaster covering three pits the size of bullet holes. I zeroed in on the sound of the ticking clock hanging on the wall, every beat of the second hand bringing me to the present.

Once grounded, I seized the chance to get Sterling out of my hair. "I'm kinda spent," I said, grabbing the stack of clothing I assumed was mine from his hand. "Do you mind if I take a little break?"

"Of course," he answered. "I'm sure you're tired with the morning you had. Here is your key." He handed me a black coin-sized fob attached to a single key. "This'll open all the automatic doors, and the key is for the gates."

"Thanks," I said, ushering him toward the door.

He seemed to get the hint, as he exited the room without any hesitation. "Oh, before I forget," he said, turning to face me. Damn it. I should've closed the door faster. "Here." He handed me a worn-out radio with faded digits. "Call if you need anything. Whatever you need."

"Got it," I said.

"I'll give you your schedule tomorrow."

I was smarter this time and shut the door before Sterling could find a reason to stick around. I grabbed one of the black shirts from the top of the pile of clothes and wrapped it around my knuckle. I peeked through the rectangular glass pane on the metal door to check the narrow hallway, waited a couple of seconds, and when I was sure that no one was around, I punched the window. The center of the glass cracked from the first blow, and the pieces loosened after the second. Slowly and carefully, I pried the glass from the frame, starting from the top to keep it from falling onto the floor and risking any noise. My shoulders eased when the cool breeze fanned my face. After a few minutes, the smell that was my kryptonite dissipated.

I retrieved my cell phone and pressed Archer's number.

"I don't have a good feeling about this, man," Archer said after I gave him the rundown of what had happened since we parted ways that morning. I shared his sentiment. "Let us come over there. We can take care of this once and for all."

I peeked my head out, inspecting the hallways. As much as I loathed being stuck here, I had to be real with him. "Not right now." I covered the mouthpiece before whispering, "Orcus seemed to buy my story, so I'm fine."

"Have you seen them?" Archer asked.

"Just Abel."

"The kid?"

"Abel is no kid. He's grown." Images of Abel swamped my brain. His lips, his chest, his eyes. "He had his hair buzzed, and the dude is quite beefy."

"Okay … oddly specific, but whatever," Archer said, amusement in his tone.

"I didn't mean it that way," I said defensively.

"Got it. Just don't fucking do this alone, okay? We got you."

"Copy that." I ended the call and scanned my room for a place to hide my phone. I pulled the metal chair under one of the square fiberglass ceiling tiles. Thankful for my six-foot-three-inch frame, I pushed on the piece and it lifted without much effort. After switching my phone to silent mode, I hid it in there. This would do for now, until I found a better place to hide my only connection to the outside world. This was a lifeline and I couldn't afford to have it taken away from me.

The night came in a hurry. Sterling stopped to bother me a couple of times, but other than a few curious guards glancing when they passed my quarters, the day had been unremarkable. I lay on my bed with my arms behind my head, the light of the moon casting a soft glow across the room. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one centered around Abel. I had a crucial task ahead of me and I needed to come up with a new strategy to factor in all the wrinkles that had popped up in our existing plan, but despite my best effort, my mind kept wandering to him.

As I tried to refocus, my last conversation with Oliver's son rang in my ears. He seemed so angry. And when did he become so mouthy? The clock struck midnight, and, with a sigh, I grabbed my keys and headed out, opting not to wear a shirt because the evening was muggy.

I'd learned that the corridors didn't have cameras, but I still moved cautiously through the dark hallways, ensuring the guards wouldn't catch a glimpse of me. Stealth was a must, the need to reach the trainees without being detected was paramount. "We keep those cameras outside the buildings and by the gates," Sterling had said.

As I neared the bunkroom where the six guys were confined, the muffled sounds of footsteps and hushed voices resounded through the corridor. I quickly pressed my bare back against the wall for cover, holding my breath in anticipation. The voices drew nearer so I strained to listen, trying to discern whether Sterling was one of them. Surely I could find an excuse if he caught me sneaking around in the middle of the night. I remained hidden against the wall and assessed my current predicament. Maintaining a sharp sense of situational awareness was vital before making my move. Two new faces walked through the hall when I peered around a corner. They would be the thirteenth and fourteenth guards I'd seen since my arrival this morning. The voices had stopped; minutes dragged on like an eternity.

Aside from the occasional men patrolling, the quarters were void of activity. I used the fob Sterling gave me to pass multiple checkpoints hassle-free. When I reached Abel's room, a faint light streamed out of the slightly ajar door. I used the sliver of an opening to survey inside, scanning each bed for Abel. He knew I was coming back at midnight, after all.

I spotted him on the top bunk near the bathroom. The lower bunk was unoccupied. His eyes were closed, and his right hand rested on his bare chest. My sight traveled to his abs, then all the way down his body. I swallowed. He was completely naked.

My hands grew clammy, sweat beaded on my forehead, and my pulse started to race. What the fuck is wrong with me? It must be the hot summer night. Abel was my best friend's son, and I wasn't gay. I'd only been attracted to women. Sure, I'd appreciated handsome guys, but they never once turned me on. Is that what's happening? Am I turned on? The answer was self-evident from my swelling dick. Fuck!

I fought the urge to eye-bang Abel and turned around, leaning against the doorframe. You're just horny, I convinced myself. I'd been in the longest dry spell in history; that was the only explanation. A decision had to be made: reveal my presence or continue to observe Abel a little more.

Against my better judgment, I chose the latter option, watching Abel silently for a few moments. I positioned myself on the shadowy side of the door, hidden from his view. I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. It was a lost battle when it turned out he wasn't asleep at all.

Abel moved his hand up to his mouth, dragging his tongue along his palm. He gripped his dick with his moist hand, and, after a couple of tugs, he thickened from his touch, nearly doubling in length and width. A shower and a grower? Who fucking knew? His thumb played with the tip, spreading pre-cum all over the glistening head. His balls hung low, darkened by trimmed pubes. The rest of Abel's muscular body was smooth save for a couple of bruises.

My attention was torn between the show Abel was putting on and my painful cock. What was the worst thing that could happen if I joined him? Bad idea. I shook my head and fixated on his hand gliding up and down his shaft. Jesus H. Christ. This was all sorts of wrong, for many reasons, but, like my weakening knees, my restraint to refrain from watching Abel pleasure himself was waning, almost nonexistent.

Abel opened his lustful eyes, staring at the ceiling. He slowed his strokes, causing his eyes to roll back. His lips parted, releasing a moan, deep and sinful. His chest rose up and down. He caressed his abs and obliques with his other hand before skimming his nipples.

"Oh shit …" I covered my mouth to muffle my groan when Abel pinched his nipples one at a time. The grip he had on his dick tightened, the head swelling and turning red. Then he double-fisted his cock; even with his large hands, the tip of his dick still showed. Goddamn! How massive was that piece? He pumped his hips up and down, the metal bed frame rattling. I looked around to see if any of the guys had stirred, but no one moved a muscle.

I didn't know how it happened, but suddenly I was stroking my cock. When did I unzip my pants? Frantically, I tucked my uncomfortably erect dick back in my briefs and zipped up my pants. Watching Abel jerk off was one thing, but I wasn't about to bust a nut thinking of another man. His heavy breathing reverberated through the dark room, fighting with the sounds of his balls slapping against his thighs.

He lifted his hand and spit on it before gripping his dick once more, the leaking head a preshow for what I could only assume would be a massive finish.

"Fuck me," Abel muttered. His hips thrusted into his balled hands, his muscles flexing as he moved up and down. His whole body trembled until the final thrust. Thick white cum exploded out of his cock, pulse by pulse, lasting for seconds. When I thought he was done pleasuring himself, he continued jacking off, using his spunk as lube.

Abel switched position onto all fours. He arched his back and spread his hips apart, exposing his hole between his muscular ass cheeks. He fucked his hand in that position for a couple minutes before lifting his body until he was kneeling. He moved his hand behind him, letting it glide up and down his crack. My pulse raced in anticipation of what was to come. I lost it when he stuck his entire finger inside his fucking hole.

Abel finger-fucked himself while jerking his cock that still leaked with cum. Both of his hands worked in symphony. His speed quickened. "Oh god," he mumbled. His carnal sounds made my cock twitch. No fucking way. Why did my dick feel like it was about to explode without being touched?

Abel pulled his finger out of his ass completely, and I was a little bummed. My disappointment was short-lived when he inserted two fingers. Holy shit. I would give one of my kidneys to see his face as his fingers slid inside his tight ass.

He groaned as he impaled himself with two digits. His hips bucked, his legs shook, and his body trembled. "Tobias!" he called before shooting more cum all over his bed.

The way he said my name in euphoria pulled the orgasm out of me. A warm sensation filled my briefs, soaking the thin material with my own release. What the fuck? How was that possible? Did I come watching Abel touch himself? Was he thinking about me the whole time? Abel was gay?

I had so many questions and all of them had nothing to do with the plan of extracting the Marshalls out of the cult.