Center of deception, p.7
Center of Deception, page 7
Skid turned away, hiding his face. Good. August wanted him to wallow, the bastard.
“You will do the right thing.”
Skid nodded, expression as blank as August had ever seen on the other man. “I'll try.”
“I'll help,” August said.
Something shifted in Skid's hollow eyes. They came alive. August wasn't sure what was being said by the shift of muscles, the hardening gaze, the edge of a frown. “Okay,” Skid said.
After the excitement died down and someone fed Kyle, August called him over. “Hey, Kyle, come join us.”
The kid wore a grin a mile wide, making his gaunt face a little cadaverous. Hoops dangled from his earlobes and another pierced his eyebrow, which looked finely shaped. August could appreciate that. “Hey there, you been here long?” Kyle glanced at August's wrapped-up hand, but didn't ask.
Skid shrugged. “With the group a few years, at the lodge only about six months.”
Kyle nodded and looked to August. August glanced at Skid. “Not sure how long I've been here, to be honest. Two weeks?” Skid didn't nod or shake his head, he just sank into himself. Kyle laughed, probably thought they were bouncing around some joke. August gestured for Kyle to sit, and he pulled over a wicker chair closer to theirs. “Why'd you decide to join a cult?” No laughter, no teasing. August's voice was hard.
Kyle stiffened. “Man, you sound like my... teacher.” August knew he was going to say something else and wondered about this teacher. “You're here. Pot meet kettle.”
August almost laughed. “Well, with the bad rep the cults get, I was just wondering what brought you here.”
“Not like I had anywhere else to go.” He kept his jaw tight, but August could hear the hollowness coming from the kid.
“What about your parents?”
Kyle shrugged. “My parents are cool. They let me do what I want, support me in my choices. Dad used to take me hiking all the time. We were real close.”
August nodded. “Gotcha, real close until you turned out to be a Wielder.”
The kid's already pale complexion paled even more. “How—?”
“Same with me. Me and my dad were tight. He'd take me all over the place, we'd go to museums together, on trips, ballgames. Then... I pushed something and he had no idea what to do.”
“My mom thought about sending me to a hospital, to get... fixed. Dad told her there was no cure,” Kyle said, fingering an ear hoop. “No cure, like I was diseased.”
“And something shameful,” August added. The two men nodded together.
Skid was frowning, then stood and left for the stairs, limping along the way. August bristled and wondered if he was going to collect some drug to slip them. Or was preparing to take away their memories.
August leaned forward and stared at Kyle. The young man's eyes widened and he tried to look away but August shook his head. “You listen to me, Kyle. Do not trust anyone. Watch out for Skid, he'll erase your memories. They'll try to drug you, so be careful what they give you. It's not good. Even if they say it's good, it will fuck you up. You hear me?”
Kyle rocked his head, obviously not convinced. “But, where else will I go?”
August almost laughed. Nowhere, kid, he thought. You're trapped. Instead he said, “If not home, how about your teacher? Can't he help you?”
Kyle scowled. “He lectured me over and over about Wielding. Was trying to …” he leaned towards August, “to untangle my Nerve. Said he could … see it, and could untangle it.” His hands did a little flutter, suggesting someone playing Cat's Cradle. “That that's what's wrong with men: we have tangled Nerves and women don't. So, by untangling it, he could cure Taint and madness.”
August sat back and let loose a roar of laughter. He hadn't heard anything so crazy in his life. He couldn't stop laughing. Other men glanced over at them. A few grinned, but didn't know half the hilarity of the joke, the complete naiveté of this kid.
“Ain't no cure, kid.”
Kyle shook his head, touched August's arm to draw his attention. “No, you don't understand...” He shifted his eyes to the fire. “It was working.”
August's laughter choked off. “What do you mean?”
“My Taint... it was lessening. The depression I was going through wasn't as strong. And I could feel what he was doing... I could feel how the... the knots were releasing. Ah, shit, I don't know. It was weird. But he said that I could learn to do it myself. That he could teach me. He was... my teacher that way.”
“Why did you leave then?” August couldn't believe what he was hearing. The kid had a golden ticket and he tore it up for what? For a cruel cult of men who would use him in any way they could?
Kyle scoffed. “I'm not broken. I'm not wrong. He told me to stop Wielding. And he was still doing it... using his power to fix my Taint and —”
“Wait,” August interrupted. “He used his power... as in, he Wielded to do that unknotting thing?”
Kyle nodded. “Yeah. Never heard of that before, have you?”
August agreed that he hadn't. How many other things could Wielders do that he had no knowledge of?
“Let me get this straight, you were pissed at him for fixing you, so you ran off to join a cult?” August summarized the kid's idiotic choices while reeling over the idea that a Wielding power could undo Taint. Could curb his need for mangoes.
Kyle slipped down into his chair and refused to answer.
“Ah, damn kid. There had to be more to it.”
“Screw you.” Kyle got up and left, leaving August to stare into the dying flames of the fire.
~~~
A knock battered his door. August set down his book on gladiators. In the last forty minutes he'd read two paragraphs. It was time. He'd been avoiding thinking about the initiation. Helplessness culled any will he had left. The only answer he'd concocted consisted of diving out his window, charging across the rain drenched mountain side and managing to get to civilization on his own. All the while avoiding whatever mad hounds Mara Murda sent after him. He didn't think the odds were in his favor.
“Come in.” His voice came out dry. He licked his lips.
Skid popped his head in. August scowled at him. Great.
“Hey, I know you hate me right now, but... I'm just here to escort you. Down,” he flailed his arm out the door, “to the ritual chambers.”
“Don't have on my party dress,” August said, not getting up.
“Don't matter. You'll be bare-chested, for the branding.” Skid never met August's eyes.
August swung his legs off the bed and in two steps was nearly chest to chest with Skid. “Skid,” August said, and waited until the other man peeked up at him. “Do not ever lie to me again. Do not ever fuck with my memory again. And do not ever drug me again. Got it?”
Skid swallowed and his eyes slid off August's face. “Yeah... sure. I won't.”
“There you go. Lying again.” He brushed past Skid, disgusted, and took the stairs down to the ground floor. At the base of the stairs, other men were waiting. They clapped August on the back. A few gave him fists to bump. He played along, it was all an act now. An act to survive and hopefully get out.
These were his people. The only folks who could ever understand him. His brothers.
The new kid was watching them as they passed the kitchen, a glass of milk in hand and a confused look on his face. He wouldn't be coming. Only the branded—the initiated—were welcome.
August followed the procession down another set of stairs. How many holes did this place have? Lit torches gusted as the men passed. Smoke hung in the air. August rolled his eyes. The showmanship was ridiculous, like they were descending into a movie stage. The entire idea of a ritual was out of control. These people gave themselves validation by giving it such names.
The madness that every male Wielder eventually fell under thrived in these kinds of conditions.
The stairs deposited them in a circular room, lit by more sputtering, smoky torches. Vents near the ceiling tried to suck the smoke away, but the fan's power couldn't overcome the vast cloud smothering the room. Someone coughed. The Mara Murda logo in the center of the floor slowly disappeared as Cultists crammed into the room. Each man removed his shirt and flashes of scar tissue, of the branding, could be seen on their bodies.
At the center of the ritual room, a brazier burned red-hot, the glow casting devilish shadows over all the men's faces.
Rod Redstoke, shirtless and layered with muscles, waited near the brazier, a brand in his hands. The brand of Mara Murda.
“Take off your shirt,” Redstoke ordered. No one else uttered a word. No one took a heavy breath, or shifted with unease, or ground a foot against the floor. Nothing. Just silence except for the sputtering of the flames. August pulled his shirt off, sought out Skid, and handed it to him. Skid's eyes glowed with anxiety.
“Come here,” Redstoke said.
August approached the fire; the heat pulled sweat from his body.
Rod Redstoke looked August up and down. Same old posturing bullshit. Redstoke was a big white motherfucker, but August wasn't a slouch. August stood stoic, no fidgeting, no flinching. Redstoke nodded, then smiled.
“August, repeat the vow,” he said. “We are now in the center of the Murda and I stand by my brothers.”
August pressed his lips together, then repeated. “We are now in the center of the Murda and I stand by my brothers.”
“Hidden in the darkness the world has birthed us in.”
August kept repeating the words, their meaning attractive in a world where men were ostracized. But August knew the truth behind them, the empty promise that crumbled like a house of cards.
“If they call, I will answer. If they ask, I will give. With my hands and with my head and with my connection to the Nerve. I take upon myself this mark to show my loyalty. I give to you my blood and my flesh. I give to you my will.”
The words tasted like shit, but he said them solemnly with his head bowed. For his real family, for his father and mother, he would do all. For Stephen, Tracy and Eriko, he would reach far. But for these people? Not these bastards. Nobody else in his thirty years had earned such loyalty.
“Kneel.”
August's lip curled. He wasn't the kneeling type, but he did it anyway.
“Where will you take the Murda?”
“On my chest. Over my heart.”
Rod nodded and hefted the iron from the fire. He plunged the glowing red brand onto August's flesh. White-hot silver scored into his muscle. Charred meat filled the air along with his screams of pain. However, he did not pull away but pushed into it, letting it burn him. This brand would be a reminder of his idiocy in letting other people bend him and manipulate him and force his hand. A reminder to repay Bethany Wolfe-Martin, John Gould, Skid Kenrose, and most of all Rod Redstoke. To snub the BWS and all the people who spurned what he was.
Redstoke pulled the brand away and with the fire went all of August's strength. He teetered over onto his side, catching himself on his elbow to avoid bumping his hand. The pain pierced deep.
Skid was by his side. “Come on, sit up. I've got some cream so it don't get infected.”
August let Skid dab his burn with a cool medicine, the minty scent astringent against the smoke and building odor of male sweat. August's breaths tore through his rough throat.
“You did good,” Redstoke said. “Welcome, August Whalen.” His voice carried in the crowded room, his arms raised in triumph. Everyone cheered.
“Welcome, August!”
“Glad to have you with us.”
Brian offered his hand for a shake, August carefully took it. “Good job.”
One by one, the men welcomed him and filed out of the small chamber. It was hot in here, a fug that held little oxygen. August wanted out, into the cool fresh air. More than anything, he wanted off this mountain.
But he had more to do. He wouldn't leave the clueless kid.
Chapter 9
August cut a clean line through the shaving cream over his square chin. Then he delicately shaved the hollow below his lip, three short swipes up. He contemplated shaving his head, his hair was hinting at a fro. His preference was to have another do it, but he didn't trust any of these people with a razor near his throat.
A gauze pad hid the brand on his pec. Tape as sticky as notebook paper attempted to hold the gauze to his skin. The bandages on his hand were doing a better job, hiding the delicate scabs growing over the bite marks. He looked like a zombie apocalypse victim.
With careful splashes of warm water, he scrubbed off the stray streaks of cream without soaking his bandaged hand, and looked at himself from the left and the right. Though normally a devilishly handsome man, his charm had dried up. Only a few weeks at the lodge and his soul had shriveled to half its size.
He left the bathroom for the next man to use and bumped into Kyle, decked out in shades of black.
“Can I talk to you, August?”
August led the kid to his room and closed the door. He waited. Kyle sighed, rolled his eyes and said, “So, they were trying to drug me this morning. Something about some medicine to mellow out my Taint. I told them I didn't have bad Taint and didn't need it. Then I fled.” Kyle was fiddling with the shirt cuff, rolling it up, letting it unfurl. “I'm a little... you know. You freaked me out.”
“You should be freaked out! Idiot.” August wanted to smack the kid upside the head, and then hide him away somewhere safe.
Kyle took a step back towards the door. “I should just go.”
“You think you can just go?” August jabbed his thumb towards his brand. “Ain't no leaving until you've been indoctrinated.”
Kyle's face twisted up in a scowl.
“Wishing you'd listened to your teach, now, huh?”
“He didn't want me, though.” The kid had taken on sullen faster than a hound dog took to a scent. August had a sudden realization about the push Kyle had had towards the cult. What a brat.
“Hot for teacher.” August laughed. “Oh, that's golden.”
Kyle shot him a glare. August raised his hands in surrender. “Don't go all feral on me. I know what you're going through. Wielder, gay... at least you aren't black.”
Kyle's stiff frame softened. “Shit, you're gay?”
August snorted. “Who here doesn't swing that way to some degree? I'm bi actually.” He shrugged. “I think a lot of these guys just have sex with men because they've few other options besides five-fingered Mary. So, your teacher's straight, told you to search other pastures?”
Kyle shook his head. “No, he's gay too. And he liked me... but he kept going off on how 'I'm his student.' He wouldn't touch me, though I'm sure he had a rub off or two thinking about me.” He chuckled, and August could see the sure sexiness this kid could wield with his cocky grin and confident air.
Someone banged on August's door. He called out, “Come in.”
Skid poked his head in and stiffened when he noticed Kyle, then he turned his glare on August. “Red wants to talk to you.”
“Fine, fine.” August pulled on a loose shirt and followed Skid down to Redstoke's office, leaving Kyle behind with a significant look that said, “Watch your ass.”
“Robbing the cradle now?” Skid asked with spite.
“Cradle? Kid's twenty-one, remember? Perfectly legal. Less than a decade younger than me. What's your problem?” August knew exactly what Skid's problem was, and he didn't care.
They reached Redstoke's door and August knocked, ignoring Skid.
“It's open,” Redstoke said by invitation.
August strolled in, leaned against the wall, and nearly put his foot on the man's pirate chest, but checked himself in time. Maybe he felt invulnerable now that he'd been initiated. Maybe he just didn't give a fuck anymore. “You wanted me?”
“Yeah, we've some merchandise we need to offload and have need of your connections.”
August snorted. Now he got the business. If he'd known the hell he'd have to go through, he would have told Gould off, no matter the consequences. “That is why you invited me in. I can do it. I'll need access to my contacts... you know, a phone with reception.” August shook his head in disappointment, purposefully treating Redstoke like a child. “You know, Redstoke, you did not need to drug me and have my memory erased to force my alliance.”
Redstoke's eyes glistened as they measured August up. Always measuring him up, like he was the playground bully threatened by the new transfer kid. August kept his face bored, dismissive, and waited for the answer or the excuse. He wasn't sure which one he would receive until the man said, “It's how we do our business. The world is full of people who will turn on you. It's good to know when someone's in your debt and won't stab you in the back. Now, you've got a criminal history. Probably some proof out there of your actions. And you need us for the supplements to alleviate the building urge of your Taint. You are now reliant on us.”
August blinked and nodded his head thoughtfully. So, he got a real answer.
“But you've also gained my animosity.” He liked this frankness.
Redstoke leaned forward, both hands on the table. Something in the man's eyes made August want to shrink back, but he stood his ground. His pits were sweating. He'd gain the funk of fear sweat after this. Why that popped into his head then, he had no idea, but he did not lean away.
“I don't need your friendship, or your love. I need your cooperation. I need you to do your job. Everyone does their job and we're A-Okay. Got that?”
August pushed off the wall and forced out a laugh. “You had that with a good paycheck, asshole.” He turned and began to walk away.
“Do not walk out of this office.”
August's shoulders braced, waiting for whatever was coming. He said casually, “Give the details to Skid. Get me a phone. I'll set up the deal.” And he walked out.
Skid was on his heels in a flash. “What the fuck was that, August? He's going to kill you!”
“Naw, he needs me or he wouldn’t have brought me in. Dude's got a woody for his own little army. It's sad. Probably his Taint, it's so pronounced.” Or just simple madness.
