Justin Cole Taylor was once an innocent young boy with stars in his eyes and love in his heart. He found love one night in a loft with a man that made his first time incredible. He wanted more but knew from Brian’s best friend just what would happen if he were to stick around. To save himself the pain of a broken heart, Justin left Liberty Avenue and the Face of God firmly where Brian told him to; in his dreams.

He lived his life from that moment, seizing any opportunity to establish himself as a person, to build and grow. When he found himself sitting next to Chris Hobbs in the equipment room, he took matters into his own hands in the most literal sense. Damn, Chris’ dick had felt so good. It was hard and pulsing. Justin’s mouth watered when Chris came. The interruption was like a bucket of ice water straight to the groin. Though, Justin was almost thankful for it.

Justin tread lightly after that. He made sure to stay out of Chris’ way and put up with being run into lockers and called a fag. He kept his mouth shut and let it happen. He wasn’t exactly surprised with Chris approached him for help with English Lit; Justin was smart, everyone knew that. They agreed to meet after Chris had finished practice.

Chris picked him up to go to the library, it turned out that Chris really lacked in that area and was actually struggling a lot with comprehension. Three hours later they were back in Chris’ Camaro, with Chris’ hand in Justin’s pants, tongue down his throat. Justin came with a harsh cry. Chris took his hand out of the pants only to have Justin take the hand and surreptitiously lick his own cum of those fingers.

“Oh, fuck.” Chris groaned. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening. He wasn’t a fag, but Justin made him feel things. Things that he didn’t feel with girls. Had never felt with anyone.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” Justin radiated confidence even though he had only given one blowjob. He had only received one as well. Both experiences were with Brian. Chris nodded his head quickly, a flush spreading over his face at his quick assent. “Lean back.”

Justin undid the button of the jeans and unzipped them slowly. He pulled out Chris’ cock. It was harder than Justin thought possible considering that Chris was supposed to be straight. He got to work, going slow just like he learned from Brian. Tentative licks to the head, then slowly engulfing the shaft as far as it would go without making him gag. It must have been good because Chris had his fingers in short blond hair. They just rest there, guiding a little, not really forcing. Small stutters of his hips told Justin that the man under him was close. So, he redoubled his efforts.

“Jesus, Justin. I’m gonna cum.” Justin did his best to do the incredible things Brian had done to him. He pulled back, so the head was the only thing left in his mouth and sucked hard, tonguing the slit just a little. Three stutters forward and Chris exploded. Justin found he didn’t much like the taste of the spunk, but he swallowed it anyway just to keep himself from choking. He wasn’t thrilled. Judging by the look that graced Chris’ face, Justin had done well. He licked Chris clean even though he didn’t like the taste. It was the polite thing to do.

Chris didn’t say another word as Justin tucked the softening member back into the jeans. Chris started the car and began to take Justin home. Right outside the Taylor residence, Chris finally spoke. Justin wished that he had just kept quiet.

“You know,” Chris began, voice a bit pensive, “I always heard that fags suck dick better than most girls can. Something about knowing what they would like, so they can do better.” Justin looked over at the other boy. Chris refused to return the eye contact. “You tell anyone about what just happened, and I swear to God, I will ruin your life.”

“Don’t worry, Chris. I won’t tell anyone that you got your dick sucked by a fag.” Justin said with a shake of his head. “I just hope you realize that no amount of denial is going to erase that you liked it.”

“Fuck you, Taylor. You don’t know shit about me. I’m not a fucking fairy. I just wanted to know if the rumors about fags were true.” Justin sighed.

“Right. You let me suck your dick for to prove a theory. Okay. Keep telling yourself that. Just let me know if you need to prove your theory again.” Justin said boldly before quickly exiting the car.

The next few months between the two were strained, filled with animosity and rage from Chris. Justin only provided furtive looks of pity. Chris would watch Justin from afar, slam him harder into lockers, knock his books out of his hands, spit venomous words all in hopes of destroying Justin’s “out-and-proud” attitude. Nothing worked and it only served to make Chris angrier. The treatment got worse when Amir Ramsay moved to town. He was a junior, with mocha skin and blonde hair. He was the second person at St. James to be openly gay.

Of course, that meant that he and Justin became fast friends. A happy fucking threesome with Daphne. Chris hated how happy they were. Openly gallivanting across campus for everyone to see. It was disgusting. Amir and Justin didn’t exactly flaunt that they were together, but Chris could tell that they were butt buddies. Amir confirmed it with a sappy prom-posal that made Justin flash that damn smile.

It wasn’t the dancing. It wasn’t the way Amir held the other blond. Neither of those are what sent Chris over the edge. No. It was the small but intimate gesture of Justin putting his forehead against Amir’s. The move got aww’s from those around them. Chris seethed and had to leave the ballroom. It was lucky that the place that was holding the prom also had an area for batting cages, at least Chris could blow off his steam there. He grabbed the wooden Louisville Slugger from the trunk of his car and began to make the trek to where the cages were. Unfortunately, on his way, Amir and Justin were there. Chris got to witness Amir press his lips against the fullness that was Justin’s mouth.

Chris snapped, like he was booted out of command of his own body, forced to watch himself be driven forward by a presence not his own. He was on the outside looking in as his feet walked him over to the pair. He heard his own voice speak out and echo around him. “Hey faggots.” It was his voice that called out, right before the bat slammed against Amir’s head first. Chris didn’t even remember deciding to speak. Justin’s sharp intake of breath caught Chris’ attention; Justin tried to move away. The wooden bat met skull with a sickening crack. It wasn’t until Justin hit the ground that Chris could once again control his actions. The slugger clattered to the ground, echoing in the night air. He frantically looked around him to see if anyone had seen what just happened. There was no one. He grabbed the bat, threw it in his car and ran for help. He told one of the chaperones that he saw the attacker and he rushed to get help.

Chris learned the next morning that Amir fell into a coma sometime during the surgery to stop the minor bleed that happened when the bat hit a metal plate in his head. Turned out that Amir had a brain tumor once and had gotten the plate when they had to take out a piece of his skull to remove the tumor. Chris just so happened to hit right there. Justin fared much worse. He died three times on the operating table before they were able to stop the bleeding and swelling of his brain. Chris didn’t remember hitting him that hard, but he must have. Immediately after surgery, Justin was put into a medically induced coma. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to bring him out of the coma like they planned. It seemed his body wasn’t ready, and it just stayed shut down.

The investigation was going nowhere. There was a little bit of evidence, but nothing concrete. The police knew that the assailant took the bat with them when they left, but there was no way of knowing where they went after they left the scope of the camera. The parking lot cameras had captured the actual attack. Grainy, black and white, no real way to enhance the details as the cameras and the system were almost a decade old. That worked in Chris’s favor. The only thing that Chris did was to get rid of the bat in a burn barrel near a homeless camp. He knew no one would really question why there was a fire there. Still, Chris knew that he needed help when Craig Taylor tried to speed the investigation along. He preached that Justin flaunted his sexuality and brought it on himself when he decided to take that fairy with him to a prom.

Hobbs Senior was not pleased at the mess that Chris had gotten himself into. To most in their circle, whomever did the act weren’t really in the wrong as they were just protecting themselves from being subjected to that kind of sin. The law didn’t see it that way. So, naturally, Hobbs Senior called in his friends on the force to make the problem disappear. There was no way that this was going to ruin the life his son had in front of him. The police were all but told that the investigation was to go nowhere.

It would have been fine, but then Justin woke up. Chris couldn’t stay away, even with his father warning him not to go to the hospital. He knew he should have left well enough alone, but he needed to see Justin. It had been three weeks. Justin remembered nothing about the prom. He lost the entire week leading up to it. Chris made the mistake of telling Justin that he was sorry. He flew into a rage, but it was no excuse for what he had done. A detective, that hated dirty cops with a passion, heard him as he was there to take an official statement from Justin. He cuffed Chris within seconds.

In the end, Chris got off with a slight tap on the wrist, much to the dismay of Amir’s family. Chris was forced to do 500 measly hours of community service. Even dead to rights, Chris didn’t serve any time. The Taylors were not in attendance of the trial. Craig had denounced his son and refused to acknowledge his existence. Jennifer and Molly were stunned, but it wasn’t their place to question the man of the house, so they let it be. Both still checked in on Justin when they could. To the Ramsay’s, there was nothing worse than weak minded people that blindly supported bigots, so they did what they could to ensure Justin got the best treatment.

Justin wasn’t too surprised that Chris didn’t really get into trouble. He remembered the way Chris would look at them, after Amir moved to town. Justin couldn’t remember the prom, but Daphne said it was amazing. Amir was a light in a dark life that kept Justin going after his foray to Liberty Avenue. He was Justin’s other best friend.

Justin visited Amir every day while he went to physical therapy. The therapy didn’t do much for him, but it broke the monotony of the guest room at the Chander’s residence. He felt a terrible sense of guilt that he is the one that is awake while Amir lay in a bed as the world just kept going without him. The doctors didn’t really have an explanation as to why Amir hadn’t woken up, and Amir’s parents refused to give up on their son.

It was Amir’s mother, Oksana, that suggested that maybe Justin should look into other types of therapy. She spoke to him about the way they had helped Amir with his coordination after he had his surgery. Justin wasn’t sure about the whole shooting range thing. After three months of intense therapy, he was still shaking more often than he wasn’t, so he didn’t have anything to lose. Amir’s father, Niko, took him the first few times until Justin felt comfortable with it. He didn’t require much guidance. It was almost as if it was meant to be, as soon as he held Niko’s Glock .45, he could feel himself steady. It was oddly calming.

Niko told Justin to picture something that made him angry and focus on that. Justin just had to laugh at that, he had several things he could picture. It helped. His aim was steady and true. He kept going to the range because it helped keep the shakes to a minimum. He also did it because it made him feel better mentally, the control made him feel less helpless.

His natural ability caught the attention of more than one patron at the range. He frequently received congratulations. One patron in particular would regularly supply Justin with ammunition or would bet certain amounts of money that Justin would get if he hit where was marked, in the order that was marked. Justin was so good that he hit every mark like it was a bullseye.

“Mr. Taylor, you are a natural.”

“Thanks, Mr. B.” Justin pulled his sunshine smile.

“You know, you have skills that could prove to be very valuable.” Mr. B said, keeping everything vague.

“I’m not the military kind, Mr. B. I’m an artist, not a soldier.”

“I wasn’t talking about enlisting, Mr. Taylor.” Mr. B always insisted on formality even though they have known each other for months. Justin didn’t even know what the ‘B’ stood for. Still, Mr. B always seemed to look out for Justin after he told the story of what happened at prom. Mr. B kept an eye on Justin to ensure he had everything he could possibly need, but Justin didn’t know that.

“I’m not sure I get your meaning then.” Justin furrowed his brow.

“You will. Have a good day, Mr. Taylor. See you next week.” Mr. B left Justin alone in his thoughts. He made sure his gun didn’t have any rounds left and double checked the chamber, just in case. The first thing Niko had taught Justin was gun safety. He took it very seriously.

Justin found himself ruminating on what Mr. B had said while he carefully stored his weapon with the Arms Master at the range. If he didn’t mean enlisting… he couldn’t mean?

No. Justin shook his head. There was no way that Mr. B meant anything illegal. Right? The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that the older man didn’t mean sharpshooter competitions. He put it out of his mind as he made his way to his tiny apartment above a deli. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t Daphne’s house and it was right above where he worked. He moved from the Chander’s residence as soon as he could, not wanting to mooch off the kindness of his best friend and her family. He didn’t have to, but he knew that he needed to in order to grow.

He checked his email and found something from an unknown sender. Normally Justin would just junk the message, but the subject line ruffled his feathers.

From: Unknown

To: JTaylor@pittsmail.com 

My abusive father crossed too many lines

Justin had to click the message. There was no text, just a hyperlink to a Craigslist post. He clicked the link which took him to an oddly worded ad.

            -My abusive father crossed another line. It is one thing that he used to beat me, my sister and my mother. When my sister introduced him to her daughter, he seemed fine. She, my sister, made the mistake of leaving her 10-month-old alone with him. The situation turned into a disaster. Without going into too many details, my niece will never be the same. He will never get in trouble because of who he is. My sister is terrified of him. I’m looking for advice on how to get my father out of our lives once and for all. –

There was an email address listed so that they could be contacted. Justin had to wonder who would send him the link to the post in the first place. He didn’t know what possessed him to reply to the ad. Maybe it had something to do with his own brush with abuse. He set up a new email to reply. He wasn’t sure what made him do that, but it just seemed logical. He used bunk information to create it. Immediately after, he began messaging with the person to set up a meeting.

Justin donned his ballcap, a staple in his wardrobe now since the bashing happened. His hair didn’t like to grow over the scar from the incision they made to relieve the pressure and swelling. He didn’t like the stares he got from people around him. It caused a disquiet in Justin that he didn’t like to be saddled with.

The woman was shorter, on the stockier side, with mousy brown hair sloppily pulled back into a ponytail at the base of her neck. She looked forlorn, exhausted beyond belief. Something about the look in her eyes hit Justin right in the gut. He wanted to gather the woman in his arms and never let her go. 

“Are you Sapphire?” Justin asked the woman. 

“Yes, but you may call me Alesha. Alesha Burgess.” The woman, Alesha, told him. “I won’t ask your name. Shall we sit?” She motioned to a bench. “I don’t know how this kind of thing is supposed to work.” She admitted, seeming to talk a mile a minute while saying very little. 

“Just tell me the outcome you would like to see.” Justin didn’t know how he was able to speak with such assurance, didn’t know what made him choose those specific words. 

“After what that scum did to my niece, Leslie, I want him gone. Forever. He just won’t leave us alone. My sister is too frightened to say anything, and no one will believe me over him anyway. He is just going to get away with nearly killing Leslie.” Alesha said quietly. 

“Give me his photo and I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother your family again.” Justin’s words expressed a confidence that he definitely didn’t feel. 

“Meet me here tomorrow. I will have his picture. 1 pm?” Justin just nodded at her question. She left without another word, leaving Justin to contemplate what the hell he was doing. What did the woman really expect him to do? Why did he even email the woman in the first place?

The man in question, Victor Burgess, was vile. He had a list of priors a mile long, none of which ended with prosecution of any kind. Honestly, Justin was pretty sure that scum like that shouldn’t continue breathing. The thought caused a shudder of revulsion to roll through him for even thinking that someone should die after he himself almost had, with Amir in a coma. The prom ordeal still shook Justin to the core. 

Three hours of deep thought later and Justin was sure. This man, disgusting as he was, was Alesha’s Chris. That little baby girl could have been Amir. Or worse. Justin couldn’t get justice for Amir, but he could for Alesha’s family. It was what he had to do. What he needed to do. 

He knew now what Mr. B had been talking about, that he had skills that could be very valuable. Maybe this was exactly what he was meant to do. He needed to talk to Mr. B, only so many things can be determined in his own mind. He dialed a number he had never had cause to call before. After three rings, someone answered. 

“Good evening, Mr. Taylor. To what do I own this auspicious pleasure?” The voice of Mr. B danced through the earpiece of the phone. 

“I need a favor, one that only you can help me with.” Justin’s voice was frazzled but determined. 

“Whatever you need, Mr. Taylor. “ Mr. B assured, “I’ll get you what you need by courier.”

“I need a muzzle suppressor for my Baretta 92 FS, the weapon I keep at home. That or a butterfly knife.” Justin admitted softly, almost like he was unable to believe what he was asking for. 

“I have just what you need. I’ll get it to you by midnight.” Mr. B didn’t say another word, just hung up. Justin let out a breath, it shuddered in his chest. What the hell was he doing?

At 10:37 there was a knock on the door. The man standing there was impeccably dressed, nothing like what a standard courier would look like. It was confirmed when the man spoke.

“Compliments of Mr. Br- Mr. B.” Justin almost smiled at the stumble but couldn’t do that as his hands were suddenly full of a large package. When he looked back up, the man had already disappeared. Justin hated that people could do that.

He sat on the futon that doubled as a bed and opened the parcel. Inside was a gun metal black suppressor that Justin knew would thread perfectly into the muzzle of his beloved SF. He didn’t feel as conflicted with the actual tools in his possession. The parcel also held five assorted sizes of butterfly knives. Justin grabbed a rather small one and flipped it open. It looked a bit like a straight razor, but both sides were sharpened. He flipped it a couple more times. He practiced the skill a bit when he was younger with a blunt knife when he was a scout. He was surprised he could still do it at all, considering that he was using his gimp hand.

There was a lot of things that Justin had on his mind when Alesha sat next to him on the same bench as the day before. What the hell was he thinking? Could he even go through with this?

The day was overcast, yet Alesha had on aviators with extremely dark lenses. The entire situation was cliché and worried Justin.

“Alesha, why are you wearing sunglasses?” Alesha shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“My father showed up at my sisters. They wouldn’t let him in to see Leslie at the hospital because he isn’t immediate family. I wouldn’t let him in the house.” She said softly.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“He hit me so hard that it knocked me out cold. My sister took him to see Leslie. She was afraid that he would kill me.”

“Did you bring me a picture?” Alesha nodded and passed Justin an envelope. When Justin saw what was inside, he shook his head.

“I can’t take your money.”

“I insist. What you’re doing, whatever it is, is priceless. This is the least I can do.”

Justin left before Alesha did, feeling heavier than before. He knew what he needed to do. He steeled himself and found the scum that could hurt an innocent child. Justin thought that the man looked homeless. His clothes hadn’t been washed in ages and his hair was basically grease. It made his head look like it was just a slick of oil. Justin got skeeved just watching the man move.

Three days. That’s all it took to know that Victor Burgess was a creature of habit in the worst way. He was a stalkers wet dream. He went to the same bar, at the same time, every single night. He drank the same thing, Coors Light. At least five of them. He hit on every woman and tried to start a fight with every man. Mostly, people just ignored him until he became belligerent, then they made him leave. He walked everywhere when he was intoxicated, not wanting to spend money on something like a cab. All of it looked great for Justin because he took the same route home.

Justin walked into an alley in the middle of the route and waited. His heart started pounding as he threaded the suppressor into the barrel of his handgun. He hid in shadow, dressed in all black, hoodie over his head. He heard Victor yelling out an Irish folk song.

“Ho, ro, the rattlin’ bog, the bog down in the valley-o. In that bog there was a hole; a rare hole, a rattlin’ hole.” The song was slurred and more than a little off key.

“Victor?” Justin made his voice higher in order to sound like a woman. It was enough to make the man turn around. Justin shot twice without a thought. He was shocked at how loud the shots were even with the suppressor. It was definitely not like Hollywood made it sound. He looked down at the man and felt… nothing. Not a damn thing. He let out a breath before turning around.

He left the area quickly and trekked back to his little apartment. He should have been surprised by the fact that Mr. B sat at the rickety table, but after the night he had, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just walked over to the mini fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. He offered it to Mr. B, who shook his head. Justin shrugged, closing the fridge and opening the bottle. He gulped down half of it before Mr. B spoke.

“Mr. Taylor, I see you took me up on that idea.”

“Turns out you were right. My skills ended up really working for me.” Justin threw the envelope with the money and picture of Victor on the table. “She insisted on paying me. I can’t let her take the fall for this.”

“I understand, but this can’t come down on you. You’ve only just begun. Have you touched the money?”

“Had to to get the photo out.” Justin reasoned, but kind of hated that he didn’t think that far ahead. “I didn’t think about it. I wasn’t going to keep it.”

“I saw the ad. It won’t take much for them to find it. Burgess had clout. A former police officer, low ranking, didn’t move beyond beat cop. He was shot on duty. They are going to put everything they have into this.” Well shit, Justin thought, I should have done more digging.

“Mr. B, she can’t take the heat for this.”

“I’ll clean the money and get it back to her. I’ll make sure she is okay. If you want to keep doing this, you are going to need a different approach. Is that what you want, Justin?” Justin didn’t catch the informality.

“Yes.” He replied without hesitation.

“Then do me a favor,” Justin nodded, “Call me Ben. Ben Bruckner.”