CHAPTER 30: BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS Part 3: A TIDE TURNED

PETERSON RESIDENCE

SEWICKLEY, PA

Ron looked out the window again, relieved that the police were once again circling his neighborhood. At first, the police presence on the street where he shared his home with his wife was disconcerting. Knowing that the Taylor-Kinneys were scheduled to give their interview, it wasn’t stretching the imagination too far to think they may have mentioned his involvement with the Network. But as he reviewed the footage, he’d known that Justin Taylor-Kinney, and in turn, Brian had kept their collective word that he wouldn’t be the in any part of their interview. He’d known that they were men of integrity but had never understood how deep it ran until just that moment, when Leslie Lockhart had closed with her final words. Now remained the problem of Justin holding onto the journal that could land them all into doing long prison stints.

His musings were interrupted by the entrance of his wife into his private quarters. “Ron, there’s a telephone call for you. The caller didn’t give their name,” Nancy said, meekly.

“Did they at least say what they wanted?” Ronald demanded of her. He couldn’t help but wonder who it was since everyone he might have wanted to speak with knew to call him on the office phone.

“No they didn’t, but it sounded incredibly important,” she answered, softly.

He huffed in her direction, knowing that ultimately it wasn’t her fault, but blaming her just the same. She would be punished later, but first he needed to take the call. He hadn’t been able to reach any one of his contacts since earlier in the afternoon, and that alone was unsettling. Pushing past her, he was gratified when she shirked any contact of his body into hers. It had been a long week for Nancy, having been punished for Lindsay’s continued sins. It served the bitch right for getting pregnant with their daughter in the first place, simply because she was derelict in forgetting her birth control. Nancy had never forgotten to do so again after Lindsay’s birth.

Reaching out for the phone, he answered. “This is Ron Peterson. Who’s this?”

“You’re next,” the distorted, disembodied voice over the phone whispered. “You should repent now.”

“What are you talking about? Who is this?!”

“Your buddy Stockwell is already meeting is maker… in person.” The caller laughed evilly then, sending a chill down Ron’s spine at the implication.

He looked at the caller ID, seeing that the person was calling from a blocked number. Agitatedly he said, “Look! I don’t know who you are, or if this is some kind of prank, but you’d do well to get the fuck off my phone right now! The police are patrolling my home and trust me, I will have no problems getting them in here to deal with the likes of you!”

The maniacal laughter over the phone ceased immediately. “Do you honestly believe that I am afraid of law enforcement? They continually fail at their jobs, Ron. But don’t worry about it. I’m coming, and when I arrive there, you’ll know.”

The dial tone in his ear unsettled Ronald Peterson more than anything. He had no idea who, or what, was coming for him, but he understood that the threat was very real. Trying to still the instantaneous trembles assailing him, he headed back to his study at the front of the house. He looked out of the window once again, relieved to see the police still riding around the neighborhood. A second unmarked car had also joined in the patrol. Laughing at the stupidity of the caller and his own fear, Ron thought back over the conversation.

So Stockwell was dead, and the police were patrolling to keep him safe as opposed to arresting him for his part in the Network. There was some semblance of freedom in the fact that his involvement was still hidden. Perhaps, it was time to officially move to the Venezuelan property once and for all. He would definitely cut Nancy loose though, since she had certainly outlived her usefulness and appeal. Looking over to his wife, he noticed how haggard she looked, as opposed to the young woman he’d married some years ago. He thought about the wives of his acquaintances and how elegant they still remained despite their advanced age. There really was no comparison. It was officially time to trade the old girl in for a new model.

Now that his lead procurer was dead, he would have to reach out to Ted Telson. He had a young woman on his estate in Rush, New York, who would certainly make a fit replacement for Nancy. It helped that by all accounts, she’d been well trained, having first been taken when she was eleven years old along with her mother. Ted often remarked that his brother, Marvin, was constantly raving about the girl’s attributes. She was educated, somewhat, and could suck a cock like Hoover, before riding it fast and hard for long periods of time- just the way he liked it. Nancy used to be like that too, until the years had crept on her. Well, he would have to settle a pension on Nancy, since it was owed to her for the years of service, and then he would move on with his life and newest sex slave.  He figured that the little bitch would be expensive, since she was such a prized piece by Marvin Telson, but it didn’t matter. Ron would get years of use out of her, so it made sense to pay the full asking price now, whatever it was.

Yes, young firm breasts and a tight, tender pussy is all I need in order to relocate to South America, and leave all this shit behind, he thought as he moved over to the liquor cabinet in his office. As far as he was concerned, whatever befell Lindsay, Connor, Brandon, and Craig was no more than what they had deserved. He had been warning Taylor for years that he was playing with fire by continuing to deal with the James brothers. He and Jim had made the decision to leave not twenty-four hours before the call of a few minutes ago. He was still debating about taking his family with him when he left New York for the final time.

Ron had no such commitment to Nancy, or to his wayward daughters. He did regret the way things happened with Lynette though, since because of her very public accusations, he couldn’t use her anymore to make his life easier forming relationships within the Network. If she had only kept her mouth shut about Alex… Ah well, that was just one causality in a long line of them recently. But with the way things had played out with Justin Taylor-Kinney, did Ron really have any choice but to disassociate himself from all the friends and business associates he’d acquired over the years? He didn’t think so, especially since with that interview, things were coming to a head pretty fast.

Pulling out the Glenfiddich Whiskey that he only drank sparingly for special occasions, Ron poured himself glass, and sat back in his office chair. On the one hand, he was going to miss James Stockwell; they had been friends and business associates for a long time. But on the other hand, he was looking forward to moving someplace warm where all of the drama of the last few months would no longer be a way of life for him. Hand still on the glass, he opened the bottom draw of the massive desk, pulling out a folder. Having made the decision to get rid of Nancy, he just wanted to make sure that everything else was in order.

Looking over his assets, he decided which of his holdings could be sold, and how he wanted the others dispersed. He would let Nancy keep the house, in addition to a quarter of what was in his bank account with First National Bank in Pittsburgh since he wouldn’t have need of it. It wasn’t in his plan to ever return to the United States once he left. Besides, a lot of that was still her inheritance money from when her parents died, and she was entitled to it. His vacation homes in the South of France and Scotland he left to Lynette, along with a good portion of his fortune in the United States. His offshore accounts would be more than enough to ensure that he still lived a life of wealth and privilege as he was accustomed. To Lindsay, he would leave his home in Los Angeles… well, if she was ever to escape the bullshit din she’d trapped herself in. He couldn’t count how many times he’d warned her about wanting Brian Kinney and the obsession she had with him. But that was the price she would have to pay for her ignorance. Hopefully, she would be able to talk her way out of trouble as she always did. It was both her gift and her curse he supposed.

Having finalized all of that, he wrote a quick letter to his attorney, detailing everything again. With luck, he would be able to leave in the morning, immediately after contacting Telson about the sale. He would fly into Rochester International Airport first to retrieve the girl, and then be on his way to a new life. Sealing the missive with the signet ring passed down in his family from generation to generation, he sat back in relief that it was all done at last. Putting the glass up to his lips, he took a long draught of the amber liquid, marveling at its rich taste. The initial burn of the liquid felt good, but suddenly he felt as if his airway was constricting a bit. Feeling a cough rising up from his chest, he decided to take another sip, hoping to quell the coming sensation. At the end of finishing the glass, he reached for the open bottle to pour himself another, barely noticing the bubbles in the bottom, until it was almost too late.

“Call 911,” Ronald advised his wife, who had come to the door to let Ronald know he had another phone call. “Call them NOW, Nancy!” he ordered, breath coming faster. He felt as if his lungs were exploding.

As Nancy rushed back out of the room to do Ronald’s bidding, his office phone rang. Reaching over and nearly knocking over everything on the desk to get to it, Ronald picked it up, unable to speak. The disembodied voice was back again…

“Antifreeze, motherfucker! I told you I was coming… but I lied- I was already there! Revenge and Justice! Now that’s two of you bastards! The other two will meet you there, too! BURN IN HELL!” it said, just before the dial tone sounded in his ear.

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TELSON ESTATE

RUSH, NEW YORK

Marvin Telson laid face up, looking at the picture of the naked young woman above his bed. A few days ago, his life was pretty fucking great. He had created a home for himself with his sex slave, and her daughter; much different from the life he was forced to live with his wife and their three children. Here, he didn’t have to hide his proclivities, even if they involved a bevy of barely legal boys. His harem was everything a Bisexual Pasha could want. But that was then…

Now, as he laid upon the bed he once shared with all his human delicacies, all he could think of was their faces. The countless nameless, faceless young men and women he’d acquired over the years, but one whose name stuck out every single time he glanced at the picture. SHE was the reason his life was falling apart at the seams… or so it appeared in this moment. But he suspected there was more. He’d seen the interview with the Taylor-Kinneys earlier in the day. Ted had advised him that it was on. Had he known then what he knew now, he would have left this ranch for greener pastures, long since. Ted had gone in search of their wayward wards, leaving him all alone to fend for himself.

At first, it was perfectly fine that he would leave Marvin for a short time, thinking that the young girl and her mother couldn’t have gotten very far… Yet when Ted returned, he advised that he still hadn’t been able to find them. He’d checked the next town of Henrietta and the Greyhound and Amtrak terminals in the Center City section of Rochester, hoping that in all their desperation, they would look for the most direct route out of town. But they hadn’t done that. It was as if they had vanished without a trace. Marvin smiled bleakly, knowing that somewhere within the two women was still a rock solid integrity that was kept well-hidden no matter how much he and Ted tried to beat it out of them. It didn’t matter what he and Ted did to them to bend them to their collective wills, or who they forced the women to service, they still wouldn’t take what they considered charity… or more accurately, payment for the service they rendered.

There were days when Marvin and Ted had to literally force-feed them, so that they wouldn’t waste away and meet their deaths before their time. Several times, Marvin had caught the mother trying to kill herself in the hopes that she could buy time for her daughter to get free. It hadn’t worked. All that happened was they both incurred punishment, and then several fuckings to teach them their place. He remembered taking them to Venezuela after one such instance, where both of them were retrained to his specifications. Oh, how they screamed, cried, and pleaded… but Marvin’s will was still done in the end. He longed for those times right now, but they were never to be again.

He wasn’t prepared for the chronic ringing of his doorbell, announcing the most unexpected visitor. Nor was he expecting the knock to his head, resulting in him being completely unconscious for more hours than he cared to remember, only to wake up handcuffed to his bed the same way he had done to countless men, women, boys, and girls over the years. He wasn’t prepared for the words written in blood across one of his most prized pictures of Jessica- all battered and bruised from a night where her continued disobedience needed correcting; wasn’t prepared to face the fact that they were written in his own blood.

As Marvin shifted on the bed, he could feel the slow trickle of warm liquid beginning to pool under him onto the sheets which covered his bed. The constant ticking of the clock on the bedroom wall signaled just how little time he had left. His attacker was more than intelligent. It took a certain amount of viciousness to detail to their victim just how they were going to die. As soon as the clock struck seven the slow burn of flames would engulf the bed where he had fucked countless people at the same time, every day for more years than he could count. The fire would burn as quickly as it took for him to ejaculate into, or onto, those unwilling conquests… and then the bomb in the basement would finish him off, leaving nothing of the hellhole his estate had become. He would feel sorry for himself, but his genitals had already been severed from his body, they now lay in a jar of formaldehyde near his head. Without his dick, what good was there living anyway…

So he smiled at the picture one last time, determined to take the image with him to his grave. Because of the secluded location of the estate, he was certain that even if the fire was reported in a timely manner, it would already be too late to save him. The grandfather clock in the hallway announced the time, by the robust gong he’d heard over and over again throughout his life. So Marvin closed his eyes, and waited for death to come take him. Ted would avenge him; he could always count on his brother to do so…. Well, if he lived long enough.

Three down… one to go!   

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LAGUARDIA AIRPORT

STOCKWELL/TELSON PRIVATE HANGAR

Seven couldn’t believe the situation he and Justin now found themselves in. When he’d come to about a half hour ago, he’d known that his only chance for survival was to pretend he was still unconscious, thereby giving his limbs and respiratory system a chance to fully recover. Luckily, Connor wasn’t as observant as he thought he was. He’d felt the beady eyes undressing him, even as he continued to lay absolutely still as he matched his breathing to Justin’s. As soon as he felt he was no longer under Connor’s intense scrutiny, he’d made as subtle moves as possible to wake Justin.

When Seven had turned to resume his own pacing while at the hospital, the last thing he had expected was to find Justin gone without a trace. After searching the waiting room for the blond head almost identical to his own, he’d gone over to Ted and Emmett to inform them that he was going to the restroom where he had suspected Justin had disappeared to. They walked in to Connor trying his best to subdue Justin, who was still fighting the man with all the strength and will he had within him. Justin was determined that Connor would never take him out of there… even if it meant he would die. Which would have happened since Connor had his hands wrapped around Justin’s throat, even as the younger man continued to kick and claw, trying to dislodge Connor’s hands from obstructing his airway. Seeing that, Ted and Emmett had joined the fray just as Seven turned back towards the door to get help. Unfortunately, a cop obviously on Connor’s payroll had returned and attacked Emmett from behind as Connor fought with Ted. As he tried to gather a semi-conscious Justin, and make good their escape from the men’s room, both of them were injected before they even had a chance to take two steps. In retrospect, it was their capture that might have saved the lives of Ted and Emmett… at least, he hoped so.

The soft moan coming from the man next to him, alerted Seven immediately. He reached over, keeping as still as possible, to grip the younger man’s hand in an effort to soothe him- to let Justin know that he wasn’t alone. Justin quieted instantly, which allowed Seven to take a surreptitious look around to ensure that Connor had not heard. Thankfully, he was still on the other side of the hangar, making yet another call.

“What the fuck do you mean he’s dead?!” Connor screamed into the receiver. Seven could tell that whomever was on the other end of the phone was still speaking, and that whomever it was that died that day threw a monkey wrench into whatever plans Connor had for them. He listened closely as Connor spoke again. “Well that’s something, tell Telson to drive in from Newark instead of flying directly here. There’s a good possibility that the police are still at the Liberty Air terminal gathering evidence against Lindsay, and that asshole, Craig Taylor. Has there been any word on Henderson making it into the Pittsburgh P.D. to meet with Bran yet?”

Seven took Connor’s distraction as his opportunity to whisper to Justin, whose blue eyes still looked a little groggy, but were wide open and intent on listening in as well. “There’s a cop floating around here, too, Jus. I don’t know where he is, or when he’ll return.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Fucking cops. Do you know where we are? This place looks familiar, yet not.”

“Inside Stockwell’s hangar that he shares with Telson. We have to get out of here.”

“I know. Do you have any idea what they injected me with?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m allergic to a lot. The fact that I’m even talking to you means that whatever they gave me this time is something I’ve been able to build up a tolerance to. I need to know what it is, so I can figure out just how limited I am.”

Seven thought about that for a moment. If Justin was able to think coherently after being injected with a drug, and was sure that he’d been injected with it before, that would mean it would be considered one of the lighter drugs they’d used to subdue him and Seven before. “The only thing I can think that they have injected me with before that would put me out for hours was a general anesthetic called propofol. It was always that or GHB, but the latter was always used when they wanted me completely cognizant of what was happening to me, but unable to do anything about it. The former they would use as a torture device so that they could do whatever they wanted, but although I wouldn’t know what they did, I would feel their effects the minute I woke up.”

“Same with me.”

“So we pretty much know what they used. Can you move at all?”

Justin tested each limb to gauge how difficult, or sluggish his response times were. “I’m pretty okay.”

“But you just woke up,” Seven gasped softly.

“Mostly, I’ve just been asleep- not unconscious like we were when we were taken. I’ve been unconscious enough to know the difference,” Justin whispered, reliving some of those times before shaking himself out of his reverie. “Sorry, I couldn’t tell you.”

“I get it,” Seven said, sitting up slightly. “He’s still on the phone.”

“So I hear. Is Martin, the cop, with him?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Because his brother is a cop, too, and on the payroll. But there are mitigating circumstances.”

“What are they?”

Before Justin had a chance to answer, they heard a host of expletives exploding from Connor. They knew if they had any chance of surviving this, they had to go back to pretending that they were unconscious, either until they were found out, or until Connor was arrogant enough to let his guard down. They could both feel the urgent approach of their nemesis heading in their direction, and worked harder than ever not to stiffen their postures in response. Lying perfectly still, they heard the phone ring again, allowing them to relax a bit, but unable to resume their conversation for the moment.

“What the fuck do you mean?!” Connor asked sternly. “Well make him open it back up! What do you mean you can’t?! That means… FUCK!!”

As Connor’s strident voice began to move away from them, Justin turned slightly to Seven, and whispered, “Fuck being a victim! Never again…”

Seven turned towards Justin with a smile then. “He’s got a gun, but…”

“I don’t know about you, Seven, but this is NOT going to be how I end. You with me?”

“You bet your ass, I am.”

“See that door over there?”

“Yeah…”

“When I move, you move.”

“But Jus…”

“No buts. If Martin is on his way back, stall him.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Continuing what I started in the men’s room…”

“But Jus, you can’t take him.”

“Watch me!”

Without any other warning, Justin rose from his place, giving Seven no further time for conversation and planning. Connor was still pacing on the other side of the hangar, as Justin nodded to Seven to make a run for it. The older blond did as he was encouraged to do, leaving Justin standing in plain sight of the man who would try to own him again. He stood perfectly still, waiting to be noticed, even as he thought of all he stood to lose by continuing to be Connor’s victim. He was damn fucking tired of the fear that Connor and Brandon James engendered in him every time their names were spoken; every time he came face to face with their hate and violence. Justin was determined that the only way he would leave that hangar was either rescued by law enforcement, or dead by Connor’s hand- it no longer mattered which. And in his mind, that made him much more powerful than the man waving around his gun haphazardly.

As Seven crept along the wall, staying out of sight of Connor as much as possible, Justin breathed a slight sigh of relief as the man reached the door. As predicted, it was unlocked which was precisely what they had expected. Connor, for all his arrogance, would have expected that Seven and Justin would be cowed by the idea of the gun, never understanding that each of them would have rathered face death than to once again belong to Connor. It was something the older of the James brothers had never understood, instead choosing to ignore the obvious aversion of his victims; a lesson that Justin was prepared to teach him by whatever means necessary.