Page 3 of Bully for Sale
“He’s George Fersee’s son.”
“He’s Fersee’s garbage,” Braden contradicted. “If you want him, Ned, you should justtake him.” He lunged forward and Ezer jerked back, falling off the bench. His back slapped hard on the muddy ground, knocking the wind out of him in a painful rush. Brandishing his pencil in his attempt to get away from Braden’s touch, Ezer had hope he could at least hurt Braden before he could hurt him. But then Finch was there, strong and fast, ripping the pencil from Ezer’s fist and tucking it behind his own ear like a cigarette.
Braden laughed and loomed over Ezer, grabbing him by the legs. Ned hovered nearby, while Finch held Ezer’s waist. “Get his pants down,” Finch grunted, as Braden landed a punch to Ezer’s gut. “Let’s see if he’s used up.”
Ezer struggled, heaving, vomit rising in his throat. But Finch was stronger than he looked, and once he took hold of Ezer’s hands, it was impossible to break free. Braden got Ezer’s pants open as he ordered Ned to step on Ezer’s shoulder to hold him down. Ezer fought the hands on him while Ned muttered protests but did nothing. And then Ned gave in, his boot landing on Ezer’s right shoulder hard enough to hold him still. Black dots swirled in Ezer’s eyes, air pumped in and out of his lungs painfully, and he struggled against Finch while Braden tugged at his pants.
“Get off me!” he shouted, trying to kick, but Braden straddled him and kept him on the ground. As his groin and upper thighs were bared to the cold air, Braden and Finch’s laughter broke over him like an icy wave.
“You can’t do this,” Ned said, his voice breathless. He lifted his boot enough to give Ezer room to jerk half upright.
Braden shoved Ezer down again. “Ned, for fuck’s sake! Shut up! Hold him!”
Ned’s boot hovered over Ezer’s chest again, not quite touching, as Ezer struggled, and Braden started to unzip his own pants, his erection stiff and visible through the material.
“Get away from him,” Da’s dark voice thundered across the yard. There was a metallic clicking sound in the sudden silence that followed.
Finch took off running, and so did Ned.
For his part, Braden took the time to kick Ezer in the side and deliver a threat. “Not done with you yet, Cocksleeve. When school starts? Be ready.”
All three assholes hustled out of the gate, leaving Ezer dazed, and shaking on the ground, with his Da holding a pistol on their retreating backs.
“So you’re notgoing to tell me who those boys were or what that was about?” Da took off his light brown sweater and put a kettle on the stove. His blond hair held gray at the sides now, and his light brown eyes displayed small fans of wrinkles at the edges. Regarding Ezer with exhausted sadness as he waited for the kettle to heat, he pressed, “Nothing?”
The kitchen was as clean as Da could get it, but nothing could get the grime from between the tiles on the floor and walls. It was bad enough that Da had left a pampered life to have to work, but to see that the fruits of his labor garnered so little—it was heartbreaking.
Ezer kept his mouth shut. After a shower to scrub off the dirt and mud, and after cataloging his bruises, he was feeling a little more human, but he still didn’t want to burden his da with the details of his situation. What could Da do about it? No one had come to Amos’s rescue when he’d been sent away. No friends of status, no relatives had stepped up and offered to help. What good would it do to tell Amos his son was being bullied by the “finest” alphas at his school, when Amos had been bullied by their parents?
Rubbing the towel over his wet hair before tossing it onto the back of one of the shabby kitchen chairs, Ezer shrugged and asked instead, “How was your day at work, Da? You look tired.”
Yes, Amos Elson, of the famous Elson Street Elsons, now spent his days on an assembly line, sorting trash into recyclable and non-recyclable piles. When Ezer was a child, his da had been so handsome, with blond, wavy hair, blue eyes and sun-kissed skin from all the time spent idling pregnant by the pool. And he’d always had a strong, straight back, and muscled arms that could lift a squealing Ezer high into the air. Now Amos was gray all over, not just in his hair, and he had the stooped shoulders of a man who spent all day, every day bent low, picking through trash.
Trash.
Braden’s voice echoed in Ezer’s head. Oh, how his Da’s ancestors must be rolling in their graves. And all for what? For pregnant Pete.
“Son, if you think I’m going to forget that I had to pull a gun on three boys who were attacking you, then you’re wrong. Talk to me.”
Ezer winced. “Can you just let it go? What good can come from talking about it?”
“It’s not as though I can’t figure it out,” Da said, adjusting the heat beneath the kettle. He rubbed his temples and then added in a horrified, quiet voice, “They were trying to rape you.”
Ezer held back a shiver, determined not to let his father see his fear. “It wasn’t going to get that far.”Oh, yes, it was, and if not for Da…He gulped, unable to stop that tic from making its way through.
Da rolled his eyes. “We both know you were outmanned. There’s no shame in that. What’s shameful is their behavior.” He took a seat across the table from Ezer, the expanse of scarred wood felt impossible to cross, until Da reached for Ezer’s hand.
“I know, and I’m fine.” The bruises sang on his back and shoulders, but he wasn’t going to admit to being hurt, even though he was already clinging to his Da’s fingers like a baby.
Da studied him. “They go to school with you.”
Ezer nodded.
“They bother you there, too?”
Ezer swallowed hard, wishing he were a better liar. “Yeah.”
“Your father knows.” Stated. Not asked.
