Page 65 of Guitars and Cages

It wasn’t a question; it wasn’t a request. I nodded robotically and stood, my hands clenched into fists as I followed him up the back steps to a corner room where he motioned me in, and then closed and locked the door behind us.

“That message Terry sent me was none too nice. I’ll have to punish that pretty mouth of yours for it, even if they weren’t your words.”

I kept my eyes on the ground as I choked down the need to vomit again, knowing it was gonna get worse. He undid his belt and whipped it toward me. I could have ducked, but I knew better. The tip caught me on the corner of the mouth, as he’d intended. I could feel it swelling more than it already was from getting punched there, and when the small bead of blood grew and began to drip, I refrained from licking it away.

He watched me bleed, pleased with himself, before he told me to kneel and move my hair out of the way.

I did, slowly, using my good hand to gather my hair and lift it from the back of my neck, shivering as I felt the leather of the belt against my throat. He only tightened it enough for pressure, but I knew it would tighten more later. I heard him unzip himself and I swallowed again, knowing what he’d do to me if I puked all over the floor. I could feel hot tears prick the backs of my eyelids and I willed them not to fall; I hadn’t cried since the first time I’d been paid to do this.

And this was payment, not for him getting me the fight, but for costing Terry money. It wasn’t the first time I’d carried messages like that one, and it wasn’t the first time I’d paid for them, but it never seemed to get any easier. I tried to think of something else while he yanked the belt tighter as he shoved himself into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I did gag then, but the belt pulling tighter made it impossible to bring anything up.

I focused on breathing, on not thinking and just getting air to my lungs. I knew when he was getting close, because the belt tightened until I wanted to claw at it, to fight and resist and struggle, my body shaking as red spots bloomed behind my eyes. Then he was done, and the pressure on my throat eased so I could choke and swallow, feeling like I was drowning as I struggled to get air.

He petted my hair, and I arched into his touch like an affection-starved dog, hating myself for it, but needing the soft, gentle contact after everything he’d just done.

“Still so very, very good,” he whispered low in my ear, and I shivered at the praise and hated that I felt good hearing it. “Next time, let me loan you the money. Then I could take my time enjoying you.”

“Yes, sir,” I said as he caressed my cheek.

He stepped back, releasing me so he could fix his pants. I waited silently for him to lead me back down.

“The offer is always on the table, Asher. Come work for me, be my bodyguard, and you’ll never have to fight for scraps again.”

His bodyguard; yeah, sure. I remembered the last bodyguard, the last big, scarred-up ex-fighter he’d caged to him with promises. He’d taken a bullet for Catfish and ended up spending his forever in a box. I wasn’t stupid; I knew what else it meant, too. I might be protecting Catfish’s body, but he’d be using mine whenever and however he wanted. I wasn’t desperate enough right now to sell what was left of my life to him.

I hoped like hell I never would be.

I puked as soon as I got outside, and then took one of the late buses back across town, barely making it off the damn thing before I threw up again. Flipping my collar up and slipping into the bar the back way, I hoped like hell no one would see me before I got to my room.

No such luck. Morgan stepped out of his room and damn near ran me down. He took one look at me and I knew he knew I’d been fighting.

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “Are you out of your mind?”

My voice was hoarse; it was hard to speak. “Sometimes. Why ain’t you behind the bar?”

“I’m on break. Melinda’s taking care of things for a while; now, you wanna tell me what was so all-fired important that you had to go fight again?”

“I needed to make serious cash, quick. Over a grand. So I fought and I made it.”

He scowled at me. “You don’t gamble like your brother, so why the hell did you need so much so fast?”

I rubbed a hand over one of the cuts on my face; felt it sting while I tried to decide whether to tell the truth or lie.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Asher.”

“Look, it was for a cat, all right? I found a cat under a dumpster and she was hurt so I took her to the vet. Her back paws were broken really bad and the vet said it was gonna take a thousand bucks to fix them. So I found a fight and I got the money.”

“You expect me to believe that bullshit, Asher? Give me a break. What the hell was it really for? Hookers, booze, pills—or you decided to hit the road and leave town like Cole’s been talking about doing all night? Where are you boys headed? Florida, Canada? Come on, Asher, tell the truth for once in your life!”

It had been a long time since I saw Morgan look so angry and disappointed in me. My gut clenched as his frown deepened, and it hurt that he didn’t believe me when I was telling the truth.

“It was a cat,” I said, fumbling for my wallet and taking out the vet’s card.

He studied it a moment, and then studied me like he wasn’t sure what to think. “Asher, dammit, I would have given you the money to pay a vet bill; there was no need to fight, not for that.”

I shook my head, but inside I wanted to both scream and cry. My old man never would have given me money for a “stupid cat,” as he’d have called it, so asking Morgan for it had never crossed my mind. I looked at the floor, laughing, but even to my ears it sounded harsh and broken.

“Asher?”

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