Amnesia
Chapter 1
Daniel was cautiously making his way to the garden gate which was fortunately left unattended. Profusely sweating with every step, he was desperately trying to look like a person taking a casual stroll in a beautiful garden, imbued with the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming roses. There was only one thing on his mind- the chance to finally escape and leave all the utter horrors behind.
Another step on stiff unsteady from fear legs, and one more, and one more, Daniel reached his hand out to the old heavy oak door, grabbed the brass ring to pull... When a warm hand landed on his shoulder, it sent an ice-cold shiver down his spine. He closed his eyes in anguish, allowing himself a second to sorrow for the lost opportunity to regain his freedom. He turned around with a blank expression, looking detachedly at bodyguard Matt who in turn was gazing at him with a scrutinizing look.
"Where are you going? You know you are not allowed to leave the grounds. Go back into the house, the boss is coming back soon".
"I wanted to see people outside," routinely lied Daniel returning to his miserable cage, "I am tired of painting the same faces."
"Well, if he allows you to go, I will go with you," Matt was not pushing, but was walking very closely forcing him to walk faster. "Come on, Daniel, you are all covered in paint, you must clean up. A bit faster, ok?"
Daniel obediently sped up, the legs were reading the brain impulses and were striding forward, at the same time they were receiving other impulses demanding them to run, run now, before it was too late. The steps were tiny, unsure as if the legs wanted to stubbornly grow into the ground first and then run away from the house, following the true desire of their owner. Matt signed tiredly but held back reproach, softly took Daniel's elbow, and led him to the house faster, almost dragging him.
That way he walked with him through the spacious ground floor living room, light and distinctively elegant with large, exquisite flower bouquets in vases, priceless paintings on the walls interspersed with Daniel's paintings. He walked him up wide marble stairs covered with soft Persian rugs, through the first floor living room, and by the bedroom door Matt softly pushed Daniel towards it and said," Why don't you take a shower and go downstairs, ok?"
"Ok," mechanically replied Daniel opening the door.
He looked around his bedroom with the grim, despairing gaze of a prisoner, the room was tidied up while he was in the garden. He sighed dejectedly and went to the bathroom to wash off all the consequences of his art, so untalented, so empty lately. In the huge mirror above the bathroom countertop, he looked at his worn-out gaunt face with the thin, faint line of a scar on his right cheek, pulled down his lower eyelids grotesquely, wishing that he could stay that ugly forever and never attract Vincent with his burdensome beauty again.
There were smears of oil paint on his face, and now it seemed that under his eyes there were wide drips of black tears - Daniel chuckled unhappily, distracting himself involuntarily from his heavy thoughts. He examined his face with a detached professional look, thinking over the composition of a new painting – a luscious landscape of the Garden of Eden and a sad clown Pierrot with black tears on his cheeks.
He visualized the details, already drawing broad, juicy strokes of the garden with a mastichin, painting Pierrot against the background of the garden's garish riot of colors with a thin brush, deliberately giving Pierrot's thin painting a starring role, killing the cheerfulness of the garden with his sadness. Hands moved swiftly, wiping away the paint with oil, soaping them to wash away the oil, pulling off the work clothes, and tossing them carelessly to the floor. His feet led him confidently to the shower stall so that his hands could begin the usual ritual of turning on the water, taking the loofah, pouring shower gel over it, lathering it vigorously, and beginning to remove the slightest traces of paint from his body to prepare his body for Vincent.
Daniel came out of the bedroom with wet hair, neatly combed but already starting to stick out stubbornly in different directions. He cast a glance at Matt standing in a relaxed pose, asking wordlessly if Vincent had arrived, Matt understood and nodded, "He is already downstairs, waiting for you. Let's go."
Vincent stood in the living room in front of Daniel's ugly creation of that afternoon, peering at it with his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth set in a thin line, seeming to read something important in the absurd landscape that was hidden from him. Turned swiftly at the near-silent sound of Daniel's footsteps and smiled softly, smoothing the displeasure on his face, hiding in his relaxed pose the fact that he saw Daniel's inner revolt in the painting, pretending everything was fine. Crazy, dangerous, scary - Daniel swallowed nervously, approaching him obediently.
"You've been in a Munch mood lately, Danny," Vincent said slowly, looking at his calm, detached face, on which Daniel desperately hoped it was impossible to read his true thoughts. "You can't go back to your usual style just yet, can you?"
"I cannot," Daniel answered briefly and covered his eyes in alienation when Vincent leaned in to kiss him. Vincent kissed briefly, stroked his scar fleetingly with his thumb, and sighed.
"We have to get to Dr. Myers, Danny, go to the car, I'll join you in a minute," Vincent gently pushed him toward the exit and turned to Matt, who was standing at attention, looking at his superior with the eyes of an old servant. Daniel strode toward the exit, hearing a soft conversation behind him: Vincent was questioning Matt in detail about what Daniel was doing while he was away, meticulously, not leaving a single drop of privacy, as if he wouldn't watch the camera footage of tiny Daniel moving sadly in his golden cage, a bird with clipped wings that would never fly again.
In the car, Daniel habitually turned on an old Charlie Chaplin movie on the seat's built-in display and was engrossed in the picture, completely disconnected from what was happening, so he didn't even notice Vincent who sat beside him, only flinched when Vincent took his hand. Vincent looked at him with a soft yet unreadable gaze, ran his thumb over Daniel's knuckles, drew his hand to the lips, kissing each delicate finger in turn, and regretfully, without waiting for a response, lowered their hands to the seat and ordered the driver softly, "Let's go."
Daniel tentatively pulled his hand from Vincent's, but Vincent didn't let go, staring at him, stroking his fingers, rubbing the plastic surgery scars with effort, as if he wanted to erase them forever, just as he wanted to erase the horror that had happened to them. Daniel's lips twitched nervously, and he pulled his hand harder. Annoyed that he wasn't allowed to do even this small thing, Vincent finally let go, rubbing the crooked little finger that had been put back together by the brilliant surgeons.
"Did you exercise it today, baby?" Vincent released his hand and ran his fingers gently over Daniel's cheek. It took Daniel an incredible effort to stay where he was, not recoil in disgust, knowing full well that Vincent would lose his temper for his willfulness.
"Yes," Daniel said reluctantly, obeying the strong fingers that turned his face by the chin toward Vincent, scenting him as always with fresh mint and ginger, the aroma of coffee he'd recently drunk, a Cuban cigar he'd smoked. Vincent approached slowly, kissed Daniel's compressed lips, and smiled affectionately, "You are lying, Danny, I always know when you lie. You're so busy with your painting, that you forgot about your pinky. Don't forget, please, Dr. Sanders said that without exercising, the pinky will never regain sensitivity."
"All right, Vincent, I'll exercise it every day," Daniel replied obediently, looking warily into greenish-brown eyes that had once seemed like magical Irish moss, but now resembled a stinking methane swamp - if you put a match to it, it would explode, blow you into pieces, bury you underneath, soak you in the stinking sludge so that you would disintegrate into methane and wait as a greedy swamp for the next lost traveler. Apparently, something unpleasant, and repulsive reflected on Daniel's face, and Vincent grimaced and moved away, leaving him alone. Daniel breathed out a sigh of relief and stared back at the screen, watching Charlie Chaplin dance with his signature comedic flair.
"I'll change Dr. Myers next month," Vincent uttered with a grim expression, cracking his knuckles nervously. "It's been five months, Danny, and you haven't made any progress. You clearly need another doctor."
Daniel pressed his lips together angrily - no doctor was going to help change his perception of Vincent, not one! Not after what had happened. There was no way to make a victim of violence love his aggressor again, no doctor could do that. And what good would that do? Vincent softened towards him only because he was suffering from amnesia, which made him forget Daniel's misdeed, and once he remembered everything in detail, he would cut Daniel slowly this time, pulling out his veins, enjoying the agony with the pleasure of a maniac. Daniel was breathing heavily as he tried to cope with agitation, and he prayed that Dr. Sanders, who was treating Vincent, would not make any more progress until Daniel could finally escape and hide from retribution.
"Suit yourself," Daniel turned away to the window, hiding his face from the unrelenting scrutiny, clamping his eyes shut hard to keep from crying out in fear.
"Hey, baby, hey," Vincent moved over and hugged him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. Daniel used to love it when Vincent did that. When Vincent pressed against his cheek, Daniel would turn for a kiss, but not now. Now Daniel squirmed tensely. "What are you so nervous about? If you don't want to change Dr. Myers, just say it and you'll stay in therapy with him. I always give you what you want, Danny."
"I want to stay with him, yes," Daniel breathed out convulsively, camouflaging his real wish behind his answer. The wish that Vincent would finally let him go and let him live in peace. And yet he couldn't suppress it, and for the millionth time, Daniel's desperate words burst out, unheeding him: "And it's better... it's better if you let me go, Vincent! I..."
"No," Vincent spat out harshly, scooping him up and pulling Daniel's tense and gnarled body onto his lap. "You love me, I love you. It's forever, Danny. I'm never letting you go, do you hear me? You hear me?" Vincent shook Daniel and started planting random kisses on his face, pulling Daniel tight against him, crushing mental resistance with caresses. He let go, breathing hard when Daniel pushed nervously to get away. Vincent finished firmly, "I don't want to hear that again! Stop torturing me."
"OK," Daniel, disheveled and flushed, moved clumsily from his lap to the window and stared blankly at the screen again, feeling extreme, inescapable fatigue. This agony of nervous waiting would never end, or it would end in horrible torture when Vincent remembered everything. Maybe it was even for the best, at least it would free him for eternal oblivion. Anything was better than just waiting, writhing in terror.
Dr. Myers greeted Daniel, as usual, with a wide, professional smile that had as much warmth in it as in Alaska. Daniel smiled back with a practiced smile, hiding his irritation - he hadn't gotten used to Myers in the past months. That well-groomed, confident beta, impeccable from the tips of his manicured fingernails to the neatly combed hair, the opposite of Daniel's perpetually shaggy hair, which defied brushes and styling products; wildly irritating, repulsive in his role as Vincent's lobbyist.
During the first month of therapy, Myers brazenly tried to convince Daniel that his perception of reality was distorted because of the severe post-traumatic stress and that Vincent was not a psychopathic aggressor at all. When he realized that his gaslighting method caused only rejection, he turned his therapy approach one hundred and eighty degrees, without any embarrassment. He began to gently rub in the need to forgive, to accept, to let go of resentment and heartache, trying to nurture in Daniel sympathy for Vincent. Vincent himself was treated by his colleague, Dr. Sanchez, who trying to cure the selective amnesia that had thrown away a brief period from his memory after the car accident.
Vincent had changed overnight from loving, beloved, dependable, warm, and needed, to a cold-blooded torturer and rapist, who had enjoyed Daniel's every moan and sob for agonizingly long hours, did not want to forgive or accept, much less let go of his resentment. Daniel's transgression was disproportionate to the punishment that killed all his senses except his bloodlust and his acute desire to run away and never see Vincent again, never breathe his pheromone. The pheromone that against Daniel's will made him want to lean to Vincent's strong chest. To kill off what remained of his desire for Vincent, the desire that was now ruled only by instinct.
"You briefly mentioned Adrian last time," Dr. Myers said in an even voice, devoid of modulation. "It sounded like Adrian is a friend of yours, right?"
"That's right," Daniel said after a pause, desperately recalling the time he had revealed information about Adrian, the only person on Earth who could help him right now. Then he corrected himself in an attempt to protect Adrian's cover, "But not a close one; we'd only met a year ago."
... Adrian visited his gallery on a delightful summer evening, brimming with joy, as Daniel watched in admiration the play of tiny halftones in the dusk sky, elegantly blending the cool hues of purple, violet, pink, scarlet, magenta, and indigo on the horizon, soaking in the swiftly lingering warm tones of the day, transforming them into neutral turquoise, emerald, red halftones, cool turquoise, emerald, and red halftones, expelling the warmth and ushering in the chill.
Daniel observed intently, soaking in the natural spectacle in his mind, lamenting his inability to fully capture the exquisite beauty he witnessed, already moving his hands on the invisible canvas, and rubbing the primary colors with his fingers first, as he usually did before starting a new painting. Daniel did not know how long he stood like that, and how long Adrian stood behind him, politely waiting for the artist to turn to him. He turned when the sunset began to fade, not wanting to memorize the boring. Daniel remained unstartled despite the sudden arrival of the stranger interrupting his contemplation, he raised an eyebrow, examining the blond-haired, blue-eyed like himself alpha, who smiled calmly in response, allowing himself to be examined.
"Good evening, how can I help you?" Daniel absent-mindedly noted that the stranger's face would have pleased Michelangelo, who admired the flawless features that universally enabled him to depict both an angel and a devil in his artwork. This alpha could well have served Michelangelo as a model for the Sistine Chapel: well-built, tall, with sculpted muscles and a handsome face. Too handsome to be interesting to Daniel, who preferred slight flaws in his models.
"Good evening Mr. Bell, my name is Adrian Bruno, and I would like to purchase one of your paintings." Mr. Bruno was absorbing the sunset's beauty with the same admiration as Daniel, he was also absorbing Daniel's beauty. He scrutinized Daniel with an intensity more characteristic of an artist than a buyer. Daniel, used to reactions to his appearance, indifferently allowed to be scrutinized, calmly responding and chortled softly at his guess - the owner of Roman features was Italian. Daniel calmly answered, "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bruno. Which one do you have in mind?"
Adrian had indeed studied painting before but had given it up when he realized that his talent was too modest to stand out among the classical masters and contemporary stars. He chose to channel his aspirations into the realms of art history and dealing in paintings for affluent and influential clientele. He purchased just one painting from Daniel at that time, yet he savored each artwork with the pleasure of a connoisseur. He diligently recorded his observations in his diary, a practice less common in the age of digital gadgets.
"Thank you, Mr. Bell, I'll see you soon," Adrian courteously tipped an imaginary hat, gracefully bowing out, only to return a week later to purchase three additional paintings for his clients.
"Are they always with you, Daniel?" he asked a month later. Daniel looked back at Matt and Steve feeling embarrassed.
"Yes. My fiancé is a significant figure in business, so certain security precautions must be taken. I'm used to it, Adrian, sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. What did you think of my sfumato?"
It was easy and interesting with Adrian because he knew more about art, its history, different techniques and styles than Daniel did. Daniel dug in his heels when Vincent got jealous and asked him not to meet Adrian. They had a huge fight then, yelling at each other like crazy, and then made up just as passionately on the massive tabletop. Daniel slid on his bare stomach over the smooth surface, digging his fingers into the edges of the table to hold himself in place, feeling Vincent's hard cock slamming into him, literally crushing him in unbridled pleasure, and screamed all over the house, because the sex after a fight was fucking good.
Even though Daniel agreed that Vincent checked Adrian, he still had to fight to be able to see his newly acquired friend. Vincent came to the gallery for an appointment and met with him, at the same time instructing his head of security to run a check on Adrian Bruno. He calmed down a little after the check was clean, but every time Daniel mentioned Adrian's name, Vincent crinkled his nose, still being jealous.
Adrian turned out to be a Chinese puzzle box with a hidden secret that Vincent's head of security couldn't crack, well, Uncle Sam could create some tricky secrets. After a few months of becoming warmly acquainted, shortly before the dreadful event, Adrian told Daniel everything about Vincent's criminal activities, about his boundless danger, defining the formidable predator with unadorned precision and stark clarity. Daniel gasped in horror, covering his mouth with his palm to keep from screaming, and stared at Adrian, eyes widened and darkened by a primal fear.
"Relax your shoulders, Daniel, your watchdogs are taking notice, they learned to read body language just like we did. That's it, good boy. I'm with the FBI, we're about to go after Vincent Laurent, so I don't want you to go down as an accomplice. If you help us get the documents we need to put Vincent away for a long time, the FBI will put you in the witness protection program and keep you safe."
Daniel outright refused, loving Vincent too much to set him up like this. Yet for a week he could neither create nor function normally, just thinking hard about what he was told. Vincent had killed, even if not with his own hands, but he had killed - Daniel shuddered as he stared at the strong hands with long aristocratic fingers, at the snap of which people lost their lives. It was impossible to go on living with Vincent, impossible, but it was impossible to betray him.
And Daniel decided to run, knowing full well that Vincent wouldn't let him just walk away - he'd said many times that even if Daniel fell out of love with him, he'd stay with him. Daniel managed to escape from Matt and Steve to organize a locker where he stashed money, which he had handled quite carelessly, and his passport. Upon his return, he opened his innocent eyes and said that he needed to be alone, chasing after the muse that had eluded him.
Chapter 2
But on the day of the escape, something went wrong, and Daniel still couldn't figure out what mistake he made in his plan. It went so wrong that he didn't even have time to pick up his documents and money, he only took some cash from home. They caught up him out in the suburbs of Los Angeles, forced him to pull to the curb and dragged him out, and then all hell had broken loose. Vincent listened to him with icy fury, boiling over with every word he shouted in his rage, and growled fiercely:
"You betrayed me! You!" and struck with the back of his hand for the first time since they'd known each other, causing Daniel to fall back onto the cold asphalt, stunned, not even feeling the pain in his numb cheek, but stunned by the very fact of the blow.
They grabbed him and threw into the car, his head painfully collided with the car door. He was driven back to Vincent's house to continue there. Vincent, his favorite Vincent, rolled up the sleeves of his expensive shirt and beat him hard, fracturing ribs and fingers with loud crunch. Horrifying Daniel with his fury. Fierce, ferocious, frightening to no end. He raped him, then beat him, and then repeated. He finally drew a knife and made a thin cut across Daniel's cheek. It burnt Daniel, bleeding and barely breathing in agony, another sharp pain seared through his body.
"You won't be so handsome to be lured away by lovers now, Danny," Vincent whispered, cooling down. Daniel wanted to say that he Adrian and him weren't lovers, but he only mumbled faintly, finally drifting off into a faint.
Vincent left him crawling on the floor that night, jumped into his vintage Ferrari 400 Superamerica in a frenzy, and drove off, tires screeching, to blow off steam as he often did. Only this time, blinded by bloodlust, he lost control while taking a turn, oversteering, and crushed headfirst into a tree. Steaming heap of debris instead of what once was his cherished possession. Unlike Daniel, apart from a broken rib, cuts on his face, Vincent suffered a severe blow to the head that left him with amnesia. That amnesia was what kept Daniel alive - once Vincent regained consciousness in the hospital, he asked about Daniel and was horrified at what he'd done to him.
He ordered to heal Daniel, arrange for plastic surgery to remove the scars, restore his toy, his pocket artist, his fiancé. Daniel was transported from the cold basement to the luxury of a private clinic, where they were accustomed not to ask questions, where his physical pain was alleviated with anesthetics, while his moral anguish was subdued with tranquilizers. He underwent patching, stitching, and external healing, then was presented in a pristine package to the formidable psychopath.
Daniel didn't see Adrian after that day, couldn't see him, couldn't see him at all as he was kept alone in the house, deprived of his phone and tablet. Attending conscientiously to his psychological trauma, mending both the toy and the inner workings to ensure the living human mechanism functioned as seamlessly as a mechanical one, all with the aim of making Vincent happy again. Vincent, now harboring an internal flaw in his head, was a ticking bomb set to detonate the moment he recalled Daniel's attempt to escape and him collaborating with the FBI.
"What's on your mind, baby?" Vincent yanked Daniel out of his reverie, prompting an involuntary flinch. Daniel tensely hoped didn't give himself away in any manner.
"About a future painting. Thinking about Pierrot in our garden," Daniel turned slowly away from the window toward Vincent, obeying the hand that pulled him affectionately.
"Pierrot, how unusual. A rather sad character, don't you think?" Vincent kissed his cheek and descended to the mark, licking it reverently.
"I can't help it, these are the only characters I can think of," Daniel twitched, unable to help himself. "You don't let me out of the house, so where am I supposed to find joy?"
"Come on, Danny," Vincent cradled his face, pressing his forehead against his, punctuating his words with tender kisses. "You know it's for your own well-being; you need to get better. We are almost home. I'm hungry, aren't you?"
"I don't want to eat," Daniel froze, mechanically responding to the kisses.
"But you will, you need to eat well, you've lost five pounds," Vincent cut him off firmly.
At dinner, Daniel was served a small plate of pills in addition to olive wagyu steak, spinach rolls and a salad. Daniel sighed dejectedly and tried to negotiate once more.
"Vincent, I feel woozy after the pills, I can't paint, the images won't come, my fingers shake. And without painting, I'm dying."
"Danny why don't you finish your treatment and then we can talk about this again?" Vincent put his pills into the palm of his hand, popped them into his mouth, and took a drink. "Here, I'm taking mine. Come on, don't be stubborn." Daniel swallowed his pills and Vincent smiled softly, pleased with him.
Following dinner, Daniel, with a faint hint of medicated haze in his head, donned silk pajamas and headed to his bed. Observing Vincent from beneath his long lashes, he found him reading a tablet in bed. Settling on his side, Daniel nestled in, reached for the nightlight, switched it off, and whispered, "Good night, Vincent."
"Not so fast, baby, what about a kiss?" Vincent turned him around and ran his palm over his face, exhaling softly, "You're so beautiful, Danny, I love you so much!" He began to undo the buttons of Daniel's pajamas during the sensual kiss, stroking his chest and flat stomach. Daniel's nipples hardening with his touch, heart racing anxiously at his iliac spine.
He sat up with a jerk, muscular and strong, threw the blanket off himself and Daniel, his groin bulging under the thin silk briefs. Vincent slid his palms over Daniel's trembling body, rubbing the tightening strands of scars, his face twitching guiltily as he rubbed them. He pulled down Daniel's pants and underwear, exposing the hardening cock, ran his hands around it, touched it gently feeling the tip becoming wet, and then ran his hands around it again. As Vincent stared unwaveringly into his eyes, Daniel felt his breath grow erratic, cursing his body for its betrayal, for the lingering physical attraction to his tormentor.
Vincent came pushed his cock all the way in in a slow, thrusting motion, pushing his tongue in his mouth, taking Daniel in both holes at once, asserting his right to him, to his beloved omega. He moved painfully slowly, teasing Daniel's aroused mind with his slowness. He laughed happily, pulling away from his lips when Daniel thrust his hips up sharply, setting a new pace, and obediently sped up, agonizing with the loving gaze fixed on Daniel's eyes. At times like this, Daniel thought that all was not lost, that it was worth forgetting that terrible day and letting them be happy. Lost in the ecstasy of sensual pleasure, he tended to the bleeding wound on his heart, screamed out in orgasm, sprawled mindlessly across the bed, glad for the moment of calm.
Vincent wiped him gently with a wet towel, smoothed his scars once more, kissed each one, and said for the millionth time, "I am sorry, baby. If I could, I'd turn time back."
"And if I could, I'd forgive," Daniel replied abruptly, hating himself for his bodily weakness, openly rebelling. Vincent's whole body shuddered, and he whispered softly, covering him with the blanket, "You didn't used to be so cruel."
"Things used to be different, Vincent," Daniel replied, looking away.
***
"Where are we going?" Daniel asked indifferently, getting into the car, somberly contemplating the lively, sunlit morning.
"Dr. Myers, he offered to meet after hours today because he had an idea for a breakthrough," Vincent explained, putting the tablet aside and sighing at the look on Daniel's disgruntled face. "Baby, this is important, let's not bicker."
It was not in the interest of the vulnerable to engage in debate with the powerful, thus Daniel kept quiet. He turned on the Charlie Chaplin movie again, distancing himself from Vincent. Better to watch raucousness on the screen rather than in real life. Midway through the movie, which he was already familiar with, their car abruptly halted as the leading escort vehicle suddenly braked and backed up.
"Code yellow, code yellow," Matt said into the ear mic, listening to the bodyguard from the first escort car talking to him. "Turn around. Return to the base."
Vincent tightened up, opened the glove compartment and took out a gun, swiftly took the safety off. He smiled softly at Daniel, who looked scared in the face of the imminent threat.
"Don't worry, Danny, we will get away."
The front car began making a turn and then abruptly stopped, when a black SUV blocked the road in front.
"Shit, code red. Retrieve the subjects; we proceed on foot," Matt yelled into the earpiece, swung the door open, leaped out, and thrust his gun forward.
The dry clicks of gunfire sounded in front, causing Daniel to flinch as he huddled his head into his shoulders. Despite being aware that the car was armored and shielded from gunfire. The doors on both sides of the back seat swung open, the bodyguards from the second escort car swiftly extracted them, lowering their heads and forming a protective ring around them.
Daniel's alarmed eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, absorbing the unfolding scenario in an instant: the intense sun, the sweltering heat, the black cars – both theirs and others', the blood and bodies on the ground, the gun barrels, and the approaching masked men with only their eyes visible.
Assailants crumpled to the ground, including some from their own side. Amidst the chaos, sporadic screams from onlookers pierced the air, and a police siren wailed in the distance. Daniel stood in astonishment; his gaze fixed on one of the attackers. With the discerning eye of a professional artist, he recognized the blue eyes—it was Adrian!
He had to run; it was the only chance to escape — realized Daniel. In an instant that felt like an eternity, he grappled with the decision of whether to dash towards Adrian or leave him behind with Vincent and his everlasting alpha problems. He made the decision and swiftly sprinted, exploiting the confidence of the bodyguards who hadn't anticipated the protected subject making a break for it. He ran without crouching, without seeking cover, moving at the fastest pace he had ever experienced in his life, gasping with a mix of fear and a peculiar sense of exhilaration. As he descended into the subway, he caught sight of Vincent's wild gaze, attempting to escape the grip of the bodyguards, who remained focused on securing the remaining and more valuable subject. There was a haunting darkness in Vincent's eyes that triggered a vivid recollection of that day. So, the amnesia is gone, and he remembers all now... Well, need to hasten, or else... face death.
Get the money and documents from the safe deposit box, get on a bus, then another, a third, a fourth, and a fifth. Travel all the way to Utah, where Daniel Bell, a renowned artist, will vanish into the Mormon community, assimilate into its fabric, mirror its essence, and emerge anew in a different country. The only option that maintains his absurd existence, that grants him the opportunity to create.
Chapter 3
"Daniel, you are ready for society," Elder Walters smiled welcomingly. Daniel nodded lethargically and clarified, "So what city am I being sent to? You remember what I said about L.A., right?"
"To New York, Daniel. Of course, I remember. Let us renounce the past and move forward," said Elder Walters. "During your year and a half as a missionary, Daniel, you will be relieved from tithing obligations and will receive a monthly stipend from the congregation. You can paint too, don't worry, but the proceeds during this period must go to the community."
"I prefer not to sell them personally; instead, I'd rather donate them to the community and let them handle the disposal as they see fit," Daniel remarked with indifference. Art had never been a source of profit for him. When he first gained attention from the elite of society at his inaugural exhibition and received acclaim from critics, it wasn't a deliberate outcome of his actions. As a result, the money that came with the success served simply as a resource to meet his daily needs, rather than being a goal.
"Suit yourself, Daniel. You leave tomorrow with the other missionaries in the congregation. And don't forget to learn Japanese; all our young missionaries are multilingual, so you'll have to catch up," Elder Walters blessed him with a baptismal blessing and stood up, grunting, from his chair. "May the Lord be with you, Bell, in all your endeavors. Elder Smith will tell you the rest when you arrive in New York."
"Thank you, Elder Walters," Daniel helped him up, bowed his head politely, and went to get ready, satisfied that he was finally going to get back to his normal life. He had almost gone crazy during those long months of studying the Bible, the Book of Mormon, Mormon Doctrine and covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price; his eyes were jittery from the constant reading, and even when he fell asleep, his mind was filled with dull lines instead of vivid images.
During his time living in the community, Daniel had gained a healthy weight, and the thin surgical scars on his face and body had completely disappeared. The sole reminder on his face was the scar—a faint, barely perceptible line on his sun-kissed skin. However, this vestige would gradually vanish without a trace over the next couple of years. The skin's continuous regeneration process would replace the damaged cells with fresh epidermal layers, ensuring the scar's eventual disappearance. The recollection of the ordeal manifested as a slightly crooked pinky, now regaining sensitivity through wholesome physical labor. Daniel also contended with occasional nightmares, causing him to wake up in terror, haunted by the menacing, rage-filled black eyes of Vincent. The most challenging aspect was the detoxification and withdrawal from antidepressants and tranquilizers; the initial month brought dizziness and shakiness, but Daniel gradually overcame these symptoms as well.
The money he had saved was enough to pay his annual tithe, live as a missionary candidate for six months, and prove his determination to join the LDS Church at the interviews. Strangely enough, when they recruited new members, they did not feel this way, but they were wary of volunteers who wanted to join, assuming a dark past. Daniel's sincerity helped him - he told everything in confidence at the last interview, panting from stress and nervous tension, at which time he was hugged for the first time, patted on his stiff shoulders, and blessed to join and be baptized.
On the way to New York, Daniel slept through the flight, and then, holding back a yawn, rode the bus with Dylan Reilly, his companion and neighbor for the next year and a half. Dylan had never been to such big cities before, so he looked out the window at the skyscrapers and apartment complexes flying by, especially marveling at the huge billboards. Daniel smiled amiably, secretly envying his cheerfulness, hoping that in time he would regain the ability to rejoice. Currently, however, his soul was overshadowed by anhedonia, a gray and dreary state, hindering his full capacity for creativity.
Elder Smith was a bore, giving them a long and ornate lecture, warning them of the dangers that lurked around every corner, of fiery Gehenna if they stumbled. Daniel listened with a polite expression on his face and muttered with a hungry stomach that demanded immediate reinforcement. Finally, his stomach's rumble reached the hard-headed Smith, who stopped short, smiled warmly, and handed them brochures, keys to the apartment where they would live, bank cards for their modest allowance, and simple smartphones with SIM cards.
"Get some rest, young people. I'll send you a list of the addresses you'll have to go to tomorrow via messenger," he replied amiably to Daniel's slight smile: "We're not going to make you work too hard."
After a hearty lunch at the neighborhood cafe, Daniel and Dylan took his things to the apartment, bought everything he needed for home and for painting, and went home, tired after the flight. Took a shower, unpacked and fell into bed, falling asleep instantly into a sound and healthy sleep without nightmares in a new life.
Life as a Mormon missionary was predictably monotonous- going from of apartment building to apartment building offering smiles and promises of better conditions in this life and beyond, which included community support and the opportunity to meet Jesus Christ after death; patiently listening to jokes, curses, and abuse; a quick lunch at a diner; and apartment buildings again. Only in the evening life blossomed with other colors, though the fading sunlight changed the perception of the color palette, but Daniel did not complain and painted with pleasure, pouring out on the canvas the pain, getting rid of it forever. And on Saturdays he'd get up bright and early to catch the blessed sunlight, so necessary for an artist, and paint feverishly, savoring every stroke, every painted detail, allowing his soul to find respite. Dylan aimlessly roamed the apartment, grappling with boredom and uncertainty about how to occupy his time. At times, he would approach it from behind, observing the chaotic and vibrant abstract display, always featuring menacing black eyes at its core, before eventually retreating to his room for some reading. Come Sunday, Daniel would gaze out the window at the delightful morning with a sense of longing, regretting the missed chance to paint in the natural light. He would then don his church garment for the church service and join the cheerful Dylan on their way to the Mormon church.
When they started running out of space the canvases, Daniel brought all the paintings to Elder Smith. Though he frowned upon them, Elder Smith, upon discovering no sinful elements, agreed to include them for sale at the upcoming fair.
"Should have signed with your full name, Daniel, more money would have been raised for the congregation," Elder Smith said, but Daniel, turning deathly pale, shook his head decisively.
"No, my name in the art world died with the old me. So let the paintings go under a new signature, simply Daniel, Elder Smith. Or I'd rather have the paintings destroyed."
"It's a sin for you to say that," Elder Smith chided. "All right, let them go under a new signature."
And Daniel gradually fell into the rhythm of Mormon missionary work, which for a year and a half defined his whole existence: apartment buildings, cursing, diner, painting, Trader Joe's, cooking, cleaning, vacation. His paintings at fairs sold poorly, housewives were frightened by the screaming colors, the suffering on them, preferring pastoral landscapes and still life, allowing not to think about the blackness of life. But one day a painting connoisseur came to the fair and marveled at the paintings, buying them all up and paying generously - that day Elder Smith cheerfully called Daniel and informed him that he was being allotted a Friday to paint, to do more good deeds for the community. Daniel felt, for the first time in a long time, a thrill of joy, pure, bright, untainted by bitterness - another day, a whole day to create! That's a lot!
It was at one of those fairs that Adrian approached him, an uninvited guest from the past. He grabbed Daniel's elbow firmly and shook his head:
"Quiet, Daniel, quiet. Don't draw attention to yourself, let's go get some coffee."
"I don't drink coffee," Daniel emphasized with another jerk of his elbow, conceding to follow him.
"Why not? Still in treatment?" Adrian appeared unpleasantly knowledgeable, and Daniel shook his head evasively, not wanting to admit he was in the Mormon community and not knowing how much he knew.
"Well, Myers didn't report to me fully enough, I didn't expect you to run away from me and my men just when we came to get you out, Daniel. I thought you were on pills, what's gotten into you? What, you'd rather live with the Mormons than be protected by the FBI? Or are you so afraid of your ex-boyfriend?" Adrian sat him down at the table and waved at the waiter, and Daniel exhaled irritably, taking off his mask. Apparently, Adrian had found out he'd joined the Mormon church.
"Hi, I'll have a coffee and your house sandwich, and my companion..." Adrian raised an eyebrow and Daniel replied, taking a quick look at the menu:
"I'll have an orange juice and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, thanks. What do you want, Adrian?"
"Same as before, Daniel -- the same documents you refused to take out of Laurent's safe. No one else can get into his Fort Knox, so you must go back to him."
"Are you out of your mind?" Daniel laughed hysterically loud. "I ran away for this, memorized the Bible and the Book of Mormon for months, didn't live a good life, just to roll it back? No way, Adrian! Let the FBI handle this without me! What the hell did you do there? I thought assault and shooting in a public place where civilians might get hurt wasn't your thing. You practically acted like 1930's gangsters."
"When the stakes are high, dead pawns don't count, Daniel," Adrian grew serious and leaned forward. - You must go back to Laurent. One way or another, he's looking for you everywhere, don't think he's forgotten about you. You've started painting again in your unique style, your paintings have gone all over America, it's only a matter of time before Laurent finds them."
"I hadn't thought of that," Daniel choked on the orange juice, then coughed, blushing, and exhaled, "No, Adrian, no, I'm not going back to him, I'm going to get lucky, I'm going to sell my paintings abroad, will do anything, like ask to be sent on a mission to another country, but I'm not going back."
Adrian's expression grew somber, his eyes narrowing with anger. He breathed more rapidly, attempting to manage his irritation. In that moment, Daniel was unexpectedly seized by a wave of terror, causing cold sweat to trickle down his armpits. Adrian no longer emanated the warmth and trust from before; instead, an overwhelming fear enveloped Daniel, making him shiver as he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself for protection.
"Come on, what's going on?" Adrian's expression lightened as he composed himself. "Relax, Daniel, not everyone is as unpredictable as your ex-boyfriend. I was upset, sure, but I didn't intend to frighten you. Grab some juice, take a deep breath, come on!"
Daniel obediently breathed deeply, trying to calm down, drank the freshly squeezed juice, which now had a bile-like bitterness to it, spreading in his parched mouth. When he came to his senses, he put the small bills on the table and stood up.
"No means no, Adrian. Didn't they teach you that when you were a kid? Do it without me, I said!" Quickly exiting the café, he recoiled in shock at Adrian's furious stare. Adrian crumpled the once-innocent sandwich in his hand, and its pieces fell untidily onto the table.
Daniel sprinted toward the subway entrance, stunned by the realization that the post-traumatic shock had so altered his perception of danger that he now saw any alpha as an aggressor if he lost his temper. He inhaled deeply and deliberately, attempting to navigate through the impending panic attack that threatened to overwhelm him with its rapid pulse and overwhelming fear. In this position, he remained for an extended period, weakened by the emotions he had experienced, deep in contemplative thought. It was clear that Adrian was right- sooner or later Vincent would find him and... this time kill him for running away. A pawn, an ordinary pawn in the FBI's gambit. As Adrian said- when the stakes are high, dead pawns don't count. What makes him think Vincent would take him back instead of killing him on the spot? Is the FBI now recruiting idiots?
Daniel dialed Elder Smith and said in a calm voice, "We need to talk, my old life has caught up with me. I can't stay in America any longer. Will you see me tomorrow? All right, thank you."
Chapter 4
Preparing to leave for Japan, Daniel did not do missionary work, but he could not paint anymore, either - it seemed to him that every picture he painted was a Hans and Gretel crumb, only it would not lead him to home, but would lead the monster to him. He was not leaving the apartment, awaiting his flight, gazing longingly at carefree pedestrians rushing somewhere, unaffected by circumstances the way he was. While everyone else seemed to possess a certain confidence in the future, nurtured by family, school, and work, he found himself firmly entrenched in a profound anticipation of horror, harboring no illusions about what "tomorrow" might hold. Tomorrow could be Vincent, unpredictable as any psychopath, he could caress him, or he could beat him to death. He was going to live his life as a nomad, migrating from country to country-people like Vincent don't forget an insult.
The doorbell rang, and Daniel shuddered, covered in a sticky film of sweat from the rush of fear, tiptoed to the door, peered through the peephole, and breathed a sigh of relief - there stood a frail courier in a brown UPS uniform, looking like an omega. Daniel laughed faintly to himself - he'd gotten to the point where he was afraid of his own shadow, he had to get a grip on himself right away, or he'd end up in a mental institution in Japan. But he didn't open the door straightaway and asked cautiously, "Who are looking for?"
"Hello," the delivery man stared through the peephole, chewing gum loudly, and said, "I have a delivery for Mr. Daniel Bell from..." he dug into the delivery note and read it loudly, "Walmart, it says "For Japan."
"OK," Daniel gratefully remembered Elder Smith, who had apparently decided to give him a parting gift, only he'd chosen the cheapest store out of his stinginess. Amused, Daniel pictured a box filled with practical little items, each priced at $1.99, and opened the door with a smile. The delivery guy's innocent expression vanished instantly as he stepped aside, making way for two men—Adrian and another alpha. They swiftly covered Daniel's mouth and inserted a syringe needle into his neck. Despite managing a muffled cry into the palm of his hand, Daniel immediately staggered and fell into their grasp.
With a pounding head, he awoke in the car, lifting his hands to his throbbing temples and groaning in discomfort. His gaze fell on his wrists, tightly bound with a zip tie. Staring at Adrian seated beside him, a surge of hatred washed over Daniel as he recalled and comprehended everything in an instant. Daniel kicked Adrian in the knee. Adrian yelped, seized Daniel's legs with his powerful hands, squeezed them painfully and hissed:
Either you get those papers for me, or you become an accomplice in the case, and I'll ensure it happens. Your Mormon community won't hesitate to disown you; trust me, they won't tolerate felons. So, forget about escaping; you're returning to your fiancée."
"He's going to kill me, don't you understand, you idiot?" Daniel hissed, wriggling his body, trying to get at least his legs free.
"He won't, believe me," Adrian grinned with malice, released his legs and took out a butterfly knife. "Here's your choice: either drive to L.A. without attempting an escape or ride around in the trunk. What's your decision?"
"You're an asshole, Adrian," Daniel hissed, setting his wrists to the knife fearlessly. "It's a lousy choice, but I'd rather be awake than drugged. Nice methods the FBI uses: blackmail, kidnapping, drugs!"
"Oh, believe me, Daniel, you don't want to discover the entirety of our methods," Adrian skillfully severed the zip tie, and Daniel began massaging his wrists, gazing somberly out the window.
Adrian no longer evoked fear, even after audaciously kidnapping him from his home and administering drugs. In comparison to the genuine threat posed by Vincent, Adrian seemed like a harmless mosquito—irritating but not lethal. There was even a certain level of admiration for Adrian's unwavering commitment to the cause; Daniel, being a fervent art enthusiast himself, could appreciate the dedication of other fanatics. With little time left to live, Daniel accepted his fate, hoping that Vincent's initial strike would render him unconscious, sparing him from feeling pain, and the subsequent blow would bring an end to his life. Daniel mirthlessly chuckled at the grim prospect of a swift death, a dead-end in life that had begun so beautifully.
They encountered each other in the most mundane manner possible—at a charity event that Daniel attended reluctantly, dragged along by a patron who insisted on the occasional social appearance. Daniel scowled at his reflection, standing amidst the patron's other proteges, indulging in the complimentary champagne, determined to salvage whatever he could from the ruined evening. Perhaps due to the influence of the alcohol, the dark-haired, broad-shouldered alpha with a charismatic yet predatory visage, not conforming to the conventional gold standard, caught Daniel's interest for some inexplicable reason. The alpha reminded him of his favorite Michelangelo, possessing deep-set dark eyes, a prominent nose, and pronounced cheekbones. The alpha, appearing somewhat bored, gracefully traversed the hall, exchanging greetings with acquaintances and fulfilling social obligations to the community without much enthusiasm. However, when his eyes fell on Daniel, he assumed a hunting stance and his face, with its sharply defined features, suddenly transformed, lighting up for Daniel, who found himself captivated while staring at him. In that moment, Daniel saw no one else; the face stood in a blurred halo, rapidly approaching him.
"I've never seen anyone prettier in my life," the alpha exhaled instead of the usual greeting and polite "how do you like the reception?".
And Daniel exhaled with admiration, swaying slightly, "You're so ugly, you seem incredibly attractive."
The Alpha chuckled heartily, unfazed by the peculiar phrase, casually taking the half-empty glass from Daniel's suddenly awakened fingers and whispered, "I think somebody's had enough. What's your name, baby?"
"Daniel..." He drawled and corrected, "Daniel Bell. What's yours?"
"Vincent Laurent. Let's get out of here," Vincent said, placing his arm around Daniel's waist and guiding him confidently toward the exit, without a hint of uncertainty in his expectation of compliance.
Vincent took him as they entered the elevator in the very building hosting the fundraiser, having sent his bodyguards away, who were reluctant to leave him alone with Daniel. Hitting the stop button with his hand, a long groan from his mouth, tearing sharply at the suspenders fastening the pants of his rented tuxedo- Daniel pulled Vincent toward him in the same unrestrained desire, pulling down the zipper of his trousers, trying to remove the annoying barrier that prevented them from blending. With no one had Daniel experienced such intense desire, urging him to surrender completely, to bite until blood was drawn, marking the other as his alpha. The strong hands him as the hard cock penetrated until it hurt, Daniel moaned with relief, wrapping his arms and legs around Vincent, kissing until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, moaning with the forceful thrusts, surrendering his senses to the intoxicating pleasure, and orgasming as he submitted his neck obediently to the bite, recognizing Vincent as his alpha.
Since that day, they were never been separated, and Daniel begrudgingly embraced all the other aspects of life of the ultra-rich man who seemed destined to be part of his life. Vincent compensated for the constant security with his love. He had been the ideal alpha until Daniel's own personal doomsday, when Vincent assumed the role of God, nearly bringing him to the brink of death.
"OK, Daniel, either you get me those documents or we start the trial without them. Even if we can't put Laurent away, we'll put you away for obstruction of justice, and that will be sufficient to rile him up and provoke mistakes," Adrian said calmly as they exited the highway and headed towards the opulent suburb.
"Or I'll be killed tonight, and you'll use it to incriminate him, won't you, Adrian?" Daniel concluded with a somber tone, gazing wistfully out the window. In his daze, he was no longer afraid; he had overcome all his fear during the long drive.
"He won't harm you, you silly," Adrian grinned. "He loves you, so go and apologize for running away. You're crazy; he'll understand. He'll put you on pills, what's the big deal? In a week, be at the Alpha mall, and we'll intercept you there."
"What do you mean by 'intercept'?" Daniel looked at him with confusion, and Adrian clarified:
"Our guys will discreetly remove the documents from your bag, okay? It's a term, are you from the moon?"
"Fuck you, Adrian," Daniel pushed him away in anger and resumed staring out the window. Adrian answered the call, swiftly composing himself and adopting a serious demeanor. Daniel involuntarily turned around at the altered tone, now sounding subservient—evidently, Adrian was talking to his boss, manipulating him just as he manipulated Daniel.
"Alright, alright. When? Okay, understood," Adrian fixed his gaze on a single point ahead of him, engrossed in the phone conversation. "He'll do it, don't worry. Okay," he concluded the call, turning to Daniel with an expression tense with anger. "Alright, Bamby, change of plan. You don't need to retrieve the documents; we'll open the safe ourselves. You'll disable the alarm, okay?" He turned to the driver and inquired, "Dean, how much "sleeping potion" do you have?"
"Enough for a soccer team," Dean chuckled, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Stop fucking around, you idiot. How much exactly?" Adrian suddenly shouted, contorting his handsome face into a demonic and frightening expression that made Daniel squirm in fear. He breathed convulsively, sweating as a terrible sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him—it felt like he had never witnessed Adrian in this menacing state before.
"We've got enough for ten people, Adrian," the driver quickly interjected, slowing down and pulling over to the side of the road. "Wait a sec, I'll double-check," he rummaged in the glove compartment, retrieved a bag of pills, performed a swift calculation, and asserted confidently, "There's sufficient for eleven people with an average weight of no more than two hundred pounds."
"That's enough," Adrian nodded reassuringly and turned to find a sweaty, shallow-breathing Daniel huddled at the car door. "Give one pill to all of Laurent's bodyguards and the staff, especially if they're hefty. Exclude Laurent; he should be fully alert when we arrive. Give the "sleeping potion", disable the alarms, and then you're free to leave, Daniel. Once everyone is unconscious, and the alarm is disabled, signal by flashing the lights in the living room three times. Don't worry; no one except Laurent will be harmed. We need to catch him at home; there's intel suggesting he's stashed some stolen art pieces there."
"H-how can I be certain no one will be harmed?" Daniel whispered in a strained voice, barely breathing. His eyes widened as he observed every move Adrian made, bracing himself for the worst.
"No one will give you any guarantee at all," Adrian raised his voice angrily. "You're in no position to bargain, asshole! If his pitbulls wake up and start fighting, they'll get their asses kicked, but we're not going to kill anyone, do you understand?
"I see," Daniel mumbled. - What's going to happen to Vincent?
"What do you care? All right, well, if you must know, we'll prove his guilt when we get the documents out of the safe, and then he'll be in jail for twenty years, so you can create your paintings in peace. Hey, what, are you gonna pass out? Damn it, Dean, stop. I think he's gonna puke."
Daniel started vomiting in the car, once pulled out, he continued to expel the contents of his stomach until only bile and emptiness remained on the street. He sank to the ground on weakened legs. Adrian washed his face with water, gave him mouthwash, and promptly opened a mini bottle of Jack Daniels.
"Have a drink, or you will be unconscious when you get there. Snap out of it, come on!" Adrian tapped his cheeks, waved his fingers in front of his eyes to assess his alertness, and reluctantly placed him in the car, muttering. "Dean, clean up this mess, it stinks."
Daniel was transported towards the familiar garden, where a stately white mansion loomed, its once inviting presence now decidedly unpleasant. He was discreetly dropped off at a distance from the security cameras.
"Don't act foolish, Daniel," Adrian cautioned. "Avoid repeating past mistakes. Make the right choice, and you'll be free, while your ex will face the consequences he deserves. Go inform him that you got here by cab."
Daniel walked compliantly, his weak, trembling hands leaning on the aged Irish blue limestone wall of the fence. He understood he had no alternative – Adrian would catch him again if he attempted to flee. Resignedly accepting the challenge of fate, he reached the surveillance camera, turned awkwardly towards it, as it tracked his movement, and raised his doomed face. Progressing further, his strength waning, he sensed fear creeping up belatedly, anticipating an imminent breakdown, a violent scream, and the impending loss of sanity. Astonished, Matt and two unfamiliar guards rushed toward him. In defense, Daniel instinctively recoiled, attempting to escape. He was lifted gently but firmly, cradled in arms, and carried into the garden. As Daniel's consciousness faded, he heard the soft click of the oak door closing, and darkness enveloped him—the cage slammed shut.
Daniel awoke, relieved to find no headache this time. He took a moment to listen to the room with closed eyes before cautiously opening them. Almost screaming, he realized Vincent was seated beside him in a plush, comfortable chair, dressed in a gray business suit, shirt, and dress shoes. Vincent leaned forward, exhaling warmly:
"Danny, baby, you scared me so bad! How are you feeling? The doctor's on his way. He'll be here soon."
"Alright," Daniel replied hoarsely, uncertain about the situation. Vincent appeared concerned and fatigued but showed no signs of aggression—no shouting or swinging. Daniel attempted to rise on his woozy, stiff arms, and Vincent extended his hands, assisting him. The sudden movement caused Daniel to shout briefly, shielding himself with his hands, eliciting a frustrated recoil from Vincent.
"I'm not hurting you, Danny, I'm not going to hurt you, I just wanted to help. Can I get you a drink?"
"Y-yes, if it's not too much trouble," Daniel replied, lowering his hands and breathing heavily. He observed every movement, staying alert and prepared to defend himself with the last of his strength. Vincent extended his hand slowly, very slowly, demonstrating his peaceful intentions, and reached for the maid bell. He pressed the button and just as slowly settled back in his chair, calmly summoning the servants.
"Bring some mineral water with lemon and something light to eat. Chicken broth and salad would be preferable," he turned to Daniel and inquired in a gentle tone, "Danny, is there anything else you'd like?"
"No, that would do," Daniel said as he sat down on the bed, pulling his knees up to him and clasping them with his hands. He noted absently that he had been changed into his house clothes while unconscious. When the servants appeared, Vincent asked in the same gentle tone:
"Did you receive any treatment during the time? Did you see any doctor?"
"No, and I'm not interested in any treatment. I'm healthy," Daniel whispered wearily, acknowledging that resistance was futile, aware that Vincent would likely insist regardless. Still, he was relieved to engage in a civilized conversation rather than face a beating—a brief reprieve.
"You will get a treatment, baby, you will," Vincent said calmly yet firmly. He then added with tension, "Where have you been?"
"In Utah," Daniel replied quietly, recognizing that there was nothing left to hide; Vincent would uncover the truth anyway. Then, with a tremor in his voice, he asked, "What's going to happen to me?"
Vincent rose gradually, his movements tense, and approached slowly, taking small steps towards Daniel. Seating himself at the edge of the bed, he placed his hands near Daniel's feet and cautiously gazed into his eyes, as though fearful of startling a wild animal. The scent of Vincent's minty-ginger pheromone, once adored, now felt ominous, evoking a desire in Daniel to escape. Daniel nervously shifted his toes, casting a fearful gaze at Vincent's face, uncertain if he sought to inflict harm or merely prolong the enjoyment.
"You're going to be fine, baby," Vincent assured, his voice low and steady. "You'll recover, won't run away anymore, and we'll be happy. Understand?"
"Understand," Daniel nodded, willing to do anything to be left alone. He sighed with relief when the maid knocked delicately on the door to announce the food. "I'd like to eat alone, if you don't mind, Vincent. I..."
"OK" Vincent's lips twitched, noting the word Daniel had swallowed, and he stood up. "I'll be back in half an hour; get some rest, Danny."
Following the meal and the looming sense of impending consequences, Daniel succumbed to sleep. He gazed sleepily at the ceiling, allowing his heavy eyelids to close. Whatever might transpire, he hadn't slept in almost two days, worn out by nervous tension and prolonged anticipation. Vincent would talk to him tomorrow if he wished. As he slipped into a profound slumber, rendering him nearly immobile, Daniel felt a gentle touch on his lips and heard a tender murmur:
"Good night, baby."
Vincent didn't go to the office in the morning; instead, he came to Daniel's room dressed casually in a wine-colored long-sleeved shirt, a shade darker than the one from the previous day, paired with soft corduroy pants and suede Gaziano&Girling loafers. Seating himself beside Daniel's bed, Vincent drew him closer, took his trembling hand, conveying that there was no need for Daniel to fret anymore—that he was completely safe and would never be subjected to harm again. Daniel listened intently, finding it hard to believe there would be no aggression. Unconsciously, he left his palm in Vincent's hand, who kissed each finger eagerly, intermingling kisses with reassuring words. Dr. Myers had disappeared suspiciously after Daniel's escape; Daniel speculated that the fortunate man was already in the witness protection program and sighed enviously. Vincent interpreted his sigh differently and admitted with a tinge of guilt, "That bastard was working for my enemies, Danny. I don't know what he was doing while you were in therapy, but I had the whole clinic cleaned up. You're going to be treated by Dr. Kim, he has an impeccable reputation.
"Can we do it next week instead of now, Vincent? I'm very tired, and I don't want to go to any proven shrink," Daniel asked grimly, not hoping for a positive answer, but Vincent surprisingly agreed.
"Okay, baby. You're very pale, you must be exhausted. So, you want to tell me where you've been?"
"Not now," Daniel wriggled his hand out of Vincent's grasp and slipped it under the blanket, hiding it underneath. Vincent gazed longingly at the now-empty hand and nodded reluctantly.
"As you say, Danny. However, when you visit Dr. Kim, make sure to tell him everything. And Dr. Kim insists on joint sessions," Vincent gently touched his knee beneath the blanket, stroking it affectionately without resistance. "I believe we will make progress this time."
"What about your Dr. Sanchez? Did he work for your enemies and escape, too?" Daniel asked, fixing his gaze on the firm hand that was gently stroking him.
"Dr. Sanders, you mean? He didn't escape; he's still our primary physician, and he's doing well," Vincent's expression softened with sympathy. He swiftly gathered Daniel in a comforting embrace, holding him close. "God, you're all tangled up from the stress, Danny. It's okay, it's okay; it'll pass."
Daniel momentarily stiffened before erupting in frantic movements spurred by panic. Vincent embraced him more tightly, whispering into his ear:
"It's me, your Vincent. There's no need to fear me. I'm letting you go, don't worry," he released his hold and moved away, returning to his chair with a weary, almost inhuman expression. "Damn, how can we get out of this mess as quickly as possible?"
"Very easy!" Daniel yelled, distancing himself. "Let me acclimate, give me some space. You've been pressuring me relentlessly: dizzying pills, shady therapists connected to your enemies, constant surveillance! At least grant me a week to rest, collect myself, and then we can begin with your therapy! And please, don't touch me. Can't you see I don't want your touch?"
"Alright, Danny, you've got a week," Vincent said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "I won't mention therapy this week, okay? We'll just take it easy, or at least try to. Don't be anxious; no one is going to harm you here."
"Even you?" Daniel's gaze turned sharp and filled with disdain. Vincent winced, his face paling as he spoke softly, "Especially me, baby."
He kept his promise. Throughout the week, he refrained from mentioning therapy, allowed Daniel to move around the house without the constant presence of bodyguards, creating an illusion of freedom. Vincent no longer attempted to hug him, opting instead for affectionate looks that seemed to caress him. Daniel took advantage of the newfound freedom, inspecting the security system in the guard room with a sharp eye; it was the same system as before he ran away, he now knew he could disable it, a positive development. He tallied the number of bodyguards in the servants' canteen, there were twelve of them and he was one pill short. But he thought that one was not sufficient for a confrontation and hoped that Adrian and his team could handle a single adversary. Having completed his checks, he prepared to wait, counting down the hours with impatience as time passed mockingly slowly.
The most challenging aspect of the D-Day was administering sleeping pills to the bodyguards—a puzzle Daniel had contemplated for a week before devising a plan. He requested Vincent to designate the day as the commencement of their journey to happiness, effortlessly weaving his own lies without a hint of hesitation. Late that night, he concocted a bowl of fruit punch, discreetly adding sleeping pills to specific cups, serving each one alongside a large cake. Vincent's face lit up with joy as he sensed the shift in Daniel's mood. He timidly touched his hands while assisting with the trays of cups, but Daniel felt an irrational sense of guilt as he forced a fake smile onto his face.
The only remaining task was to go to the bedroom, deactivate the alarm, and signal Adrian. Then he would embark on his new life, shedding the identity of Daniel Bell for someone unburdened by a difficult past. Daniel anxiously paced his room, anticipating the darkness to envelop the house and peering into the garden where gentle shadows played. Waiting until the sole remaining lit window was in the security room, Daniel descended the stairs cautiously, catching his breath. He toggled a switch, disabling the security system, and then flicked the lights on and off three times before sinking helplessly onto the couch in the dimly lit living room.
Adrian and his men entered silently, dressed in black like last time, moving coherently and predatorily, peering around the perimeter through night vision goggles.
"Come with me, Daniel," Adrian instructed upon spotting him huddled anxiously on the couch. "Lead me to Laurent's room; you'll be of assistance."
"Why should I go?" Daniel grimaced, avoiding eye contact with Vincent, burdened and darkened once more.
"Let's move," Adrian whispered sharply. "Right now!" Daniel complied, trying to match Adrian's silent footsteps.
He pointed towards the door of Vincent's bedroom, the room they had once shared, using a trembling finger. He felt like Judas, suppressing unwanted tears, haunted by the image of Vincent's happy face just hours ago. Adrian's men had entered the room, leading to a brief struggle with Vincent's enraged screams. They eventually dragged him, bloodied, into the illuminated living room.
"Search every floor, including the basement," Adrian commanded with a grin, taking off his mask. "Well, hello, Vince. I've been anticipating this for a while. I have notizia importante from Maurizio's family. Open the safe, Vince, and give me with the file on Maurizio's family."
Vincent surveyed the living room with eyes filled with anger, the intensity of his gaze halting as he focused on Daniel, who was beginning to comprehend the situation. Vincent sighed wistfully, "No, Danny, no—"
"What Maurizio family?" Daniel asked, his lips feeling numb. "You're FBI!"
"He's naive, he would believe anything," Adrian grinned. "But he's mischievous, aren't you, Daniel? I had to educate him once, though it's a shame he doesn't recall anything. No, fortunately, he doesn't. Come here."
"Fuck you!" Daniel was no longer afraid, uttering the words with sheer hatred. Adrian, his face twisted in an angry visage, struck him with his fist, sending him sprawling to the ground. Vincent screamed frantically, wrenching himself free from the grip of his men:
"Don't touch him, you bastard!"
"I'll do that after I'm finished with you. I've missed you, Daniel," Adrian leaned in, wiping the blood from Daniel's face. It was then that Daniel cried out, recollecting and realizing belatedly.
That fateful night, Daniel had fled Vincent's house because Adrian had threatened to lock him up the next morning if he didn't get the file, and Daniel had fled without the money and documents, hoping to make it with little cash to the halfway point to Mexico and hitchhike the rest of the way. But Adrian caught up with him, having set up a tracker in his phone, and knocked him down with the first blow, Daniel fell to the ground and hit his head with a loud crack, hearing his head rumble, not feeling nearly as much as he was dragged into the car. The disruption of the plan turned Adrian into a monster. He beat Daniel, enjoying the screams, the pleas to stop, and when Daniel was barely crawling, he ripped off his jeans and raped him, catching his hoarse moans with his lips, his face going satanic and getting more and more heated. When he was done, he pulled up his pants and started beating him again. Beat and rape, rape and beat, fierce, ferocious, terrifying. Daniel fainted several times and came to from the sharp pain, wheezing in a broken voice. And the last time he floated away from the searing sensation of a blade cleaving his cheek. And when he opened his eyes, he saw the distraught black eyes of Vincent, driving him into a panic, placing his favorite face on the head of the monster…
"What?" Adrian clarified mockingly, tilting his face up with a smug expression as Daniel let out a choked cry, breathing in convulsions. "Remember everything, you damn jerk? Look, Vince, I've straightened out your lunatic friend for you. A win for me, right? No need for pricey shrinks. It's a shame you won't need them anymore, but I guarantee you'll share the same fate and the same grave. Open the safe, Laurent, unless you want me to fuck your darling in front of you!"
"I will, but don't touch him," Vincent said dryly. "He won't tell anyone anything, let him go. Let him go.'
"He'll be free once you spill everything, I assure you, Vincent," Adrian smirked, releasing his grip on Daniel's face. "Show us to the safe, Laurent."
With his men and Vincent, Adrian strolled into their bedroom, where the safe was hidden behind the Monet painting. Daniel, shielding his face with his hands, sat limply, accompanied by the one man dressed in black who saw no danger in him and stood at ease. Daniel's thoughts raced feverishly, recalling all the instructions Vincent gave him in case of an attack. He rose from his seat and asked softly, "Can I pour myself a drink? I need a sip of something strong."
"Go ahead, I'll have a drink too, but later," the man in black playfully winked his brown eye, and Daniel headed to the bar. He opened the imposing doors, clinked the bottles, and pressed on top of the concealed compartment. It slid away noiselessly, revealing loaded pistols with silencers and safeties disengaged. Vincent had taught him to shoot and commended his precision—after all, an artist with excellent eye-hand coordination should excel in marksmanship. Daniel simultaneously drew two pistols, swiftly turned, and fired, almost instinctively, at the man in black. The man gasped in surprise, tearing the mask from his face and collapsing before he could utter a scream. Daniel went into the bedroom, where Vincent, in a desperate frenzy akin to a suicide bomber protecting his omega, struggled against the men who had let their guard down and started a fight. The men in black, snarling, pounced on him, ruthlessly assaulting Vincent as he stifled moans. Meanwhile, Adrian chuckled maniacally, leaning against the open safe door, clutching the documents in his hands.
Deliberately aiming for the right side of his chest, Daniel fired at the man, relishing the fleeting expression of pain and astonishment on his face. He then proceeded to methodically shoot the other three assailants. One of them, in the chaos of the struggle, reached for a fallen gun and fired a shot that seared into Daniel's chest, throwing him aside. With a snarl, Vincent lunged at the assailant, delivering a forceful blow that rendered him unconscious. Vincent wrestled out the gun and delivered a fatal shot to the head, eliminating the remaining threats except for Adrian, who was destined for a painfully protracted demise rather than a swift one. Vincent then hurried to Daniel, who was choking on blood.
"I'm sorry, Vincent, I'm so sorry," Daniel whispered.
"Hold on, my love, hold on. I'll call an ambulance," Vincent's lips quivered, pale. "Stay with me. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe again..."
***
"So, baby, how does it feel to be back home?" Vincent kissed Daniel tenderly, enveloping him in his arms, and Daniel nestled affectionately against his shoulder.
"It's truly wonderful this time, my love."