gk, you who are my home, 2/9, nc17, brad/nate/ray, 10,678

[sephirothflame]

”You know, my mom never trusted me to have a dog when I was growing up,” Ray says. He watches as Brad dumps Nate onto the bed in the basement, folding his arms over his chest and resting his hip against the doorjamb. “Said I wasn’t responsible and shit. I wasn’t mature enough to remember to like, fucking feed it and walk it.”

”Point, Ray?” Brad asks. He waits for Nate to stop squirming before he starts to untie the knot forcing Nate’s wrists together. Nate’s still weak enough, drowsed and confused, that Brad has no troubles rolling Nate onto his back so he can tug the cloth out of his mouth.

”My momma always asks when I’m going to settle down and give her grandbabies,” Ray says. “I’m not fit to take care of a dog, something I don’t have to worry about growing up into being a serial killer or a rapist, but she expects me to have kids? Fuck that. Look how I turned out. No woman in the universe would honestly trust me with a child.”

Brad pauses in examining Nate, checking for bruises or cuts, any kind of damage they might have accidentally done to him, in favor of staring at Ray blankly. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything, exactly?”

Ray pointed a finger at Nate. “Dude. We’re totally babysitting this kid for free.”

Brad has to resist the urge to hit Ray, or maybe strangle him a little. “Nate is twenty-three.” He doesn’t point out that Nate isn’t a kid, because that’s exactly how he’s been referring to the soft-faced boy, too. Brad has to draw the line at babysitting though. “Do I have to tie you up so you don’t molest him?”

”What? Fuck that,” Ray scoffs. “Fuck you, Bradley. I’m not going to molest anyone. Besides, even if I did he’d be screaming my name by the end of it.”

”For you to stop, maybe,” Brad says. He crosses the small room to crowd into Ray’s space, catching a palm on the doorjamb and towering over Ray. When Ray tries to pull back, Brad grabs Ray’s chin with his other hand and holds him in place. “There will be no sexual assault on Nate, do you hear me?”

”I may be a lot of things, Brad, but I’m not a rapist,” Ray says darkly. He tries to pull away again, but Brad just tightens his grip on Ray. “Let me go, you - “

Brad shuts Ray up by ducking down to kiss him, pressing their lips together dryly. He pulls back when Ray nips at his lower lip, smiling and letting go of Ray’s chin. “He’s going to wake up soon. And he’s probably going to start screaming. So, move out of the way so we can leave him to flounder and stress for a little while.”

”You’re going to make him come to all alone, trapped in a small room who knows where with no way to escape?” Ray asks, but he’s grinning. He pushes his hip off of the doorjamb, reaching forward to hook his fingers in Brad’s belt loops. “What if he hurts himself?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Brad lets Ray tug him out of the room. He reaches out with one hand to close the door behind him, waiting for it to snick shut before he reaches for Ray again. “I know how to put on a band aid. If he seriously hurts himself in a room with no pointy edges and a nailed down bed like the special ed, Ivy League dick suck that he is, we’ll call Doc Bryan.”

”Doc Bryan will be pissed,” Ray says. He’s still walking backwards, slowly, towards the steps that’ll take them back up into the house. “He’ll yell at you for letting the kid get banged up on your watch. He’ll yell at the kid for letting himself get kidnapped in the first place.” Ray stops moving and shuts up for a moment. “On second thought, I would love to see Doc yell at Nate for letting himself get kidnapped. Homes, how fucking awesome would that be?”

It would be awesome. The thought makes Brad smile despite himself, and he urges Ray to keep moving backwards. “If you want to burn off post-job adrenaline you need to keep moving,” Brad says seriously. “I have things to do before the kid is fully awake and I have to explain to him he’s here because his daddy is an idiot for getting in with the mob.”

”You do know we work for the mob, right?” Ray asks, blinking up at Brad. “What does that make us?”

”Shut up, Ray, or I won’t fuck you over the desk in the office,” Brad says. It’s hardly the worst - or most promising - threat ever, but it does the trick, so Brad’s going to go ahead and count it as a win in his book.

- - -

Brad watches Nate from the computer in his office. By the time Ray has gotten dressed and sauntered off with a satisfied smirk to cause chaos wherever he wants to next, Nate had managed to successfully sit up and his movements aren’t as floundering as they were before. Brad’s actually kind of impressed with Nate right now.

Nate’s confused. More than a little terrified, probably, but at least he isn’t bawling. His movements are erratic and jerky as he stumbles off of the bed, wobbling once he gets his feet under him. He doesn’t fall over, bracing himself against the curved metal of the footboard. He’s less likely to brain himself on it than one with pointy edges. Brad hates cleaning dead bodies out of his home.

The window with the camera has it’s volume turned down low, so if Nate is saying anything, Brad can’t hear it. He doesn’t look like he’s screaming. He just wanders over to the door and tries to open it. It’s locked, of course, because Brad isn’t an idiot. Nate tries again, putting his shoulder into it. It’s two inches thick, solid steel. Nate’s trapped in a custom built holding cell, no amount of pushing is going to get it to budge, even if it didn’t open inwards. There’s no way out.

Judging by the way Nate brings a hand up to his face, he’s realized this fact, too. He walks around the room slowly, one hand on the wall to balance himself as the last of the chloroform works its way through his system. There’s nothing for him to find, nothing for him to use to break out. It’s just a small room with a bed. The adjoining bathroom doesn’t have a door, but there’s a camera in there as well.

For a few long moments, Nate just wanders around the perimeter of the room, checking and checking. He ducks down to look under the bed, checks under the mattress. He goes into the bathroom, but there’s nothing for him to find in there but a few pairs of clothes that may or may not fit and some toiletries. There’s no razor, and the realization makes him lash out, smashing his fist on the wall.

Nate jerks back, bringing his fist back and cradling it to his chest. He checks his fingers and knuckles before turning around to look at the camera again. There’s a calculating expression on his face. He moves towards the camera, cocking his head to the side as he looks up, debating something. Then he’s turning his back and reaching for one of the shirts sitting on the bathroom sink. He moves quickly, tossing it up and covering the lens of the camera in one try.

Brad makes a frustrated noise, but he’s actually kind of impressed. Of all the times anyone may or may not have been locked in that room, Brad doesn’t think it’s ever occurred to any of them to block the cameras. It’s a good ploy to get attention.

Nate does the same thing to the camera in the main room, and then everything is dark. The cameras weren’t purchased and installed to be the be-all, end-all. They just needed to get the job done. Nate managed to figure out how to outsmart them before he even had a real panic attack about where he was and what was going on.

There are two things for Brad to do right now. He could go downstairs and fix the cameras, could takes the few things Nate does have right now away and handcuff him to the headboard so he stays out of trouble. Or he can make Nate suffer, make him squirm and wait until the room starts to spin and Nate hyperventilates or screams himself hoarse to be let free.

Really, there’s no question about which one Brad will do. It’s easier (and more fun) just to minimize the window the camera is streaming in since he can’t see what Nate is doing right now anyway and turn his attention to other things.

It won’t kill Nate to make him wait, to make him curl up in a corner and tremble and scream while he tries to figure out exactly what is going on. Nate will be with them for a few days, of that Brad has no doubt. He hates dealing with people. There’s nothing wrong with making Nate sit in silence for a few hours.

- - -

By the time Brad makes it downstairs to uncover the cameras, Nate has curled up in a corner and fallen asleep. It’s late, so Brad’s not surprised that Nate’s out cold, but he rolls his eyes at the fact Nate’s on the floor instead of the bed.

If Nate was drugged, maybe Brad would pick him up and move him to the bed. Brad bets dollars to doughnuts that Nate used to pass out on his bedroom floor a lot as a kid, only for his parents to come in to check on him, pick him up and tuck him under the covers. Nate’s too tall for that now, too heavy, but he’s still got a baby face and fluffy hair. His parents probably remember the days he was small enough to tuck in.

Brad shakes his head, scoffing. He won’t even pick Ray up off the floor after one of his benders. He couldn’t care less if Nate wakes up with a crick in his neck and pain in his back from sleeping huddled into a corner. He has a bed that he’s choosing not to sleep in. It’s not Brad’s fault. Brad just has to get him to stay alive for a few days, keep him in one piece until they either inevitably have to start cutting off fingers and toes or before they can send him home.

He moves quietly when he tugs the tee shirts down from the cameras, careful not to disturb the angle that they’re set at. Not that in a room this small it’d made much of a difference, but still. Brad would just have to reset it, and it’s a pain in the ass and a waste of time. When he’s got the shirt down, he folds it carefully and puts it back on the stack in the bathroom. He takes the shirt down off that camera, too.

For a moment, Brad just watches Nate sleep. He observes the tense set to his mouth, the furrow of his brow and listens to the small, breathless sounds he makes. A nightmare, Brad guesses, but he doesn’t wake Nate up. He turns on his heels and walks away, making sure the door to the room clicks shut behind him, securely locked.

This isn’t going to be the last nightmare Nate has about all of this, no matter how things turn out for him. He can either learn to cope or fall apart trying. Brad couldn’t care less which he goes with, since he’s not going to be the one to pick up the pieces.

- - -

When Brad wakes up in the morning, it’s to the feeling that something is distinctly and very much off. He fingers the gun under his pillow to make sure it’s still there, and it helps to soothe the disturbed beating of his heart. He lays still for a few tense moments, just listening.

He tries to think of what could have gone wrong. The Senator’s men could have somehow found where Brad and Ray live, could be creeping around with guns just waiting to stumble upon them. Nate could have broken out. Ray could be doing fuck knows what to get them in trouble.

Everything is quiet.

Brad snorts at the realization, letting go of the gun and pushes himself up onto his elbows. The far side of his bed is empty, the blankets only slightly disturbed from where Brad tugged them towards himself last night. He doesn’t have to reach over to know the mattress is cold, that Ray never crawled under the covers last night because Brad’s got the nicer mattress, the softer sheets and warmer blankets.

He has no idea where Ray is right now, but he tells himself he doesn’t care. Ray is Ray; he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants, wherever he wants. Brad likes it better when he doesn’t wake up with bruises on his chest and shins from Ray’s bony elbows and ankles hitting him, when there’s no puddle of drool on his chest or arm. Ray not here to snore and groan and hit means more sleep for Brad.

Still, it’s weird to wake up in the dark, in the quiet, and not have Ray an arm’s length away. Not that it means anything, or that Brad cares. It’s just different, unusual, and Brad is very much in favor of keeping a familiar schedule. Especially one that means he can keep an eye on Ray so they don’t end up dead or worse, at Godfather’s hands or the law’s.

- - -

The kitchen is a mess when Brad finally makes his way downstairs, an explosion of flour and eggshells and batter. Brad closes his eyes and counts to ten, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. It doesn’t help fight the urge to punch something as much as he hoped it would, but this is pretty much on par for the course of dealing with Ray related frustrations.

He doesn’t clean up the mess, because he’s determined to teach Ray how to at least pretend to be a civilized human being, but Brad does gather all the bowls and spoons and measuring cups and puts them into the sink, turning the water on to at least rinse them out. It’s as far as Brad is willing to go in cleaning up after Ray today.

The bag of flour is mostly empty when Brad shakes it, and he peers around the kitchen suspiciously. He knows how much was in there, he’s usually the only one to touch it, but even with the flour coating the floors and counters - and ceiling, Jesus fucking Christ, Ray - there’s still a serious amount missing. Which means there are pancakes hiding around the house, somewhere.

When it comes to cooking, Brad has long since learned that sometimes it’s safer to just not touch what Ray makes. It’s edible, sometimes, but he experiments too much and he likes sweet foods way more than Brad does. However, Ray makes the best pancakes in the universe and Brad is more than willing to sneak around to see if he can find Ray to steal some.

Only, Ray isn’t in the living room or the dining room. He’s suspiciously absent from the downstairs, garage and backyard included. Brad would check the upstairs, but just looking at the steps, he knows that Ray didn’t take the pancakes upstairs. Ray is downstairs with them, and Brad very much doubts Ray is eating them sitting on an exercise bike or a sparring mat.

Brad’s instinct is proven right when he trudges down the steps into the basement. There’s a smear of syrup on the handrail that Brad will have to yell at Ray for later but he isn’t surprised it exists in the first place. Brad’s just surprised that there isn’t a worse mess leading to the room in the basement where they’ve got Nate locked away.

When Brad opens the door, he’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting, but he isn’t exactly surprised, either. Ray’s sitting on the single bed, plate of pancakes in his lap, covered in butter and syrup and leaking over the edge onto Ray’s jeans and Nate’s blanket. Nate’s still in his corner, knees curled up into his chest. There’s a plate of pancakes in front of him, but they’re untouched.

” - and I’m telling you, homes. It’s bullshit. The Space Race was just invented so everyone would turn their attention away from the fact that the aliens are already here. They thought, fuck, if we’re busy looking up - “ here, Ray pauses to point at the ceiling with his fork, and a thick dollop of syrup splats onto his jeans “ - fuck - “ Ray says, frowning at the mess, before shrugging and continuing, “ - then we won’t notice that they’ve already infiltrated the government and taken over.”

”Ray,” Brad says, leaning his hip against the doorjamb and folding his arms over his chest. “Leave the kid alone.”

Nate’s attention snaps to Brad immediately, eyes wide. The nervous and incredulous look fades into something startled, something closer to fear, but it’s gone in a second. Nate watches Brad through narrow eyes, carefully calculating him. “I’m not a kid,” Nate says after a moment, his voice hoarse from disuse. He licks his lips and looks away from Brad.

”Isn’t he adorable, Brad?” Ray asks, perking up. He picks up a second plate, loaded with more pancakes than either Nate’s or Ray’s has, and wiggles it for Brad to take. His eyes are bright, glassy, and Brad wants to ask if he’s seriously fucking high, but that’s an argument they can have away from Nate. “You know you want them,” Ray says, grinning. “Nate won’t touch his, ‘cause he thinks they’re poisoned or something. Fuck that. I wouldn’t poison my pancakes.”

Brad moves close enough to take the plate from Ray, but he just sets in gently down on the bed away from Ray, where he’s not likely to drop or spill it. He watches Ray shrug, turning his attention back to his own plate and eats messily for a moment. Brad looks away, disgusted, and isn’t surprised to see a similar grimace on Nate’s face.

”Eat,” Brad tells him, resting his hip against the footboard of the bed. “It’s all you’re getting until tonight.”

”And how long am I’m going to be stuck down here, exactly?” Nate asks. His eyes flicker to the door longingly, but it slipped shut and locked when Brad moved away from it. He eyes the number lock on the door, but Brad bets Nate already spent hours trying to think of the eight digit combination to open it.

For a moment, Brad just watches Nate, his expression impassive. Nate doesn’t break the gaze though, stares at Brad with fraught determination, and it would almost be impressive if his stomach didn’t choose that moment to gurgle at him. Brad smirks when Nate flushes, picking up his plate again and picking at the pancakes. “How much did you tell him, Ray?”

”Not much,” Ray says around a mouthful of pancakes. He swallows, wiping his face with the back of his hand and looks at Brad again. “Just that he’s going to be here for a few days while his daddy takes his time getting our money.”

There’s a look on Nate’s face again, fierce determination and a clenched jaw. He doesn’t have to say anything for Brad to know he doesn’t believe Ray’s words in the slightest. Ray ranting about the Space Race and alien invasions, coupled with the bright eyes and pancakes probably didn’t help Ray’s credibility any.

Brad takes a bite of a pancake, chewing it over slowly as he thinks. “You’re father took out a loan from the mob,” he says, licking the syrup from his lips. “Twenty-five thousand dollars. To cover gambling debts. Money that he owed to someone who worked for a friend of Godfather’s who didn’t appreciate being shorted.”

”My dad doesn’t gamble - “ Nate starts, but Brad silences him with a look. Nate clenches his jaw shut, but he doesn’t look away from Brad and he doesn’t back down.

”Godfather was very generous in offering your father an interest free loan.” Brad doesn’t take his eyes off of Nate, and doesn’t back down either, clenching his jaw tight. “He’s had five months to pay back his debts, but he’s still got a couple thousand to go. We’re just holding you here as incentive for your father to be quick about it.”

”And what happens if my dad can’t get the money?” Nate asks, his voice rougher around the edges than before. His steely expression wavers. He’s good at hiding his fear, but his eyes shine as soon as the question leaves his mouth. Nate’s a smart boy, he’s smart enough to realize what two mobsters will do with him now that they have him while his father struggles, taking too much time to pay them back.

Brad just picks at his pancakes again and takes another bite. He looks at Nate and doesn’t have to say You know the answer to that for Nate to make a small sound, not quite a whimper, but Nate doesn’t break. “You can relax. We have no intentions of actually hurting you unless your father fails and the job demands it.”

”I tried to tell him that,” Ray pitches in. “You know, cue my fucking awesome pancakes, but no.” Ray shakes his head, scoffing. He looks back at Brad, a smile quirking the corner of his sticky lips. “Kid’s stubborn. Just like his daddy.”

”You’re an idiot,” Brad tells Ray, and it’s almost fond. “Come on. Nate’s not actually here for your entertainment, Ray, so take these plates and go back upstairs.” He lifts up his plate and hands it to Ray. “And don’t throw it out,” he adds with a glare.

Ray, the sticky mess that he is, accepts the plate and stands up anyways. “You know, I’m just glad we’re not going to have to foot his therapy bills when he gets out of here,” Ray says, shaking his head. “He’s going to starve himself, sitting alone in the dark basement of two mobsters for the next few days.”

”Ray…” Brad starts, shooting him an impatient look. “Go.”

”Fine, fine,” Ray huffs. He moves across the room easily, balancing both plates on one arm carefully while he punches in the room’s key code and slips out. “But if I can’t sexually harass him, than neither can you.”

For a fleeting moment, Nate looks like he wants to get up, to chase after Ray and escape through the door before it closes. He glances at Brad, eyes flicking up and down his body slowly, before he slumps back and bangs his head on the wall. He closes his eyes with the door snicks shut, the lock clicking.

For a while, they’re quiet. Nate eventually opens his eyes again, watching Brad carefully, suspiciously, and Brad doesn’t look away. Everything Nate is feeling is only obvious through his eyes, through the wet shine, and Brad is impressed with Nate’s ability to school his features. Nate would make a good politician one day, just like his father. One without gambling debts and ties to the mob, hopefully.

Brad doesn’t know what he’s looking for in Nate, what he’s hoping to find, but it’s not this. It’s not some scared little boy trying so hard to be brave, almost succeeding at it. He admires that Nate is determined to keep it together, despite everything falling apart around him. Brad hates that there’s anything to like about Nate at all. It’ll make killing him all the more hard when the time comes to it.

”Try that stunt with the cameras again and I’ll leave you here to rot,” Brad says, pushing off of the bed. He checks quickly to make sure he’s not got any wayward syrup clinging to him, before shooting Nate a look. “If you don’t want to eat, fine. I couldn’t care less if you starve yourself to death. You’ll get something for dinner in a few hours.”

Nate clenches his jaw, glowering at Brad, but he doesn’t say anything. He nods his head, once, quickly, before he stares at his kneecaps in stubborn silence. He doesn’t move or make another sound for as long as Brad is in the room.

- - -

Ray’s sitting at the small table in the kitchen when Brad comes looking for him, finishing up the last of his pancakes. He’s somehow managed to spill syrup all over the wooden table top and Brad bites his tongue. This is why he hates when Ray makes pancakes, even if they’re delicious as sin, because Ray is one seriously messy motherfucker.

”I didn’t eat them,” Ray says, nudging Brad’s plate across the table towards him invitingly. “Fuck, I didn’t even spit or jerk off in them. I was tempted, but I couldn’t risk ruining sheer perfection like this. Even if it would have been seriously fucking funny to watch you eat.”

”Shut up, Ray,” Brad says tiredly. He pulls the orange juice out of the fridge to pour himself a glass, and one for Ray as well, before he sits down across from Ray obligingly. He bites back his disgust as Ray chews openmouthed, washing it down with orange juice and focuses on his own pancakes instead.

Sitting in silence has never really been Ray’s forte, so it comes as no surprise when he shovels the last of his pancakes into his mouth, swallowing without chewing, and starts to talk again. “Okay, so, seriously? This Nate kid? Fucking sucks that we’re keeping him in the basement. And fuck you, I’m not going to sexually harass him, but I refuse to stop objectifying that pretty mouth of his. It’s made to smoke cock.”

Brad closes his eyes and makes an annoyed sound, chewing his food slowly in hopes it’ll ebb his anger away by the time he swallows. “Ray, we’ve talked about this - “

”I know, I know,” Ray huffs, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just. Fuck, homes. I can’t remember the last time I had sex with someone who isn’t you. We’ve gone monogamous. What kind of messed up bullshit is that? We should be owning this town.”

”You’re sexually frustrated because you’re too lazy to go get your dick wet,” Brad says slowly, glancing up at Ray and watching him with a frown. He doesn’t ask if Ray objects to Brad sucking his cock or holding him down and fucking him, because the answer is obvious; Ray falls apart under Brad’s mouth and hands, always begging for more every single time. “I’m sure even you could find some drunk coed to go down on you. It’s Spring Break.”

”I know what drunk coed I want to go down on me,” Ray says wistfully. He takes another sip of his orange juice before wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “In all seriousness, though, homes. What are we going to do with him in the basement for the next few days?”

”Nothing,” Brad says. He drops his fork onto his plate and sends Ray a serious look. “You’re not going to bother him. He’s not here for your entertainment and I swear to God, if you get attached to him, I will shoot you both myself. Just because you’re fucking high - “

”I’m not that high - “ Ray starts.

Brad silences him with a look. “Ray. Just leave the kid alone. The more time you spend with him the harder it will be to do the job. He’s locked away in the basement for a reason. Just.” Brad pauses, rubbing at his face tiredly. “I don’t want to have to tell you how to do your job, Ray.”

”Then don’t,” Ray spits out vehemently. He stands up suddenly, his chair scraping back against the linoleum floor of the kitchen roughly. “I’m not an idiot, Brad. I can do my fucking job. I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own fucking home.”

”It’s hard to trust your judgment and ability to do your job when we’re one day into it and you’re high,” Brad shoots back, sending Ray a dark look. He doesn’t point out that it’s his house and that Ray was an unwanted guest that refused to leave, even going so far as to claim a room for his own, but then again, Brad never tried very hard to kick him out, either.

Ray makes a frustrated sound. “I’m going to go to Hoosier’s for a few hours,” he says, glowering at his plate. “We’ve got shit to do. I’ll see you later.”

Brad bites his tongue to keep from pointing out what a goddamn mess the kitchen is and that Ray needs to clean it up. “Whatever,” he says instead, picking up his fork and picking at his pancakes. He doesn’t care what Ray does, one way or another, as long as he doesn’t get in trouble for it or Brad has to pick up the pieces.

Ray just watches Brad for a long moment, waiting for him to say or do something, but when Brad fails to respond between quirking an eyebrow he makes another frustrated noise and storms off in an angry huff, muttering under his breath. The words aren’t loud enough for Brad to hear properly, but he can get the gist enough to know his mother has just been insulted.

Suddenly, the desire to eat the pancakes in front of him vanishes. Brad picks at them for a few minutes, but by the time Ray slams out of the front door, Brad gives up on even trying. He glowers at them for a few moments before pushing them away. He’s got shit to get done today, and he might as well start with the kitchen.

- - -

Sometimes, Brad thinks living with Ray is very much akin to living with a thirteen year old girl. Ray never shuts up about anything, he doesn’t clean up after himself, he demands attention at all times but gets pissy when he doesn’t want it and he starts to PMS like a motherfucker. The only place Brad’s simile falls apart is the fact that sometimes he and Ray fuck (okay, more than sometimes, but he has needs and Ray is more than adequate to fulfill them) and Brad would kill himself before even entertaining the thought of touching a young girl.

Really, Brad deserves an award for this bullshit. It’s bad enough he’s got an innocent kid locked in his basement, he doesn’t need Ray pitching bitch fits all over the place as well. Brad is ready to shoot them both and be done with it already. Only, then Brad would more than likely be left footing the bill to Godfather and Brad doesn’t want to have to do that. Even if he could theoretically afford it.

At least Ray took Brad’s words about leaving Nate the fuck alone to heart. He only goes downstairs twice over the next two days to bring him dinner and breakfast. He smirks triumphantly when he comes back upstairs the first time, brandishing the empty plate like a trophy. “No one can resist my pancakes,” he says, dropping the plate in the sink.

For a moment, Brad thinks it means Ray and him are done fighting, but then Ray is turning on his heels as soon as he’s done to bang around in a different part of the house. It’s not that Brad’s upset that they’re fighting, he just thinks Ray is being stupid. He didn’t do anything to deserve Ray being such a little bitch to him.

Brad spends a lot of time in his office, watching Nate on his computer screen. Not that Nate does much besides stare aimlessly at the door trapping him in but he doesn’t try and cover the cameras again. Brad watches him think about it, when he takes advantage of the shower and changes - he doesn’t watch Nate shower, despite what Ray snarks about it. Brad just watches that moment where Nate holds his shirt in his hands, staring at it and then the camera.

After the second day of being locked up, Nate’s still holding himself together pretty well. When Brad takes him dinner on the second day, Nate’s eyes are red rimmed and his cheeks are splotchy, but he watches Brad with his jaw clenched and silent determination. Brad sets the plate down on the bed, on the blanket he’d snagged while Nate slept on the floor last night to wash. He lays a bottle of water down next to it.

Nate’s eyes are more focused on the book Brad has in his hand. He hesitates to take it when Brad holds it out, but the thought of spending the next few days in the same boredom as the last two has him inching closer until he can take it gingerly. “Good Omens,” Nate says slowly, then looks up at Brad suspiciously. “Why are you doing this?”

”If you don’t want the book, you can give it back,” Brad says, narrowing his eyes. He isn’t surprised when Nate takes the book with him when he backpedals to his corner, keeping it close to his chest. Brad doesn’t bother to hide his smirk, but it’s short lived. “Just - shut up and read it.”

Nate watches Brad suspiciously for another moment, before looking down at the book in his hands. He lets his fingers skim across the cover slowly, tracing the words and art carefully with his fingertips. He doesn’t say thank you, but then again, Brad wasn’t expecting him to.

Instead, Nate asks, “Have you heard from my dad?” softly, his voice barely a whisper. He looks embarrassed the second he says the words, pointedly not making eye contact with Brad. He bites his lip and mouths a curse, closing his eyes and mentally berating himself for his moment of weakness.

Brad just watches Nate for another minute before leaving him, making sure the door clicks locked behind him. It’s easier than telling the kid that no, his father hasn’t called yet to say he has the money that’ll save his son’s life. He doesn’t want to be there when the kid breaks down and realizes he’s probably going to die in the small room with no hope for escaping or being rescued. It’s bad enough he’s going to have to pull the trigger.

- - -

Ray finds Brad on Friday morning on his back under the Escalade. He’s changing the oil and checking his break lines and any other thing he can think to do to it. Not because it needs done, per se, but because the maintenance is mind numbing in a good way. It gives him something to focus on besides the phone in his pocket that is steadfastly refusing to ring.

Ray watches for a while, before he crawls under the Escalade at Brad’s side. He doesn’t say anything when Brad makes grabby hands for a wrench, he hands it over and watches Brad work.

At first, Brad just ignores him. It’s surprisingly more difficult to ignore a quiet, sullen Ray than it is a loud, exuberant Ray and Brad’s still trying to work out the details on that one. Sighing heavily, Brad rests the wrench on his stomach and cocks his head to the side to look at Ray. “I can’t tell. Does this mean you’re done being pissed at me or not?”

There’s a soft snort and a small smile forms on Ray’s face. “You know that kid in the basement we’re not supposed to have anything to do with besides bringing food to? A little birdie told me you gave him a book to read. Care to deny it?” Ray asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Brad wants to curse, but there’s no point in denying he gave the book to Nate. He’s still not sure why he did it. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Something to keep Nate from trying to brain himself or go crazy and attack them or something like that. It’s one of those things that sounds better in his head, Brad is sure.

Ray just keeps smiling, squirming closer so he can press his face against Brad’s shoulder. He’s warm at Brad’s side, and Brad reaches a hand up to pat Ray’s face awkwardly. “We’re done fighting for now. It’s no fun when you don’t react, anyway.” Ray puts his hand over Brad’s, turning his face into their joined fingers to kiss Brad’s palm. “Besides, time is running out. This shits about to get serious.”

Sighing again, Brad starts to stroke his fingers along one of Ray’s eyebrows; it makes Ray snort in amusement, and Brad doesn’t stop. “He might die in two days and the only comfort he has is a battered copy of a book about the end of the world.”

”It could be worse,” Ray says. He tugs their hands away from his face, squeezing Brad’s fingers once before letting them go. “He could be sitting in a dark room somewhere with nothing to take his mind off of the fact he might be dying in two days.

Brad snorts derisively. “I don’t care,” he says after a moment, looking back up at the undercarriage of the Escalade. “It’s just a job. Sometimes innocent people have to suffer. This isn’t going to affect my ability to do my job. I’ll pull the trigger when it comes to it.”

Ray hmmms thoughtfully. “I never doubted the Iceman’s ability to do his job,” Ray says, shaking his head and looking up at the undercarriage as well. “Sometimes I just - fuck - I know the Iceman knows his shit. But I’m worried about Brad.”

”I’m fine, Ray,” Brad says tiredly. It doesn’t even feel like a lie, though he has no doubt that’s how Ray is going to take it. “I had a lapse in judgment. It won’t happen again. You can stop worrying now.”

”You’re kind of super fucking retarded when you want to be, you know that, right?” Ray asks, though he sounds nothing but fond. He elbows Brad in the side roughly, before pushing himself out from under the Escalade. “Also, you should make tacos for dinner.”

Brad’s about to tell Ray he can make his own goddamn tacos for dinner, but Ray has already banged his way out of the garage and back into the main house. Brad briefly fights down the urge to hit something or someone before brushing it aside. He picks his wrench back up and gets back to work.

- - -

”I was thinking,” Nate says slowly, watching Brad set a plate of tacos down on the bed. He inches forward, but he reaches out for the bottle of water Brad brought down instead of the food. For once, he doesn’t flee back into his corner after he gets what he wants.

”Careful,” Brad says, “or your head might explode.”

”Ha freaking ha,” Nate mutters bitterly. He reaches out when Brad turns to leave, but hesitates when it actually comes to grabbing Brad’s wrist. It’s his indecision, maybe, that gets Brad to stay, watching Nate out of the corner of his eyes. Or maybe it’s the steely determination on Nate’s face. “About my dad.”

Brad doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what to stay. He does turn to look at Nate proper though, and Nate refuses to back down under his hard glare. It’s increasingly obvious that he shouldn’t have given Nate the book, that he shouldn’t have let Ray down here at all to woo the boy into a false sense of security. Nate is too scared to touch Brad, but he isn’t scared enough.

For a second, Nate closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath. When he opens his eyes again, he looks exhausted. “My dad isn’t going to be able to get the money,” Nate says softly. “We both know it.”

”That’s none of my concern one way or another,” Brad replies easily. He looks away from Nate’s gaze, because there are too many conflicting emotions on his face and Brad could get lost in Nate’s eyes trying to figure them all out. It’s too dangerous. Brad stares up at the camera instead. “You’re smart enough to have figured out what’s going to happen if he can’t get your money.”

”If you’re going to kill me you can at least have the decency to look at me while I’m talking,” Nate spits out. The plastic water bottle in his hands crinkles when he starts to crush it, a frustrated sound escaping him.

”Watching you isn’t going to change my mind,” Brad says. “If it comes to it, I’ll - “ he means to say kill you, knows Nate is expecting to hear the words, but they won’t form on Brad’s lips. “ - finish the job.” Brad looks on Nate, showing him the Iceman indifference. “You can forget about begging your way out of this. You’ve been doing so good so far on not being a helpless little pest.”

”I have no intentions of begging,” Nate replies, his face determined again. “That’s not what I was going to say at all. I wanted - “ a second to breathe, to grit his teeth and remind himself he can do this “ - to make a deal.”

”Unless you’ve got twenty-five thousand dollars to spare on your father’s behalf, I can’t imagine you’d have anything I want,” Brad says.

”I don’t,” Nate agrees. He pauses long enough to drop his water bottle on the bed he hasn’t slept in, moving slowly to stand in front of Brad and block his exit. He waits until Brad narrows his eyes, watching him with fierce determination, before Nate starts to tug his shirt up and off slowly.

Something clenches in Brad’s gut and he gets the feeling he isn’t going to like where this is going at all. “Nate,” Brad warns.

”Take me,” Nate says seriously. He tosses his shirt to the side and drops his hands to the front of his jeans, toying with his belt. His eyes never leave Brad’s face and his steadfast determination doesn’t waver. “My father - he can’t afford to pay you back. So take what you owe from me. You or Ray, I don’t care. Both of you. Just take what he owes from me and leave my father alone.”

Nate has barely gotten the clasp of his belt undone before Brad is shoving him back against the wall. Brad moves quickly, before Nate can even register what’s going on, and he makes a startled sound when he collides with the wall and is pinned there. He stops trying to undo his belt, but he doesn’t fight the arm pressed against his chest, pinning him in place, or Brad’s hand pressing Nate’s face against the wall.

He’s scared, but he doesn’t let it show beyond a flash of pain and doubt in his eyes, and he schools his features quickly. “Do it,” Nate whispers.

It takes everything in Brad not to bang Nate’s head into the wall again. “You listen to me and you listen carefully,” Brad growls. He presses his fingers against Nate’s jaw and cheek hard, knows they’ll probably bruise by the morning. “Don’t you ever fucking make a deal like that again.”

Nate makes a small sound, somewhere between anger and exasperation. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. I’m going to die anyway.”

Brad makes a frustrated noise and presses harder against Nate’s chest. He’s surprised when Nate’s hands come up to grab Brad, but Nate doesn’t push him away, just holds on. Brad bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know what to say, not when Nate is trying so hard to be casual about the fact he’s probably going to die. He presses in harder and Nate gasps. “Shut the fuck up.”

Nate closes his eyes for a second, biting his tongue, but he doesn’t complain about Brad hurting him. He takes a minute to catch his breath, his breathing ragged, and he tightens his hold on Brad’s arms. “It’s not like I’m a virgin,” Nate breathes out, watching Brad’s face carefully. “But I’ll pretend, if you want. I’m awesome - “ a small grunt when Brad presses in harder still “ - at giving head.”

”There’s something seriously fucked up with you,” Brad says. He grabs Nate’s forearms, dragging him away from the wall and shoves him back towards the bed. Nate stumbles, but doesn’t fall, and he brings a hand up to rub at his face idly but he’s glowering again. “Pull a stunt like that again and I will kill you, debts paid or not.” He waits for Nate’s gaze to falter or crack, but Nate doesn’t do either. “Put your fucking shirt on and eat your dinner.”

”You’re making a mistake,” Nate says bitterly, dropping his hand from his face. He folds his arms over his pale chest, scowling. He doesn’t try to stop Brad from leaving this time and he doesn’t say anything else.

Brad leans against the door when it snicks shut, locked. He closes his eyes and lets out a bitter laugh, letting his head thump back against the door. He doesn’t know what he was expecting from this entire ordeal with Nate Fick, but this definitely wasn’t it. Brad is seriously ready for all of this to be over.

- - -

Brad knows he should tell Ray about the exchange with Nate, but for some reason, he can’t figure out how. It isn’t so much that he doesn’t want Ray to know and judge him, even though Ray is bound to see the bruises on Nate’s face when he inevitably makes his way down to the basement, but… Honestly, Brad isn’t sure why he doesn’t tell Ray.

All night, the words hang between them unspoken. Ray is completely oblivious, content to make a mess of himself and the kitchen while he eats his dinner. He relaxes back against Brad on the couch when they play Call of Duty after they eat and when it trickles into the wee hours of the morning and they’ve given up on gaming in favor of watching M*A*S*H reruns, Ray lets Brad take his wrist and drag him upstairs.

They don’t turn on the lights at all. There’s no point in it. Brad knows Ray’s body inside and out, whether he can see it or not. There’s nothing soft or sweet about what they’re doing, it’s nothing more than a release of pent up energy and frustrations. Brad focuses on that, that need for release and the sounds Ray is making, writhing underneath him and demanding more with every sharp shove of Brad’s hips.

For a few fleeting moments, Brad loses himself in this. In the tight, hot feeling of being surrounded by Ray. The salty taste of skin as Brad sucks a mark into Ray’s collarbone. He presses his fingers into Ray’s hipbones hard enough they’re likely to leave bruises come morning and he fucks into him relentlessly. He wants to know he has something. He needs something to claim for his own, even if Ray is likely to disappear and sleep with someone else at any time.

It’s only when Brad comes with a shudder and a groan, biting back the name Nate does he know he’s seriously fucking screwed. He jerks back away from Ray like he’d been burned and it makes Ray cry out with needy frustration. Brad just sits back on his heels and stares at Ray in the dark, trying to calm the racing in his heart and wonder what the fuck just went wrong.

”Son of a bitch,” Ray spits at him. He makes another frustrated sound, followed by a bitten off groan. He starts jacking his own cock, arching his hips up into it. “The least you coulda done - “ Ray’s breath hitches followed by a broken moan “ - is help me finish here.”

”Sorry,” Brad mutters, shaking his head. He leans over Ray and takes ahold of him, brushing Ray’s own hand aside. He works Ray with quick strokes, pressing his nail down just under the head the way he knows Ray likes and then Ray is coming over Brad’s fingers and his own stomach with a strangled cry. Brad wipes his hand on Ray’s stomach, sitting back again.

For a moment, Ray just lays sprawled on his back with his thighs spread wide, trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t object when Brad gets off the bed to dispose of his condom and to grab a washcloth and he lies still when Brad runs it over Ray’s stomach and thighs slowly. It’s only when Brad disposes of that too and crawls back in bed does Ray roll over and look at him.

”What?” Brad asks, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t need to look to know Ray is watching him carefully and Brad brings a hand up to rub at his face tiredly. He lets the silence linger for a minute, waiting for Ray to either roll over and go to sleep or go away entirely, before giving up and looking over at Ray. “Ray.”

”You going to tell me what the fucks had a stick shoved up so far your ass all night?” Ray asks, propping himself up on an elbow almost casually. It’s hard to read his expression in the dark, even with all the training Brad’s had and the familiarity between them, but he knows Ray is seriously unimpressed with him right now.

Brad bites his tongue. He thinks about Nate locked in the basement and the offer Brad didn’t even need time to think about before he knew he was going to refuse. He touches a hand to Ray’s chest lightly, feeling the warmth of his sweaty skin and thinks about the fact it’s Nate’s name he was thinking about crying out. Nate that he wanted to hold down and use. There really isn’t any way to tell Ray any of those things without sounding like a goddamn hypocrite.

Still, Brad would have had to tell Ray soon or later. He might as well get it over with and out of the way now. Sighing heavily, Brad drops his hand away from Ray’s chest and back onto the mattress and looks back up on the ceiling. “Nate is being - “ there’s a word for this, but Brad can’t think of it off the top of his head “ - difficult.”

”I’m listening,” Ray says slowly. He scoots closer to Brad, probably more for warmth than anything, and his body is a comforting wall of heat at Brad’s side. Ray waits for Brad to roll onto his side to face Ray before Ray eases down off his elbow. “I seriously fucking doubt he figured out a way to try to escape or that he tried to jump you.”

”Those would be preferable,” Brad mutters. He reaches out to touch Ray’s hip, letting his fingers skim over the bone slowly, teasingly light. “He wanted to make a deal. He’s smart enough to realize that his father probably won’t be able to get the money to pay back his debts.”

”Okay,” Ray says, nodding slightly. He squirms when Brad continues to pet his hip, covering Brad’s hand with his own to stop him. “What exactly did he offer that’s been fucking with you so much tonight? His firstborn? His college savings? His virginity? Seriously, Brad.”

Brad bites his tongue and closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, he sends Ray a pointed look, one that Ray can apparently feel, even through the dark because the next second has Ray shutting up entirely and inhaling sharply. “Says he’s not a virgin. Jesus fucking Christ, I shoved him into a wall. I wanted to punch his face in for even offering it.”

”So the problem isn’t that he offered to let you fuck him,” Ray says slowly, reaching out to touch his fingers to Brad’s chest, moving deliberately slow as he makes his way to thumb at one of Brad’s nipples. “It’s that you want to fuck him.”

Brad goes tense for a second, shoving Ray’s hand away from him. “He’s a goddamn, terrified kid,” Brad spits out. “He has no idea what the fuck he’s doing and he’s trying to spread his legs in the hopes that maybe we won’t kill him if he does.”

”Only, as you like to keep pointing out to me, Brad, Nate isn’t a kid,” Ray replies. “He’s twenty-three.” Pushing himself up onto an elbow again, Ray nudges at Brad’s hip until Brad rolls onto his back and Ray can straddle his waist, bracing himself with palms on Brad’s chest. “He thinks he’s going to die and he’s trying to save himself, save his father.”

”You can’t seriously be considering this,” Brad says, moving his hands to hold onto Ray’s hips and squeezing lightly. There are a million reasons why they can’t do this. One of which, and probably the most important, is they’re not goddamn rapists. They’re not those kind of mobsters. They aren’t. “Ray.”

”Think about it,” Ray says, shaking his head. He shifts slightly, squirming to get more comfortable, and it’s distracting. “If Nate’s father doesn’t get the money, we’re going to have to kill him. He’s offered an alternative. We’ll have to pay Godfather out of our own pockets. But - and here’s the part where this plan is sheer genius, thank you very much - if the Senator doesn’t know why we recanted our threats, he’ll think he still owes us.”

”What the fuck would we need the Senator to owe us a debt for?” Brad asks, pressing his fingers deep into Ray’s hips. He can see how Ray’s logic might make sense, but it doesn’t stop the hard feeling in his gut from telling him that this is a very bad idea.

”That’s the beauty of it,” Ray grins. “We don’t. But hey, maybe one day we do. What’s Nate going to do about it? Tell his father we conned him because the Fick name has already been cleared by him spreading his legs? I’d fucking love to be there for that conversation.”

Brad opens his mouth to complain, to argue, but Ray covers Brad’s lips with his hand and makes a shhing sound.

”Brad. Stop thinking for five seconds and listen to me,” Ray says, shaking his head. “My plan is fool proof.” He doesn’t move the hand over Brad’s mouth but he uses the other to tease his fingers down Brad’s chest slowly. “There’s no point in denying either of us want him at this point.” Slowly, Ray moves his hand from Brad’s mouth and shifts back to sit on Brad’s thighs. He touches his fingertips to Brad’s dick, stroking down the length of it teasingly soft. “Just think about it.”

Brad doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about anything other than Ray’s hand on him, moving in a steady grip that’s enough to throw his breathing off again. “It’s a bad idea, Ray,” Brad groans out softly. “Too many things can go very, very wrong.”

Ray makes a soft, thoughtful noise and tightens his grip. “Like what?”

”He could change his mind,” Brad says, closing his eyes. He tries to arch his hips but Ray loosens his grip until Brad stops. “He could tell people we raped him. Syphilis.”

”All potentially valid arguments until you break them down,” Ray says easily. “One, I’ve never known you to keep going after you were told enough, no matter how into it you were.” Ray pats Brad’s hip with his free hand soothingly. “Two, he’s a pretty little Senator’s son and we’re big bad mobsters. People are going to assume we raped him whether we did or didn’t.”

”Let me guess,” Brad says slowly, “argument three is that he doesn’t have syphilis? You can’t possibly know that for sure.”

”I can and I do,” Ray says, grinning slyly. “Nate, good boy that he is, gets himself checked every few months. It’s in his records. Which, I’d like to point out, are way too easy to get ahold of as long as you know the right people. Really, I’m fucking embarrassed for the lack of security we put on such important, personal documents. The fuck kind of country is this? Canada?”

Brad stares. He arches his hips up into Ray’s hand when he tightens his grip, groaning softly. He closes his eyes and lets Ray have this moment. “For the record, you’re trying to convince me to take advantage of a kid we have locked in our basement. The same kid I’ve been harassing you about leaving the fuck alone. You have ulterior motives.”

”You’re the one who was thinking about fucking him ten minutes ago,” Ray shoots back. “Here I was, perfectly content to let you fuck me hard enough to bruise but I’m not even good enough for you anymore. You’ve gotta go and picture the cute little twink we’ve got locked away. My feelings are seriously fucking hurt, homes. When have I ever been subpar in bed? I’m affronted.”

”This isn’t a good idea, Ray,” Brad says. He grits his teeth, trying to arch his hips up again but Ray pushes him back down into the mattress. “We’re not going to molest the boy so just fucking drop it already - “

Ray stops stroking Brad, pulls his hand away to rest it on his own thigh. He ignores the frustrated sound Brad makes, knocking Brad’s hand away when he reaches for himself. “Listen, Brad. No one’s going to get hurt. Fuck, no one even has to know. Just. Think about it. We’ve got a few days before we’ve got to kill the kid. If his dad doesn’t come through with the money, isn’t this the better alternative?”

”I’ve never known you to choose not to fire your gun,” Brad says. He isn’t surprised when Ray grabs his wrists, pinning them to the mattress. Brad could toss Ray, if he really wanted to. He’s letting himself be pinned and he’s not even sure why he’s doing it.

”No,” Ray says agreeably, shrugging as best he can. “But I’m not the one who’s going to have to pull the trigger.” Ray lets go of Brad’s wrists slowly, inching up Brad’s thighs and easing down on top of him, his head pillowed on Brad’s chest. “I know you, Brad,” Ray whispers in the dark, sliding his hand between their bodies to reach for Brad again.

Brad sucks in a breath and bites his tongue. He wants to point out he can do this, he’s never failed at the job before. The fact Ray is worried he might is insulting. Ray knows Brad. He knows Brad will always do his job, no matter what. Ray knows Brad and that’s even more terrifying than the fact that Brad really wants to fuck Nate right now. Brad’s never let anyone get this close before and he doesn’t know what to do about it now that he has.

”It’s okay,” Ray says softly, kissing Brad’s chest. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. No one is holding a gun to your head. Just think about it.”

It’s not as difficult as it should be to bite back the urge to tell Ray where he can take his plan and shove it, but it’s hard to think when Ray’s hand is on him, moving with practiced ease. Just think about it, Ray said, like it was really that easy. Like any level and amount of time spent treading through the details will make it any better that he’s seriously considering taking advantage of the kid he has hostage in his basement.

Only, the thought of bending Nate over and fucking him until he screams, or having Nate on his knees swallowing Brad’s cock, they sound better than they should with each passing moment. Brad is relieved when Ray finally manages to drag another orgasm out of him with just lips on his skin and a hand, because it gives Brad a few moments where he doesn’t have to think about anything at all.

- - -

The idea won’t leave Brad alone. He gives up trying to sleep when he realizes he’s just going to see Nate when he closes his eyes, focusing instead on the warm way Ray is draped across his chest. It’s easy to lose track of time just listening to the steady rhythm of Ray’s breathing, stroking his fingers up and down the curve of Ray’s spine slowly.

Brad’s exhausted to his very core, and he gets the feeling this isn’t something that’s going to go away whether he gets any sleep or not. As long as Nate is in the basement, this is going to plague him. He thinks it should be easier to decide between killing the kid or fucking him, and he can’t even imagine what kind of choice this would be if he was in a normal line of work.

Brad kills people on a semi-regular basis. Killing people is easy. It’s when he has to have any other sort of interactions with them that Brad starts to get confused and things get complicated.

He wonders idly what it says about him that this is any sort of choice at all. Killing Nate is easy but messy. He still has to deal with the Senator though and if Nate does die, there’s always the chance that Christopher Fick will find some way to hunt them down and make them pay. Brad and Ray are good, the best, but they’re human. They make mistakes. It’d be just Brad’s luck that it’s when there is someone actively seeking revenge that he slips up.

Fucking Nate, though, that’s messy, too. It’s risky. Too many things could go wrong during and after the fact. He’d have to live up to his end of the bargain, cutting Nate free and consider the Senator’s debt paid. Brad would have to pay Godfather out of his own pocket and hope Godfather never finds out about it. It’s sex though. Brad does just fine in the sex department without resorting to screwing over hostages, but Ray had a point when he said he couldn’t remember the last time he fucked someone who wasn’t Brad. Brad can’t remember fucking someone who wasn’t Ray, either.

It should be obvious, this solution. He should just accept Nate’s deal and get it over with. It’ll be nice to have someone who isn’t Ray, just for a little while. To feel Nate tight and hot around him, hear the soft sounds he makes when he’s used, so impossibly obscene as he moans and begs.

Nate’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve to die. He’s got a bright future ahead of him, no matter what he decides to do. Brad’s read his records, has done the surveillance and research. He knows how stubborn and intelligent and witty and determined Nate is. Wherever Nate goes, he’s going to benefit people, will probably be better at it then his father.

Somehow though, somehow, even as Brad can feel the dawn start to break and light start to pour in through the slates of his blinds, he can’t quite make the conscious decision that yes, he’s going to do this. He and Ray are going to fuck Nate and forgive his father’s debts.

Brad’s probably more screwed up than he cares to admit.

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