Casino, Part 1/3
Title: Casino
Author: raise_a_glass
Bands: PATD, MCR, CS
Pairings: OCs/Ryan, Zack/Ryan, Pete/Mikey
Warnings: Rape, abuse, drugs, suicidal thoughts
Word Count: ~26,400
Disclaimer: Complete and utter fiction.
Summary: When he's 15, Ryan's father packs him up and brings him to the mob-run casino where he works, and he is put to work as a prostitute to re-pay his father's gambling debts. Four years later, Spencer shows up, and Ryan's whole world is turned upside down.
Author's Note: For bandombigbang. This has been a WIP in my brain for far longer than I would like to admit to. I am happy beyond words that it is finally done. XD
“Spencer? Fuck... I only have a minute. My dad’s completely lost his shit, I swear..."
“Calm down, Ryan. What’s going on?"
“He said... he said we’re moving, Spencer. When I got home he was throwing shit in his suitcase, said we’re leaving tonight. Fuck, he’s so fucking drunk....”
“Moving? He can’t be serious, Ryan. He’ll... he’ll pass out eventually and sleep it off. I can get my mom and we’ll come pick you up, okay? You can just spend the night again.”
“Fuck! He’s coming up the stairs! I’m supposed to be packing! I’ll... I’ll call you when I know what’s going on, okay Spencer? I promise!”
“No, Ryan, don’t g-"
Ryan woke with a start, blinking at the mid-afternoon light slanting in through the windows. He ran a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. He'd forgotten to close the blinds last night. This morning. Whatever.
He started to roll over so that he'd be facing away from the light but encountered a warm weight at his back. Zack, snoring softly. Ryan sighed, staring at the ceiling. He was well and truly awake anyway. May as well get up. He carefully extricated himself from the bed, not wanting to wake Zack. He winced as his left foot hit the floor. His ankle was always stiff and sore when he first woke up. He ignored the cane leaning against the night table and limped into the bathroom.
The dream replayed itself in his mind as he climbed into the shower. He hadn't let himself think of that hurried phone conversation in a long time. It wasn't something he liked to dwell on. It was no mystery, though, why it was on his mind now. It was September 2nd. He was unlikely to ever forget Spencer's birthday, and not only because he'd been his best friend. It was only a couple of days after his own. And tomorrow, the day after Spencer's birthday, would mark four years since that phone call. Four years since he'd seen or spoken to Spencer at all.
A few hours later found Ryan back in the bathroom, making himself presentable. Zack had informed him that he didn't have any pre-scheduled appointments until much later that night. So in the meantime he was to put in an appearance in the casino. And for that he had to look his best. There wasn't anything too bad to deal with that night, thankfully. Just the fading remnants of a bruise over his right cheekbone from almost a week ago. Easily covered up with a bit of foundation. He kept the rest of his makeup relatively simple, not really in the mood to linger on it. Just bands of purple fading into his hairline at his temples. That, a generous amount of eyeliner, and some gel spiking up his hair, and he was the perfect picture of a boy-whore, he thought bitterly. Newly nineteen, and he still looked about fourteen in the make-up. But that's what a lot of the clients went for.
The outer door of the suite burst open while Ryan was still getting dressed. Zack jumped to his feet, hand going for the holster at his side, but it was just Pete, the younger brother of the casino boss, with Bob, his bodyguard, trailing silently behind him.
"Fuck," Zack muttered. “Even you should learn to knock, you know. I don't care if your brother practically runs the whole hotel."
"Don't give me that, I'm having a crisis here! I need to talk to Ryan!" Pete declared, waving his hands dramatically.
"Ryan has to work," Zack said tersely. "If he's not downstairs in ten minutes, it's your brother he'll have to answer to." Pete made a dismissive noise and continued on through the open door into the bedroom. Ryan grimaced at the mention of Pete's brother, and ignored the other man as he flopped down on the bed behind him. He finished buttoning his brocade vest before picking up the green pin off the dresser and afixing it to his lapel.
"I'm in love," Pete declared after it became clear that Ryan was not going to acknowledge his presence.
"Oh, really?" Ryan replied dryly, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on.
"Yes, really! He just started working in the nightclub, doing sound or some shit. Outside help, you know, not, uh, family. So we can totally run away together and he can marry me and save me from a life of crime," Pete answered. Ryan turned to look at Pete with a raised eyebrow. Pete stared back at him, his face open and completely earnest. Not for the first time, Ryan boggled at the fact that for the first few months he'd been here, he'd been terrified of Pete Wentz. Well, he'd been terrified of everyone then, and for good reason. And it wasn't like Pete had never done anything to him. His position as brother of the casino boss, David Wentz, had granted him free access to Ryan. But he'd never hurt him, not really. And he hadn't touched him at all in over two years. Instead, Pete had somehow come to regard Ryan as his own personal confidante. Ryan wasn't sure how he'd rated such a position, but things were as they were.
"So? What's this knight in shining armour's name?" he finally asked. Pete kind of deflated.
"Well... I don't know yet." Pete admitted. Ryan couldn't suppress a small grin.
"Considering who you are I don't imagine it should be too hard for you to find out," Ryan commented.
"Of course not, that's not the point. The point is, how do I make him fall in love with me?" Pete whined.
"You aren't seriously asking me for dating advice?" Ryan asked incredulously.
"Well, who the hell else am I going to ask, Bob?" Pete demanded, a pout creeping onto his face.
"I heard that," Bob's disembodied voice floated in from the other room. Pete grinned unrepentently.
"Get someone who's not a whore to sleep with you and maybe I'll revise my opinion!" he called out. The grin vanished from Ryan's face and he stood up quickly, brushing imaginary lint from his vest. Pete's eyes widened. "Oh, shit, Ryan, I didn't think...."
"It's fine," Ryan said shortly, moving out into the other room. "Zack's right, I have to get downstairs. Just be your usual charming self with your mystery guy and I’m sure it'll all work out."
"No, seriously, I'm really sorry. You know I just don't think sometimes before I say stuff," Pete continued, following behind him.
"And I said it was fine. Really." Ryan did his best to produce a smile, but it still came out rather stiff. "Let's go, Zack."
He'd stumbled a bit on the way to the elevator, pain flaring briefly in his left ankle, as it was wont to do. Zack had reached out to help him, inquiring if he was okay, but he'd brushed him off. They both knew that he wasn't allowed to use the cane downstairs, so if his ankle was acting up, he'd just have to deal. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Zack's misplaced guilt over it, either.
Once they reached the casino floor, Zack faded back to keep an eye on him from a distance. Ryan's first stop, as always, was the bar. Centrally located just past the main casino entrance, the bar was lined with video poker terminals, and was the base of operations for the small army of waitstaff that plied the gamblers with complimentary drinks. Frank was on duty at the bar, and he greeted him with his usual friendly grin and slid him a tonic and lime without having to be asked. When Mr. Wentz checked in later, Frank would verify to him that Ryan was downstairs and working the floor.
Though 'working' might be a bit of a strong word for it, Ryan thought idly as he sipped his drink. His only real job down here was to be seen. High rollers and other persons of interest in the casino would know about the 'extra' amenities the hotel offered, and the green pin Ryan wore would identify him to those in the know as one of those amenities. Anyone who liked what they saw could then arrange an appointment for later. It was something that had only been expected of him in the last year or so, since before that he simply looked too young to be seen walking around the casino floor without arousing suspicion, even with an impeccable fake ID in his pocket. Ryan thought he was pushing it now, but Mr. Wentz insisted, and nobody argued with Mr. Wentz. He usually only had to do it a couple of nights a week anyway, as the bulk of his 'work' was still the private parties and appointments that Mr. Wentz organized. Besides, Ryan couldn't really object to spending a couple of hours wandering around the tables and slot machines. It was fairly boring, but also almost like freedom, and certainly better than some of the other ways he could be spending his time. Like the private parties. At least out on the casino floor people could only undress him with their eyes. For the most part.
It never failed to make him uncomfortable, though, when he saw someone recognize the pin for what it was, recognize him for what he was. He hated the measuring, leering look some of them would get in their eyes. Sometimes they would get a little gropey, too, at which point Zack would have to step in and make it known that there were no free samples of the merchandise. Worse, though, could be the sneers of disgust he sometimes got from people. Not just from the clientele, but from some of the other casino staff who knew what he was.
He smiled and nodded at Jon as he passed his blackjack table. Jon was one of the few staff members who, like Frank, never seemed to look down on him. But he pointedly ignored the dealer at one of the other tables he passed.
His father.
Though he also had a suite at the hotel, down in the staff quarters, Ryan hardly ever saw him except for when he was working the floor, or, worse, when dealers were needed at one of the pivate parties. He could probably count on one hand the number of times they'd spoken in the past year. He simply had nothing to say to the man who was responsible for landing him here. And as long as he was here, doing what he was supposed to be doing, his father had nothing to say to him either.
As he completed another circuit of the huge room, he risked sitting at the bar for a few moments. After over two hours on his feet, his ankle was killing him, and if Mr. Wentz saw him walking with a noticeable limp, there'd be hell to pay. It was getting late anyway, almost time for him to go back upstairs. And then his real work would begin.
With a small grimace he got back on his feet. Once more around the room and then he was done. He turned to head back out into the casino and walked right into someone, causing the other person to spill his drink all over himself.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Ryan exclaimed. "Here, let me.... Frank, could I get a towel, please?" He turned back and looked the other man full in the face for the first time. And froze.
Spencer.
But... that was impossible. Spencer was too young to be in a casino. And what were the chances of him turning up here, in the same casino as Ryan? What were the chances of him literally running into Ryan, in a crowd of hundreds? But it was Spencer, because he was staring back at Ryan, obvioulsy just as shocked.
"Ryan? Fuck, Ryan? Is... is it really you?" Spencer gasped. The dark-haired boy he was with was looking back and forth between them like someone following the ball at a tennis match.
Ryan couldn't find it in himself to answer. He just couldn't believe that Spencer was really standing in front of him. Taller and slimmer but still obviously the boy who'd been his best friend in the world. The friend he'd left four years ago with nothing but a hurried, cryptic phone call, and a promise to call him back. Of course he hadn't. He wouldn't have, even if he'd been able to at the time. Call him and tell him what? That he was being forced to prostitute himself in a mob-run casino to pay his father's drug and gambling debts? It was that thought that finally unfroze his limbs. Spencer couldn't find out what had happened to him, what he'd been doing for the past four years, he just couldn't. He took a step backwards, but Spencer reached out and grabbed his arm, tightly enough that Ryan flinched.
"It is you! Fuck. Fuck, Ryan. Where... where the hell have you been?" Spencer demanded. Ryan just shook his head. If he opened his mouth, he was going to scream. Suddenly Zack was there, his hand on Spencer's arm.
"Let go," he said, voice calm and steady. He wouldn't cause a scene, not unless it was necessary. Not that they hadn't already garnered a few curious stares, including Frank's. Spencer obeyed immediately, eyes widening even more at Zack's appearance.
"What the hell is going on? Who is this?" Spencer cried. Zack took ahold of Ryan and started to steer him away. Numb, Ryan let it happen. "Wait!" Spencer took a step forward.
"Don't follow us," Zack ordered, the threat implied in his tone. It didn't seem like Spencer was going to listen, but his friend grabbed his arm and held him back.
"Dude, the pin!" the boy hissed into Spencer's ear. Spencer looked at him for a moment before his gaze shot back to Ryan, new understanding in his eyes as he watched him being led away.
Ryan wanted to curl up into a ball and die. He'd never wanted to see that look in Spencer's eyes, not directed at him. But somehow he couldn't stop looking back over his shoulder at Spencer until he was swallowed up by the crowd.
By the time Zack hustled him into an elevator and hit the button for their floor, icy-cold fear was pumping through Ryan's veins. Spencer knew. Spencer had found him. And surely he wouldn't just leave, without getting answers? What if... oh, fuck....
"Zack!" Ryan gasped, grabbing onto his arm. "Zack, you can't tell Mr. Wentz, okay? Please don't tell him, I'll do anything."
"Who the hell was that?" Zack demanded. Ryan stared back at him, biting his lip indecisively. Would Zack tell on him if he knew who it was? Should he make something up? Zack suddenly groaned, running a hand over his face. "Fuck, it was... it was your friend, right? Spencer?"
Ryan's knees suddenly felt weak, and he slumped against the elevator wall. "Please. If... if Mr. Wentz finds out he's here.... I've... I've been good, right? But he might not care, he might hurt him anyway, if he knows he's here! So please, Zack, if he doesn't leave on his own I'll convince him somehow, so you can't tell. Please, anything you want...." Which was a ridiculous, desperate thing to offer, because Zack was entitled to whatever he wanted from Ryan, anyway. Zack scowled, reaching out to grab his arm and propel him down the hallway when the elevator reached their floor.
"Stop fucking begging! I know you think I'm a monster, but I'm not completely without a heart. I won't tell the boss, not unless I have to. But you'd better hope that Spencer kid doesn't cause any trouble. What's he even doing here? Isn't he even younger than you are?"
Ryan looked away. "He turned eighteen today. I don't know what he's doing here." He didn't think Zack was a monster. He didn't. But he knew where his loyalties were. He'd hurt him before, and he'd do it again... if ordered to. And unlike Pete, Zack still took full advantage of his... benefits, even if he at times seemed to have grown strangely attached to him.
Zack grunted, sliding the key card through the lock to let them into their room. He glanced at his watch. "You have half an hour before your first appointment. There's eight booked for tonight. All of them coming here, no room calls. Mostly regulars, but your last block of the night is a new one, an... associate of Mr. Wentz's. Mr. Wentz will be accompanying him." Zack wouldn't meet his eyes, and Ryan swallowed back a tide of despair. Mr. Wentz joining in with a client was never a good sign, and the later appointment blocks were usually saved for clients who were paying the extra to play rough. Not a good combination at all.
He limped into the bathroom without a word, barely registering the pain in his ankle. He splashed water on his face before leaning over the sink, his limbs shaky with anxiety. The night promised to be especially awful, and he had Spencer to deal with on top of that? Hysterical tears threatened, but he fought them back viciously. Ryan hadn't let himself cry much here, not since the first few months. Crying didn't help anything, and it put a lot of the clients off, which in turn angered Mr. Wentz. He couldn't have his first client show up to find him with red eyes and a puffy face. He had to get himself under control.
Ryan stepped back from the sink and took several deep, slow breaths, trying to banish the cold fear and anxiety from his body. He wasn't very successful, but it'd have to do. He'd done this hundreds, probably thousands of times by now, and he could do it again, Spencer or no Spencer. And who knew, maybe he was so disgusted by the thought of Ryan being a whore that he'd just leave. The thought sent a fresh stab of pain through Ryan's chest, but it would be for the best, so he forced himself to hope for it. Spencer would only end up hurt if he stayed here, of that Ryan had no doubt. He forced all thoughts of Spencer to the back of his mind and went through the motions of getting ready for his client on autopilot.
As it turned out, Ryan was not all that successful in not thinking of Spencer. Between the dream that morning, the knowledge of what day it was, and having him actually show up and find out what Ryan was, the thoughts just would not be kept down. Remembering before, thinking of all the good times they'd had together, and even the not so good times, thinking of how much he missed him... it made Ryan's chest ache. And it made a bad night even worse.
True to form, the first few clients of the night generally just wanted a quick fuck. At worse, they'd call Ryan filthy names while doing it. After so long, he'd gotten reasonably good at distancing himself from the whole thing and just tuning them out. Normally. But that night he couldn't help but hear the dirty names and disgusted accusations of 'loving it' in Spencer's voice. What must Spencer be thinking of him? It left Ryan feeling sick and shaken.
Afterwards came the clients who were paying extra to be a little rough with him. Nothing too bad, still, just knocking him around a little, or maybe tying him down while they fucked him. Depending on exactly what the client wanted, the door to the suite stayed open so Zack could listen in, or, if the client wanted to gag Ryan, he actually sat in the room to watch and make sure things didn't get out of hand. There were a couple of clients that night in the more violent end of the category, including one for whom Zack had had to intervene, stopping him from hitting Ryan in the face again after already backhanding him twice. Some bruising was okay, but if they really wanted to hurt him, they had to pay even bigger bucks.
And there always were the ones willing to pay the bigger bucks. Not every single night, thankfully, but often enough. And it didn't seem like any request was too far out there, if the client was willing to pay the price asked. Ryan had the scars to prove it.
Such clients, when he had them, were always the last of the night. And since Mr. Wentz's own interests fell along those lines, if the client was a VIP or associate of some kind, he sometimes joined them. Ryan couldn't imagine anything worse. Except for the same to happen to Spencer.
When it was time for his last appointment that night, Ryan was mentally and physically exhausted. Being unable to stop thinking about Spencer had drained him, and made the whole night a more humilating and shaming experience than it had been in a long time. Not that it had ever stopped, but he'd gotten good at suppressing it, something that proved impossible that night. And between being fucked seven times, tied up none-too-gently three times, and having his face nearly beaten in, his whole body ached. He wanted to crawl into the shower and never come out again.
Naturally, Mr. Wentz and his guest had to show up early, and he was none-too-pleased to find Ryan huddled on the bed rather than up and waiting for them. He grabbed Ryan by the wrist and hauled him off the bed, tossing him to his knees in front of the other man. Ryan bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain and kept his gaze firmly planted on the carpet.
"With all that we do to look after him, he can still be so ungrateful," Mr. Wentz sneered. He reached out and grabbed Ryan's hair, pulling his head back so that the other man could see his face. Ryan couldn't help but blink fearfully at the stranger, who was heavily built and appeared to be in his mid-forties.
"He is indeed beautiful, David, I'll give you that," the man said, a cold, measuring look in his eyes. Ryan swallowed convulsively. "And nineteen, you said? He looks younger than that." He reached out and stroked a hand over Ryan's reddened cheek. Only Mr. Wentz's grip on his hair prevented Ryan from flinching away. He could have cursed himself. He'd had obedience beaten into him too often to be acting like this now, especially in front of Mr. Wentz. He just felt so off-center, he couldn't control himself as well as he usually could. "Looks like someone's already taken issue with him tonight. Is he often rebellious, David?"
"No," Mr. Wentz grumbled. "He's usually well-behaved. He's going to be punished for this recalcitrance, I can guarantee you that." Ryan wanted to sob. He hadn't even done anything that bad, they'd just caught him off-guard. As he saw the smile spread over the other man's face, he realized that it didn't matter what he did. They wanted to hurt him. He'd just given them an excuse, when they hadn't even needed one in the first place.
"Punished, hmm? Now that certainly sounds interesting," the man said, and then started to unbuckle his belt.
When the two men left, over an hour later, Ryan was once again huddled on the bed. There was blood on the sheets, blood on his skin, blood all over the whole room for all he knew. It hurt to breathe; all he could manage were short, shallow breaths. He wanted to wipe the blood and tears off his face but he couldn't bring himself to move. He'd been fucking sobbing by the end, and that hadn't happened in a very long time. But it had hurt so much, not just the beating, but... all of it. Ryan had thought that nobody could make it hurt like Mr. Wentz could, but he'd been well matched by the other man. The two of them together.... Ryan whimpered, clutching tighter to the pillow.
Zack came in with some wet washcloths and started to clean the worst of the mess from his skin. Ryan tried to stay as quiet as possible but couldn't help but cry out when Zack parted his cheeks to clean between them. Zack didn't say a word. After he was done he quietly went about getting ready for bed. Ryan felt stupidly grateful that he wasn't going to be made to get up so that Zack could change the sheets, which he usually preferred to do before going to bed. Even if he would have really liked to have brushed his teeth, getting up just seemed like too much effort. He felt less grateful when after sliding into bed, Zack gently but firmly nudged him over onto his stomach and settled his weight over him. He wanted to say something, cry, scream, anything, but Zack was more often than not insistant when he protested. So instead he just laid there as Zack thrust into him, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles were white, the pillow smothering his small cries and soaking up the few traitorous tears that escaped.
For the next three days, Ryan didn't have to see clients. Mr. Wentz's friend must have paid big bucks indeed, to have been allowed to put him out of commission for so long. But he hardly made for an enticing fuck, in so much pain he could barely move, welts covering his body, and his face bruised and swollen. The hotel doctor came with antibiotic cream for the welts from the belt and for... other places, and supplied Zack with ice packs for his face. He even left some of the heavy-duty prescription painkillers that were usually denied him. Mr. Wentz had decided that he was too 'unresponsive' while on the drugs, and therefore had mostly cut him off from them when it had become apparent that he was becoming addicted, some months into his residency at the casino. Ryan couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself for how relieved he was to get the pills, when he was allowed them, but they made everything so numb. Being numbed from the pain was bliss. But even the normally welcome haze of Vicodin in his mind could not quiet his anxiety about having seen Spencer. So for three days he waited in fear for the other shoe to drop, for some sign that Mr. Wentz knew Spencer had shown up. And for three days, nothing happened.
On the fourth day, Mr. Wentz declared Ryan fit to return to servicing clients. Though still bruised, the swelling on his face had gone down enough that the bruises could be covered with makeup. So that night Ryan would make rounds in the casino for a couple of hours, followed by a private party in one of the high roller suites on the top floor of the hotel.
Ryan stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, carefully applying his makeup. Covering the still-substantial bruises called for a more intricate design than the other day, he decided. First the base coat of foundation, followed by three bands of colour, each thinner than the last and blending into each other, across his eyes, followed by a flock of carefully painted birds across his cheek. There was comfort in the ritual of it, the elaborate makeup something he'd started doing not long after his arrival. Turning something necessary to mask damage into something he could use as a mask for himself. It had amused Mr. Wentz at first, but now he liked it, because a lot of the clients liked it.
As calming as it generally was, like the Vicodin, it was not enough to quiet his fears. Would Spencer still be around? He wouldn't still be lurking around the casino after four days, would he? What would he do if he was? How could he convince him to leave, for his own good?
Anxious thoughts swirled in his mind as he rode the elevator down with Zack. As soon as they walked out onto the floor Ryan found himself scanning for Spencer. Which was ridiculous. It's not like he would have camped out for days by the bar, waiting for Ryan to return. Right? He shook his head at himself. Zack shot him a narrow-eyed glare before fading back into the crowd. Ryan had the uncomfortable thought that Zack had known exactly what was on his mind.
There was no sign of Spencer, of course, but a little voice in the back of his mind told him that was hardly comforting, in a crowd of hundreds. He could still be there. Sighing, Ryan headed to the bar and greeted Frank with a nervous smile. Frank grinned back at him before quickly whipping up his tonic and lime and sliding it over to him.
"Hey kid, we missed you down here! Glad you're doing better! Though I guess it sucks that you're back on the job, huh?" he said cheerily. Ryan blinked at him. Frank seemed like a pretty trustworthy guy. He'd alwasy been nice to him, never seeming to look down on him, even knowing he was nothing but a whore. And Ryan had to see if he could find out something, anything.
"Um, thanks. Hey, do you, uh, remember that guy I bumped into the other night?" he asked carefully. As soon as he asked it he felt silly. Frank saw hundreds of people a day, and it was four days ago now. But Frank tilted his head a little and considered for a second before nodding.
"Young guy, light brown hair? Yeah, I remember him. You know him? Seemed like there was a little something going on there," Frank answered. Ryan swallowed nervously. Was he making a mistake in bringing attention to the incident? Would Frank report back to Mr. Wentz about it? But there was nothing but open curiosity on Frank's face, no sign of ill-intent.
"Well... it's complicated. He, uh, he hasn't been around since, has he?" Ryan asked, his heart pounding. He nearly cried with relief when Frank shook his head.
"Nope, haven't seen him. I can keep an eye out for him, if you like. Just between us," Frank said with a wink and a grin. Ryan blinked at him.
"Thanks. Thanks, I really appreciate that, Frank," Ryan said. He had to pick up his drink and move away before he did something embarassing like start to cry. But people here didn't do nice things for him. It just didn't happen. And people certainly didn't keep things from Mr. Wentz for him. There was definitely something strange about Frank. Feeling more confused than ever, he started his 'rounds'.
Not even halfway through his first walk-through, Ryan found Pete sitting at Jon's blackjack table, Bob hovering a discreet distance away. And he wasn't alone. He waved Ryan over enthusiastically, and he went over a little reluctantly, quickly scanning around for Mr. Wentz or anyone likely to report to him that Ryan wasn't doing his job.
"Hey Ry, I was hoping we'd see you. I wanted you guys to meet! Ryan, this is Mikey, he just started working in the club." Pete waggled his eyebrows significantly and Ryan had to hold back a smirk. "Mikey this is Ryan!" Pete said, nearly bouncing on his stool. Jon hid a chuckle by discreetly coughing into his hand. Mikey was a gangly, long-limbed guy maybe a few years older than Ryan, with a crow's nest for a hairstyle, thick-framed glasses, and a bored expression on his face. His eyes ran over Ryan with apparent disinterest, lingering for a moment on the green pin. Ryan barely suppressed a grimace.
"Hey," Mikey said, with absolutely no inflection.
"Hey," Ryan answered back, managing a tight smile.
"Awesome!" Pete exclaimed. "I've told each of you all about the other one, I'm so psyched that you could finally meet!"
"Yeah, that's great, Pete, but I should probably get going. I'm working, remember?" Ryan said, holding on to the smile. 'All about him', huh? Mikey definitely knew he was a whore. Pete's face dimmed a little.
"Oh, right, sorry. Yeah, I wouldn't want you to get in trouble," he replied. Ryan nodded. It was almost like Pete had forgotten for a moment where they were, who they were. Ryan was desperately jealous that he could do that.
"Uh, I guess I'll see you later, Ryan," Jon spoke up just as he was about to continue on his way, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Ryan frowned at him.
"Later...?" he questioned. Jon wouldn't meet his eyes. Fear spiked through Ryan's gut.
"Yeah.... Uh, Mr. Wentz told me earlier... he wants me to, uh, work the party tonight. The one in the penthouse suite?" Jon said nervously. Ryan stared at him in disbelief. Jon had never been one of the dealers at the 'special' parties before. Had never... seen. Sure he knew what Ryan's role was, but he'd never seen. "I'm sorry," Jon continued, looking genuinely aggrieved. "I didn't want you to be surprised when you saw me there. I'm... I'm really fucking sorry, Ryan. If there was any way I could get out of it...."
"No, of course, it's not your fault," Ryan found himself saying. "It's... it's fine. It'll be fine." Jon finally looked at him, and his expression clearly showed that he didn't believe for one second that Ryan was fine. Pete was looking at him with an expression of abject pity, too. He couldn't take it for one second longer. He turned and walked away.
So Jon was going to see. Actually see him be a whore, see him be fucked by probably a dozen people or more. And not even 'just' that. Party-goers always wanted to... to play. He'd never be able to look Jon in the face again. And what Jon would think of him.... The thought burned. He really liked Jon. There were so few friendly faces in his life... he didn't want to lose one.
Which made him think... did Mr. Wentz arrange it that way on purpose? Did he see Jon being friendly to him, see Ryan being friendly back and get... what? Mad? Jealous? The more Ryan thought about it, the more it seemed likely. Mr. Wentz never seemed to miss a chance to make him suffer. He always had Ryan's father work the parties if there were going to be gambling tables, had enjoyed having his father watch him being raped since... since that very first night. Ryan shuddered at the memory. Destroying whatever tenuous relationship he had with Jon would be just a blip on the radar of what Mr. Wentz was capable of.
Lost as he was in his own thoughts, Ryan almost ran into one of the waiters who also made rounds in the casino. It seemed running into people was becoming a habit of his.
"Fuck, sorry," he mumbled as he tried to edge around him.
"Hey, no problem, man! It's crazy in here, I'm surprised there aren't more collisions. It's only my second day, I'm sure I'm due to drop some stuff tonight anyway!" the guy replied with far too much enthusiasm. Ryan stared at him. Fuck, he looked familiar. Realization dawned, sending a spark of fear racing down his spine.
It was the guy who had been with Spencer four nights ago. The one who had whispered to him about the pin.
"Wait!" he hissed, reaching out to grab the guy's arm as he started to continue on his way. The guy looked at him expectantly.
"You... you know Spencer, right?" Ryan asked urgently. He was absolutely sure it was him, even if he'd only seen him the one time.
"Maybe!" The guy chirped cheerfully. "But I don't think that's really something we should be talking about right now. I think it's best that you don't let on that you know me, don't ya think? Especially since you don't actually know me," he said with a wink before disappearing into the throng of people.
Ryan stood there for a moment, gaping like a fish. What the hell? Spencer had to be behind it somehow, but why? And all the waiters worked through the bar.... Was Frank involved, too? He'd witnessed the run-in a few days ago. Why the hell would he risk something like that?
Zack appeared at his side, scowling, and it nearly gave Ryan a heart attack, effectively breaking him out of his reverie.
"What was that about?" Zack demanded. Ryan shook his head a bit, bringing himself back under control.
"N-nothing. I almost knocked him over. I apologized, he said it was no big deal. That's it," he said. Zack nodded curtly.
"Then get back to work. Mr. Wentz is on the floor." With that he retreated back to a more discreet distance.
Ryan swallowed nervously and started walking again. Fuck. Mr. Wentz was around and Spencer and some random friend and possibly Frank were up to something and he didn't know what. Fuck!
All too soon, it was time to go back upstairs and get ready for the private party. Ryan felt more dread than usual, knowing that Jon would be there. He touched up his make-up and changed clothes, skin-tight jeans and shirt that left little to the imagination and made him look every bit the whore he was. Too ridiculous an outfit for his rounds downstairs, but sure to get the party-goers salivating.
When he emerged into the main room of the suite, Zack gave him a tight-lipped look. Ryan looked away. Even after all these years, he never got over feeling ashamed to be dressed in such a way. Even in front of Zack, who had seen him at his worst.
"Let's get going, you don't want to be late," Zack said grimly. Ryan followed him without a word, dread coiling in his stomach.
The penthouse where the party was taking place was only two floors above, so the elevator ride passed all too quickly. Zach exchanged a nod with the security guy at the door, who let them into the suite with a knowing smirk at Ryan. Ryan looked away. Inside the party was well under way. Upbeat music blasted from the state-of-the-art sound system. Men and and women dressed in stylish, expensive clothes drank, danced and gambled at one of the handful of games tables that took up one end of the spacious main room of the suite. Ryan's father manned the craps table. After a glance in their direction, he purposefully looked away, his face expressionless. Jon was at the blackjack table. For one terrible moment his and Ryan's gazes locked before they both looked quickly away. It would have been hard to say which of them was more embarassed.
At the other end of the room, past a few artfully arranged armchairs, there was a large king sized bed on a raised dais. Ryan knew without a doubt that that was where he would shortly end up, on display for everyone. There were others here like him, entertainment provided by the casino's management, but none of the others were exactly like him. They were... employees, for one thing, there of their own free will. Not... whatever it was that he was. They were generally a bit older than him, too, and certainly none of them had been there since they were fifteen, like he had been. And their purpose at the party was different as well. They were eye candy, there to look pretty and make things more fun, and if anyone was interested in more, they would discreetly retire to one of the suite's bedrooms, or to the guest's own room. He... he would be expected to perform for everyone.
A man, one Ryan knew all too well, broke away from a chattering group and headed towards them. "And the main attraction arrives! It's been far too long since I last had the pleasure, Ryan," he said with a wide grin, his eyes raking up and down Ryan's body. Ryan forced himself not to shudder. He had to get himself under control. He had to set aside everything that had been happening, Spencer, his friend, the fact that Jon was there, and just not feel anything. He could do it, he had done it hundreds of times before.
"Richardson," Zack acknowledged the man with a small nod. With one last look at Ryan, he faded back to join the other men working security, hovering discreetly on the outskirts of the party.
"Mmm, Ryan, you are as gorgeous as ever," Richardson purred, running a hand possessively through Ryan's hair and then down over his cheek. Ryan took a small, steadying breath and managed a small smile. Richardson was a regular, a powerful man with specific tastes. If Ryan didn't please him, there'd be hell to pay with Mr. Wentz later. As awful and humiliating as the night promised to be, Mr. Wentz's wrath would be far, far worse.
Richardson drew him closer, pressing his body against his and running his hands down over Ryan's back to knead his ass obscenely. Ryan's breath hitched in his chest as some of Richardson's friends hooted and cat-called, but he just arched against the pressure like he knew he was expected to do. He could feel Richardson's grin against his neck as the man leaned down to rub his face against him before starting to lick and suck at his skin, hands never ceasing their groping exploration of his ass. Ryan swallowed convulsively and stared at the ceiling. Finallly, the man drew back, a leer on his face.
"We're going to have so much fun tonight, Ryan, just you wait and see. Here, let me introduce you to some of my friends. They're going to be your friends, too, Ryan. You're going to be very, very friendly to them...."
Part 2.
Author: raise_a_glass
Bands: PATD, MCR, CS
Pairings: OCs/Ryan, Zack/Ryan, Pete/Mikey
Warnings: Rape, abuse, drugs, suicidal thoughts
Word Count: ~26,400
Disclaimer: Complete and utter fiction.
Summary: When he's 15, Ryan's father packs him up and brings him to the mob-run casino where he works, and he is put to work as a prostitute to re-pay his father's gambling debts. Four years later, Spencer shows up, and Ryan's whole world is turned upside down.
Author's Note: For bandombigbang. This has been a WIP in my brain for far longer than I would like to admit to. I am happy beyond words that it is finally done. XD
“Spencer? Fuck... I only have a minute. My dad’s completely lost his shit, I swear..."
“Calm down, Ryan. What’s going on?"
“He said... he said we’re moving, Spencer. When I got home he was throwing shit in his suitcase, said we’re leaving tonight. Fuck, he’s so fucking drunk....”
“Moving? He can’t be serious, Ryan. He’ll... he’ll pass out eventually and sleep it off. I can get my mom and we’ll come pick you up, okay? You can just spend the night again.”
“Fuck! He’s coming up the stairs! I’m supposed to be packing! I’ll... I’ll call you when I know what’s going on, okay Spencer? I promise!”
“No, Ryan, don’t g-"
Ryan woke with a start, blinking at the mid-afternoon light slanting in through the windows. He ran a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. He'd forgotten to close the blinds last night. This morning. Whatever.
He started to roll over so that he'd be facing away from the light but encountered a warm weight at his back. Zack, snoring softly. Ryan sighed, staring at the ceiling. He was well and truly awake anyway. May as well get up. He carefully extricated himself from the bed, not wanting to wake Zack. He winced as his left foot hit the floor. His ankle was always stiff and sore when he first woke up. He ignored the cane leaning against the night table and limped into the bathroom.
The dream replayed itself in his mind as he climbed into the shower. He hadn't let himself think of that hurried phone conversation in a long time. It wasn't something he liked to dwell on. It was no mystery, though, why it was on his mind now. It was September 2nd. He was unlikely to ever forget Spencer's birthday, and not only because he'd been his best friend. It was only a couple of days after his own. And tomorrow, the day after Spencer's birthday, would mark four years since that phone call. Four years since he'd seen or spoken to Spencer at all.
A few hours later found Ryan back in the bathroom, making himself presentable. Zack had informed him that he didn't have any pre-scheduled appointments until much later that night. So in the meantime he was to put in an appearance in the casino. And for that he had to look his best. There wasn't anything too bad to deal with that night, thankfully. Just the fading remnants of a bruise over his right cheekbone from almost a week ago. Easily covered up with a bit of foundation. He kept the rest of his makeup relatively simple, not really in the mood to linger on it. Just bands of purple fading into his hairline at his temples. That, a generous amount of eyeliner, and some gel spiking up his hair, and he was the perfect picture of a boy-whore, he thought bitterly. Newly nineteen, and he still looked about fourteen in the make-up. But that's what a lot of the clients went for.
The outer door of the suite burst open while Ryan was still getting dressed. Zack jumped to his feet, hand going for the holster at his side, but it was just Pete, the younger brother of the casino boss, with Bob, his bodyguard, trailing silently behind him.
"Fuck," Zack muttered. “Even you should learn to knock, you know. I don't care if your brother practically runs the whole hotel."
"Don't give me that, I'm having a crisis here! I need to talk to Ryan!" Pete declared, waving his hands dramatically.
"Ryan has to work," Zack said tersely. "If he's not downstairs in ten minutes, it's your brother he'll have to answer to." Pete made a dismissive noise and continued on through the open door into the bedroom. Ryan grimaced at the mention of Pete's brother, and ignored the other man as he flopped down on the bed behind him. He finished buttoning his brocade vest before picking up the green pin off the dresser and afixing it to his lapel.
"I'm in love," Pete declared after it became clear that Ryan was not going to acknowledge his presence.
"Oh, really?" Ryan replied dryly, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on.
"Yes, really! He just started working in the nightclub, doing sound or some shit. Outside help, you know, not, uh, family. So we can totally run away together and he can marry me and save me from a life of crime," Pete answered. Ryan turned to look at Pete with a raised eyebrow. Pete stared back at him, his face open and completely earnest. Not for the first time, Ryan boggled at the fact that for the first few months he'd been here, he'd been terrified of Pete Wentz. Well, he'd been terrified of everyone then, and for good reason. And it wasn't like Pete had never done anything to him. His position as brother of the casino boss, David Wentz, had granted him free access to Ryan. But he'd never hurt him, not really. And he hadn't touched him at all in over two years. Instead, Pete had somehow come to regard Ryan as his own personal confidante. Ryan wasn't sure how he'd rated such a position, but things were as they were.
"So? What's this knight in shining armour's name?" he finally asked. Pete kind of deflated.
"Well... I don't know yet." Pete admitted. Ryan couldn't suppress a small grin.
"Considering who you are I don't imagine it should be too hard for you to find out," Ryan commented.
"Of course not, that's not the point. The point is, how do I make him fall in love with me?" Pete whined.
"You aren't seriously asking me for dating advice?" Ryan asked incredulously.
"Well, who the hell else am I going to ask, Bob?" Pete demanded, a pout creeping onto his face.
"I heard that," Bob's disembodied voice floated in from the other room. Pete grinned unrepentently.
"Get someone who's not a whore to sleep with you and maybe I'll revise my opinion!" he called out. The grin vanished from Ryan's face and he stood up quickly, brushing imaginary lint from his vest. Pete's eyes widened. "Oh, shit, Ryan, I didn't think...."
"It's fine," Ryan said shortly, moving out into the other room. "Zack's right, I have to get downstairs. Just be your usual charming self with your mystery guy and I’m sure it'll all work out."
"No, seriously, I'm really sorry. You know I just don't think sometimes before I say stuff," Pete continued, following behind him.
"And I said it was fine. Really." Ryan did his best to produce a smile, but it still came out rather stiff. "Let's go, Zack."
He'd stumbled a bit on the way to the elevator, pain flaring briefly in his left ankle, as it was wont to do. Zack had reached out to help him, inquiring if he was okay, but he'd brushed him off. They both knew that he wasn't allowed to use the cane downstairs, so if his ankle was acting up, he'd just have to deal. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Zack's misplaced guilt over it, either.
Once they reached the casino floor, Zack faded back to keep an eye on him from a distance. Ryan's first stop, as always, was the bar. Centrally located just past the main casino entrance, the bar was lined with video poker terminals, and was the base of operations for the small army of waitstaff that plied the gamblers with complimentary drinks. Frank was on duty at the bar, and he greeted him with his usual friendly grin and slid him a tonic and lime without having to be asked. When Mr. Wentz checked in later, Frank would verify to him that Ryan was downstairs and working the floor.
Though 'working' might be a bit of a strong word for it, Ryan thought idly as he sipped his drink. His only real job down here was to be seen. High rollers and other persons of interest in the casino would know about the 'extra' amenities the hotel offered, and the green pin Ryan wore would identify him to those in the know as one of those amenities. Anyone who liked what they saw could then arrange an appointment for later. It was something that had only been expected of him in the last year or so, since before that he simply looked too young to be seen walking around the casino floor without arousing suspicion, even with an impeccable fake ID in his pocket. Ryan thought he was pushing it now, but Mr. Wentz insisted, and nobody argued with Mr. Wentz. He usually only had to do it a couple of nights a week anyway, as the bulk of his 'work' was still the private parties and appointments that Mr. Wentz organized. Besides, Ryan couldn't really object to spending a couple of hours wandering around the tables and slot machines. It was fairly boring, but also almost like freedom, and certainly better than some of the other ways he could be spending his time. Like the private parties. At least out on the casino floor people could only undress him with their eyes. For the most part.
It never failed to make him uncomfortable, though, when he saw someone recognize the pin for what it was, recognize him for what he was. He hated the measuring, leering look some of them would get in their eyes. Sometimes they would get a little gropey, too, at which point Zack would have to step in and make it known that there were no free samples of the merchandise. Worse, though, could be the sneers of disgust he sometimes got from people. Not just from the clientele, but from some of the other casino staff who knew what he was.
He smiled and nodded at Jon as he passed his blackjack table. Jon was one of the few staff members who, like Frank, never seemed to look down on him. But he pointedly ignored the dealer at one of the other tables he passed.
His father.
Though he also had a suite at the hotel, down in the staff quarters, Ryan hardly ever saw him except for when he was working the floor, or, worse, when dealers were needed at one of the pivate parties. He could probably count on one hand the number of times they'd spoken in the past year. He simply had nothing to say to the man who was responsible for landing him here. And as long as he was here, doing what he was supposed to be doing, his father had nothing to say to him either.
As he completed another circuit of the huge room, he risked sitting at the bar for a few moments. After over two hours on his feet, his ankle was killing him, and if Mr. Wentz saw him walking with a noticeable limp, there'd be hell to pay. It was getting late anyway, almost time for him to go back upstairs. And then his real work would begin.
With a small grimace he got back on his feet. Once more around the room and then he was done. He turned to head back out into the casino and walked right into someone, causing the other person to spill his drink all over himself.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Ryan exclaimed. "Here, let me.... Frank, could I get a towel, please?" He turned back and looked the other man full in the face for the first time. And froze.
Spencer.
But... that was impossible. Spencer was too young to be in a casino. And what were the chances of him turning up here, in the same casino as Ryan? What were the chances of him literally running into Ryan, in a crowd of hundreds? But it was Spencer, because he was staring back at Ryan, obvioulsy just as shocked.
"Ryan? Fuck, Ryan? Is... is it really you?" Spencer gasped. The dark-haired boy he was with was looking back and forth between them like someone following the ball at a tennis match.
Ryan couldn't find it in himself to answer. He just couldn't believe that Spencer was really standing in front of him. Taller and slimmer but still obviously the boy who'd been his best friend in the world. The friend he'd left four years ago with nothing but a hurried, cryptic phone call, and a promise to call him back. Of course he hadn't. He wouldn't have, even if he'd been able to at the time. Call him and tell him what? That he was being forced to prostitute himself in a mob-run casino to pay his father's drug and gambling debts? It was that thought that finally unfroze his limbs. Spencer couldn't find out what had happened to him, what he'd been doing for the past four years, he just couldn't. He took a step backwards, but Spencer reached out and grabbed his arm, tightly enough that Ryan flinched.
"It is you! Fuck. Fuck, Ryan. Where... where the hell have you been?" Spencer demanded. Ryan just shook his head. If he opened his mouth, he was going to scream. Suddenly Zack was there, his hand on Spencer's arm.
"Let go," he said, voice calm and steady. He wouldn't cause a scene, not unless it was necessary. Not that they hadn't already garnered a few curious stares, including Frank's. Spencer obeyed immediately, eyes widening even more at Zack's appearance.
"What the hell is going on? Who is this?" Spencer cried. Zack took ahold of Ryan and started to steer him away. Numb, Ryan let it happen. "Wait!" Spencer took a step forward.
"Don't follow us," Zack ordered, the threat implied in his tone. It didn't seem like Spencer was going to listen, but his friend grabbed his arm and held him back.
"Dude, the pin!" the boy hissed into Spencer's ear. Spencer looked at him for a moment before his gaze shot back to Ryan, new understanding in his eyes as he watched him being led away.
Ryan wanted to curl up into a ball and die. He'd never wanted to see that look in Spencer's eyes, not directed at him. But somehow he couldn't stop looking back over his shoulder at Spencer until he was swallowed up by the crowd.
By the time Zack hustled him into an elevator and hit the button for their floor, icy-cold fear was pumping through Ryan's veins. Spencer knew. Spencer had found him. And surely he wouldn't just leave, without getting answers? What if... oh, fuck....
"Zack!" Ryan gasped, grabbing onto his arm. "Zack, you can't tell Mr. Wentz, okay? Please don't tell him, I'll do anything."
"Who the hell was that?" Zack demanded. Ryan stared back at him, biting his lip indecisively. Would Zack tell on him if he knew who it was? Should he make something up? Zack suddenly groaned, running a hand over his face. "Fuck, it was... it was your friend, right? Spencer?"
Ryan's knees suddenly felt weak, and he slumped against the elevator wall. "Please. If... if Mr. Wentz finds out he's here.... I've... I've been good, right? But he might not care, he might hurt him anyway, if he knows he's here! So please, Zack, if he doesn't leave on his own I'll convince him somehow, so you can't tell. Please, anything you want...." Which was a ridiculous, desperate thing to offer, because Zack was entitled to whatever he wanted from Ryan, anyway. Zack scowled, reaching out to grab his arm and propel him down the hallway when the elevator reached their floor.
"Stop fucking begging! I know you think I'm a monster, but I'm not completely without a heart. I won't tell the boss, not unless I have to. But you'd better hope that Spencer kid doesn't cause any trouble. What's he even doing here? Isn't he even younger than you are?"
Ryan looked away. "He turned eighteen today. I don't know what he's doing here." He didn't think Zack was a monster. He didn't. But he knew where his loyalties were. He'd hurt him before, and he'd do it again... if ordered to. And unlike Pete, Zack still took full advantage of his... benefits, even if he at times seemed to have grown strangely attached to him.
Zack grunted, sliding the key card through the lock to let them into their room. He glanced at his watch. "You have half an hour before your first appointment. There's eight booked for tonight. All of them coming here, no room calls. Mostly regulars, but your last block of the night is a new one, an... associate of Mr. Wentz's. Mr. Wentz will be accompanying him." Zack wouldn't meet his eyes, and Ryan swallowed back a tide of despair. Mr. Wentz joining in with a client was never a good sign, and the later appointment blocks were usually saved for clients who were paying the extra to play rough. Not a good combination at all.
He limped into the bathroom without a word, barely registering the pain in his ankle. He splashed water on his face before leaning over the sink, his limbs shaky with anxiety. The night promised to be especially awful, and he had Spencer to deal with on top of that? Hysterical tears threatened, but he fought them back viciously. Ryan hadn't let himself cry much here, not since the first few months. Crying didn't help anything, and it put a lot of the clients off, which in turn angered Mr. Wentz. He couldn't have his first client show up to find him with red eyes and a puffy face. He had to get himself under control.
Ryan stepped back from the sink and took several deep, slow breaths, trying to banish the cold fear and anxiety from his body. He wasn't very successful, but it'd have to do. He'd done this hundreds, probably thousands of times by now, and he could do it again, Spencer or no Spencer. And who knew, maybe he was so disgusted by the thought of Ryan being a whore that he'd just leave. The thought sent a fresh stab of pain through Ryan's chest, but it would be for the best, so he forced himself to hope for it. Spencer would only end up hurt if he stayed here, of that Ryan had no doubt. He forced all thoughts of Spencer to the back of his mind and went through the motions of getting ready for his client on autopilot.
As it turned out, Ryan was not all that successful in not thinking of Spencer. Between the dream that morning, the knowledge of what day it was, and having him actually show up and find out what Ryan was, the thoughts just would not be kept down. Remembering before, thinking of all the good times they'd had together, and even the not so good times, thinking of how much he missed him... it made Ryan's chest ache. And it made a bad night even worse.
True to form, the first few clients of the night generally just wanted a quick fuck. At worse, they'd call Ryan filthy names while doing it. After so long, he'd gotten reasonably good at distancing himself from the whole thing and just tuning them out. Normally. But that night he couldn't help but hear the dirty names and disgusted accusations of 'loving it' in Spencer's voice. What must Spencer be thinking of him? It left Ryan feeling sick and shaken.
Afterwards came the clients who were paying extra to be a little rough with him. Nothing too bad, still, just knocking him around a little, or maybe tying him down while they fucked him. Depending on exactly what the client wanted, the door to the suite stayed open so Zack could listen in, or, if the client wanted to gag Ryan, he actually sat in the room to watch and make sure things didn't get out of hand. There were a couple of clients that night in the more violent end of the category, including one for whom Zack had had to intervene, stopping him from hitting Ryan in the face again after already backhanding him twice. Some bruising was okay, but if they really wanted to hurt him, they had to pay even bigger bucks.
And there always were the ones willing to pay the bigger bucks. Not every single night, thankfully, but often enough. And it didn't seem like any request was too far out there, if the client was willing to pay the price asked. Ryan had the scars to prove it.
Such clients, when he had them, were always the last of the night. And since Mr. Wentz's own interests fell along those lines, if the client was a VIP or associate of some kind, he sometimes joined them. Ryan couldn't imagine anything worse. Except for the same to happen to Spencer.
When it was time for his last appointment that night, Ryan was mentally and physically exhausted. Being unable to stop thinking about Spencer had drained him, and made the whole night a more humilating and shaming experience than it had been in a long time. Not that it had ever stopped, but he'd gotten good at suppressing it, something that proved impossible that night. And between being fucked seven times, tied up none-too-gently three times, and having his face nearly beaten in, his whole body ached. He wanted to crawl into the shower and never come out again.
Naturally, Mr. Wentz and his guest had to show up early, and he was none-too-pleased to find Ryan huddled on the bed rather than up and waiting for them. He grabbed Ryan by the wrist and hauled him off the bed, tossing him to his knees in front of the other man. Ryan bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain and kept his gaze firmly planted on the carpet.
"With all that we do to look after him, he can still be so ungrateful," Mr. Wentz sneered. He reached out and grabbed Ryan's hair, pulling his head back so that the other man could see his face. Ryan couldn't help but blink fearfully at the stranger, who was heavily built and appeared to be in his mid-forties.
"He is indeed beautiful, David, I'll give you that," the man said, a cold, measuring look in his eyes. Ryan swallowed convulsively. "And nineteen, you said? He looks younger than that." He reached out and stroked a hand over Ryan's reddened cheek. Only Mr. Wentz's grip on his hair prevented Ryan from flinching away. He could have cursed himself. He'd had obedience beaten into him too often to be acting like this now, especially in front of Mr. Wentz. He just felt so off-center, he couldn't control himself as well as he usually could. "Looks like someone's already taken issue with him tonight. Is he often rebellious, David?"
"No," Mr. Wentz grumbled. "He's usually well-behaved. He's going to be punished for this recalcitrance, I can guarantee you that." Ryan wanted to sob. He hadn't even done anything that bad, they'd just caught him off-guard. As he saw the smile spread over the other man's face, he realized that it didn't matter what he did. They wanted to hurt him. He'd just given them an excuse, when they hadn't even needed one in the first place.
"Punished, hmm? Now that certainly sounds interesting," the man said, and then started to unbuckle his belt.
When the two men left, over an hour later, Ryan was once again huddled on the bed. There was blood on the sheets, blood on his skin, blood all over the whole room for all he knew. It hurt to breathe; all he could manage were short, shallow breaths. He wanted to wipe the blood and tears off his face but he couldn't bring himself to move. He'd been fucking sobbing by the end, and that hadn't happened in a very long time. But it had hurt so much, not just the beating, but... all of it. Ryan had thought that nobody could make it hurt like Mr. Wentz could, but he'd been well matched by the other man. The two of them together.... Ryan whimpered, clutching tighter to the pillow.
Zack came in with some wet washcloths and started to clean the worst of the mess from his skin. Ryan tried to stay as quiet as possible but couldn't help but cry out when Zack parted his cheeks to clean between them. Zack didn't say a word. After he was done he quietly went about getting ready for bed. Ryan felt stupidly grateful that he wasn't going to be made to get up so that Zack could change the sheets, which he usually preferred to do before going to bed. Even if he would have really liked to have brushed his teeth, getting up just seemed like too much effort. He felt less grateful when after sliding into bed, Zack gently but firmly nudged him over onto his stomach and settled his weight over him. He wanted to say something, cry, scream, anything, but Zack was more often than not insistant when he protested. So instead he just laid there as Zack thrust into him, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles were white, the pillow smothering his small cries and soaking up the few traitorous tears that escaped.
For the next three days, Ryan didn't have to see clients. Mr. Wentz's friend must have paid big bucks indeed, to have been allowed to put him out of commission for so long. But he hardly made for an enticing fuck, in so much pain he could barely move, welts covering his body, and his face bruised and swollen. The hotel doctor came with antibiotic cream for the welts from the belt and for... other places, and supplied Zack with ice packs for his face. He even left some of the heavy-duty prescription painkillers that were usually denied him. Mr. Wentz had decided that he was too 'unresponsive' while on the drugs, and therefore had mostly cut him off from them when it had become apparent that he was becoming addicted, some months into his residency at the casino. Ryan couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself for how relieved he was to get the pills, when he was allowed them, but they made everything so numb. Being numbed from the pain was bliss. But even the normally welcome haze of Vicodin in his mind could not quiet his anxiety about having seen Spencer. So for three days he waited in fear for the other shoe to drop, for some sign that Mr. Wentz knew Spencer had shown up. And for three days, nothing happened.
On the fourth day, Mr. Wentz declared Ryan fit to return to servicing clients. Though still bruised, the swelling on his face had gone down enough that the bruises could be covered with makeup. So that night Ryan would make rounds in the casino for a couple of hours, followed by a private party in one of the high roller suites on the top floor of the hotel.
Ryan stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, carefully applying his makeup. Covering the still-substantial bruises called for a more intricate design than the other day, he decided. First the base coat of foundation, followed by three bands of colour, each thinner than the last and blending into each other, across his eyes, followed by a flock of carefully painted birds across his cheek. There was comfort in the ritual of it, the elaborate makeup something he'd started doing not long after his arrival. Turning something necessary to mask damage into something he could use as a mask for himself. It had amused Mr. Wentz at first, but now he liked it, because a lot of the clients liked it.
As calming as it generally was, like the Vicodin, it was not enough to quiet his fears. Would Spencer still be around? He wouldn't still be lurking around the casino after four days, would he? What would he do if he was? How could he convince him to leave, for his own good?
Anxious thoughts swirled in his mind as he rode the elevator down with Zack. As soon as they walked out onto the floor Ryan found himself scanning for Spencer. Which was ridiculous. It's not like he would have camped out for days by the bar, waiting for Ryan to return. Right? He shook his head at himself. Zack shot him a narrow-eyed glare before fading back into the crowd. Ryan had the uncomfortable thought that Zack had known exactly what was on his mind.
There was no sign of Spencer, of course, but a little voice in the back of his mind told him that was hardly comforting, in a crowd of hundreds. He could still be there. Sighing, Ryan headed to the bar and greeted Frank with a nervous smile. Frank grinned back at him before quickly whipping up his tonic and lime and sliding it over to him.
"Hey kid, we missed you down here! Glad you're doing better! Though I guess it sucks that you're back on the job, huh?" he said cheerily. Ryan blinked at him. Frank seemed like a pretty trustworthy guy. He'd alwasy been nice to him, never seeming to look down on him, even knowing he was nothing but a whore. And Ryan had to see if he could find out something, anything.
"Um, thanks. Hey, do you, uh, remember that guy I bumped into the other night?" he asked carefully. As soon as he asked it he felt silly. Frank saw hundreds of people a day, and it was four days ago now. But Frank tilted his head a little and considered for a second before nodding.
"Young guy, light brown hair? Yeah, I remember him. You know him? Seemed like there was a little something going on there," Frank answered. Ryan swallowed nervously. Was he making a mistake in bringing attention to the incident? Would Frank report back to Mr. Wentz about it? But there was nothing but open curiosity on Frank's face, no sign of ill-intent.
"Well... it's complicated. He, uh, he hasn't been around since, has he?" Ryan asked, his heart pounding. He nearly cried with relief when Frank shook his head.
"Nope, haven't seen him. I can keep an eye out for him, if you like. Just between us," Frank said with a wink and a grin. Ryan blinked at him.
"Thanks. Thanks, I really appreciate that, Frank," Ryan said. He had to pick up his drink and move away before he did something embarassing like start to cry. But people here didn't do nice things for him. It just didn't happen. And people certainly didn't keep things from Mr. Wentz for him. There was definitely something strange about Frank. Feeling more confused than ever, he started his 'rounds'.
Not even halfway through his first walk-through, Ryan found Pete sitting at Jon's blackjack table, Bob hovering a discreet distance away. And he wasn't alone. He waved Ryan over enthusiastically, and he went over a little reluctantly, quickly scanning around for Mr. Wentz or anyone likely to report to him that Ryan wasn't doing his job.
"Hey Ry, I was hoping we'd see you. I wanted you guys to meet! Ryan, this is Mikey, he just started working in the club." Pete waggled his eyebrows significantly and Ryan had to hold back a smirk. "Mikey this is Ryan!" Pete said, nearly bouncing on his stool. Jon hid a chuckle by discreetly coughing into his hand. Mikey was a gangly, long-limbed guy maybe a few years older than Ryan, with a crow's nest for a hairstyle, thick-framed glasses, and a bored expression on his face. His eyes ran over Ryan with apparent disinterest, lingering for a moment on the green pin. Ryan barely suppressed a grimace.
"Hey," Mikey said, with absolutely no inflection.
"Hey," Ryan answered back, managing a tight smile.
"Awesome!" Pete exclaimed. "I've told each of you all about the other one, I'm so psyched that you could finally meet!"
"Yeah, that's great, Pete, but I should probably get going. I'm working, remember?" Ryan said, holding on to the smile. 'All about him', huh? Mikey definitely knew he was a whore. Pete's face dimmed a little.
"Oh, right, sorry. Yeah, I wouldn't want you to get in trouble," he replied. Ryan nodded. It was almost like Pete had forgotten for a moment where they were, who they were. Ryan was desperately jealous that he could do that.
"Uh, I guess I'll see you later, Ryan," Jon spoke up just as he was about to continue on his way, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Ryan frowned at him.
"Later...?" he questioned. Jon wouldn't meet his eyes. Fear spiked through Ryan's gut.
"Yeah.... Uh, Mr. Wentz told me earlier... he wants me to, uh, work the party tonight. The one in the penthouse suite?" Jon said nervously. Ryan stared at him in disbelief. Jon had never been one of the dealers at the 'special' parties before. Had never... seen. Sure he knew what Ryan's role was, but he'd never seen. "I'm sorry," Jon continued, looking genuinely aggrieved. "I didn't want you to be surprised when you saw me there. I'm... I'm really fucking sorry, Ryan. If there was any way I could get out of it...."
"No, of course, it's not your fault," Ryan found himself saying. "It's... it's fine. It'll be fine." Jon finally looked at him, and his expression clearly showed that he didn't believe for one second that Ryan was fine. Pete was looking at him with an expression of abject pity, too. He couldn't take it for one second longer. He turned and walked away.
So Jon was going to see. Actually see him be a whore, see him be fucked by probably a dozen people or more. And not even 'just' that. Party-goers always wanted to... to play. He'd never be able to look Jon in the face again. And what Jon would think of him.... The thought burned. He really liked Jon. There were so few friendly faces in his life... he didn't want to lose one.
Which made him think... did Mr. Wentz arrange it that way on purpose? Did he see Jon being friendly to him, see Ryan being friendly back and get... what? Mad? Jealous? The more Ryan thought about it, the more it seemed likely. Mr. Wentz never seemed to miss a chance to make him suffer. He always had Ryan's father work the parties if there were going to be gambling tables, had enjoyed having his father watch him being raped since... since that very first night. Ryan shuddered at the memory. Destroying whatever tenuous relationship he had with Jon would be just a blip on the radar of what Mr. Wentz was capable of.
Lost as he was in his own thoughts, Ryan almost ran into one of the waiters who also made rounds in the casino. It seemed running into people was becoming a habit of his.
"Fuck, sorry," he mumbled as he tried to edge around him.
"Hey, no problem, man! It's crazy in here, I'm surprised there aren't more collisions. It's only my second day, I'm sure I'm due to drop some stuff tonight anyway!" the guy replied with far too much enthusiasm. Ryan stared at him. Fuck, he looked familiar. Realization dawned, sending a spark of fear racing down his spine.
It was the guy who had been with Spencer four nights ago. The one who had whispered to him about the pin.
"Wait!" he hissed, reaching out to grab the guy's arm as he started to continue on his way. The guy looked at him expectantly.
"You... you know Spencer, right?" Ryan asked urgently. He was absolutely sure it was him, even if he'd only seen him the one time.
"Maybe!" The guy chirped cheerfully. "But I don't think that's really something we should be talking about right now. I think it's best that you don't let on that you know me, don't ya think? Especially since you don't actually know me," he said with a wink before disappearing into the throng of people.
Ryan stood there for a moment, gaping like a fish. What the hell? Spencer had to be behind it somehow, but why? And all the waiters worked through the bar.... Was Frank involved, too? He'd witnessed the run-in a few days ago. Why the hell would he risk something like that?
Zack appeared at his side, scowling, and it nearly gave Ryan a heart attack, effectively breaking him out of his reverie.
"What was that about?" Zack demanded. Ryan shook his head a bit, bringing himself back under control.
"N-nothing. I almost knocked him over. I apologized, he said it was no big deal. That's it," he said. Zack nodded curtly.
"Then get back to work. Mr. Wentz is on the floor." With that he retreated back to a more discreet distance.
Ryan swallowed nervously and started walking again. Fuck. Mr. Wentz was around and Spencer and some random friend and possibly Frank were up to something and he didn't know what. Fuck!
All too soon, it was time to go back upstairs and get ready for the private party. Ryan felt more dread than usual, knowing that Jon would be there. He touched up his make-up and changed clothes, skin-tight jeans and shirt that left little to the imagination and made him look every bit the whore he was. Too ridiculous an outfit for his rounds downstairs, but sure to get the party-goers salivating.
When he emerged into the main room of the suite, Zack gave him a tight-lipped look. Ryan looked away. Even after all these years, he never got over feeling ashamed to be dressed in such a way. Even in front of Zack, who had seen him at his worst.
"Let's get going, you don't want to be late," Zack said grimly. Ryan followed him without a word, dread coiling in his stomach.
The penthouse where the party was taking place was only two floors above, so the elevator ride passed all too quickly. Zach exchanged a nod with the security guy at the door, who let them into the suite with a knowing smirk at Ryan. Ryan looked away. Inside the party was well under way. Upbeat music blasted from the state-of-the-art sound system. Men and and women dressed in stylish, expensive clothes drank, danced and gambled at one of the handful of games tables that took up one end of the spacious main room of the suite. Ryan's father manned the craps table. After a glance in their direction, he purposefully looked away, his face expressionless. Jon was at the blackjack table. For one terrible moment his and Ryan's gazes locked before they both looked quickly away. It would have been hard to say which of them was more embarassed.
At the other end of the room, past a few artfully arranged armchairs, there was a large king sized bed on a raised dais. Ryan knew without a doubt that that was where he would shortly end up, on display for everyone. There were others here like him, entertainment provided by the casino's management, but none of the others were exactly like him. They were... employees, for one thing, there of their own free will. Not... whatever it was that he was. They were generally a bit older than him, too, and certainly none of them had been there since they were fifteen, like he had been. And their purpose at the party was different as well. They were eye candy, there to look pretty and make things more fun, and if anyone was interested in more, they would discreetly retire to one of the suite's bedrooms, or to the guest's own room. He... he would be expected to perform for everyone.
A man, one Ryan knew all too well, broke away from a chattering group and headed towards them. "And the main attraction arrives! It's been far too long since I last had the pleasure, Ryan," he said with a wide grin, his eyes raking up and down Ryan's body. Ryan forced himself not to shudder. He had to get himself under control. He had to set aside everything that had been happening, Spencer, his friend, the fact that Jon was there, and just not feel anything. He could do it, he had done it hundreds of times before.
"Richardson," Zack acknowledged the man with a small nod. With one last look at Ryan, he faded back to join the other men working security, hovering discreetly on the outskirts of the party.
"Mmm, Ryan, you are as gorgeous as ever," Richardson purred, running a hand possessively through Ryan's hair and then down over his cheek. Ryan took a small, steadying breath and managed a small smile. Richardson was a regular, a powerful man with specific tastes. If Ryan didn't please him, there'd be hell to pay with Mr. Wentz later. As awful and humiliating as the night promised to be, Mr. Wentz's wrath would be far, far worse.
Richardson drew him closer, pressing his body against his and running his hands down over Ryan's back to knead his ass obscenely. Ryan's breath hitched in his chest as some of Richardson's friends hooted and cat-called, but he just arched against the pressure like he knew he was expected to do. He could feel Richardson's grin against his neck as the man leaned down to rub his face against him before starting to lick and suck at his skin, hands never ceasing their groping exploration of his ass. Ryan swallowed convulsively and stared at the ceiling. Finallly, the man drew back, a leer on his face.
"We're going to have so much fun tonight, Ryan, just you wait and see. Here, let me introduce you to some of my friends. They're going to be your friends, too, Ryan. You're going to be very, very friendly to them...."
Part 2.