Casino, Part 2/3
Back to Part 1.
Some time later found Ryan on his knees, sucking off yet another of Richardson's 'friends'. He didn't know how many there'd been; he hadn't seen much point in keeping count. Richardson had led him over to a group of his guests and they had started passing him around like the party favour he was. He'd lost his shirt at some point, which made him feel dreadfully exposed. He had some pretty terrible scars on his back and chest, not to mention lingering bruising from the other night's beating. None of Richardson’s guests seemed too off-put, though. They couldn't keep their hands off him. Even as he was on his knees servicing one of them, at least one other would be touching him, running their hands over his skin, petting his hair, or groping at his ass or crotch.
Ryan did his best to ignore the rough hand currently exploring his crotch and just concentrate on bringing off the man who's cock he was currently sucking as quickly as possible. His jaw was aching terribly and he was hoping for at least a small break before being pressed into service again. He couldn't suppress a small squawk of pain as the hand suddenly gripped him brutally. The men around him laughed uproariously, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Encouraged by this reaction, whoever had their hand on him gripped even harder, rubbing and twisting at his privates. They started rubbing their own crotch roughly against his ass as well, the hard outline of a cock easily felt through the double layers of their clothing. Ryan couldn't help but moan at the pain, it felt as if the man was trying to rip his cock off through his jeans. The others laughed harder, shouting encouragement. The man having his cock sucked apparently enjoyed the show as well, as he was suddenly coming, shooting off down Ryan's throat while holding his head so that he couldn't pull away. Ryan was caught off-guard and couldn't help but choke and gag. When he was finally released it was all he could do to keep from vomiting all over the floor. Laughter rang in his ears.
"Gorgeous, isn't he?" Richardson's voice called out. Suddenly a hand was gripping Ryan's arm and hauling him to his feet. He blinked away at the moisture in his eyes, willing himself not to cry. Inadvertantly he caught Jon's horrified gaze across the room, but he quickly looked away. He could just imagine the 'gorgeous' picture that he made, shirtless, make-up smeared and lips swollen from sucking cock. His eyes burned but he did not let the tears fall. "Now that everyone's taken the edge off I think it's time we brought tonight's festivities to the next level!" Richardson continued to a round of cheers. Ryan swallowed, grimacing slightly at the lingering taste. That couldn't mean anything good for him, that was for certain.
Richardson propelled Ryan toward the bed with the grip he still had on his arm. Ryan didn't like the look of the smirk on his face, not one bit. A half dozen or so of the guests followed, either taking seats in the armchairs arranged nearby or gathering in around the bed to watch more closely. But Ryan knew that even most of the people who hadn't followed had their attention focused on the activity on the raised dais. He very purposelly did not look back toward the gambling tables, where Jon was undoubtedly watching. Nor did he seek out Zack, who would be unobtrusively patrolling the outskirts of the party but who would also be paying attention, ready for any sign that he should intervene. There were carefully negotiated guidelines for how far Richardson could go, based on how much he had paid.
"You're still wearing far too much, darling, let's see all of you," Richardson said, unzipping Ryan's jeans. Obediently, Ryan kicked off his shoes and slid both the jeans and his briefs down over his hips and stepped out of them. He was pleased to see that his hands were not shaking at all, despite the dread and shame roiling just under his skin. There was a murmur through the gathered audience, commenting, no doubt on the scars and bruises. Richardson's eyes seemed to shine as he took them in. He was a sadist, much like Mr. Wentz. Seeing damage done got his blood boiling, got him excited, made him want to touch and hurt and leave his own marks behind. There was no safe place for Ryan to look so that he wouldn't see similar hungry looks in all the faces watching him, devouring him.
"You take it so well, bruise so magnificently,” Richardson murmured, so that only Ryan could hear. He traced a finger down over Ryan's cheek, over his throat and down over his chest. "On the bed. Face down," he ordered, speaking louder for the benefit of the audience. Ryan obeyed without a word. When he turned his face to keep from being smothered in the mattress he immediately realized he should have turned the other way, facing the wall instead of looking out at the room and all the upturned faces. But as soon as he lifted his head to turn it Richardson pushed it back down. "Tsk, tsk. I think you should stay just like that precious," he said, the smirk evident in his voice. Ryan closed his eyes.
Richardson enlisted the help of one of his friends and together they bent Ryan's legs up at the knee and tied right ankle to right wrist and left ankle to left wrist. Ryan fought back a grimace at the pull he could feel in his shoulders. It would quickly become unbearable, he knew from experience. He felt ridiculous, and his face burned at the thought of what he must look like, practically hog-tied on the bed. The mattress dipped as someone, probably Richardson, knelt on the bed between his legs. His breath hitched as cool lube was suddenly being rubbed into his ass, blunt fingers probing inside to stretch him. They didn't linger at their task, withdrawing quickly only to be replaced by something much larger, something hard and unforgiving. Ryan bit his lip as what was most likely a large dildo was slowly but inexorably forced into his body. A very large dildo, he amended with a grimace at the pain. It felt like he was being speared right through.
"There, now. I bet that feels good," Richardson laughed when he was finally finished forcing it in. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on Ryan's body as he tried to take steady, even breaths. He felt like he was filled full to bursting and it was all he could do to keep from squirming in discomfort. The steadily growing strain in his shoulders and the unnatural pull on his legs all added to his distress. "How about we make it feel even better, though?" Richardson said gleefully, and suddenly the thing lodged inside of Ryan buzzed to life. He couldn't help but cry out in surprise.
A vibrator. Fuck! he cursed to himself. It was very strong, to the point of being painful. But despite the pain, the relentless jarring of his prostate caused his cock to start to harden. He was helpless now to keep from squirming, and to keep from making small, desperate cries that were a mix of pain and frustration. The laughter and chatter of the people gathered around dug into his skin like knives, adding to his misery. He wanted desperately to bury his face into the blanket, but he didn't dare disobey his order to keep his position.
A click and the vibrations were suddenly, impossibly stronger. He cried out at the overwhelming sensation, his whole body feeling like it was going to shake apart. It was just too much, pain and discomfort quickly overcame any physical 'pleasure' the vibrations were producing. It only grew worse as Richardson invited the specatators to touch him. Too many hands to count touching his over-sensitized skin, and even reaching down to caress his ass, his balls, his hard cock. The sounds he was making were absolutely mortifying, harsh desperate cries that were almost sobs. A hand fisted in his hair and lifted his head from the mattress, bending his neck at a harsh angle. To his complete and utter shame he realized that small tracks of tears had escaped from his eyes. He did his best to focus on the figure before him - Richardson - and not anyone else in the room.
"Do you realize how tantalizing you are, squirming like a worm on a hook?" Richardson purred. "You look a little overwhelmed. And we're not even finished yet. Last setting." He motioned to one of the others and the vibrator was turned up again.
Ryan's vision whited out. Dimly, he was aware of someone screaming, but it took a moment for it to register that it was him. It just hurt so much. The sudden appearance of warmth under his belly alerted him to the fact that he had come without even realizing it, a purely physical reaction forced out of him by the relentless stimulation. When he became aware that Richardson had let go of him, he did bury his face in the blanket, not caring about the possible repercussions. He just needed to try to hide the desperate, bleating noises he was still making against the pain that was tunneling through his torso, that was rattling his bones, that was tearing him apart.
"As entertaining as this is, I'm sure poor Ryan here would like it to end," Richardson laughed. "I'll tell you what, Ryan, beg me and I might consider turning it off." Ryan recognized it for the order it was, but even though he turned his head away from the blanket he couldn't seem to make the words form. Tears were spilling un-checked now, dampening the blanket beneath his face. Richardson leaned down toward him, all trace of humour gone from his face.
"I said 'Beg me', whore," he said, his voice as hard and cold as iron.
"P-Please," Ryan finally managed to utter, his voice weak and shaking. "Please... t-turn it off. Please." But Richardson just grinned darkly and laughed with his friends.
Just when he was sure it was never, ever going to end, it suddenly stopped. Ryan gasped at the abrupt change. His body seemed to echo with the intense vibrations. He could do little else other than lay there panting, exhausted and worn out. But he knew that there was no way that Richardson was finished with him that quickly.
There was a smattering of applause and enthusiastic chatter as Richardson gave a small bow to his audience. "Exquisite, isn't he? So delightfully responsive. Now, I'm sure you're all eager to have a taste, but please be patient and wait your turn! We have all night. I've laid out a small selection of toys on the night table to add to your experience if you so desire. Have fun!" With that he leaned over Ryan's body and none-too-gently removed the vibrator. Ryan grunted at the unpleasant sensation, though it was a relatively minor hurt compared to his screaming shoulders, the bone-deep ache that permeated his body, and the rawness of his insides. And there was to be no respite either, because no sooner had Richardson moved away than another party-goer climbed onto the bed between Ryan's legs, unzipping his pants with a grin.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut tightly as his middle was hoisted up so that a firm pillow could be jammed under his hips, lifting his ass up higher into the air and also adding to the strain on his shoulders. A weight settled over him as a slick cock was forced into his sore ass. It hurt, not just because of the stretch and the rawness of his entrance, but also because of how his aching body was rocked with the rythym of the fucking. The man made no pretense at being gentle; he enthusiastically pounded Ryan into the mattress. And though he had little stamina, he was quickly replaced by another. And then another. Ryan could no more keep count of the men fucking him than he could keep count of the cocks he had sucked earlier. There was a familiarity to it, though. His mind drifted for a time, away from thoughts of where he was and what was happening to him, and most especially from thoughts about who was watching. He knew he was hurting, could feel the pain on some deep level, and he knew he wasn't able to keep quiet, that he was making embarassing grunts and cries of pain, but it was... separate from him somehow. It was not until one of the party-goers wanted to untie him and move him to a different position that he was broken from his detached daze.
"I want to see his face," the man was saying, as he untied Ryan's wrists from his ankles. Ryan gasped in pain as cut off circulation flowed freely once again.
"Of course, of course," Richardson was saying as he helped to turn Ryan over onto his back. Ryan's gaze swung around the room without his consent, still in a bit of a disconnected state. People were clustered around the sides of the bed, in various stages of undress, mostly men. Their eyes were on him. Zack was further away, over near the door, with another of Mr. Wentz's men. He was looking at him, too. Ryan's skin felt like it was crawling under the weight of so many gazes. He saw his father, still at the craps table, still one of the only people in the room resolutely not looking his way. And Jon. Jon was still working, dealing blackjack, so his attention couldn't fully rest on the bed and its occupants, but in the brief time that Ryan's gaze traveled over him, he saw him glance furtively in his direction a couple of times with a... an unhappy expression. Ryan didn't want to know. He didn't want to feel any of this. He looked at the ceiling instead.
"I don't want to hear him so much, though," the man said. "All that pathetic noise... I don't like it."
"I have just the thing," Richardson said. There was movement in Ryan's peripheral vision, over by the night table, and then Richardson was leaning over him, grasping his chin to pull his mouth open and then inserting a large, phallus-shaped gag into his mouth and lifting his head to tie the strings at the back. It stretched his jaw painfully wide and nearly touched the back of his throat, almost choking him. Richardson re-tied his legs so that his calves were lashed to his thighs, an intensely uncomfortable position, and then his wrists were tightly cuffed together. As the man positioned himself over him, he held his wrists down above his head with one hand. As he repeatedly thrust into Ryan's body, his other hand traveled over him, fingers scratching at his skin, pushing at his bruises, seeking to leave their own mark. His eyes never left Ryan's face, drinking in every nuance of pain that Ryan couldn't hide. Ryan could do little more than whimper with the gag choking him. He knew his eyes were leaking tears, that his body was being shoved into the mattress, he was being fucked so hard. He gazed past the man, at the ceiling. A violent slap brought his full attention to the man.
"Look at me , you filthy cunt!" the man snarled loudly. "Filthy fucking whore, I'll show you your place." Ryan could barely even gasp for air as the man fucked into him even harder. "Fucking whore." He hit him again. Ryan tasted blood in his mouth. "Piece of shit." Another blow. "Nothing. Fucking piece of nothing," the man hissed, nails digging into Ryan's flesh, his gaze locked to Ryan's, to every ounce of his pain. The litany continued, every filthy name in the book and then some, before the man finally climaxed and then rolled off of him. But he wasn't the last. There were still a few more men wanting his services, and amused enough by the gag and the bonds not to remove them. It was so, so much harder to drift, when he had to look them in the face.
It felt like an eternity after the party had started, when Ryan realized that the room had emptied considerably, with only a few guests left. Richardson among them, of course. He loudly invited those remaining to seconds, and a number of them gladly took him up on his generous offer. Someone finally removed the phallus-shaped gag, but only because they wanted to hear his cries as they beat him with a small paddle and fucked him mercilessly. He glimpsed Jon leaving, again looking in his direction, just as the guest who was fucking him yanked viciously on his hair, eliciting a guttural cry. They both looked away from each other, horrified.
It was late, very late, when Zack finally came over to collect him. If Ryan had had enough presence of mind to feel anything much at all, it would have been stark relief.
When Ryan awoke sometime the next afternoon, he felt an emptiness that was almost alarming. He knew it shouldn't matter. Nothing had happened at the party that hadn't happened to him a hundred times before. It shouldn't matter that Jon had seen. It... it was a lie anyway, any fantasy that he had had that he might have something resembling a friendship with Jon. Absolutely ludicrous. And Spencer... Spencer being around in any context was meaningless.
But all attempts to convince himself otherwise came to naught when he was in the shower, washing away the previous night's layers of sweat and come, and he found himself suddenly overwhelmed with such a visceral sense of missing Spencer that he found himself huddled on the floor of the shower, hugging his legs and sobbing like he hadn't done in years. In the days since he'd seen Spencer, while he'd been wrapped up in fear for him, he hadn't let himself think of it, just how much he missed his friend. But he did. He missed him so much it was a physical pain, deep in his gut, on top of all the pains he suffered day-to-day, it was there. It had always been there, but he had put so much effort into pushing it back into the farthest reaches of his mind. But he couldn't deny it now, not after seeing him.
Zack appeared after a short time, and pulled him out of the shower without a word, his face stony. He grabbed a towel and dried Ryan off. Ryan felt absurdly grateful that he wasn't mentioning his impromptu breakdown. But Zack was always like that, he realized. Always there for him, but never prying. There, and even... even still indulging, but there for him, a silent, unspoken support. Bizarre, without a doubt. But probably the best that Ryan could hope for, under the circumstances. Zack had to care for him, didn't he? It was his job, of course, but... but he went beyond, didn't he? Any of Mr. Wentz's other men, given the same job, would have undoubtedly have treated him like shit all of the time. Ryan could barely even wrap his mind around the concept of it. How could he feel... almost safe, or comforted even, because of Zack? Zack may guard him when he was working, but... but Zack raped him. Zack raped him almost every day. It was his due as Ryan's keeper, but... it was still rape, wasn't it? He didn't... he didn't really consent to it, all the times Zack helped himself to his body, even when he was worn out or in a lot of pain. Zack still usually fucked him those times. So how... so how could he even vaguely think Zack might have some affection for him? It was crazy. Stockholm Syndrome, he thought. So, so pathetic. Just another thing on the list.
He had rounds in the casino again that night. He couldn't imagine going out and facing people. Facing Jon. But to make matters worse he was paid a visit by Mr. Wentz just as he was about to start getting ready. He breezed into the suite unannounced, one of his loyal goons trailing behind and taking up a position by the door. Ryan stiffened instinctively as Mr. Wentz approached him, a smile on his lips that chilled him to the bone.
"And how are we this evening, Ryan? Ready to earn me some money, I hope," he said.
"Of course, sir," Ryan replied, eyes downcast, his voice soft and meek. Just as Mr. Wentz liked. The older man smirked, reaching out a hand to caress Ryan's bruised cheek. It was only his years of experience that allowed Ryan to remain motionless, when his every instinct screamed at him to jerk away.
"So......," Mr. Wentz drawled. "Did you enjoy the party last night?" There was something in his tone that raised the hairs on the back of Ryan's neck. His spine stiffened, and he remained silent, unsure of the proper response. Mr. Wentz's smirk deepened. "I'm sure it was nice for you... having another familiar face there," he continued, amusement lacing his voice.
Ryan swallowed convulsively, his fists clenching. A sick sense of dread seeped through his veins. Slowly, almost against his will, his gaze rose to meet Mr. Wentz's. "You... you did do it on purpose... having Jon there," he whispered. Mr. Wentz chuckled. And then Ryan suddenly found himself slammed back against the bed, Mr. Wentz's hand pressed harshly against his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zack rise to his feet, and then grimace and look away.
"Of course I did it on purpose, you fucking whore," Mr. Wentz sneered. "I wouldn't want you to forget your place." The hand that wasn't choking him was digging at his pants, pulling them away. "Stupid fucking piece of shit... you think you matter to anyone but me? I own you, you fucking whore. I'll fucking show you what you're good for...." Ryan turned his gaze to the ceiling, tried to slip away, to his numb place, where nothing mattered. It was hard, it was harder than it had been in a long time, to disconnect... to slip away... while Mr. Wentz raped him, while he fucked him into the mattress as Zack averted his gaze and the other goon watched with a leer on his face.
After Mr. Wentz was gone, he had to get ready for his rounds. The new pain radiating up his spine didn't matter, of course. Heavy make-up was needed again to cover the new bruising from last night. Just something to be expected from one of Richardson's parties. Hell, he should probably be grateful that the damage wasn't worse. It had been. On a lot of occasions in the past, it had been worse. No reason at all to feel like this occasion was a big deal. But somehow, everything was shaken. He couldn't get his usual equilibrium. He felt much more exposed than usual, but he had no choice but to walk the floor as usual, as per Mr. Wentz’s orders. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It had been hard, but he'd learned how to function here, even with... everything. He should have been able to handle the events of the past few days with no problem. But he felt like... like his seams were coming apart.
When it was time to start he went down to the bar as usual. Frank greeted him with a wide smile and a tonic and lime.
"You couldn't throw a shot or two of vodka in there, could you?" Ryan muttered as he reached for the glass. He was surprised by Frank's chuckle. He hadn't actually meant for the other man to hear him.
"Well, I suppose I could, but is that really a habit you want to get into?" Frank said with a smile.
"No... no, I guess not," Ryan said, thinking of his father. He looked at Frank consideringly. All the waiters worked through the bar. So Frank had to know Spencer's friend. And he had witnessed his little 'run-in' with Spencer the other night, with the friend right there. Did he... did he know something? It was too much of a coincidence for the guy to just show up as a bar waiter after that. But... what if he didn't know anything? Would Ryan be putting Spencer's friend, and by extention Spencer himself, in danger by asking questions?
Ryan fiddled with his glass nervously, trying to figure out something he could say that wouldn't give too much away, but that still might get him some answers.
"Something on your mind?" Frank finally asked, after Ryan's extended silence. Ryan fidgeted some more, unsure.
"There's... there's nothing going on, is there?" he asked tentatively. Frank arched an eyebrow, regarding him speculatively.
"Nothing you need to worry about, kid," he replied at length. "You should, uh, probably get to work, huh?" Ryan nodded numbly, and started to rise to his feet. "Hey, kid," Frank called just as Ryan was about to step away. "Everything's going to be okay, all right?" Frank's expression was oddly intense. Ryan blinked at him in surprise before giving a quick nod. He walked away feeling completely thrown off kilter.
The feeling only intensified as he spotted Spencer's friend a couple of times out on the floor. Something was obviously up and he had no idea what it was. But anything that involved messing with the status quo at the casino was dangerous. Not knowing what was going on meant he had no idea what to prepare for.
Later in the evening Ryan spotted Pete and Mikey seated at Jon's blackjack table again, engaged in a conversation with a man who had what could only be described as a truly epic fro. The conversation looked oddly serious for one that was taking place around a blackjack table.
Ryan grimaced. The last person he wanted to see was Jon. He'd been trying to avoid this area of the floor but had been lost in thought as he walked. He tried to slip back into the crowd but it was too late. He saw Mikey motion towards him and everyone at the table turned to look at him. Ryan blinked at the serious expression on Pete's face. Jon's eyes widened and then he quickly looked away, clearly uncomfortable. Ryan felt an answering wave of shame roll over him. He turned again, meaning to walk away, but Pete hopped down from his stool and hurried over to him, grabbing his arm. Again, Ryan couldn't help but be amazed at the un-characteristic seriousness on his face. He'd never seen Pete look quite like that before.
"Hey, Ryan," Pete said, trying for casual and failing. Ryan's unease ratcheted up a level. "You haven't seen my brother around, have you?"
"Um, yeah, actually, I… saw him earlier," Ryan replied, suppressing a shudder at the memory. Pete peered at him intently.
"Was he... mad?" Pete asked. Ryan narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Yeah, he got a little worked up," he replied. Nothing really all that unusual, Mr. Wentz getting violent with him. But Pete waved a hand dismissively at him.
"No, like, did he seem... upset. You know, about something else," he said. Ryan's spine stiffened.
"Do you mean did he seem concerned about something other than shoving me around and sticking his cock in me? Gee, I'm sorry, I was a little too pre-occupied to pay attention," he bit out. Pete jerked back as if he'd been hit, and then shame flooded his features.
"Shit, sorry, Ryan. I didn't.... That was a stupid thing to say. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm so sorry,” he gushed. Ryan sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Pete always treated Ryan's situation so... casually. It shouldn't be surprising considering that he used to take full advantage of that situation back when Ryan was a new arrival at the casino. But somehow over the months Pete had started talking to him, treating him more like an equal and a friend, had even stopped fucking him. But he'd never really lost that flippant, casual attitude. He was always sorry and embarrassed when he was called on it, but it was still there, and it was just one more thing pouring salt on Ryan's wounds. But... that was the least of his worries right now. Pete was acting strange, and considering the other things going on, it was making Ryan decidedly nervous.
"Pete... what the hell is going on?" Ryan asked slowly. Pete's eyes widened.
"What do you mean?" he asked, making an unconvincing play at nonchalance.
"Look, I'm not stupid," Ryan hissed. "I can tell by the way you're acting that something's up. And there's... other stuff going on, too. I just... I just feel like something bad's going to happen." As soon as the words left his mouth he realized just how true they were. For days now, ever since Spencer had shown up, he'd been plagued by the certainty that something was going to go very, very wrong. Pete sighed.
"Well... yeah, okay. It won't hurt to tell you some of it, I guess. Apparently there's some kind of shake-up in progress with the Saporta family leadership. There's another family involved, one from out east, and rumour has it that when the dust settles this casino's going to be, uh, under new management, so to speak," he said. Ryan's eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Are you serious?” Ryan gasped. New management for the casino could mean... well, it could mean anything.
"Yeah," Pete muttered. "And apparently my brother's in a right snit about it, too." He waved back at the blackjack table. "Ray there works at the main Saporta house, he and Bob go way back. He said David has a meeting there tonight, and all signs point to him being told he's going to be replaced soon. I... really don't think he's going to take it well."
Ryan shook his head, trying to process all the information. He looked over to the table in a daze, noting how they were all staring back at the two of them. Then something occurred to him.
"Wait... what about Mikey? Why were you talking about this with him? I thought you said he wasn't family?" he asked, confused. Pete rubbed his head sheepishly.
"Well, uh, he's not. Not Saporta anyway." He leaned in towards Ryan conspiratorially. "Turns out he's with the family from out east. Apparently they sent some people ahead to work here, get a feel for the place. But you can't tell anyone!"
"WHAT?" Ryan yelped. A few people nearby turned to look at them, startled. Pete widened his eyes in alarm. "What if your brother finds out? You know what he'd do if he found out you were... were fraternizing with a rival family!" Ryan couldn't wrap his head around it. They were all so screwed.
"Well, it's not like I knew at first!" Pete complained. "Besides, you know how I feel about how David does things. In my opinion, him getting booted out of power here can only be a good thing. It'd be good for you, too, wouldn't it?"
"But...," Ryan trailed off, unable to voice the words. Would it be good for him? The thought of never having to deal with Mr. Wentz again was... it was just kind of unbelievable. But if Mr. Wentz was gone, someone else would be in his place. And... and what if that person was even worse? It seemed impossible, but Ryan knew from bitter experience that things could always be worse.
"It would be stupid of him to fight it," Pete muttered. "What does he think he's going to do, start a war with two powerful families with his handful of supporters? The way Ray says it, everything's expected to go peacefully. He's the only one likely to dissent." Ryan stared at him in horror. Would Mr. Wentz really try to hang on to the casino with force? People would get hurt. Ryan thought of Mr. Wentz's lust for power, for control, of his increasingly frequent claims of ownership. He would. Of course he would. Suddenly Zack was at his side, giving his arm a brusque shake.
"What the hell is going on here?" he barked. "You're supposed to be making your rounds. Do you want Mr. Wentz to see you just standing around?" Ryan shook his head numbly as Pete raised his eyebrows.
"My brother's on the floor?" he asked.
"Yeah, he and some of his guys are having a pow-wow over by the bar. He doesn't look too happy, either, so the last thing you want is for him to see you standing here lollygagging," Zack answered. Pete's eyes widened and he bit his lip, his eyes darting back to the others at the table. He looked as if there was something else he wanted to say. Zack tugged on Ryan's arm as further reminder that he should get moving. Ryan started to walk away, too overwhelmed to do anything else.
"Ryan!" Pete called. "Be... be, uh, careful, okay?" With that he turned and headed back to Jon's table.
Ryan took Zack's advice and returned to walking the floor. But he was on autopilot, his mind in a daze. As if Spencer turning up and worrying over what the hell his friend and Frank of all people might be up to wasn't enough. Now something might be happening within the casino management, with Mr. Wentz? His whole world had turned upside down. It was a pretty fucking shitty world, to be sure, but it was one he knew, one he was familiar with and had learned, through great hardship and pain, to live with. And now it was being shaken, uprooted, and not for the better.
He kept running Pete's words through his head, about how Mr. Wentz was probably going to be replaced as head of the casino. Mr. Wentz was never going to let it happen without a struggle. He thought about how he was always so… possessive. And… he was getting worse, he realized. He'd noticed it before, sub-consciously maybe, but he hadn't let himself really know it, or think about what it might mean. But it was true. Mr. Wentz was obsessed with him. It had started right from that very first night. Ryan felt chilled right down to his bones. One thing was certain. Mr. Wentz was no more likely to let him go without a struggle than he was the casino.
He didn't have any appointments until very late, so his rounds in the casino stretched on for hours. By the time Zack came to lead him back upstairs he was exhausted, his body aching from it's mistreatment at Richardson's party the night before, and his ankle practically screaming in pain from walking on it all night. All he wanted to do was sit in peace for five minutes before his first client showed up. But he and Zack hadn't been back in their suite for more than five minutes before the door burst open and Mr. Wentz strode in, looking murderous. Ryan's blood turned to ice-water in his veins. Even Zack looked uneasy. Mr. Wentz looked positvely unhinged. He brushed past Zack and went straight for Ryan, grabbing his arm harshly.
"Your appointments tonight are cancelled, it's just going to be the two of us. Zack, why don't you go get a coffee or something?" he said, pulling Ryan towards the bedroom. Ryan couldn't help the small sound of fear that escaped his throat.
"Mr. Wentz?" Zack questioned uncertainly.
"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Mr. Wentz yelled, his face going red. Zack drew back a bit, clearly feeling torn. Ryan stared at him, silently pleading, but inevitably Zack followed his orders and headed out the door, a scowl on his face. Ryan could have sobbed.
Mr. Wentz hauled him into the bedroom and tossed him at the bed. He hit it at an awkward angle and slid down onto the floor. He huddled there as Mr. Wentz paced about wildly. Ryan had never seen him so out of control. It chilled him to the bone.
"Think they're going to get rid of me, do they?" he was muttering. "After all these years? This casino is mine! I've made it what it is today! Everything in it belongs to me! Everything!"
Clearly the meeting at the Saporta house had gone as Pete and the others suspected it would. Mr. Wentz had been told he was going to be replaced. Ryan wrapped his arms around his legs and pressed his face against his knees. He was so scared he was almost numb from it. Scared of the uncertain future... and scared of what Mr. Wentz might do, a much more immediate concern.
The enraged man swooped in and grabbed Ryan's arm, hauling him to his feet only to pull back and belt him across the face. Ryan fell to the bed with a cry.
"Nobody's taking what's mine!" Mr. Wentz screamed, his eyes crazed. And then he was on top of him, raining down more punches and blows as he continued to rant. He was in a violent frenzy the likes of which Ryan had never seen before, not seeming to take any care at all to the damage he might be causing his 'asset', beating on his face just as badly as anywhere else, something he usually avoided. He's going to kill me, Ryan thought. He won't even mean to do it. Panicked, Ryan did the unthinkable. He struggled to get away, raising his arms to try to ward off the onslaught and trying to scramble backwards. But his efforts were futile against Mr. Wentz's strength, and only served to incite him further. The intensity of the blows increased. Ryan screamed in agony as he felt a rib crack. Things started to go black around the edges. Ryan welcomed it, awash in a sea of pain, his ears filled with the sick sound of flesh hitting against flesh and his own gasping cries of pain.
And then Mr. Wentz was flipping him over, ripping his pants away, and that pain was nothing new, nothing unfamiliar. But Mr. Wentz didn't stop beating on him even as he fucked him into the mattress.
"Stupid fucking worthless cunt. Mine! You're fucking mine," Mr. Wentz panted, striking him in the kidney as he ripped him apart from the inside out. Ryan finally greyed out.
When he became aware again, he was lying on his back again and was nearly bent in half, Mr. Wentz's weight driving him repeatedly back into the mattress. Pain was everywhere. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue and he could barely open his left eye. Could barely breathe at all, Mr. Wentz's violent thrusts pushing the air from his lungs and sending burning spikes of agony radiating out from the cracked rib. At least he wasn't hitting him anymore. Ryan drifted away again.
He came to again, eventually, and there were voices in the room, arguing. Panic licked down his spine until he realized that one of them was Zack's. Relief flooded his veins. The other was... the hotel doctor? He couldn't hear Mr. Wentz at all. Was he gone? He tried to open his eyes, but his left one was now completely swollen shut. He tried to lift his hand to feel it and gasped at the pain that shot through his body. Suddenly Zack was looming over him.
"Ryan? Don't move. Just lay still and let us clean you up," he said. Ryan did as he was told. It was too painful to even consider doing otherwise. Zack wiped carefully at his face with a damp washcloth while the doctor poked and proded at him, eliciting a sharp cry when he pressed his side.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's cracked, maybe even broken," the doctor said.
"Fuck," Zack said. "He should be in the hospital." The doctor laughed.
"Are you going to be the one to tell the boss that?" he asked. Zack's silence was answer enough. "I don't know what he was thinking, though," the doctor continued. "He almost frigging killed him. And he won't be able to see clients for at least a couple of weeks, I would say."
"Won't be a problem," Zack answered gruffly. "He ordered him out of service for the foreseeable future. Doesn't... doesn't want anyone else touching him."
"Really?" the doctor said, shock evident in his voice. "That's... interesting. Well, I've done all I can here. We'll just have to hope he isn't bleeding internally or something. Though from the bruising over his kidneys I'm sure he'll be pissing blood for awhile. Keep him as still as possible and here, I'll give you some of the good stuff for him." With that he moved away, rummaging around in his medical bag. Zack followed him and the two of them left the room, moving out into the main room of the suite, their voices growing indistinct.
Ryan lay in a haze of pain, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling, his breath wheezing in and out of him in small, agonized gasps. Mr. Wentz had never... lost control like that before. Just... pounding him into oblivion without a care for preserving the merchandise or even showing his usual sadistic glee at his pain. He'd just... lost it, beating on him in a rage. And... no more clients. Indefinitely. Ryan was more certain than ever that Mr. Wentz wasn't going to let him go. Ever. Would he kill him? Would he leave, and take him with him? Would he refuse to go and get him and a lot of other people killed in a bloody struggle for power? Maybe... maybe it would be for the best if he just fucking killed him. It wasn't as if Ryan had never thought about it... ending his own life. Ending his misery and pain. But he'd never had the courage. And he'd been too afraid that Mr. Wentz would consider it the same as trying to escape and... and follow through on the threats he'd made, the first night he'd been brought to the casino. That had been... unthinkable.
Spencer.... Was he still around, somewhere, up to something with his friend? Would they get caught in the crossfire of whatever went down between Mr. Wentz and the Saportas? And even Pete... going behind his brother's back, supporting people he would no doubt consider his enemies... what would happen to him? Jon, and Frank, and... Zack.... They would all be in danger from Mr. Wentz's madness, if he tried to stay in power by force. Ryan felt a depth of fear he hadn't thought possible. For years he'd done everything possible, obeyed every word, endured every humiliation and shame and injury, to protect people he cared about from harm. And now it might all have been for nothing.
Zack re-entered the room, carrying a glass of water and a bottle of pills. He helped Ryan sit up enough to swallow two Vicodin. It hurt. The small effort had tears leaking from the corners of Ryan's eyes as he settled back down. Zack stood there for a moment, staring down at him. Guilt was written all over his features.
"It's not your fault," Ryan murmured. "You were just following orders." All he wanted to do was sink into narcotic-induced oblivion. Zack pressed his lips together with a scowl before turning abruptly and leaving the room. Ryan closed his one good eye and waited for oblivion to come.
Thanks to the Vicodin, Ryan slept through most of the next day. Zack tried to get him to eat something late in the afternoon, but Ryan was in too much misery, mentally and physically, to even contemplate it. Even just hobbling to the bathroom to relieve himself, with Zack's help, was torture. The sight of the promised blood in his piss turned his stomach. He just wanted to sleep forever. But, inevitably, Mr. Wentz showed up.
He was much calmer than he had been the day before, Ryan noted with relief, but there was still a crazed glint in his eyes. Again, he ordered Zack away and again, Zack obeyed, wordlessly but with an unhappy scowl. Ryan lay silently on the bed, watching with growing unease as Mr. Wentz paced. He may not have been ranting, but his behaviour was still far off enough from his usual unflappable and in-control demeanor to set Ryan's teeth on edge.
Finally, he approached the bed, sitting down at Ryan's side and leaning over him. Every nerve in Ryan's body felt frozen with dreadful anticipation. He wished he could sink down through the bed and disappear. But he was trapped.
"They're not going to take what's mine," he said, the fervor in his expression chilling Ryan's blood. "I'll do whatever's necessary to stop them." He ran a hand over Ryan's bruised face, and it was all he could do not to flinch away. "Everything under this roof is mine. Mine. Especially you." His hand traveled down, snaking under the sheets over Ryan's chest, the force too heavy to be called a caress. Ryan gasped at the pain and Mr. Wentz smiled. "The only thing you're good for is being a whore. My whore." Ryan closed his good eye, his fists clenching in the sheets. "I'll show them. I'll make them see. They'll realize their mistake when they try to go against me. I'm not going to lose anything."
Ryan cried out as Mr. Wentz yanked the sheets away and pushed him over onto his stomach. The pain was unbelievable. Though it caused him even more pain, he buried his bruised face into the pillow and bit into it to keep from screaming. His fingers clawed at the sheets as Mr. Wentz hitched his sharply aching body into position. He could do little more than shudder as he was fucked into the mattress with no preparation, barely able to draw breath, barely able to think under the onslaught. He prayed for unconsciousness to claim him but it proved to be elusive this time. It seemed to go on forever, harsh panting loud in his ears, but finally, inevitably, Mr. Wentz reached his climax and collapsed on top of him. Ryan couldn't help but whimper, hating how pathetic he sounded, but the weight was crushing him. His side with the cracked rib was screaming. Mr. Wentz chuckled, but rolled off of him.
For a time the only sound in the room was Ryan's pained, gasping breaths. The pillow was wet under his face, tears having leaked from his eyes. He... he hated himself so much. Mr. Wentz was right. He was a pathetic whore. It would never be any different. His fists clenched tighter in the sheets as sobs threatened to escape from his burning lungs. I need more Vicodin. I need to not be here, to not be feeling this. I need to just be gone.
He grunted in pain and surprise as Mr. Wentz suddenly sat up and rolled him back over. The man stared down at him with what could only be described as hunger. His hand stroked over Ryan's face again before closing over his throat in a menacing, possessive grip. Ryan stared back, frozen. He dared not move a muscle.
"They'll see. They'll see what happens to people who try to take what's mine," Mr. Wentz murmured, his eyes glinting. With that he released his hold and rose to his feet, fixing his clothes back into order before striding from the room. Ryan lay panting, his whole body awash in agony, until Zack appeared, grim-faced. He went about his duties, cleaning up Mr. Wentz's mess and re-arranging the sheets back over Ryan's body. Ryan couldn't bring himself to look at him. He flinched as Zack wiped the remnants of tears from his face, more shamed than he could give reason to.
"Vicodin," he croaked. "Please." If he had the strength to feel anything other than pain and self-loathing, he would have been shocked at the desperation in his voice.
Zack did as he asked. He swallowed the pills gratefully. He was even more grateful when Zack retreated to the suite's main room, leaving him be for the time being. Ryan lay alone in the dark and waited for drug-induced oblivion. He did not cry any more.
When he awoke again the weak light slanting through the blinds told him that it was the next day. He was momentarily gripped by fear at the weight at his side but it subsided when he realized that it was just Zack. His mind was disturbingly clear and he immediately wished for more Vicodin, before the pain in the rest of his body had even registered. He knew what that meant. Fuck. But... what did it even matter, anyway? He was already a whore, why not be a junkie, too? Mr. Wentz might not even care anymore, now that he was going crazy. And then again, maybe Mr. Wentz was going to get himself killed and whoever took his place would care very much. Or maybe they'd want Ryan to be a junkie, just one more way to keep him under control.
And thoughts like that would get him nowhere. The very reason he wanted the drug-induced haze so much right then, he thought bitterly. Well, Zack was asleep but the bottle had to be around somewhere. And he had to get up to piss anyway, he realized with a grimace. He took a moment to mentally prepare himself before gingerly throwing back the blankets and leveraging himself up to a sitting position. The effort took his breath away and caused a cold sweat to break out on his body. Standing was even worse. Dizziness swept through him, reminding him that it had been almost two full days since he'd eaten. He moved forward carefully, almost clinging to the wall for support, pain stabbing at him from every part of his body, his ankle, his ass, his ribs, his face. About half way there and his strength failed him or he took a wrong step or something, and he suddenly crashed to the floor with a pain-filled cry.
Zack was there in a second, while Ryan's vision was still swimming with black dots and his lungs were frozen, unable to draw a single breath. His hands were running over him, probably checking for new injuries, but it was too much and Ryan somehow found the breath to scream and jerk away, which only made him hurt more. Zack held his hands up in a placating gesture and let him cry it out. It was humiliating, completely fucking humiliating, to be lying on the floor sobbing because he couldn't make it to the bathroom by himself. And, he realized, far from the first time Zack had seen him in such a condition.
Ryan pulled it in. He pulled in the pain and the shame and the misery and he clamped it down. It was a tenuous hold at best, but it had to be good enough for now. With deep shuddering breaths, he pulled himself up to a sitting position and wiped the traitorous tears from his eyes. He didn't protest and barely even flinched when Zack helped him to his feet. Without a word they continued on into the bathroom, and once again Zack held him steady while he pissed blood into the toilet. As if needing help there in the first place wasn't humiliating enough.
He washed his hands at the sink and made himself look in the mirror. He'd avoided it the day before. His face was a mess, black and blue and red everywhere, but he could open his left eye a bit, so the swelling must have gone down some. There was little doubt in his mind that Mr. Wentz would be back that day. Would he be relatively calm, like the day before, or would he beat the shit out of him again in another crazed fury? He pushed the thoughts away with a shudder and Zack led him back to the bed. Zack disappeared and returned again with the pill bottle before Ryan had to ask. But there was only one pill in his hand when he offered it to Ryan instead of the usual two. Ryan glanced up at him but his face was its usual stony, expression-less mask. Ryan took the one pill without comment.
The half dosage of drugs made for pain that was only lessened rather than numbed and restless, inconsistent sleep, so when there was a knock on the door later in the day Ryan was mostly awake. He froze, heart hammering painfully in his chest. But moments later it was Pete's loud voice that filled the suite, not Mr. Wentz's. The relief he felt was palpable. But it wasn't as if he was eager to see Pete, either, or anyone for that matter. To say that he looked and felt like shit was an understatement. He hoped Zack would realize that and manage to send him away.
But as usual Pete was not to be denied and he came barging into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, which was unusual. Ryan grimaced and maneuvered himself up until he was sitting with his back against the headboard. The effort left him panting and dazed. So dazed, in fact, that it took him a moment to realize that Pete wasn't saying anything. He was just standing there, staring at Ryan, an... anguished look on his face. Ryan looked away, flooded with shame all over again. Pete slowly approached and then sat on the edge of the bed. Ryan fought the instinct to shrink away, but it must have shown on his face, because Pete suddenly looked even more upset.
"Fuck, Ryan, I was so worried. And I am so, so sorry," he said. Ryan pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, despite the sharp pain that it caused, because it was worse to remain open, vulnerable.
"For what? You didn't do anything," Ryan muttered in reply. Pete grimaced.
"No, but David's my brother. And... I did, Ryan. Before. I hurt you a lot, and I'm so fucking sorry," he said, his voice trembling.
Ryan felt like he'd been sucker-punched, staring at Pete's broken expression in shock. They had never talked about it, had never acknowledged it in any way as Pete had used him less and less and then finally stopped altogether, their relationship turning into something almost like friendship. But it was true. Back in those first dark months of Ryan's residency in the casino, Pete had been a frequent visitor to Ryan's suite. Young and bitter and resentful of his older brother, Pete had used Ryan's body like it was an object, fucking him without any apparent care for his willingness. He'd never gone out of his way to hurt Ryan more than the act already did. But... of course he had hurt him, mentally and physically. Ryan's skin suddenly felt hot and too tight on his body. He looked away.
"Why the hell are you bringing that shit up now? It's ancient history." Over three years since Pete had done that to him.
"I never said I was sorry, Ryan. I never should have fucking done it in the first place and I've never told you I was sorry. I was angry at the whole fucking world back then and never looked at anything beyond the tip of my own damn nose, but I should have known better than to rape someone over and over again. You were just a scared kid and fuck, after what David had already done to you, I can't believe I... I did that to you. I'm sorry, Ryan, please forgive me," Pete pleaded. Ryan rubbed at his face, ignoring the pain it caused his bruises. His insides felt like they were shaking.
"I know you're sorry Pete," he said quietly. He'd seen flashes of it in his eyes, sometimes, whenever Pete had been forcibly reminded of Ryan's role in the casino. And he'd stopped. The one and only person in Ryan's world who had free, un-restricted access to him and didn't take advantage of it. "I've known for a long time, and I forgave you a long time ago, too. It doesn't matter any more." Pete's eyes were shimmering, like he was fighting back tears. He gave a sharp nod, wiping at his face like he was trying to get himself under control.
"Well, good," he said after a few moments, flashing Ryan a dim version of his usual stupid grin. "I didn't come here just for that, though. I have information." Ryan nodded, curious and glad that the topic was changing. "Well, uh, obviously David's losing his fucking mind," Pete said with a grimace that Ryan mirrored. "According to Ray, he did get told that someone new would be taking over the casino. Apparently he's been offered another position, pretty equal in importance in the family hierarchy, but his behaviour when he returned here that night shows what he thinks of that idea. The whole damn place is abuzz with people wondering what's going to happen now." Pete stood up and started pacing the room. Ryan shivered at the similarity to Mr. Wentz's behaviour from a couple of days ago.
"So... does everyone know?" he asked.
"That he came back here in a rage and beat the fucking shit out of you, and then took you off the market, so to speak? Yeah, everyone knows," Pete answered. Ryan sighed. He didn't know why he should be so ashamed of it, Mr. Wentz's obsession with him, the things he did to him, but he was.
"But I do have new information, not just that stuff. I know what's causing the shake up in the family," he declared. Ryan looked up at him, his eyebrows raised. "Old don Saporta has no direct living heirs, only some distant relations who've never shown any interest in the business, so people have been wondering for years who his successor would be, and a lot of them have been vying for favour, hoping to be that person." It went unspoken that Mr. Wentz was one of those people. "But recently a great-nephew of all things just showed up from New Jersey, presenting himself to the don and declaring his interest. The old man took an immediate liking to him, and he was really impressed with his connections. He's the one that got the family from out east involved, the Ways." Ryan's eyebrows shot up even further, and Pete chuckled. "Yeah, turns out Mikey's not just with the family from out east, he's one of the damn princes in line behind his older brother for succession to head of the family. And he and this great-nephew of Saporta's are best fucking friends since childhood." Ryan was silent for awhile, turning it all over in his mind, but Pete wasn't finished.
"Ray says this new guy asked for the casino specifically. Apparently he and the Ways have a really big interest in it. The old man giving it to him pretty much cements it that he's going to make him his successor. Most people are accepting that. They agree with the old man that this guy's connections are good and that he can do good things for the family, that the alliance with the Ways is going to mean prosperity for everyone. But not David. I've... I've never seen him lose it like this. I don't know what he's going to do and it scares me," Pete said, chewing on a fingernail nervously.
"You and me both," Ryan muttered. Pete came back over and sat on the bed again.
"One thing's for certain, he's not going to just step aside. And he has a lot of men who are loyal to him more than to the family itself. Just how many of them would be willing to go to war against the family, I have no idea. It would be suicide. That's obvious to everyone except David. All he's going to accomplish is getting people hurt. I've been trying to keep an eye on him, trying to guess when he's going to make a move so I can pass the info on to Mikey, but he's been so damn erratic the past couple of days. He might do something with no planning at all." Pete flashed a quick grin. "He'll get a surprise, though. Remember how I told you the Ways sent some people out ahead, undercover-like, to work here? There's a handful of them spread through the whole staff, so when he makes a move someone should be there to see it. And, uh, it turns out Frank is one of them."
"Frank?" Ryan hissed, his eyes going wide. Frank was involved with the Ways? Frank who had to be mixed up in whatever Spencer's fucking friend was up to? Was he involved with the Ways, too? Good God, had Spencer gotten himself mixed up with the mob, after all Ryan's efforts to keep him far, far away?
Worse. It just kept getting fucking worse.
"Yeah, can you believe it? Best friends with Mikey's older brother, who's first in line to inherit the Way family. He's worked here for six months. This has been in the works for a long time," Pete said, shaking his head in amazement. Ryan felt cold all over. "Anyway, the official day of the change in management, the day David and his guys are supposed to leave, is three days away. Whatever's going to happen, it's going to happen soon. I'm... I'm going to stay with Mikey. David will be pissed, if he even notices on top of everything else. Everyone in the casino's going to have to decide where their loyalties lie, with the family or with David. Including... including Zack." Pete looked at Ryan worriedly as he hugged his knees tighter, despite the pain. "Mikey's pretty confident things are going to be okay. So... so don't worry too much, okay Ryan?" he continued on, his voice getting a bit brighter.
Ryan nodded mechanically, not looking at him. It was easy for Pete to say that. He wasn't a prisoner here. Sure, his fate had always been tied to the mob since his father had started working for the Saportas long before he was even born, but he wasn't a prisoner. Pete could ally with the Ways and be Mikey's boyfriend, but what would happen to him? Even if Mr. Wentz was gotten rid of and he left Ryan behind, which Ryan didn't think was going to happen for one second, where did that leave him? Would his life really be any different, any better, just because someone else was in charge?
"Just... hang in there, Ryan. Everything's going to be okay, all right?" Pete said earnestly, his words such an exact echo of Frank's from a couple of days before that Ryan could only gape at him for a moment, some unknown emotion rippling across his skin. Then he nodded so that Pete would be happy. But he didn't believe it. Not at all.
After Pete had gone, Zack once again brought him a single Vicodin pill. Ryan had to bite his lip to keep from asking for more. The one pill did little to calm the turmoil in his mind as he tried to process everything Pete had told him.
Mr. Wentz returned again that night, his eyes practically glowing but otherwise calm. Almost unnervingly so. After dismissing Zack he turned Ryan onto his stomach and fucked him into the mattress without a word. Ryan endured it soundlessly as well, his face buried into the pillow and his fists clenched in the sheets with a white-knuckled grip. After he'd finished, Mr. Wentz laid there for awhile, just... petting him, and staring at him as if he wanted to devour him. It un-nerved Ryan to the core. When the man finally got up and left, he was muttering to himself. Ryan buried his head back into the pillows and wished for oblivion.
Part 3.
Some time later found Ryan on his knees, sucking off yet another of Richardson's 'friends'. He didn't know how many there'd been; he hadn't seen much point in keeping count. Richardson had led him over to a group of his guests and they had started passing him around like the party favour he was. He'd lost his shirt at some point, which made him feel dreadfully exposed. He had some pretty terrible scars on his back and chest, not to mention lingering bruising from the other night's beating. None of Richardson’s guests seemed too off-put, though. They couldn't keep their hands off him. Even as he was on his knees servicing one of them, at least one other would be touching him, running their hands over his skin, petting his hair, or groping at his ass or crotch.
Ryan did his best to ignore the rough hand currently exploring his crotch and just concentrate on bringing off the man who's cock he was currently sucking as quickly as possible. His jaw was aching terribly and he was hoping for at least a small break before being pressed into service again. He couldn't suppress a small squawk of pain as the hand suddenly gripped him brutally. The men around him laughed uproariously, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Encouraged by this reaction, whoever had their hand on him gripped even harder, rubbing and twisting at his privates. They started rubbing their own crotch roughly against his ass as well, the hard outline of a cock easily felt through the double layers of their clothing. Ryan couldn't help but moan at the pain, it felt as if the man was trying to rip his cock off through his jeans. The others laughed harder, shouting encouragement. The man having his cock sucked apparently enjoyed the show as well, as he was suddenly coming, shooting off down Ryan's throat while holding his head so that he couldn't pull away. Ryan was caught off-guard and couldn't help but choke and gag. When he was finally released it was all he could do to keep from vomiting all over the floor. Laughter rang in his ears.
"Gorgeous, isn't he?" Richardson's voice called out. Suddenly a hand was gripping Ryan's arm and hauling him to his feet. He blinked away at the moisture in his eyes, willing himself not to cry. Inadvertantly he caught Jon's horrified gaze across the room, but he quickly looked away. He could just imagine the 'gorgeous' picture that he made, shirtless, make-up smeared and lips swollen from sucking cock. His eyes burned but he did not let the tears fall. "Now that everyone's taken the edge off I think it's time we brought tonight's festivities to the next level!" Richardson continued to a round of cheers. Ryan swallowed, grimacing slightly at the lingering taste. That couldn't mean anything good for him, that was for certain.
Richardson propelled Ryan toward the bed with the grip he still had on his arm. Ryan didn't like the look of the smirk on his face, not one bit. A half dozen or so of the guests followed, either taking seats in the armchairs arranged nearby or gathering in around the bed to watch more closely. But Ryan knew that even most of the people who hadn't followed had their attention focused on the activity on the raised dais. He very purposelly did not look back toward the gambling tables, where Jon was undoubtedly watching. Nor did he seek out Zack, who would be unobtrusively patrolling the outskirts of the party but who would also be paying attention, ready for any sign that he should intervene. There were carefully negotiated guidelines for how far Richardson could go, based on how much he had paid.
"You're still wearing far too much, darling, let's see all of you," Richardson said, unzipping Ryan's jeans. Obediently, Ryan kicked off his shoes and slid both the jeans and his briefs down over his hips and stepped out of them. He was pleased to see that his hands were not shaking at all, despite the dread and shame roiling just under his skin. There was a murmur through the gathered audience, commenting, no doubt on the scars and bruises. Richardson's eyes seemed to shine as he took them in. He was a sadist, much like Mr. Wentz. Seeing damage done got his blood boiling, got him excited, made him want to touch and hurt and leave his own marks behind. There was no safe place for Ryan to look so that he wouldn't see similar hungry looks in all the faces watching him, devouring him.
"You take it so well, bruise so magnificently,” Richardson murmured, so that only Ryan could hear. He traced a finger down over Ryan's cheek, over his throat and down over his chest. "On the bed. Face down," he ordered, speaking louder for the benefit of the audience. Ryan obeyed without a word. When he turned his face to keep from being smothered in the mattress he immediately realized he should have turned the other way, facing the wall instead of looking out at the room and all the upturned faces. But as soon as he lifted his head to turn it Richardson pushed it back down. "Tsk, tsk. I think you should stay just like that precious," he said, the smirk evident in his voice. Ryan closed his eyes.
Richardson enlisted the help of one of his friends and together they bent Ryan's legs up at the knee and tied right ankle to right wrist and left ankle to left wrist. Ryan fought back a grimace at the pull he could feel in his shoulders. It would quickly become unbearable, he knew from experience. He felt ridiculous, and his face burned at the thought of what he must look like, practically hog-tied on the bed. The mattress dipped as someone, probably Richardson, knelt on the bed between his legs. His breath hitched as cool lube was suddenly being rubbed into his ass, blunt fingers probing inside to stretch him. They didn't linger at their task, withdrawing quickly only to be replaced by something much larger, something hard and unforgiving. Ryan bit his lip as what was most likely a large dildo was slowly but inexorably forced into his body. A very large dildo, he amended with a grimace at the pain. It felt like he was being speared right through.
"There, now. I bet that feels good," Richardson laughed when he was finally finished forcing it in. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on Ryan's body as he tried to take steady, even breaths. He felt like he was filled full to bursting and it was all he could do to keep from squirming in discomfort. The steadily growing strain in his shoulders and the unnatural pull on his legs all added to his distress. "How about we make it feel even better, though?" Richardson said gleefully, and suddenly the thing lodged inside of Ryan buzzed to life. He couldn't help but cry out in surprise.
A vibrator. Fuck! he cursed to himself. It was very strong, to the point of being painful. But despite the pain, the relentless jarring of his prostate caused his cock to start to harden. He was helpless now to keep from squirming, and to keep from making small, desperate cries that were a mix of pain and frustration. The laughter and chatter of the people gathered around dug into his skin like knives, adding to his misery. He wanted desperately to bury his face into the blanket, but he didn't dare disobey his order to keep his position.
A click and the vibrations were suddenly, impossibly stronger. He cried out at the overwhelming sensation, his whole body feeling like it was going to shake apart. It was just too much, pain and discomfort quickly overcame any physical 'pleasure' the vibrations were producing. It only grew worse as Richardson invited the specatators to touch him. Too many hands to count touching his over-sensitized skin, and even reaching down to caress his ass, his balls, his hard cock. The sounds he was making were absolutely mortifying, harsh desperate cries that were almost sobs. A hand fisted in his hair and lifted his head from the mattress, bending his neck at a harsh angle. To his complete and utter shame he realized that small tracks of tears had escaped from his eyes. He did his best to focus on the figure before him - Richardson - and not anyone else in the room.
"Do you realize how tantalizing you are, squirming like a worm on a hook?" Richardson purred. "You look a little overwhelmed. And we're not even finished yet. Last setting." He motioned to one of the others and the vibrator was turned up again.
Ryan's vision whited out. Dimly, he was aware of someone screaming, but it took a moment for it to register that it was him. It just hurt so much. The sudden appearance of warmth under his belly alerted him to the fact that he had come without even realizing it, a purely physical reaction forced out of him by the relentless stimulation. When he became aware that Richardson had let go of him, he did bury his face in the blanket, not caring about the possible repercussions. He just needed to try to hide the desperate, bleating noises he was still making against the pain that was tunneling through his torso, that was rattling his bones, that was tearing him apart.
"As entertaining as this is, I'm sure poor Ryan here would like it to end," Richardson laughed. "I'll tell you what, Ryan, beg me and I might consider turning it off." Ryan recognized it for the order it was, but even though he turned his head away from the blanket he couldn't seem to make the words form. Tears were spilling un-checked now, dampening the blanket beneath his face. Richardson leaned down toward him, all trace of humour gone from his face.
"I said 'Beg me', whore," he said, his voice as hard and cold as iron.
"P-Please," Ryan finally managed to utter, his voice weak and shaking. "Please... t-turn it off. Please." But Richardson just grinned darkly and laughed with his friends.
Just when he was sure it was never, ever going to end, it suddenly stopped. Ryan gasped at the abrupt change. His body seemed to echo with the intense vibrations. He could do little else other than lay there panting, exhausted and worn out. But he knew that there was no way that Richardson was finished with him that quickly.
There was a smattering of applause and enthusiastic chatter as Richardson gave a small bow to his audience. "Exquisite, isn't he? So delightfully responsive. Now, I'm sure you're all eager to have a taste, but please be patient and wait your turn! We have all night. I've laid out a small selection of toys on the night table to add to your experience if you so desire. Have fun!" With that he leaned over Ryan's body and none-too-gently removed the vibrator. Ryan grunted at the unpleasant sensation, though it was a relatively minor hurt compared to his screaming shoulders, the bone-deep ache that permeated his body, and the rawness of his insides. And there was to be no respite either, because no sooner had Richardson moved away than another party-goer climbed onto the bed between Ryan's legs, unzipping his pants with a grin.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut tightly as his middle was hoisted up so that a firm pillow could be jammed under his hips, lifting his ass up higher into the air and also adding to the strain on his shoulders. A weight settled over him as a slick cock was forced into his sore ass. It hurt, not just because of the stretch and the rawness of his entrance, but also because of how his aching body was rocked with the rythym of the fucking. The man made no pretense at being gentle; he enthusiastically pounded Ryan into the mattress. And though he had little stamina, he was quickly replaced by another. And then another. Ryan could no more keep count of the men fucking him than he could keep count of the cocks he had sucked earlier. There was a familiarity to it, though. His mind drifted for a time, away from thoughts of where he was and what was happening to him, and most especially from thoughts about who was watching. He knew he was hurting, could feel the pain on some deep level, and he knew he wasn't able to keep quiet, that he was making embarassing grunts and cries of pain, but it was... separate from him somehow. It was not until one of the party-goers wanted to untie him and move him to a different position that he was broken from his detached daze.
"I want to see his face," the man was saying, as he untied Ryan's wrists from his ankles. Ryan gasped in pain as cut off circulation flowed freely once again.
"Of course, of course," Richardson was saying as he helped to turn Ryan over onto his back. Ryan's gaze swung around the room without his consent, still in a bit of a disconnected state. People were clustered around the sides of the bed, in various stages of undress, mostly men. Their eyes were on him. Zack was further away, over near the door, with another of Mr. Wentz's men. He was looking at him, too. Ryan's skin felt like it was crawling under the weight of so many gazes. He saw his father, still at the craps table, still one of the only people in the room resolutely not looking his way. And Jon. Jon was still working, dealing blackjack, so his attention couldn't fully rest on the bed and its occupants, but in the brief time that Ryan's gaze traveled over him, he saw him glance furtively in his direction a couple of times with a... an unhappy expression. Ryan didn't want to know. He didn't want to feel any of this. He looked at the ceiling instead.
"I don't want to hear him so much, though," the man said. "All that pathetic noise... I don't like it."
"I have just the thing," Richardson said. There was movement in Ryan's peripheral vision, over by the night table, and then Richardson was leaning over him, grasping his chin to pull his mouth open and then inserting a large, phallus-shaped gag into his mouth and lifting his head to tie the strings at the back. It stretched his jaw painfully wide and nearly touched the back of his throat, almost choking him. Richardson re-tied his legs so that his calves were lashed to his thighs, an intensely uncomfortable position, and then his wrists were tightly cuffed together. As the man positioned himself over him, he held his wrists down above his head with one hand. As he repeatedly thrust into Ryan's body, his other hand traveled over him, fingers scratching at his skin, pushing at his bruises, seeking to leave their own mark. His eyes never left Ryan's face, drinking in every nuance of pain that Ryan couldn't hide. Ryan could do little more than whimper with the gag choking him. He knew his eyes were leaking tears, that his body was being shoved into the mattress, he was being fucked so hard. He gazed past the man, at the ceiling. A violent slap brought his full attention to the man.
"Look at me , you filthy cunt!" the man snarled loudly. "Filthy fucking whore, I'll show you your place." Ryan could barely even gasp for air as the man fucked into him even harder. "Fucking whore." He hit him again. Ryan tasted blood in his mouth. "Piece of shit." Another blow. "Nothing. Fucking piece of nothing," the man hissed, nails digging into Ryan's flesh, his gaze locked to Ryan's, to every ounce of his pain. The litany continued, every filthy name in the book and then some, before the man finally climaxed and then rolled off of him. But he wasn't the last. There were still a few more men wanting his services, and amused enough by the gag and the bonds not to remove them. It was so, so much harder to drift, when he had to look them in the face.
It felt like an eternity after the party had started, when Ryan realized that the room had emptied considerably, with only a few guests left. Richardson among them, of course. He loudly invited those remaining to seconds, and a number of them gladly took him up on his generous offer. Someone finally removed the phallus-shaped gag, but only because they wanted to hear his cries as they beat him with a small paddle and fucked him mercilessly. He glimpsed Jon leaving, again looking in his direction, just as the guest who was fucking him yanked viciously on his hair, eliciting a guttural cry. They both looked away from each other, horrified.
It was late, very late, when Zack finally came over to collect him. If Ryan had had enough presence of mind to feel anything much at all, it would have been stark relief.
When Ryan awoke sometime the next afternoon, he felt an emptiness that was almost alarming. He knew it shouldn't matter. Nothing had happened at the party that hadn't happened to him a hundred times before. It shouldn't matter that Jon had seen. It... it was a lie anyway, any fantasy that he had had that he might have something resembling a friendship with Jon. Absolutely ludicrous. And Spencer... Spencer being around in any context was meaningless.
But all attempts to convince himself otherwise came to naught when he was in the shower, washing away the previous night's layers of sweat and come, and he found himself suddenly overwhelmed with such a visceral sense of missing Spencer that he found himself huddled on the floor of the shower, hugging his legs and sobbing like he hadn't done in years. In the days since he'd seen Spencer, while he'd been wrapped up in fear for him, he hadn't let himself think of it, just how much he missed his friend. But he did. He missed him so much it was a physical pain, deep in his gut, on top of all the pains he suffered day-to-day, it was there. It had always been there, but he had put so much effort into pushing it back into the farthest reaches of his mind. But he couldn't deny it now, not after seeing him.
Zack appeared after a short time, and pulled him out of the shower without a word, his face stony. He grabbed a towel and dried Ryan off. Ryan felt absurdly grateful that he wasn't mentioning his impromptu breakdown. But Zack was always like that, he realized. Always there for him, but never prying. There, and even... even still indulging, but there for him, a silent, unspoken support. Bizarre, without a doubt. But probably the best that Ryan could hope for, under the circumstances. Zack had to care for him, didn't he? It was his job, of course, but... but he went beyond, didn't he? Any of Mr. Wentz's other men, given the same job, would have undoubtedly have treated him like shit all of the time. Ryan could barely even wrap his mind around the concept of it. How could he feel... almost safe, or comforted even, because of Zack? Zack may guard him when he was working, but... but Zack raped him. Zack raped him almost every day. It was his due as Ryan's keeper, but... it was still rape, wasn't it? He didn't... he didn't really consent to it, all the times Zack helped himself to his body, even when he was worn out or in a lot of pain. Zack still usually fucked him those times. So how... so how could he even vaguely think Zack might have some affection for him? It was crazy. Stockholm Syndrome, he thought. So, so pathetic. Just another thing on the list.
He had rounds in the casino again that night. He couldn't imagine going out and facing people. Facing Jon. But to make matters worse he was paid a visit by Mr. Wentz just as he was about to start getting ready. He breezed into the suite unannounced, one of his loyal goons trailing behind and taking up a position by the door. Ryan stiffened instinctively as Mr. Wentz approached him, a smile on his lips that chilled him to the bone.
"And how are we this evening, Ryan? Ready to earn me some money, I hope," he said.
"Of course, sir," Ryan replied, eyes downcast, his voice soft and meek. Just as Mr. Wentz liked. The older man smirked, reaching out a hand to caress Ryan's bruised cheek. It was only his years of experience that allowed Ryan to remain motionless, when his every instinct screamed at him to jerk away.
"So......," Mr. Wentz drawled. "Did you enjoy the party last night?" There was something in his tone that raised the hairs on the back of Ryan's neck. His spine stiffened, and he remained silent, unsure of the proper response. Mr. Wentz's smirk deepened. "I'm sure it was nice for you... having another familiar face there," he continued, amusement lacing his voice.
Ryan swallowed convulsively, his fists clenching. A sick sense of dread seeped through his veins. Slowly, almost against his will, his gaze rose to meet Mr. Wentz's. "You... you did do it on purpose... having Jon there," he whispered. Mr. Wentz chuckled. And then Ryan suddenly found himself slammed back against the bed, Mr. Wentz's hand pressed harshly against his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zack rise to his feet, and then grimace and look away.
"Of course I did it on purpose, you fucking whore," Mr. Wentz sneered. "I wouldn't want you to forget your place." The hand that wasn't choking him was digging at his pants, pulling them away. "Stupid fucking piece of shit... you think you matter to anyone but me? I own you, you fucking whore. I'll fucking show you what you're good for...." Ryan turned his gaze to the ceiling, tried to slip away, to his numb place, where nothing mattered. It was hard, it was harder than it had been in a long time, to disconnect... to slip away... while Mr. Wentz raped him, while he fucked him into the mattress as Zack averted his gaze and the other goon watched with a leer on his face.
After Mr. Wentz was gone, he had to get ready for his rounds. The new pain radiating up his spine didn't matter, of course. Heavy make-up was needed again to cover the new bruising from last night. Just something to be expected from one of Richardson's parties. Hell, he should probably be grateful that the damage wasn't worse. It had been. On a lot of occasions in the past, it had been worse. No reason at all to feel like this occasion was a big deal. But somehow, everything was shaken. He couldn't get his usual equilibrium. He felt much more exposed than usual, but he had no choice but to walk the floor as usual, as per Mr. Wentz’s orders. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It had been hard, but he'd learned how to function here, even with... everything. He should have been able to handle the events of the past few days with no problem. But he felt like... like his seams were coming apart.
When it was time to start he went down to the bar as usual. Frank greeted him with a wide smile and a tonic and lime.
"You couldn't throw a shot or two of vodka in there, could you?" Ryan muttered as he reached for the glass. He was surprised by Frank's chuckle. He hadn't actually meant for the other man to hear him.
"Well, I suppose I could, but is that really a habit you want to get into?" Frank said with a smile.
"No... no, I guess not," Ryan said, thinking of his father. He looked at Frank consideringly. All the waiters worked through the bar. So Frank had to know Spencer's friend. And he had witnessed his little 'run-in' with Spencer the other night, with the friend right there. Did he... did he know something? It was too much of a coincidence for the guy to just show up as a bar waiter after that. But... what if he didn't know anything? Would Ryan be putting Spencer's friend, and by extention Spencer himself, in danger by asking questions?
Ryan fiddled with his glass nervously, trying to figure out something he could say that wouldn't give too much away, but that still might get him some answers.
"Something on your mind?" Frank finally asked, after Ryan's extended silence. Ryan fidgeted some more, unsure.
"There's... there's nothing going on, is there?" he asked tentatively. Frank arched an eyebrow, regarding him speculatively.
"Nothing you need to worry about, kid," he replied at length. "You should, uh, probably get to work, huh?" Ryan nodded numbly, and started to rise to his feet. "Hey, kid," Frank called just as Ryan was about to step away. "Everything's going to be okay, all right?" Frank's expression was oddly intense. Ryan blinked at him in surprise before giving a quick nod. He walked away feeling completely thrown off kilter.
The feeling only intensified as he spotted Spencer's friend a couple of times out on the floor. Something was obviously up and he had no idea what it was. But anything that involved messing with the status quo at the casino was dangerous. Not knowing what was going on meant he had no idea what to prepare for.
Later in the evening Ryan spotted Pete and Mikey seated at Jon's blackjack table again, engaged in a conversation with a man who had what could only be described as a truly epic fro. The conversation looked oddly serious for one that was taking place around a blackjack table.
Ryan grimaced. The last person he wanted to see was Jon. He'd been trying to avoid this area of the floor but had been lost in thought as he walked. He tried to slip back into the crowd but it was too late. He saw Mikey motion towards him and everyone at the table turned to look at him. Ryan blinked at the serious expression on Pete's face. Jon's eyes widened and then he quickly looked away, clearly uncomfortable. Ryan felt an answering wave of shame roll over him. He turned again, meaning to walk away, but Pete hopped down from his stool and hurried over to him, grabbing his arm. Again, Ryan couldn't help but be amazed at the un-characteristic seriousness on his face. He'd never seen Pete look quite like that before.
"Hey, Ryan," Pete said, trying for casual and failing. Ryan's unease ratcheted up a level. "You haven't seen my brother around, have you?"
"Um, yeah, actually, I… saw him earlier," Ryan replied, suppressing a shudder at the memory. Pete peered at him intently.
"Was he... mad?" Pete asked. Ryan narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Yeah, he got a little worked up," he replied. Nothing really all that unusual, Mr. Wentz getting violent with him. But Pete waved a hand dismissively at him.
"No, like, did he seem... upset. You know, about something else," he said. Ryan's spine stiffened.
"Do you mean did he seem concerned about something other than shoving me around and sticking his cock in me? Gee, I'm sorry, I was a little too pre-occupied to pay attention," he bit out. Pete jerked back as if he'd been hit, and then shame flooded his features.
"Shit, sorry, Ryan. I didn't.... That was a stupid thing to say. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm so sorry,” he gushed. Ryan sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Pete always treated Ryan's situation so... casually. It shouldn't be surprising considering that he used to take full advantage of that situation back when Ryan was a new arrival at the casino. But somehow over the months Pete had started talking to him, treating him more like an equal and a friend, had even stopped fucking him. But he'd never really lost that flippant, casual attitude. He was always sorry and embarrassed when he was called on it, but it was still there, and it was just one more thing pouring salt on Ryan's wounds. But... that was the least of his worries right now. Pete was acting strange, and considering the other things going on, it was making Ryan decidedly nervous.
"Pete... what the hell is going on?" Ryan asked slowly. Pete's eyes widened.
"What do you mean?" he asked, making an unconvincing play at nonchalance.
"Look, I'm not stupid," Ryan hissed. "I can tell by the way you're acting that something's up. And there's... other stuff going on, too. I just... I just feel like something bad's going to happen." As soon as the words left his mouth he realized just how true they were. For days now, ever since Spencer had shown up, he'd been plagued by the certainty that something was going to go very, very wrong. Pete sighed.
"Well... yeah, okay. It won't hurt to tell you some of it, I guess. Apparently there's some kind of shake-up in progress with the Saporta family leadership. There's another family involved, one from out east, and rumour has it that when the dust settles this casino's going to be, uh, under new management, so to speak," he said. Ryan's eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Are you serious?” Ryan gasped. New management for the casino could mean... well, it could mean anything.
"Yeah," Pete muttered. "And apparently my brother's in a right snit about it, too." He waved back at the blackjack table. "Ray there works at the main Saporta house, he and Bob go way back. He said David has a meeting there tonight, and all signs point to him being told he's going to be replaced soon. I... really don't think he's going to take it well."
Ryan shook his head, trying to process all the information. He looked over to the table in a daze, noting how they were all staring back at the two of them. Then something occurred to him.
"Wait... what about Mikey? Why were you talking about this with him? I thought you said he wasn't family?" he asked, confused. Pete rubbed his head sheepishly.
"Well, uh, he's not. Not Saporta anyway." He leaned in towards Ryan conspiratorially. "Turns out he's with the family from out east. Apparently they sent some people ahead to work here, get a feel for the place. But you can't tell anyone!"
"WHAT?" Ryan yelped. A few people nearby turned to look at them, startled. Pete widened his eyes in alarm. "What if your brother finds out? You know what he'd do if he found out you were... were fraternizing with a rival family!" Ryan couldn't wrap his head around it. They were all so screwed.
"Well, it's not like I knew at first!" Pete complained. "Besides, you know how I feel about how David does things. In my opinion, him getting booted out of power here can only be a good thing. It'd be good for you, too, wouldn't it?"
"But...," Ryan trailed off, unable to voice the words. Would it be good for him? The thought of never having to deal with Mr. Wentz again was... it was just kind of unbelievable. But if Mr. Wentz was gone, someone else would be in his place. And... and what if that person was even worse? It seemed impossible, but Ryan knew from bitter experience that things could always be worse.
"It would be stupid of him to fight it," Pete muttered. "What does he think he's going to do, start a war with two powerful families with his handful of supporters? The way Ray says it, everything's expected to go peacefully. He's the only one likely to dissent." Ryan stared at him in horror. Would Mr. Wentz really try to hang on to the casino with force? People would get hurt. Ryan thought of Mr. Wentz's lust for power, for control, of his increasingly frequent claims of ownership. He would. Of course he would. Suddenly Zack was at his side, giving his arm a brusque shake.
"What the hell is going on here?" he barked. "You're supposed to be making your rounds. Do you want Mr. Wentz to see you just standing around?" Ryan shook his head numbly as Pete raised his eyebrows.
"My brother's on the floor?" he asked.
"Yeah, he and some of his guys are having a pow-wow over by the bar. He doesn't look too happy, either, so the last thing you want is for him to see you standing here lollygagging," Zack answered. Pete's eyes widened and he bit his lip, his eyes darting back to the others at the table. He looked as if there was something else he wanted to say. Zack tugged on Ryan's arm as further reminder that he should get moving. Ryan started to walk away, too overwhelmed to do anything else.
"Ryan!" Pete called. "Be... be, uh, careful, okay?" With that he turned and headed back to Jon's table.
Ryan took Zack's advice and returned to walking the floor. But he was on autopilot, his mind in a daze. As if Spencer turning up and worrying over what the hell his friend and Frank of all people might be up to wasn't enough. Now something might be happening within the casino management, with Mr. Wentz? His whole world had turned upside down. It was a pretty fucking shitty world, to be sure, but it was one he knew, one he was familiar with and had learned, through great hardship and pain, to live with. And now it was being shaken, uprooted, and not for the better.
He kept running Pete's words through his head, about how Mr. Wentz was probably going to be replaced as head of the casino. Mr. Wentz was never going to let it happen without a struggle. He thought about how he was always so… possessive. And… he was getting worse, he realized. He'd noticed it before, sub-consciously maybe, but he hadn't let himself really know it, or think about what it might mean. But it was true. Mr. Wentz was obsessed with him. It had started right from that very first night. Ryan felt chilled right down to his bones. One thing was certain. Mr. Wentz was no more likely to let him go without a struggle than he was the casino.
He didn't have any appointments until very late, so his rounds in the casino stretched on for hours. By the time Zack came to lead him back upstairs he was exhausted, his body aching from it's mistreatment at Richardson's party the night before, and his ankle practically screaming in pain from walking on it all night. All he wanted to do was sit in peace for five minutes before his first client showed up. But he and Zack hadn't been back in their suite for more than five minutes before the door burst open and Mr. Wentz strode in, looking murderous. Ryan's blood turned to ice-water in his veins. Even Zack looked uneasy. Mr. Wentz looked positvely unhinged. He brushed past Zack and went straight for Ryan, grabbing his arm harshly.
"Your appointments tonight are cancelled, it's just going to be the two of us. Zack, why don't you go get a coffee or something?" he said, pulling Ryan towards the bedroom. Ryan couldn't help the small sound of fear that escaped his throat.
"Mr. Wentz?" Zack questioned uncertainly.
"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Mr. Wentz yelled, his face going red. Zack drew back a bit, clearly feeling torn. Ryan stared at him, silently pleading, but inevitably Zack followed his orders and headed out the door, a scowl on his face. Ryan could have sobbed.
Mr. Wentz hauled him into the bedroom and tossed him at the bed. He hit it at an awkward angle and slid down onto the floor. He huddled there as Mr. Wentz paced about wildly. Ryan had never seen him so out of control. It chilled him to the bone.
"Think they're going to get rid of me, do they?" he was muttering. "After all these years? This casino is mine! I've made it what it is today! Everything in it belongs to me! Everything!"
Clearly the meeting at the Saporta house had gone as Pete and the others suspected it would. Mr. Wentz had been told he was going to be replaced. Ryan wrapped his arms around his legs and pressed his face against his knees. He was so scared he was almost numb from it. Scared of the uncertain future... and scared of what Mr. Wentz might do, a much more immediate concern.
The enraged man swooped in and grabbed Ryan's arm, hauling him to his feet only to pull back and belt him across the face. Ryan fell to the bed with a cry.
"Nobody's taking what's mine!" Mr. Wentz screamed, his eyes crazed. And then he was on top of him, raining down more punches and blows as he continued to rant. He was in a violent frenzy the likes of which Ryan had never seen before, not seeming to take any care at all to the damage he might be causing his 'asset', beating on his face just as badly as anywhere else, something he usually avoided. He's going to kill me, Ryan thought. He won't even mean to do it. Panicked, Ryan did the unthinkable. He struggled to get away, raising his arms to try to ward off the onslaught and trying to scramble backwards. But his efforts were futile against Mr. Wentz's strength, and only served to incite him further. The intensity of the blows increased. Ryan screamed in agony as he felt a rib crack. Things started to go black around the edges. Ryan welcomed it, awash in a sea of pain, his ears filled with the sick sound of flesh hitting against flesh and his own gasping cries of pain.
And then Mr. Wentz was flipping him over, ripping his pants away, and that pain was nothing new, nothing unfamiliar. But Mr. Wentz didn't stop beating on him even as he fucked him into the mattress.
"Stupid fucking worthless cunt. Mine! You're fucking mine," Mr. Wentz panted, striking him in the kidney as he ripped him apart from the inside out. Ryan finally greyed out.
When he became aware again, he was lying on his back again and was nearly bent in half, Mr. Wentz's weight driving him repeatedly back into the mattress. Pain was everywhere. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue and he could barely open his left eye. Could barely breathe at all, Mr. Wentz's violent thrusts pushing the air from his lungs and sending burning spikes of agony radiating out from the cracked rib. At least he wasn't hitting him anymore. Ryan drifted away again.
He came to again, eventually, and there were voices in the room, arguing. Panic licked down his spine until he realized that one of them was Zack's. Relief flooded his veins. The other was... the hotel doctor? He couldn't hear Mr. Wentz at all. Was he gone? He tried to open his eyes, but his left one was now completely swollen shut. He tried to lift his hand to feel it and gasped at the pain that shot through his body. Suddenly Zack was looming over him.
"Ryan? Don't move. Just lay still and let us clean you up," he said. Ryan did as he was told. It was too painful to even consider doing otherwise. Zack wiped carefully at his face with a damp washcloth while the doctor poked and proded at him, eliciting a sharp cry when he pressed his side.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's cracked, maybe even broken," the doctor said.
"Fuck," Zack said. "He should be in the hospital." The doctor laughed.
"Are you going to be the one to tell the boss that?" he asked. Zack's silence was answer enough. "I don't know what he was thinking, though," the doctor continued. "He almost frigging killed him. And he won't be able to see clients for at least a couple of weeks, I would say."
"Won't be a problem," Zack answered gruffly. "He ordered him out of service for the foreseeable future. Doesn't... doesn't want anyone else touching him."
"Really?" the doctor said, shock evident in his voice. "That's... interesting. Well, I've done all I can here. We'll just have to hope he isn't bleeding internally or something. Though from the bruising over his kidneys I'm sure he'll be pissing blood for awhile. Keep him as still as possible and here, I'll give you some of the good stuff for him." With that he moved away, rummaging around in his medical bag. Zack followed him and the two of them left the room, moving out into the main room of the suite, their voices growing indistinct.
Ryan lay in a haze of pain, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling, his breath wheezing in and out of him in small, agonized gasps. Mr. Wentz had never... lost control like that before. Just... pounding him into oblivion without a care for preserving the merchandise or even showing his usual sadistic glee at his pain. He'd just... lost it, beating on him in a rage. And... no more clients. Indefinitely. Ryan was more certain than ever that Mr. Wentz wasn't going to let him go. Ever. Would he kill him? Would he leave, and take him with him? Would he refuse to go and get him and a lot of other people killed in a bloody struggle for power? Maybe... maybe it would be for the best if he just fucking killed him. It wasn't as if Ryan had never thought about it... ending his own life. Ending his misery and pain. But he'd never had the courage. And he'd been too afraid that Mr. Wentz would consider it the same as trying to escape and... and follow through on the threats he'd made, the first night he'd been brought to the casino. That had been... unthinkable.
Spencer.... Was he still around, somewhere, up to something with his friend? Would they get caught in the crossfire of whatever went down between Mr. Wentz and the Saportas? And even Pete... going behind his brother's back, supporting people he would no doubt consider his enemies... what would happen to him? Jon, and Frank, and... Zack.... They would all be in danger from Mr. Wentz's madness, if he tried to stay in power by force. Ryan felt a depth of fear he hadn't thought possible. For years he'd done everything possible, obeyed every word, endured every humiliation and shame and injury, to protect people he cared about from harm. And now it might all have been for nothing.
Zack re-entered the room, carrying a glass of water and a bottle of pills. He helped Ryan sit up enough to swallow two Vicodin. It hurt. The small effort had tears leaking from the corners of Ryan's eyes as he settled back down. Zack stood there for a moment, staring down at him. Guilt was written all over his features.
"It's not your fault," Ryan murmured. "You were just following orders." All he wanted to do was sink into narcotic-induced oblivion. Zack pressed his lips together with a scowl before turning abruptly and leaving the room. Ryan closed his one good eye and waited for oblivion to come.
Thanks to the Vicodin, Ryan slept through most of the next day. Zack tried to get him to eat something late in the afternoon, but Ryan was in too much misery, mentally and physically, to even contemplate it. Even just hobbling to the bathroom to relieve himself, with Zack's help, was torture. The sight of the promised blood in his piss turned his stomach. He just wanted to sleep forever. But, inevitably, Mr. Wentz showed up.
He was much calmer than he had been the day before, Ryan noted with relief, but there was still a crazed glint in his eyes. Again, he ordered Zack away and again, Zack obeyed, wordlessly but with an unhappy scowl. Ryan lay silently on the bed, watching with growing unease as Mr. Wentz paced. He may not have been ranting, but his behaviour was still far off enough from his usual unflappable and in-control demeanor to set Ryan's teeth on edge.
Finally, he approached the bed, sitting down at Ryan's side and leaning over him. Every nerve in Ryan's body felt frozen with dreadful anticipation. He wished he could sink down through the bed and disappear. But he was trapped.
"They're not going to take what's mine," he said, the fervor in his expression chilling Ryan's blood. "I'll do whatever's necessary to stop them." He ran a hand over Ryan's bruised face, and it was all he could do not to flinch away. "Everything under this roof is mine. Mine. Especially you." His hand traveled down, snaking under the sheets over Ryan's chest, the force too heavy to be called a caress. Ryan gasped at the pain and Mr. Wentz smiled. "The only thing you're good for is being a whore. My whore." Ryan closed his good eye, his fists clenching in the sheets. "I'll show them. I'll make them see. They'll realize their mistake when they try to go against me. I'm not going to lose anything."
Ryan cried out as Mr. Wentz yanked the sheets away and pushed him over onto his stomach. The pain was unbelievable. Though it caused him even more pain, he buried his bruised face into the pillow and bit into it to keep from screaming. His fingers clawed at the sheets as Mr. Wentz hitched his sharply aching body into position. He could do little more than shudder as he was fucked into the mattress with no preparation, barely able to draw breath, barely able to think under the onslaught. He prayed for unconsciousness to claim him but it proved to be elusive this time. It seemed to go on forever, harsh panting loud in his ears, but finally, inevitably, Mr. Wentz reached his climax and collapsed on top of him. Ryan couldn't help but whimper, hating how pathetic he sounded, but the weight was crushing him. His side with the cracked rib was screaming. Mr. Wentz chuckled, but rolled off of him.
For a time the only sound in the room was Ryan's pained, gasping breaths. The pillow was wet under his face, tears having leaked from his eyes. He... he hated himself so much. Mr. Wentz was right. He was a pathetic whore. It would never be any different. His fists clenched tighter in the sheets as sobs threatened to escape from his burning lungs. I need more Vicodin. I need to not be here, to not be feeling this. I need to just be gone.
He grunted in pain and surprise as Mr. Wentz suddenly sat up and rolled him back over. The man stared down at him with what could only be described as hunger. His hand stroked over Ryan's face again before closing over his throat in a menacing, possessive grip. Ryan stared back, frozen. He dared not move a muscle.
"They'll see. They'll see what happens to people who try to take what's mine," Mr. Wentz murmured, his eyes glinting. With that he released his hold and rose to his feet, fixing his clothes back into order before striding from the room. Ryan lay panting, his whole body awash in agony, until Zack appeared, grim-faced. He went about his duties, cleaning up Mr. Wentz's mess and re-arranging the sheets back over Ryan's body. Ryan couldn't bring himself to look at him. He flinched as Zack wiped the remnants of tears from his face, more shamed than he could give reason to.
"Vicodin," he croaked. "Please." If he had the strength to feel anything other than pain and self-loathing, he would have been shocked at the desperation in his voice.
Zack did as he asked. He swallowed the pills gratefully. He was even more grateful when Zack retreated to the suite's main room, leaving him be for the time being. Ryan lay alone in the dark and waited for drug-induced oblivion. He did not cry any more.
When he awoke again the weak light slanting through the blinds told him that it was the next day. He was momentarily gripped by fear at the weight at his side but it subsided when he realized that it was just Zack. His mind was disturbingly clear and he immediately wished for more Vicodin, before the pain in the rest of his body had even registered. He knew what that meant. Fuck. But... what did it even matter, anyway? He was already a whore, why not be a junkie, too? Mr. Wentz might not even care anymore, now that he was going crazy. And then again, maybe Mr. Wentz was going to get himself killed and whoever took his place would care very much. Or maybe they'd want Ryan to be a junkie, just one more way to keep him under control.
And thoughts like that would get him nowhere. The very reason he wanted the drug-induced haze so much right then, he thought bitterly. Well, Zack was asleep but the bottle had to be around somewhere. And he had to get up to piss anyway, he realized with a grimace. He took a moment to mentally prepare himself before gingerly throwing back the blankets and leveraging himself up to a sitting position. The effort took his breath away and caused a cold sweat to break out on his body. Standing was even worse. Dizziness swept through him, reminding him that it had been almost two full days since he'd eaten. He moved forward carefully, almost clinging to the wall for support, pain stabbing at him from every part of his body, his ankle, his ass, his ribs, his face. About half way there and his strength failed him or he took a wrong step or something, and he suddenly crashed to the floor with a pain-filled cry.
Zack was there in a second, while Ryan's vision was still swimming with black dots and his lungs were frozen, unable to draw a single breath. His hands were running over him, probably checking for new injuries, but it was too much and Ryan somehow found the breath to scream and jerk away, which only made him hurt more. Zack held his hands up in a placating gesture and let him cry it out. It was humiliating, completely fucking humiliating, to be lying on the floor sobbing because he couldn't make it to the bathroom by himself. And, he realized, far from the first time Zack had seen him in such a condition.
Ryan pulled it in. He pulled in the pain and the shame and the misery and he clamped it down. It was a tenuous hold at best, but it had to be good enough for now. With deep shuddering breaths, he pulled himself up to a sitting position and wiped the traitorous tears from his eyes. He didn't protest and barely even flinched when Zack helped him to his feet. Without a word they continued on into the bathroom, and once again Zack held him steady while he pissed blood into the toilet. As if needing help there in the first place wasn't humiliating enough.
He washed his hands at the sink and made himself look in the mirror. He'd avoided it the day before. His face was a mess, black and blue and red everywhere, but he could open his left eye a bit, so the swelling must have gone down some. There was little doubt in his mind that Mr. Wentz would be back that day. Would he be relatively calm, like the day before, or would he beat the shit out of him again in another crazed fury? He pushed the thoughts away with a shudder and Zack led him back to the bed. Zack disappeared and returned again with the pill bottle before Ryan had to ask. But there was only one pill in his hand when he offered it to Ryan instead of the usual two. Ryan glanced up at him but his face was its usual stony, expression-less mask. Ryan took the one pill without comment.
The half dosage of drugs made for pain that was only lessened rather than numbed and restless, inconsistent sleep, so when there was a knock on the door later in the day Ryan was mostly awake. He froze, heart hammering painfully in his chest. But moments later it was Pete's loud voice that filled the suite, not Mr. Wentz's. The relief he felt was palpable. But it wasn't as if he was eager to see Pete, either, or anyone for that matter. To say that he looked and felt like shit was an understatement. He hoped Zack would realize that and manage to send him away.
But as usual Pete was not to be denied and he came barging into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, which was unusual. Ryan grimaced and maneuvered himself up until he was sitting with his back against the headboard. The effort left him panting and dazed. So dazed, in fact, that it took him a moment to realize that Pete wasn't saying anything. He was just standing there, staring at Ryan, an... anguished look on his face. Ryan looked away, flooded with shame all over again. Pete slowly approached and then sat on the edge of the bed. Ryan fought the instinct to shrink away, but it must have shown on his face, because Pete suddenly looked even more upset.
"Fuck, Ryan, I was so worried. And I am so, so sorry," he said. Ryan pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, despite the sharp pain that it caused, because it was worse to remain open, vulnerable.
"For what? You didn't do anything," Ryan muttered in reply. Pete grimaced.
"No, but David's my brother. And... I did, Ryan. Before. I hurt you a lot, and I'm so fucking sorry," he said, his voice trembling.
Ryan felt like he'd been sucker-punched, staring at Pete's broken expression in shock. They had never talked about it, had never acknowledged it in any way as Pete had used him less and less and then finally stopped altogether, their relationship turning into something almost like friendship. But it was true. Back in those first dark months of Ryan's residency in the casino, Pete had been a frequent visitor to Ryan's suite. Young and bitter and resentful of his older brother, Pete had used Ryan's body like it was an object, fucking him without any apparent care for his willingness. He'd never gone out of his way to hurt Ryan more than the act already did. But... of course he had hurt him, mentally and physically. Ryan's skin suddenly felt hot and too tight on his body. He looked away.
"Why the hell are you bringing that shit up now? It's ancient history." Over three years since Pete had done that to him.
"I never said I was sorry, Ryan. I never should have fucking done it in the first place and I've never told you I was sorry. I was angry at the whole fucking world back then and never looked at anything beyond the tip of my own damn nose, but I should have known better than to rape someone over and over again. You were just a scared kid and fuck, after what David had already done to you, I can't believe I... I did that to you. I'm sorry, Ryan, please forgive me," Pete pleaded. Ryan rubbed at his face, ignoring the pain it caused his bruises. His insides felt like they were shaking.
"I know you're sorry Pete," he said quietly. He'd seen flashes of it in his eyes, sometimes, whenever Pete had been forcibly reminded of Ryan's role in the casino. And he'd stopped. The one and only person in Ryan's world who had free, un-restricted access to him and didn't take advantage of it. "I've known for a long time, and I forgave you a long time ago, too. It doesn't matter any more." Pete's eyes were shimmering, like he was fighting back tears. He gave a sharp nod, wiping at his face like he was trying to get himself under control.
"Well, good," he said after a few moments, flashing Ryan a dim version of his usual stupid grin. "I didn't come here just for that, though. I have information." Ryan nodded, curious and glad that the topic was changing. "Well, uh, obviously David's losing his fucking mind," Pete said with a grimace that Ryan mirrored. "According to Ray, he did get told that someone new would be taking over the casino. Apparently he's been offered another position, pretty equal in importance in the family hierarchy, but his behaviour when he returned here that night shows what he thinks of that idea. The whole damn place is abuzz with people wondering what's going to happen now." Pete stood up and started pacing the room. Ryan shivered at the similarity to Mr. Wentz's behaviour from a couple of days ago.
"So... does everyone know?" he asked.
"That he came back here in a rage and beat the fucking shit out of you, and then took you off the market, so to speak? Yeah, everyone knows," Pete answered. Ryan sighed. He didn't know why he should be so ashamed of it, Mr. Wentz's obsession with him, the things he did to him, but he was.
"But I do have new information, not just that stuff. I know what's causing the shake up in the family," he declared. Ryan looked up at him, his eyebrows raised. "Old don Saporta has no direct living heirs, only some distant relations who've never shown any interest in the business, so people have been wondering for years who his successor would be, and a lot of them have been vying for favour, hoping to be that person." It went unspoken that Mr. Wentz was one of those people. "But recently a great-nephew of all things just showed up from New Jersey, presenting himself to the don and declaring his interest. The old man took an immediate liking to him, and he was really impressed with his connections. He's the one that got the family from out east involved, the Ways." Ryan's eyebrows shot up even further, and Pete chuckled. "Yeah, turns out Mikey's not just with the family from out east, he's one of the damn princes in line behind his older brother for succession to head of the family. And he and this great-nephew of Saporta's are best fucking friends since childhood." Ryan was silent for awhile, turning it all over in his mind, but Pete wasn't finished.
"Ray says this new guy asked for the casino specifically. Apparently he and the Ways have a really big interest in it. The old man giving it to him pretty much cements it that he's going to make him his successor. Most people are accepting that. They agree with the old man that this guy's connections are good and that he can do good things for the family, that the alliance with the Ways is going to mean prosperity for everyone. But not David. I've... I've never seen him lose it like this. I don't know what he's going to do and it scares me," Pete said, chewing on a fingernail nervously.
"You and me both," Ryan muttered. Pete came back over and sat on the bed again.
"One thing's for certain, he's not going to just step aside. And he has a lot of men who are loyal to him more than to the family itself. Just how many of them would be willing to go to war against the family, I have no idea. It would be suicide. That's obvious to everyone except David. All he's going to accomplish is getting people hurt. I've been trying to keep an eye on him, trying to guess when he's going to make a move so I can pass the info on to Mikey, but he's been so damn erratic the past couple of days. He might do something with no planning at all." Pete flashed a quick grin. "He'll get a surprise, though. Remember how I told you the Ways sent some people out ahead, undercover-like, to work here? There's a handful of them spread through the whole staff, so when he makes a move someone should be there to see it. And, uh, it turns out Frank is one of them."
"Frank?" Ryan hissed, his eyes going wide. Frank was involved with the Ways? Frank who had to be mixed up in whatever Spencer's fucking friend was up to? Was he involved with the Ways, too? Good God, had Spencer gotten himself mixed up with the mob, after all Ryan's efforts to keep him far, far away?
Worse. It just kept getting fucking worse.
"Yeah, can you believe it? Best friends with Mikey's older brother, who's first in line to inherit the Way family. He's worked here for six months. This has been in the works for a long time," Pete said, shaking his head in amazement. Ryan felt cold all over. "Anyway, the official day of the change in management, the day David and his guys are supposed to leave, is three days away. Whatever's going to happen, it's going to happen soon. I'm... I'm going to stay with Mikey. David will be pissed, if he even notices on top of everything else. Everyone in the casino's going to have to decide where their loyalties lie, with the family or with David. Including... including Zack." Pete looked at Ryan worriedly as he hugged his knees tighter, despite the pain. "Mikey's pretty confident things are going to be okay. So... so don't worry too much, okay Ryan?" he continued on, his voice getting a bit brighter.
Ryan nodded mechanically, not looking at him. It was easy for Pete to say that. He wasn't a prisoner here. Sure, his fate had always been tied to the mob since his father had started working for the Saportas long before he was even born, but he wasn't a prisoner. Pete could ally with the Ways and be Mikey's boyfriend, but what would happen to him? Even if Mr. Wentz was gotten rid of and he left Ryan behind, which Ryan didn't think was going to happen for one second, where did that leave him? Would his life really be any different, any better, just because someone else was in charge?
"Just... hang in there, Ryan. Everything's going to be okay, all right?" Pete said earnestly, his words such an exact echo of Frank's from a couple of days before that Ryan could only gape at him for a moment, some unknown emotion rippling across his skin. Then he nodded so that Pete would be happy. But he didn't believe it. Not at all.
After Pete had gone, Zack once again brought him a single Vicodin pill. Ryan had to bite his lip to keep from asking for more. The one pill did little to calm the turmoil in his mind as he tried to process everything Pete had told him.
Mr. Wentz returned again that night, his eyes practically glowing but otherwise calm. Almost unnervingly so. After dismissing Zack he turned Ryan onto his stomach and fucked him into the mattress without a word. Ryan endured it soundlessly as well, his face buried into the pillow and his fists clenched in the sheets with a white-knuckled grip. After he'd finished, Mr. Wentz laid there for awhile, just... petting him, and staring at him as if he wanted to devour him. It un-nerved Ryan to the core. When the man finally got up and left, he was muttering to himself. Ryan buried his head back into the pillows and wished for oblivion.
Part 3.