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Dane didn't always fear his boss. In fact, for the first six months of working at the club, he thought of his boss as nothing more than an eccentric old man that got a little over dramatic at times. Sure, he'd heard the rumors. The whispers of what happened to the few employees that supposedly quit just before Dane arrived. But even with the vague threats thrown at him, he didn't pay much attention. Everyone hated their boss. It was a fact of life. And hell, this guy paid way better than any job he'd ever had, so what was to worry?
One night, he decided he wasn't going into work. He called to say he was sick, then promptly called up a friend who also happened to work at the club.
"I dunno, man..."Jake said on the other end of the line. "I mean, I've heard what he does to guys when they cut out on work. Hell, you heard about what happened to Mike just for getting in an hour late!"
"Sure I heard about it." Dane replied, shrugging it off. "Everyone heard about it. But that asshole's a chronic liar. You know why he was late? He was gettin' that fuckin' cast put ON. He had it before he even got there! Now are you in or not?"
"I just don't wanna get fired. That's all."
"What's one night? After what that chick pulled on you last night, you deserve it. You don't gotta put up with that shit."
Jake let out a heavy sigh that rattled static through the phone. "Fine...but if I get fired, you're paying my rent next month."
"It's a deal."
~*~
The pair of them sat on the roof of an abandoned apartment building near enough to the river to see across it. The towering buildings of downtown glittered like the stars they couldn't see. A half empty case of beer sat back by the fire escape. Getting it up there was hard enough work, it didn't need to go further than that.
With their feet dangling over the edge of the building, they'd spent the last half hour betting on which would walk by first: a hooker, a drug dealer or a bum. So far, Dane was in the lead. Always bet bum was his rule. But as the hour neared midnight, traffic on the street wasn't exactly robust.
Dane let out a loud belch and tossed his can, listening until he heard it bounce on the pavement. "I think I need another. How 'bout you?" He pulled himself up and started toward the case.
"No...I'm still working on this one." Jake held up the half finished can.
"You always such a lightweight? Hell, I'm gonna finish this whole fuckin' thing before you finish that!"
"Not usually. I guess I'm still a bit nervous. Won't they think it's suspicious? I mean, both of us calling out sick...that's kinda...not good."
"Who the fuck cares? It's just one night. It ain't like it's Saturday or nothin'. What're we gonna miss, huh? Couple of drunk fucks so desperate they can't wait 'til their day off to rub up against sweaty strangers. That's what."
"Well, yeah. But what if--"
"Cry all ya want, doesn't change that you're still up here and not there!" Dane laughed and reached for the box.
The laugh died as something clamped around his wrist. It took several long moments for logic to pierce the confusion and alcohol fogging up his mind. It was a hand. A hand covered in a black, leather glove. And that hand was attached to an arm, also covered in black.
He looked up, searching for a face that might be the hand's owner. But before he could get his vision adjusted, everything went dark. He cried out more out of surprise and confusion than fear. It was only when the bag was pulled tight against his face that he started to figure things out. He was dimly aware of someone screaming his name as he yanked back, trying to get free of what had grabbed him.
"You ain't goin' nowhere, buddy," a thick, deep voice said behind his hand as a pair of arms like tree trucks wrapped around his scrawny chest.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" Dane shrieked as he kicked hard at where he thought the first assailant might be. His foot met only empty air. "You can't do this to me! Get off me you sick fu--"
A hand clamped tight over the lower half of his face, squeezing hard. It made his jaw ache from the sheer force, but that didn't stop him from trying to wrench his head free. There was a sharp sting in his thigh that made him jump. He kicked as hard as he could in the direction it had come from, but again his attack was completely useless.
Very quickly, the world started slipping away from him. He struggled against it, trying to keep his eyes open. But he may as well have been trying to keep his head above water with an anchor tied around his waist. Somewhere, he thought he heard "...told you this was a bad idea..." before everything went even darker.
~*~
The next thing he was aware of was light. Bright and searing, making him squint hard. There were blurry shapes towering over him in the light, and things seemed to echo terribly. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to turn away from these strange things, but found that to be quite difficult. Because even though he was half slumped on the floor against a wall, his arms were pulled up above his head, bound together and fixed to something. He tugged at them, but his muscles were moving at a sluggish pace, refusing to pull even half as much as they were capable of.
"Lazy bastards..." he tried to mutter. But another strange development made itself known to his half-awake mind. He couldn't speak. Something was jammed into his mouth. Working his tongue, he found it to be rough and lumpy. A wadded up rag held forcefully in place by a strip of cloth tied tight around his head.
These few facts came together far too slowly for what should have been normal. But whatever had knocked him out was still trying to drag him down. Once those facts finally collided though, it sent a spark through him so sharp that he sat up straight with a muffled cry. He started pulling at the ropes, twisting his head around to see how he could get them loose. The rough rope was tied with a considerable amount of skill, holding his wrists tightly together. The rope ran up and over a pipe set near the ceiling, well out of reach even if he were to stand up.
"Oh, look, sleepin' beauty's finally awake," a rough voice said nearby. "Nice of ya to finally join us, sweetheart." It was that same voice he'd heard on the roof.
Dane let out an angry snarl behind the gag, frantically searching for a way out. He could see now that they were in a parking garage, and an old one at that. They must have been very deep inside the structure, because he couldn't make out any street noise.
"The poor thing's so scared. I think it's cute when they get like that." That was a new voice, but not entirely unfamiliar. It was only then that Dane stopped looking for a way out and looked at his captors.
One was a tall blonde man that Dane didn't recognize. The man looked like he could crush a man's skull as easily as a peanut shell. When Dane saw the other, ice gripped his stomach. Bruce. A black man slightly shorter than the first guy, bald as a cue ball, and very wide around the middle. And he could probably hurl the blonde guy halfway to the opposite wall. That much Dane knew from experience.
Bruce was the head bouncer at the club where Dane and Jake both worked. Bruce was the guy that picked up Dane with one arm and chucked him into the street the day he showed up for an interview. He shook his head hard, trying to say it wasn't possible. This had to be something personal. This couldn't have anything to do with work.
"Hoist him up," Bruce said. "We got a couple things to work up."
The blonde man grabbed the end of the rope where it had been tied off at the wall. Wrapping it around his hand several times, he started to pull. Dane tried to fight it, but it was his slim form and gravity verses two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. His feet scrambled against the floor as he was lifted, higher and higher. When the man finally stopped, he could barely keep his toes on the floor, his arms pulled up until his shoulders ached.
"Now, you're gonna listen and you're gonna listen good." Bruce grabbed Dane by the face, forcing his head around to look at him. "Boss ain't very happy with the way you've been actin', and we're here to see to it that you understand your position. Seems you've got it in your head you can just do what you want, go where you want, when you want. But, see, the boss? He's one that likes to protect his assets, if you know what I mean."
Dane didn't know what he meant. Or, at least he didn't want to know. He tried to kick at Bruce, grasping the rope he hung from in an attempt to gain a little leverage. But before he could do more than lift his feet, a large fist plowed into his stomach. He let out a hard grunt before going limp, his wrists taking his entire weight.
"Good. Maybe now you'll listen. The boss wants me to make sure you are absolutely clear on what working for him means." He grabbed a handful of Dane's hair, forcing his head up. "It means he OWNS you."
Dane tried to wrench his head away, growling in disagreement. A sharp blow to the side of his head was his reward. He growled again, only to be punched again, this time from the front. He was pretty sure that one broke his nose, but he couldn't quite tell.
"You're going to shut up and listen. Cause you're lucky. The boss was feeling generous tonight. You didn't know better, he said. He didn't make the rules clear to you when you first started. Cause otherwise, I would have gladly snapped your neck and dropped you off that piece of shit building. You follow the rules, you stay alive. It's that simple. Do you understand?"
Dane didn't respond. He just glared at Bruce, blood from his nose slowly seeping into the gag. A punch hit his stomach so hard it made him sway on the rope. He gave a fitful cough as he tried to curl up against the blow but couldn't.
"I asked you a question."
Head bowed in pain, Dane could only managed to shake his head. He couldn't do it. His defiance had a very short lifespan, crumpling easily in the face of pain. But this was insane. It was just a job! He was just back up security for a shady club in downtown Manhattan. He sat by a door to make sure no one went wandering around the office area looking for the bathroom or a place to screw.
Another blow landed on his side, making him cry out.
How could he give in to this? Couldn't he just get fired like a normal job? Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to think of what Crawford would do. The guy got into fights for fun. He could stand up to anything. The sort of guy that would put his cigarette out in God's eye just because he could. Bracing himself for the next strike, he tried to be like Crawford. Tried to be like that screaming idiot of a living tank.
Then the next blow hit, right at the base of his sternum, and that illusion dissolved. A choked sob sounded from behind the gag. He didn't know if his friend's ability to stand up to anything was out of sheer determination, bravery or was just flat out insanity. Whatever it was he didn't have it.
"Are you going to answer me or not?"
Dane could only manage a faint nod, just wanting to agree to make it stop. He could defy them after he could run. When they couldn't keep hitting him.
"I don't think he quite gets it," Bruce said over his shoulder. "I think I'm going to need some help with this one."
Dane could feel as the rope was tied off again, tugging harder at his wrists. He didn't bother looking up. He just kept his eyes closed, his stomach sinking with dread as knew there was no way to evade what came next.
They took turns. Each striking first at the softest parts of him, but slowly working up to just anywhere they could reach. Fists to the stomach and face. An elbow to the spine. Kicks to the shins. And once to the crotch for good measure. When the rain of blows finally ceased, he could barely breathe. His voice hoarse from screaming, his face wet from a mix of blood and tears. He could only see out of one eye and couldn't feel his nose any longer. He didn't even bother trying to stand, even though the added force on his arms sent searing pain through his ribs.
"Good." Bruce said, wiping his hands on a hankerchief he pulled from his pocket. "Now that we've got that through to you, the boss has a lesson of his own for you."
Dane's head snapped up. It wasn't over? He shook his head hard, trying to beg them to let him go. He knew the consequences now. He wouldn't do it again. He'd be at work early every day! Lesson learned!
Either they didn't understand what he was trying to say or they just didn't care, they went about lowering him from the pipe. Not that they were gentle about it. The blonde man pulled out a knife, which Dane first thought was meant for some part of him. He screamed as hard as he could, trying to push away from him. But it was only applied to the rough hemp that held him, slicing through it and dropping him to concrete floor. At last able to curl up, he didn't try to move, not yet. But they weren't going to allow him to just lie there.
Each one grabbed an arm, hauling him to his feet. His shoes scrambled on the floor, trying to stop them. But he may as well have been trying to stop a train with his bare hands. His shoes slid uselessly forward, as the dragged him deeper into the empty parking garage.
They rounded a corner and there stood his boss. A man of impressive height, in his late fifties. Despite his age, he wore his hair long, well past his waist. Whether he dyed it or was just naturally lucky Dane didn't know, but it was always black. Never a sign of gray. He usually wore dark suits of rich colors, often purple or red. But today he wore only black slacks and a gray button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Beside him was a large metal oil drum, waves of heat radiating from it. As they pulled closer, Dane could feel the sharp rise in temperature. There were several metal sticks poking out from the top. There was a table a little further off holding what appeared to be a tool box and a pair of welding gloves.
Dane couldn't piece together what this meant exactly, but he knew they weren't about to throw a barbeque in his honor. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. He sunk down as far as he could, trying to wriggle out of the grip of both men. But with each holding an arm and supporting his back, that wasn't happening.
"So nice of you to join us, Mr. Jonson," the man said in a voice so deep and rich it seemed unnatural. "We did so miss you at the club tonight."
Dane could only let out a whimper, his shoes slipping in his fitful struggles and making him drop closer to the floor.
"Untie him, please. He's suffered enough indignities at the hands of you two, don't you think?"
Neither of them said a word as Bruce began working the ropes around Dane's wrists free. The rope fell to the floor and the two men just pulled his arms out the the side, holding them firmly. Dane gave a tug to each of them, realizing that was a very bad idea. He was starting to worry his ribs were broken.
Their boss moved closer, laying his broad, rough hands on Dane's shoulders. He could see only malice in that old face.
"I've given you several chances to prove that you didn't need this. But like so many others, mere words were not enough." Hooking a finger under the cloth that held the gag in place, he tugged it down. Dane promptly spit out the blood and saliva soaked rag.
"Please, Osiris!You...you can't do this," he pleaded. His voice cracked and rasped with desperation. "I get it, now. No more playing hooky. I fuckin' get it! Please just--"
A sharp slap whipped his head to the side.
"I'll remind you only this once to watch such language with me. The next won't be so gentle."
"Okay! Okay! You can let me go. No more swearing. No more being late. I'll go to work early from now on! I swear!"
"Oh, but this isn't just about tonight, my dear boy. This is the last six months. Stealing from the bar. Sleeping while on duty. Hitting on the guests. Having sex in the bathroom while you're meant to be standing watch elsewhere. Would you like me to go on?"
Dane's eyes went wide. How could he know about all of that? Some of it was easy to figure out, but he'd been pretty sly about most of it. If he knew all of that, what else could he know? He didn't want to even think about that. He just tried to sink lower, trying to pull his arms free. He didn't care how much it hurt. He just needed to get away.
"No. No! I get it! No more slacking! I'll give up sex forever! Please! Just--just let me go! I won't do it again! I swear!"
"You say that now, but people are fickle creatures. Especially cowardly, slippery things like you, Mr. Jonson. Sure, for the first few months you'll be on your best behavior. But time will pass and your resolve will weaken. It will start with snatching a drink from the bar. Or perhaps a pretty young thing will walk by and your hands will wander. With in six months or more, you'll be back to your old habits and we would need to revisit this little lesson."
"Wh-what're you gonna do?" He didn't want to know, but the question slipped out before he could stop himself.
"Give you a permanent reminder, so you won't for get our little chat." Osiris glanced up at the other two men. "Get up on the floor on his stomach. And get him out of that shirt."
"Usual procedures?" The blonde man asked.
"No need to go that far. This one might actually like it if we did."
"Got it, boss."
Dane barely put up a fight. The pain was starting to sink in, making it harder to find the energy to struggle. He desperately wanted to claw his way out from between them and take off into the city. But every movement sent jolts of pain into his chest, making it hard to breathe. His shirt was torn off as the forced him down onto the floor, face first. They pulled him down spread eagle, each of them pinning his arms down ender their leg. Hands pressed to his shoulders and hips, pinning him hard against the cold concrete floor. He could taste the grit and oil left by cars that had once been here as it mixed with the blood that still seeped from several places on his face.
From this vantage point he could see the table, but not the barrel, which allowed him to see Osiris pulling on the welding gloves. A vague, unpleasant image began to form in Dane's mind.
"What're you doing?!" he barely managed to get out, trying to pull against the two men. He actually managed to get his head lifted up before it was smashed back down with enough force to make him see stars for a moment. "Please...you don't gotta do this! PLEASE!"
But Osiris stepped out of his range of view, not saying a word. He could hear him at the barrel, metal bumping metal. The rustle of hot coals being stirred up. When the large form of the man finally returned he was holding a long piece of what appeared to be iron, one end of which was so hot it glowed yellow. Osiris bent down, moving the thing close enough for Dane to see what shape the glowing iron made. He didn't notice it at first, jerking back from the super heated metal.
"Take a close look," Osiris said patiently. "It is important you know what this is."
When the thing came no closer to his face, Dane was given a chance to focus on it. The shape didn't make much sense at first. But after a moment, it came together. It was backwards, but he was able to make out the distinctive cursive letter "O." The same style that appeared on the signature line of the checks he cashed every other week. But it wasn't terribly large. No more than two inches high. That wouldn't hurt THAT bad, he tried to reason.
"You see, I need to ensure you have a constant reminder of your proper place. Something to keep you aware at all times that no matter where you go or what you do, you will never be out of my employ. Do I make myself clear?"
Dane just let out a strangled whimper, trying to shrink back from the heat he could feel against his face. This was insanity, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept his mouth shut it would be just another scheme. A very elaborate threat.
"Good. However...this one may not serve as reminder enough." He moved out of view, once more returning to the barrel. "Ah...I have just the right size for you. Now...hold still. I am afraid this will be quite painful."
He felt the man's smooth soled shoe come to rest on his backside, further pinning him to the floor. He could see Bruce cringing, turning his face away. That only sent a spike of terror through the smaller man, pinned to the floor. He started struggling harder. "NO!" he shrieked. "STOP! I'LL GO TO THE FUCKING COPS! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! YOU CAN'T--"
He'd thought it would feel like putting your hand a burner, or catching a firework to the face. But any burns he'd had before were mere paper cuts compared to the searing pain that pressed into his back. At first he let out a scream, but it grew so high and tight that sound could not be maintained. His fingers clawed at the garage floor as his throat fought to find any sound it might make as a form of protest. At some point after searing became unbearable agony, the pain started to fade. The burn reached deeper, deadening nerves in its wake. But the surrounding skin still screamed, mingling with the bruises and cracked ribs.
When the brand was finally pulled away, Dane was left struggling for breath on the floor. The foot moved away but the other two still held him. Those expensive leather shoes came into view, but Dane didn't bother lifting his head. He could only stare out, trembling, too scared to cry out. he could see the brand that had been used on him, now glowing a dark red. The damn thing was well over six inches tall. Dane just squeezed his eyes shut.
"You may go to to the police if you wish, but I assure you a great enough number of them bear similar marks that they will be unwilling to aide you in any such complaints. Now these two fine gentlemen will escort you to the hospital. I expect you will need to a week to allow our little discussion to sink in properly. You will return to the club next Thursday night. Failure to do so will result in the most dire of consequences."
There was no response necessary. The two men merely picked him up off the floor, dragging him out of the garage. He didn't bother fighting them any more.
~*~
Four days later, he found himself pounding on a familiar door. He hadn't seen his friend Crawford in over a week, and he'd been too scared to leave his apartment after that night. Too scared to even pick up the phone. Hell, he didn't even know if Crawford was home tonight.
The door was yanked open, halted by the chain on the inside. A broad face pressed close to the opening, squinting in the dirty yellow light of the hallway. "Dane? Fuckin' hell..." The door shut and the chain catch rattled as it was freed. The door ripped open again. "Where the fuck've you been? And what the fuck happened to your face?!"
Dane was greeted with the familiar scent of too much alcohol and fresh cigarette smoke. It made him feel weak. He looked up at Crawford, not even managing the faintest smile. "Can...I come in?"
Crawford immediately stepped aside to allow the smaller man to move inside. Which was slow going as his ribs were still quite tender. Not broken as he'd feared, which was surprising. Just severely bruised. The careful way he carried himself did not go unnoticed.
"Seriously. What the fuck happened to you? I warned ya 'bout mouthin' off to those bastards down in--"
"It was my boss," Dane cut in, not in the mood to hear it. "You know how you warned me to be careful? On account of him workin' with your piece of shit step dad?"
Crawford didn't say anything. He just stood there, looking as though he didn't know whether to be confused, relieved or angry.
Dane plowed through an account of what happened, in the briefest terms he could manage. The more he talked the tighter his throat became. Only twice did his friend see him break down to the point of tears and incoherence. The first had been several years ago when Dane got far too drunk for his own good and had just been dumped. The other was right there in the middle of that dumpy living room, barely able to stand on his own.
And just as he was able to withstand so much violence, the hulking redhead took this just as easily. He let Dane pour it all out. Even the fear he couldn't put into words. And as always, Crawford proved to be an anchoring point. A strong, firm place to which Dane could draw himself back down to some semblance of sanity.