#facility 004

“Cheers to that.” Rhys knocked back the drink, squeezing his eyes shut until the slight burn passed. He set the tiny glass down, nodding for Jackson to pour another one. “Goldschläger?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s a fun choice with the beer.”

Jackson laughed, pouring another one for himself as he did. “I don’t have stickers so think of it as an adult gold star. For powering through, y’know?”

Rhys laughed too. He took the second shot, then reached for the beer again. “Hoo, that’s bad. Shoulda given it a minute.”

“Probably.” Jackson leaned away, taking the bottle with him. Another regular flagged him down from the other end. He winked at Rhys before he left. “Back in a flash.”

Rhys smirked and took another long drink. He let his eyes wander over to the other man again -- the curve of his back, the shaggy wave of his hair, the muscles in his forearms. To anyone else in the vicinity, it probably looked like Rhys was checking him out; looking for a rebound since Kayleigh had dropped him on his ass for her ex. Rhys wouldn’t have told them otherwise. In a way, he was. 

Being a handler, he knew he evaluated people the same way he evaluated his latest trainee. What would they be good for, what could he make better, what he would have to get rid of or cut out of them, how much money they could go for. All that jazz. Jackson would fetch a pretty penny with his good looks and natural strength. 

Four-hundred-thousand at the very least, maybe a combination too. Romantic and something else... 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it, eyebrow raising at the text message. It was from one of the Facility doctors. The governor’s kid was acting up again, had to put him under. You cool with that?

Yeah sure, do what you need to. He texted back quickly and took another extra long drink. The James kid was going to send him into an early retirement, Rhys  thought bitterly. Sure he was a million dollar baby -- as were all the under-agers -- but was all that cash really worth having to deal with a bunch of wild card teenagers? Rhys didn’t think so and sneered at the thought of having another one to beat into submission. It would happen sooner or later.

Unless... he looked up at the bartender. Jackson was chatting with two women now, probably trying to persuade them away from the rosé that was really red and white mixed. Maybe flirting a touch too; Rhys would have if he was closer to them. 

Instead, he reached for his cell phone again. Hey, you think you could meet me somewhere?

How far away?

Ten minutes tops. The Horseshoe Bar. I’ve got a potential recruit.

What do you need?

Something to chill them out. Catch my drift?

100%. Will put it on your windshield and text you.

Rhys grinned. I owe you one.

“What are you smiling about, Snow?” Jackson reappeared, filling another beer for another customer. His dark blue shirt was starting to stick to his neck. “Found yourself someone new?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, easing into his usual pulling stance. He tilted his head in one direction, then the other. “Something like that. They had to put my trainee under.”

“Oh yeah?” Jackson snickered. “Never a dull day over at that place, huh?”

“Looking for another job?”

“Nah, I’m happy here. Besides, if I joined up, I wouldn’t get to hear all the good stories you have.”

“You’d get to see the good stories happen for yourself.”

“But then you wouldn’t get shots on the house and then where would we be?” Jackson grinned again, rakish and come-hither. Rhys bet it worked on a lot of the people who came in the door. Not him perhaps, not totally, but plenty of people.

“I guess you’re right about that.” 

Rhys’ cell phone buzzed in his hand. Here. Good luck.

Rhys typed faster. Can you wait a minute?

Why?

New plan. I’ll be out in a sec.

Fine.

“Hey, Jacks?” Rhys tucked his phone back into his jeans pocket. “Can you hold my place for a sec. I left something at work and the person bringing it is in the parking lot.”

The man nodded. “Yeah, sure. Another beer?”

“Yeah, why not?” Rhys stood and made slowly for the door. A wide grin pulled at his face as he slipped outside. A silver sedan sat idling in the parking lot; he walked right up to the drivers’ side window, tapping his knuckle on the window.

The window rolled down and the man inside raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing, Rhys?”

“Just chill for a minute.” Rhys rolled his eyes and smiled. “I’ve got‘im all warmed up. You got the stuff to mellow him out?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” A rustling sound came from inside the car and then a paper bag appeared in the window. “Here. It’s chloro. I figured you had a hankie or something on you.”

Rhys nodded, tucking the little bottle into his jeans pocket. “Perfect. Park somewhere and wait a minute. We’re going to stick him in your car, okay?”

“Why?”

“Easier exit. Sit tight!” 

Rhys turned and rushed back into the bar. He sat back in his usual spot, tucking the bottle and his handkerchief into his coat pocket. The place was slowly starting to fill up, the second bartender now standing to help Jackson cover all the new customers. Jackson was pouring a few fresh beers, chatting with a few people. Rhys leaned forward, taking a long drink from his new glass. Perfect set up; this would be almost too easy.

Jackson found him again. “Got your stuff?”

“Yeah, not a big deal,” Rhys resumed his flirting stance. He could feel the moment when Jackson picked up on it, leaned into it, accepted the invitation. Excitement ran through him; the thrill of the chase coursing through him. He’d never done this part of the equation before. He understood why the guys who did liked it so much.

Jackson leaned forward on the bar, eyes shining just the tiniest bit. He must have done a few more shots when Rhys wasn’t looking; just making himself an easier target. “You know, no one’s ever called me Jacks before. I kind of like it.”

Rhys leaned forwards. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Especially when you say it.”

“You asked me earlier if I had found someone new, Jacks,” Rhys let his voice slip lower, warmer and richer. “I have, maybe.”

“Maybe? Why maybe?”

Rhys shrugged, taking another drink. “Maybe because it depends if you’ve got a good place no one would walk in on... and if you’d join me.”

Jackson hummed, making a show of thinking it over. He winked, pushing away. “Gimme a minute to get Haley to take over my spot and I can show you around.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Rhys reached for his coat, sliding it back on. He fingered the metal cap of the chloroform bottle, tapping his nail against the glass. If he took his time, he could douse the handkerchief inside his pocket, have it all lined up and ready to go by the time he got Jackson by himself. He held off. A better way might make itself available.

“Hey, let’s go,” Jackson whispered in his ear as he walked past, headed towards a narrow hallway. It led to the bathrooms, the door to the small kitchen, a door leading to the outside. Rhys followed a few paces behind him, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Waiting for the right moment, waiting to strike.

His next trainee wouldn’t be another crappy teenager.

The idea made him grin even wider.

He moved quickly when the door shut behind them. He pushed Jackson up against the painted brick wall with one hand, watching the man’s eyes flash excitedly. Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him for a crushing kiss. Rhys let it happened, relaxed into it, pushing up against the other man like he was one of his girlfriends. Jackson wriggled underneath him, grinding against Rhys’ leg.

Rhys smiled into the kiss. He pressed in closer, pulling the bottle and handkerchief out of his pocket. He blindly doused the fabric, dropping the bottle without another thought. He let his free hand slide up Jackson’s neck, tangling in his wavy dark hair and pulling slightly.

Jackson broke the kiss with a laugh. “Geez, you’re good.”

“Yeah?” Rhys pulled again.

“Oh yeah.”

Rhys grinned. It was too fucking easy. He tightened his grip in Jackson’s hair, slamming his head into the wall once. The honey-warm look went dazed and confused, pain flashing across his face. Before he could re-focus, Rhys covered his nose and mouth with the soaked rag, shoving his knee hard between Jackson’s legs. The sharp inhale was the first nail in the coffin. Jackson’s eyes went wide, hands scrabbling at Rhy’s wrist and arm. Rhys only pressed his hand harder, pressed the other flat against Jackson’s throat.

The fight started to drain out of Jackson as his eyes started to glass over, focus leaving him. Rhys pulled the rag away when he was on the verge of collapse, shoving it into his pocket and catching  the other man’s whole weight as he stumbled forward. Jackson tried to push away, tried to keep up the fight but he couldn’t. 

Jackson scratched hard at his neck, coughing and gagging “Th-the fuck’re you doing?”

“Calm down, babe.” Rhys wrapped an arm around his back, dragging him towards the parking lot and the silver sedan. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Let go’f me. F-F-Fucker.”

“In a second. In a second,” Rhys answered, victory laced through his tone. No more stupid teenagers. He just had to get the man in the car. The rest would take care of itself.

He opened the door to the backseat. The man in the front seat turned around, looking almost bored with his appearance. “This the one?”

“Yep,” Rhys answered, shoving Jackson backwards. His head cracked against the opposite door, curling in on himself in pain. “You go on ahead, yeah? I’ll meet you there.”

“You got him good enough? I don’t want to lose an ear because he’s not limp enough.”

Jackson was not going to be a pet. He didn’t want to be and they had policies around that. Everyone who signed up wanted to sign up, wanted to be there, just like he wanted to be back behind the bar, teasing Haley and Jamie about whatever came up that day, stuffing his front pockets full of tips. They had policies and systems in place -- everyone said so. He just had to make sure they knew he didn’t sign up for this, that Rhys had pulled one over on him.

Jackson was not going to be a pet. He didn’t bend over for anyone unless he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. 

“Ain’t no way... They won’t make me. It was a mistake, they’ll figure it out.”

A knot formed in his throat. He tried swallowing it back but it wouldn’t budge. If he closed his eyes, he was back behind the bar with Rhys, letting the man touch him until his head smacked the bricks. His ears rang the whole way to the facility, rolling around in the backseat of that other guy’s car. His ears rang now, the sharp sound from earlier still resonating inside. Deep down he had accepted a bitter truth -- that he wouldn’t be getting out of here.

The look on Rhys’ face the night before, in the early spring dark. The sound of his voice after the sour-smelling drug filled his nose. The way he had shoved him into the backseat. 

Rhys meant what he had done.

Rhys intended to keep him.

“Fuck,” Jackson breathed. He pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his hands. There was stubble scratching at his palms. It was probably the next morning. His stomach curled and tossed again -- nerves now, not the after affects of the drug Rhys had used. “Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!”

He scratched his fingernails against his scalp, pulling on his hair and hoping it would bring him back to reality. He’d wake up in the backseat of his car in the bar parking lot, just like he did that one Fourth of July. Or every Fourth... he didn’t really keep track of those things, knowing moving on would be better for everyone in the end. 

Moving on wouldn’t help him here in the end.

Moving on would get him sent off to some rich fuck’s kitchen or worse.

“Fuck, I just want to go home,” Jackson whispered to his hands. “God, I actually want to go home... Fuck, fuck, fuck... I’m not getting out of here.”

He pulled himself up, staring at the ceiling for a long minute. Then he pulled himself up to standing, rolling his neck and shoulders. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the room once, twice... he lost count of how many times, how many times he changed directions until he finally made up his mind. 

He stood against the far wall, glaring at the sealed door. If he was going to get brain washed and sold off, he might as well fuck shit up on the way out. Nothing to do but make their lives miserable. He’d heard all of Rhys’ stories about that nineteen year old from Manhatten he had been shaping up the last few months. He knew exactly what pissed the man off, what might end this nightmare up before it even began.

“Alright then,” he whispered to himself. He pushes his sleeves further up his arms, past his elbows, and presses his fingers into his shoulder muscles. “Maybe they’ll just fucking kill me...”

He stepped forward, grabbing the back of the chair and dragging it around the room. He relished in the scraping sound. Menacing, kind of like a horror movie. It seemed fitting. Once he felt right about it, he lifted the chair up and flung it into the wall. He grinned at the clang, waiting for the shrieking alarm to sound again. When it didn’t, only felt the urge to keep at it.

He pushed over the table, sending the contract and the pen he was supposed to sign it with flying. He reached for the chair again, slamming it over and over and over into the door, grinning wildly when he saw the metal casing begin to dent.

“Eat my shit, Rhys!” he shouted at the ceiling. “You’re gonna miss me some day, you motherfucker!”

And then the siren went off. High-pitched and wailing, reverberating off the metal doors and cinderblock walls. The small space seemed to amplify the shrill sound, piercing his eardrums like a hot needle. He clapped his hands over his ears, backing up into the wall and slumping against it, but not falling over like the time before.

“I’m not apologizing this time, motherfuckers!” He shouted over it. “If you want to sell my ass, you’re gonna have to work harder for it!!”

The sound seemed to get even louder. Jackson curled forward, his head practically between his knees now. But he wouldn’t let them buckle, wouldn’t let himself his the floor. His head screamed, skull near shattering from the vibrations alone. Tears streamed down his face and jaw, slicking his palms.

“Is that all you’ve got, dipshits?!” Jackson shouted hoarsely. 

He braced for the sound to get even louder. Instead, it shut off completely, hitting him in a staggering wall of silence before footsteps sounded outside and the handle of the door moving. When it opened, Jackson stumbled sideways for the wastebasket, flinging it blindly at the handlers.

Then he was on the floor, a pinprick feeling going deep into his arm. He managed to keep himself awake for long enough to see Rhys crouch down next to him, feel the man’s fingers card through his hair.