Chapter 1

1

Davie kept his eyes closed, waiting until he knew who was shaking his shoulder before reacting. If it was the wrong person, and most of them would be, he’d either defend himself or run like hell if he had to.

“Wake up,” a voice whispered. “It’s a go. Our ride is here.”

“Grey? Damn, what time is it?” Davie whispered back, cautiously easing forward to check what he could see of the dark alley.

“Almost morning, so get your ass in gear.”

“You’re coming too? If not…”

“Yeah. Slade was okay with it.”

Davie quickly rolled up his blanket, lashed it to his battered backpack, then slung the pack over his shoulder. As Grey walked toward the far end of the alley, Davie followed, staying alert for any signs of trouble from punks or cops.

When they reached the street, he saw a dark, battered pickup truck parked at the curb. The second he and Grey appeared, the passenger door swung open. Grey hopped in but Davie hesitated, looking at the driver. He was built like heavyweight boxer with the face to match.

“You waiting for an engraved invitation?” Grey called out softly.

Taking a deep breath, Davie joined them, closing the door but leaving his hand on the handle in case he wanted to bail fast.

“I’m Maddox,” the man said with a smile that softened his battered features. “You must be Davie. Grey told us all about you.”

“He better not have,” Davie muttered, shooting his friend a hard look.

“Okay, he told us enough that we know you need to get out of the city, and why,” Maddox said. “The rest we’ll deal with when we get where we’re going.”

“The rest in nobody’s business,” Davie replied tightly.

“That’s up to you. We won’t pressure you, any more than we do any of the other guys. If you want to change your mind, now’s the time to do it.”

Davie thought for a moment then shook his head. “I’m good—for now.”

Maddox nodded, put the truck in gear, and they took off.

When they drove out of the city, the highway began to ascend into the foothills. Twenty minutes later the road was surrounded on either side by tree-covered mountain slopes.

“Like a damned alley, but nicer…I guess,” Davie commented dourly.

“Much nicer, and safer,” Grey replied, glancing at Maddox. “Right?”

“That’s the idea,” Maddox said as he slowed down then steered the truck onto a narrow, paved road that wound deeper into the mountains.

With nothing to see in the truck’s headlights except pavement and more trees, Davie closed his eyes, thinking back to why he was there in the first place.

* * * *

It had all begun when he was seventeen and had tried to save himself from the sexual advances of his mother’s latest boyfriend by telling her what was happening. Instead of believing him, his mother had let him know in no uncertain terms she didn’t want him around if he was going to “slander the wonderful man I’m going to marry.” Then she’d told the boyfriend what Davie had said. The man had denied it, of course, saying that Davie was jealous of his being in his mother’s life.

That evening, when Davie’s mother had left for her job at a local bar, the man had come after Davie. Already half-drunk, he had told Davie that if he said one more word about what was going on, he would beat him so badly he’d wish he’d kept his mouth shut. With that, he’d grabbed Davie, dragged him into his bedroom, and attempted to rape him.

“You want this, you know you do, you little fag,” the man had said.

Davie had fought back, finally managing to fend him off by hitting him over the head with the heavy lamp from the nightstand. As the man lay bleeding on the bed, Davie had hurriedly gotten dressed again, tossing the shirt the man had torn off him in the trash after pulling up his jeans and briefs which were around his ankles. Then, he’d emptied his backpack of his schoolbooks, filling it with all the clothes he could manage to stuff in, as well as personal belongings from the bathroom, a towel, and washcloth.

When he came out of the bathroom, he walked over to the bed, wondering if the man was still alive, given all the blood soaking the coverlet. He saw the faint rise and fall of the man’s chest, which relieved him to some extent. Going downstairs, he used the kitchen phone to call 911. Emotionally, he didn’t particularly care if the man died, but realistically he didn’t want that on his head.