The Alchemist's Son - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

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Chapter 1

Ezra

Ezra’s head felt like a cracked egg. If someone had told him his brains were currently running down the sides of his face, he’d believe it. But there was nobody around. He was alone. He couldn’t see a goddamn thing, but that was because there was a bag over his head. The thin, black cotton allowed for him to see that he was in a room with some kind of hazy purple light, but nothing more.

Neon, no doubt. It was Vegas, after all.

He’d spent the last several minutes preoccupied with the ache in his shoulders and the shooting pains through his skull, but now, he forced himself to focus on his surroundings. The room smelled like mildew, and water dripped steadily from somewhere to his right. It was humid, and every now and again there was a hiss and a puff of steam.

He was most likely in a boiler room of some kind. Or he’d been kidnapped by a dragon. He wasn’t sure which one he’d prefer more, to be honest. He wiggled his toes, then grimaced. He was barefoot. He imagined they’d taken his shoes to deter him from running. This wasn’t his first time being kidnapped. It wasn’t even the first time this year.

When your father was Able Caulfield, aka The Alchemist, an accomplished thief with a habit of stealing everything from jewels to art from famous oligarchs and heads of state, it left a rather substantial target on your back. One he’d survived just fine to date. His father was a piece of shit, but his team usually extracted him within a day or so with only a few bruises and an increasingly plummeting GPA to show for his trouble.

It was more tedious than anything. His father had graciously offered him a full-time bodyguard but they tended to get in the way of Ezra’s…extracurricular activities. The last thing he needed was some bloated dumbass getting in his business and reporting back to his father.

Still, there was one highlight to his current tragedy. Declan Murphy. Whenever his father sent an extraction team, Declan was in the lead. Ezra’s heart gave a little flutter at the thought of seeing him once again. Declan wasn’t traditionally hot in any way. He was substantially older than Ezra’s own twenty-three years. Old enough to be his father, really. He had the crow’s feet to prove it.

But Declan was tall and muscled in all the right places, with a permanent five o’clock shadow, thick black hair shot through with silver, and a form of heterochromia that left him with kaleidoscopic eyes—one green, one blue, both shot through with threads of gold that Ezra spent far too much time daydreaming about.

Declan was his father’s protege, and by protege, Ezra meant he often swept in and did all the work before Able arrived to accept their spoils of war. Or, in Ezra’s case, a perfuse thank you for saving his life. A life that wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if not for Able.

But that was neither here nor there to a man like his father. No, he was a classic narcissist, who expected accolades for simply existing. He expected a father of the year award for having spent six minutes on top of Ezra’s mother then for sending a large child support check every month since his birth. Child support that continued to this day, only now directly to Ezra since his mother’s passing.

Ezra refused to feel bad about taking his father’s money. He considered it hazard pay for being his child. Ezra’s brain throbbed, his stomach lurching for the hundredth time since he’d had the misfortune of waking up.

He was sure he was going to pass out again when he heard the hinges protest on the door somewhere behind him, gearing himself up for the beating that would inevitably follow once whoever it was approached. He tried to focus on their movements. Somehow, it was easier when he could anticipate their first blow.

Heavy boots fell over concrete. There was a familiar cadence to those footfalls. Ezra frowned. How many times had he heard those boots in his lifetime? No more than ten at most. Still, it triggered some kind of sense memory.

The hood was yanked from his eyes, forcing him to blink at the sudden blaze of purple light. Neon signs were stacked in a corner, painting the rock walls lavender. His head swiveled as he tried to spot the man he knew must be there somewhere, but he instantly regretted it, his stomach turning as it felt like his brain rattled around in his skull. “Declan?” he said with a groan.

“Hey, kid,” he rumbled, his voice a low rasp that went straight to Ezra’s dick.

His shoulders sagged against his bindings. “Took you long enough. Get me out of these ropes, dude. I really have to piss.”

A knife of pain shot through his head as the metal legs of a chair dragged across the floor to sit directly in front of him, Declan throwing a leg over and dropping into the seat, tattooed, muscled forearms dusted with dark hair resting on the rounded metal backing. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, kid. Not this time.”

Ezra blinked once, then twice. “What? Why? Where’s Daddy Dearest? What the fuck is going on?”

Declan leaned in, his chin hovering above his arms. “That’s a great fucking question. Where is your dad?”

“How the fuck should I know? You see my dad more than I do, Declan. Can’t we discuss this after you get me out of here? I’m sure my dad’s good for whatever it is he owes you.”

“Forty million dollars.”

Ezra stopped short. “What?”

“That’s what your father owes me, kid. Forty. Million. Dollars. So, if you know where he is, I need you to tell me now. Right now, Ezra. This is serious. Just tell me and this is all over quickly.”

Ezra frowned. “Wait. Are you—” He cut himself off, his shattered brain trying to pull the pieces together. It just didn’t make sense. “Are you saying you’re the one who kidnapped me? That you’re not here to…rescue me?”

Rescue him? Jesus. Way to sound like a damsel in fucking distress. His father had stolen from Declan? Declan? Ezra was certain he’d always thought of him as the son he’d never had. How was this even fucking possible? Oh, right, because Able Caulfield was the world’s biggest piece of shit.

“So, you took me and hit me over the head and tied me to this chair to—what?—lure him out of whatever hole he crawled into?”

Declan gave a grim nod. “Something like that, yeah.”

Ezra felt like he was having a stroke or like he was trapped in a fucking nightmare. This whole kidnapping thing had only been tolerable because his father always came for him. Because Declan came for him. But now…his savior was his captor. This was fucking bullshit. Declan had to know this wouldn’t work.

“No offense—wait, what am I saying?—full fucking offense, dude, your plan is flawed as fuck. My dad likes you way more than me. If he stole forty fucking dollars from you, good fucking luck getting him to try to rescue me. It was my mother he loved, not me. And she’s dead. I promise you, he decided any obligation to me became null and void the moment we put her in the ground.”

Ezra’s heart twisted at his own words. His mother hadn’t earned the casual way he spoke of her death. But it was the only way to cope with her loss. She’d fought long and hard to beat breast cancer. And she had, twice. But the third time, she was just too weak to fight. He didn’t blame her, but he did resent whatever God would do this to her and let someone like Able live.

“I hope that’s not true, kid. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” Then, in a bizarre turn, his gruff expression changed, a true sadness bleeding into his gaze. “I am sorry about your mom. Nessa was a good woman.”

Ezra’s mouth fell open. “Are you fucking serious, right now? Are you seriously going to threaten me and give me your condolences for my dead mom in the same fucking breath? That’s some ability to compartmentalize. No wonder you and my dad got along so well. You’re both goddamn psychopaths.”

Instead of getting angry, Declan gave him a patient look. “Listen, kid. I don’t want to do this any more than you want to be here, but I will not let your father get away with this. It was one thing when we were stealing ill-gotten gains from people who totally deserved it, but to come for me? After I’ve given him twenty-five years of my life? No. Absolutely fucking not. This has nothing to do with you and I don’t want to hurt you. I truly mean that. I have no…issue with you.”

“You have no issue with me?” he asked, dumbfounded. “The gash on my head says otherwise.”

Declan winced, tipping his head like he was focusing on the gash in Ezra’s scalp. “Sorry about that. The boys got a little overzealous.”

“Overzealous? I probably have a fractured skull or, at the very least, a concussion,” Ezra said, sounding sulky even to his own ears.

Declan rose just enough to slide his chair closer until Ezra could feel his breath on his cheek. Rough fingertips gripped his chin, turning his face left and right gently before pulling up Ezra’s eyelids, first one, then the other. “Any nausea? Dizziness? Any blurred vision?”

“Gosh, I don’t know, Declan. I’ve had a bag over my head for God knows how many fucking hours. Hard to say.”

Declan chuckled, his palm lingering against his cheek for just long enough to send Ezra’s stomach plummeting to his feet. Then it was gone, leaving him with an uncomfortable semi-hard-on and enough self-loathing for ten people. Was he so starved for affection that he was willing to pretend the casual touch of his kidnapper was something more?

No. He would have spit in the face of anybody else. It was just Declan. Always fucking Declan. Though he’d never admit it out loud, Declan had been Ezra’s go-to jerk-off material since he was old enough to know what masturbation was. Declan was his hero, this fictional perfect man he’d made up in his head to be everything his father wasn’t. A father figure that had somehow morphed into something not at all fatherly over time.

Declan was the one who’d rescued him the first time he’d been kidnapped at just ten years old. Declan, who’d watched cartoons with him until his mom and dad had arrived, had fed him cereal and bandaged his cheek until he could get to the hospital. Declan, who swept in and out of his life only to rescue him and fix him up and then disappear into the night like a fucking superhero.

And now, his savior was the one who’d kidnapped him off the streets. Ezra wanted to be mad but he fucking hurt everywhere. Literally everywhere. “So, you’re just going to keep me here in this disgusting basement where I’m probably getting some kind of weird lung infection?”

Declan sighed. “I guess that depends on you, kid.”

“Meaning?” Ezra asked through gritted teeth.

Declan scrubbed his palms over his face. “I could put you in my room if you promise to behave and not try anything stupid.” The word behave had Ezra’s insides shivering. “I’m serious. I’m…fond of you, but if I have to start carving pieces of you off to get your father’s attention, I will.”

Ezra rolled his eyes, then winced. Maybe Declan meant it. Maybe he didn’t. The truth was, Ezra was really in no hurry to get away from Declan. Not that he planned on telling him that. “Yeah, yeah, consider me sufficiently terrified. How are you even planning on getting a hold of my father to send him these little flesh offerings if he’s MIA?”

Declan pulled his phone from his pocket then showed him a newspaper article.

College Student Kidnapped in Broad Daylight

So, the brazen kidnapping off the streets had been deliberate. Of course, it had. Declan was no fucking dummy. “And you think my father will just assume this is you and come rescue me? I hate to say this but it’s not your finest hour, Declan. Maybe my dad really was the brains of the operation.”

Once more, Declan laughed. “I forgot how fucking mouthy you are.”

Ezra gave him a pissy look. “Oh, I’m sorry, is there some kind of kidnapper/kidnappee etiquette that I’m not aware of?”

“Keep it up and I’ll just leave you in here,” Declan warned without any real malice behind his voice.

He pulled something from his pocket and a wicked-looking blade appeared with a snick. Then he disappeared behind Ezra. He almost sobbed with relief as he cut the bindings at his wrists. That relief was short-lived, his shoulders protesting as his arms fell at his side and the blood rushed back into his fingers, feeling like a thousand red ants crawled over them.

Ezra sniffed. “You’re lucky I’m not forcing you to carry me out of here. You took my shoes, dude? Dick move. Do you know how gross these floors are? What is this, some kind of garage? I’m probably going to get hepatitis.”

He heard Declan snicker a second before he appeared once more. Before Ezra could guess his intentions, he was bending down, one beefy arm going under his legs and the other hauling him over his shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ezra yelped.

“Carrying you? I wouldn’t want you to get hepatitis before your shitbag father makes a rescue attempt.”

Ezra’s head swam. “I’m going to fucking vomit.”

Declan grunted. “Has anybody ever told you that you got a dirty mouth?”

“Most guys like my dirty mouth,” Ezra countered saucily.

Ezra’s stomach plummeted again when Declan said, “I bet.”

Ezra wasn’t lying about feeling like he was going to puke, but being tossed over Declan’s shoulder did have one perk: Declan’s lower half encased in faded denim that hugged the curves of his too-perfect ass. Ezra contented himself watching the muscles flex and release with each step as he walked through one nondescript hallway, then another, finally ending up at a service elevator.

The elevator smelled like rotting garbage and old sweat. They stepped on and it lurched into motion, climbing higher and higher while Ezra’s stomach churned. Once the doors opened, there were only two more short turns, then the sound of a lock disengaging.

They were in a hotel or maybe a fancy apartment building. Ezra would know once the door opened. Or he would have if Declan hadn’t dumped him on his feet, the rapid shift in his equilibrium finally forcing him to release what was left of his breakfast onto the rust-colored carpet.

Declan frowned, then sighed. He stepped over the mess, taking Ezra’s hand in his and leading him into a large bathroom. This had to be an apartment. A nice one. It wasn’t like Declan didn’t have money. He and his father must have amassed a fortune over the last twenty plus years. Was that the forty million he claimed his father had taken off with? Jesus. That was a lot of money.

Declan sat him on the edge of a large tub, then turned to the sink. Ezra winced as he caught sight of his own reflection. He looked like shit run over twice. His usually blond hair was caked with blood, his usually golden skin looking sallow under the low bathroom light. His eyes were so bloodshot, the jade green of his pupils looked almost supernatural in comparison.

Declan used some toilet paper to wipe off Ezra’s mouth, then took a wet hand towel and dabbed at what Ezra could only assume was the gaping wound on his head. He wanted to say something nasty, but only because he was so nervous. Declan was standing between his parted knees, so close Ezra could feel the heat of his body, could smell the spicy scent of his soap, his prodding hands surprisingly gentle for a man who’d threatened to start chopping off body parts moments ago.

Ezra forced himself to focus. Declan was a dangerous man. He wasn’t only his father’s right-hand man, he was a killer. A man who had no problem unaliving anybody who came between him and what he wanted. Ezra had always contented himself with the notion that the men he’d killed were all terrible men—evil dictators and those that served them. But that may or may not have been true. Because, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he didn’t really know Declan. Not the real Declan, just the one who lived in his fantasies.

“Don’t move.”

Ezra was so surprised at the gruff order, he didn’t even question it. He just watched Declan leave the room. He returned with a chain. Ezra watched as Declan dropped to his knees and wrapped a leather cuff snug around his ankle then locked it with a tiny padlock, attaching the other side of the chain to the pipe that ran along the back wall.

“You’re locking me in the bathroom?” Ezra snapped.

“You said you had to piss. Now, you can. I’ll be back in a bit with some food. If you get any brilliant ideas, like attempting an escape, just know there will be two very large guys standing outside this door. So, unless you want another lump on your head, stay put. You hear me?”

“This is bullshit.”

Declan gripped his chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his gaze upwards. “Do what I tell you, yeah?”

Ezra swallowed the sudden lump of sand in his throat, fighting the urge to drop his hands in his lap. Sweet mother of Christ. A therapist would have a field day with Ezra’s daddy issues.

“Yeah, okay,” he managed faintly.

For a brief second, it looked like Declan wanted to say something more…or maybe do something more? But after a moment, he released Ezra’s chin and turned for the door. Then he was gone, leaving Ezra staring at his own reflection, mourning the sudden loss.