Rogue-Jericho's Boys #2-ch. 2 (Patreon)

Buckle up, kids. This one's rough. Trigger Warnings for family violence of both the psychological and physical kind. As always, unbeta'd, unedited. You know the drill. Shiloh“So you didn’t kill him…and you lost my gun?”To anyone who didn’t know his brother, they would think he was perfectly calm, mildly amused even. But those in the room—especially Shiloh—knew that beneath the barely there smile and soft words was an explosive temper and a capacity for incomprehensible cruelty.“Micah—” Shiloh started.“Ah, ah, ah,” Micah said, waggling his finger at him from where he sat at the head of the large table. “You speak when spoken to.”The others shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t their first time witnessing one of Shiloh’s punishments. Most of them had stood where he did at least once. Micah wasn’t singling Shiloh out. He did it to be fair. Anyone who disobeyed him, anyone who failed a mission—whatever that mission might be—would be punished accordingly.No exceptions.The only real difference between Shiloh and his brother's douchebag henchmen was that Shiloh had been getting those punishments since birth and most of Micah’s crew had only been around for a few years. Not that Micah needed any of them.They were next to useless. As much as Shiloh hated to admit it, Micah was the mastermind of the operation. He was beyond smart. Micah was the reason they lived in this fancy house, had decent clothes, had food to eat. But none of it had been gained legally. Micah had his fingers in a lot of people’s pies. So many that even Shiloh didn’t truly understand what he did. Money laundering? Counterfeiting? Shiloh would likely never know. Micah said he was too stupid to understand.He was probably right. Shiloh felt stupid. He’d done okay in school until Micah had made him drop out. He said college was for losers. But Micah had gone to college. He even had a degree. He’d majored in business and minored in economics. All to become a better criminal.Shiloh wasn’t smart, but the idiots slouched in their chairs around the large dining room table certainly weren’t geniuses. They were goons. An intimidation tactic. Micah didn’t need any of them, but he kept them around to look important. And probably to have people he could abuse anytime he liked.Shiloh didn’t get why they stayed. The money couldn’t be that good. Shiloh stayed because every time he’d tried to leave Micah had dragged him back and made him sorry. And the last time he’d punished Malachi for Shiloh’s sins.But these guys didn’t have to stay. They didn’t have to tolerate his abuse. Maybe they were afraid too? They all looked bored but there was an undercurrent of fear. Shiloh could practically taste it.Micah was…unpredictable even on his good days.Shiloh dropped his gaze to the floor, his hands clasped behind his back, partially because his brother liked him submissive but mostly because he couldn’t stop trembling. And he refused to give them all a show.Shiloh squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, sir,” he muttered. “Sorry, sir.”The others in the room snickered, then abruptly fell silent, most likely because Micah had turned his frigid gaze to them. They forgot themselves too often.That’s what Micah would say anyway, usually while he was using Shiloh for target practice or forcing him to endure endless hours of reality television. His brother’s one bizarre vice. He called it stress relief. Shiloh called it torture, sometimes more painful than being hit in the ribs with a baseball. Or ten.Micah had little respect for the others in his crew, but that was still more than he had for Shiloh. He used to take it personally, had spent nights wondering why his own brother hated him so much, had even cried when he was little.It wasn’t until Malachi had reminded Shiloh that Micah didn’t hate them. He didn't anything them. To Micah, they weren’t even people. They were things, pawns, objects to move around, human dolls. Micah wasn’t capable of love or hatred. He was a true predator. That Mal and Shiloh were his favorite prey was nothing more than an accident of birth.Micah’s chair scraped back from the table and a shock of fear arced through him, his heartbeat accelerating to a dangerous level. Shiloh took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He didn’t want Micah to think he was sighing at him.That would be…bad.Besides, his mouth was already painfully dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. His body ached from holding the same rigid posture. He needed to relax. It hurt more when he tensed up. But he could never seem to relay that information to whatever part of his brain controlled these things.So instead, he quietly sent up a prayer that Micah would stick to his body this time. He really didn’t want to be hit in the face again, his nose was already throbbing and he honestly wasn’t sure what would happen if he got another concussion.His brother’s footsteps ambled slowly, lazily towards him, Shiloh’s apprehension building with each step that echoed off the tile floor. It felt like his insides were shaking. Was that even possible?Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.He sensed his brother standing before him but still didn’t open his eyes. If he did, he might be tempted to start begging and Micah had no tolerance for begging.So he kept his eyes tightly shut, ignoring the goosebumps erupting as the air conditioning blasted against his sweaty skin.He flinched as Micah’s hand cupped his cheek. “What am I going to do with you? Hmm?” he asked, voice deceptively fond. Shiloh knew better than to answer. It was a trap. It was always a trap. His stomach felt slippery as Micah traced a finger along his cheek. “Look at me, baby brother.”Look at me. Talk to me.That’s what he’d said. Levi. At least Shiloh thought that was his name. It was what was stitched on the pocket of the shirt he’d worn unbuttoned over a black tank top that showed off so much skin. Levi was a good name. A kind name.Or maybe Shiloh just hoped he was kind.At first glance, he’d looked like a bad guy, no different than the creeps sitting around the table or the ones beating the shit out of Mal in prison. It wasn’t his tattoos, though there’d been so many, too many to take in. Some on his neck, others on his fingers, several on just the small bit of his chest that had been visible to Shiloh.He’d also had numerous piercings. One in each brow, several in each ear. But none of that had caused Shiloh to think Levi might be as bad as Micah claimed. No, it had been his expression. Broody, guarded, full lips in a perpetual pout, dark hair parted down the middle and falling into those huge dark eyes. He also had two beauty marks, one on his right cheek and another just under the inner corner of his right eye.Yeah, he’d looked…not scary, but certainly unapproachable. And that was before he’d known Shiloh was there to kill him. But despite his appearance, he’d talked to Shiloh with a soft voice. He’d studied him with more patience than he deserved. And that’s when Shiloh had realized Levi wasn’t mean, he was guarded, his mouth in a constant perma-frown like the world was always disappointing him.Shiloh knew all about that. Maybe that’s why kissing Levi had felt like home. His lips were still a little swollen and if he thought about it hard enough he could almost feel Levi’s mouth on his. He fought the urge to touch his lips.Levi had kissed him, he’d just grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him, like he couldn’t help himself, like he’d wanted his lips on Shiloh’s more than he’d wanted to live.And Shiloh had kissed back, couldn’t stop himself, hadn’t really wanted to. Levi had kissed him and Shiloh’s brain had gone blissfully silent, leaving behind only sensation. Levi’s fingers on his jaw, his tongue sliding over Shiloh’s. He’d tasted like candy but he’d smelled like something spicy, something masculine and warm and safe.Shiloh had wanted to keep kissing him, would have probably let him do anything he wanted to him without hesitation. But he knew deep down someone like Levi would never look at someone like Shiloh. He was too weak, to feminine, too childish.He’d probably kissed Shiloh just so he’d have a chance to disarm him.  And it worked. So good for Levi. He’d played him.Something twisted deep inside Shiloh. Life wasn’t a movie. People like Shiloh didn’t get to be happy. It was just the way the world worked. Micah said there were the haves and the have nots and Shiloh was destined to be a have not because he was too meek to take what he wanted.Shiloh didn’t understand why he had to take anything. Wasn’t there enough to go around? Why did Shiloh’s happiness have to come from someone else’s downfall? It didn’t make any sense. And now Mal wasn’t even there to talk him through his confusion.Shiloh realized he’d gotten lost in his thoughts when Micah ground out, “Look. At. Me.”Shiloh raised his head reluctantly, staring up into pool blue eyes. It was almost unimaginably barbaric that someone as evil as Micah had been given such an angelic face. And when he smiled, like he was now, it was hard to see what a depraved fucking monster he was. Nobody ever saw him coming until it was too late.“I just don’t get it,” he crooned. “It’s almost like you want me to hurt you. Is that it? Have you grown to like the pain, baby brother? Or maybe this is just attention seeking. Hmm?” He arched a brow. “Am I not giving you enough…attention?”Shiloh fought the bile rising in his throat. If he puked on Micah he would most definitely kill him. But if Micah hit him in the stomach he was most definitely going to throw up. And he didn’t want a repeat of last time. He couldn’t even bear to think about what Micah had made him do for punishment.All he could do was apologize and hope Micah went easy on him. Shiloh could handle almost any punishment. The belt, his fists, even the stick. Anything but the roof.“I’m really sorry,” Shiloh said, voice barely above a whisper. “I am. I-I don’t like disappointing you. I swear. I just…I tried. But he took the gun from me.” It was a lie, a blatant one, but he hoped Levi would forgive him for casting him as the bad guy just once if it meant a lesser punishment for Shiloh. “I was afraid he was going to shoot me or call the cops. So I ran.”Micah shrugged. “Of course, you did. That’s what I get for thinking you were capable of one simple task. It’s like you hate me or something.”Shiloh shook his head frantically. “I don’t. I don’t. You’re my brother. I love you. You know—You know I’m not good at that stuff,” Shiloh finished.As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He heard the others snicker, heard the sharp inhalation of his brother’s breath.“Oh,” Micah said, nodding. “I understand. You’re saying this is my fault?”“No,” Shiloh gasped, still shaking his head, even though he knew his brother was just toying with him. “Of course, n—”Micah picked up an unoccupied wooden chair with a roar, then brought it down hard on the table over and over again until it shattered into pieces. By the time he was finished, the chair was obliterated, only the leg left in Micah’s hand. He was breathing hard, his eyes glittering with a malice that made Shiloh want to disappear.Despite everything, he didn’t see the blow coming. One minute he was standing, the next he was on his knees fighting to pull air into his lungs. Micah had driven the chair leg into his solar plexus.Shiloh felt like he was drowning. Micah had knocked the wind out of him, but it felt like both his lungs were paralyzed, unwilling or unable to bring in much needed oxygen.Micah’s face became serene once more, his plush lips rearranging themselves into a sneer. Shiloh watched as his brother caught his hair and pulled it back in a half pony-tail, securing it with an elastic around his wrist.Shiloh’s stomach dropped.This was going to be bad. “Please…” he said, once he could breathe again. He couldn’t stop the shaking now, even though he knew it would only make him angrier. His teeth started to clack together like he was cold. It wasn’t the first time. Malachi said it was an adrenaline response.Micah’s face fell into a mock pout. “Oh, don’t look so glum. It’s not like I’m going to kill you.”Shiloh fucking wished he would. More than anything. But if he did, Malachi would be stuck in prison for life for a crime he didn’t commit. Because of Shiloh. Mal was the only thing that kept Shiloh going.He blinked back tears, willing whatever part of his brain controlled such things to just…not. Tears only made things worse. Micah raised his hand. Shiloh flinched, acid pooling in his stomach.Micah chuckled, yanking him to his feet, then gripping his chin roughly and shaking his head around. Levi had gripped his chin like that too, but only to kiss him better. He tried to focus on that, tried to go somewhere in his head, far away from his psychotic brother.“Where did I get such a weakling? Hmm?” Micah simpered, like he was talking to a baby. “Malachi was a fucking loon, but he was at least useful occasionally.”Shiloh wanted to shout ‘Then why did you have him thrown in prison?’ but knew no good would come of it. Shiloh knew why. Everybody did. Bringing it up again would only make things worse. This punishment was going to be bad enough already and everyone in that room knew it. Micah was just drawing it out, psychologically torturing Shiloh before he physically tortured him.Micah sighed as if he was so put upon. “But you…I’ve never seen you do a single thing right. I don’t understand how we share the same gene pool. Hell, if I hadn’t watched you crawl out from between our whore mother’s legs I would have thought she’d found you behind a dumpster. Maybe I should have just smothered you back then. I could have. I wanted to. But I didn’t.”Was he waiting for a thank you? Shiloh couldn’t have said it even if he wanted to. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he might scream. At this rate, he might have a heart attack from the anticipation before his brother even decided on a punishment.It would serve him right.Micah calling Mal crazy was rich. Mal was weird. Really fucking weird. And not in the way all middle children were sort of off. But weird in a way that Shiloh could never explain to an outsider with any cohesiveness. Malachi was just something a person had to experience to truly get the scope of his eccentricities.Like Micah, Mal had a cruel streak. He enjoyed people’s suffering, but only if they wanted it. Consent was weirdly important to Mal. He liked toying with people, liked making them beg. But he also loved animals and babies. He loved music and art. He loved Shiloh. He’d tried his best to protect Shiloh.Mal was all extremes, all the time and nobody ever knew which Mal they were going to get.As the silence stretched, Shiloh grew desperate to fill it. Finally blurting, “I’m sorry, Micah. I fucked up. Just…just do what you have to. I deserve it,” Shiloh said, doing his best to sound sincere. “I won’t even fight back. I’ll even try not to cry this time. Okay?”“Oh, don’t placate me, little brother. I know you’d kill me right now if you could. If you had the balls,” Micah taunted. “But you don’t. If I handed you a gun and put it right to my forehead, you still wouldn’t pull the trigger.” He chucked him under the chin. “Because you love me. And love makes you weak. It’s why Mal is in prison. It’s why you’ll spend the rest of your life doing just what I tell you.”Micah was right. Shiloh wasn’t like his brothers. He didn’t have any interest in hurting people. He just wanted to draw and paint and play video games. He wanted to get a job and a boyfriend.He didn’t know why the genetic code that made Mal and Micah so good at being bad had skipped him, but it definitely had. In another life, with different parents, different circumstances, Shiloh probably would have had friends. People would have thought he was funny and sweet. He wouldn’t have been the weird kid.But somehow he’d ended up in this fucked up family and it didn’t make any sense.If someone lined up Shiloh and his siblings, they’d be hard pressed to find a single physical trait all three shared, except maybe their curls. They all had different fathers, but Micah and Malachi favored their mother’s Swedish looks—both blonde and blue-eyed, where Shiloh resembled his Argentinian father, dark hair, dark eyes, golden skin.Unlike Micah, Malachi’s skin darkened under the sun just like Shiloh’s and when Mal’s hair was dark, people could see the resemblance between them, which had always comforted Shiloh. He didn’t want to look like Micah, though some part of him wondered if he’d somehow have gone easier on him if he had.But near as Shiloh could tell, the only trait all three brothers shared, was something nobody else could see. They were all fucking crazy in their own way. A gift from their mother. The only thing she’d given them before she dove off the roof and left them behind.Shiloh had been six. Malachi ten. Micah fourteen. That was when everything had gone from barely tolerable to hellscape.“I’m not placating—”That was as far as he got before Micah’s fist connected with Shiloh’s stomach, bringing him to his knees once more. Micah’s fingers twisted into Shiloh’s hair until he cried out, grabbing at Micah’s wrist instinctively, half-hoping his hair didn’t come out at the roots, but also wishing it would so the pain would stop. He started to drag him along the floor.“How about we go play on the roof.”“Please, no…” Shiloh begged, his sneakered feet scrambling for purchase on the tile floor as if it could somehow prevent what came next. “Micah, not the roof. Please…please…I’ll do anything. I’ll get your gun back…please…”“Save your energy, baby brother. You’re going to need it,” Micah said. To one of the men who now followed behind them, he said, “Get the rope.”Shiloh gasped. Maybe he really was going to kill him this time. The thought made him feel almost…peaceful. He just closed his eyes and thought about Levi and his patient eyes and soft lips.At least he’d gotten a kiss first.