Rogue - Jericho's Boys #1 - revised ch. 8 (Patreon)

Massive trigger warning for suicidal ideations and on page phyical, mental and verbal abuse though not as bad as it could be. Unedited/Unbeta'd. 

Chapter 8

Shiloh

Shiloh spent the next twenty minutes studying every line on Levi’s face, just in case. His fingers itched to just reach out and touch. He looked so soft when he slept and no amount of tattoos or piercings would change that. He looked almost like a little boy. Shiloh almost choked when he considered how tired they both appeared when awake and existing in the world.

Life shouldn’t be this fucking hard all the time. Should it? He didn’t know the full extent of what Levi had experienced but it was clear just from his bitter response to Shiloh’s past that Levi had his own trauma. It wasn’t fair. Neither of them had asked to be there. Why did everything have to hurt? Why did fucking living have to hurt so bad?

When Levi’s chest started to rise and fall in a rhythm, Shiloh found himself stalling. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to leave him. How stupid was that? He was a stranger. A total stranger. But leaving him felt like cutting a much needed lifeline. Like stabbing a hole in the life raft keeping him adrift in the middle of turbulent seas. He smiled miserably as tears welled in his eyes. He was so stupid.

He rolled his weight back and forth, testing to see if Levi stirred. Nothing. Levi must have some trust for Shiloh to sleep so peacefully beside him. A trust Shiloh would betray. He wiped at the hot tears leaking from his eyes against his will. He waited another five minutes, then slid from the bed.

He dressed quickly and quietly, heart in his throat, eyes never leaving Levi’s sleeping form. He picked up the gun and slid it into his back pocket. He needed to be fast about this, before Levi woke and realized what was happening. But he found himself dragging his feet anyway. He went back to the bed, kneeling beside it, resting his cheek on his crossed arms as he drank Levi in one final time.

Levi was the pretty one. So pretty. The kind of pretty that stopped people in their tracks. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to go back to that place. Back to Micah. Shiloh wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. After all these years, there was finally someone who was saying everything he wanted to hear, someone practically begging to rescue him from his life, but he couldn’t do it.

Rescuing himself meant sacrificing Mal and while Mal would have fully supported Shiloh choosing himself, he couldn’t do that to the only person who ever loved him. He just couldn’t. He’d die first.

When he forced himself to his feet, feeling like he was walking through molasses as he took the few short steps to the door. He had his hand on the knob when he spotted it. A pad of sticky notes and a group of markers in a plastic cup. He stared at it for a long moment, then hurried to it, grabbing a thick green sharpie and a hot pink square of paper, writing:

I CAN’T STAY. HE’LL HURT MAL. I’M REALLY SORRY. PLEASE DON’T HATE ME.

Almost as an afterthought, he added, ~XO, SHILOH

He set the piece of paper on the pillow beside his head, then made a reckless decision, leaning down and pressing his lips to Levi’s forehead in a kiss that lingered a moment too long, then he forced himself to go. He winced when he opened the bedroom door, relaxing when the hinges didn’t protest.

In the living room, Nico was still there, eyes glazed as he watched something on television. He tilted his head, giving Shiloh a curious look, but remained silent, eyes following Shiloh as he crossed to the door and opening then closing it behind him.

Shiloh was grateful Nico didn’t question him. He had no answers. At least none that didn’t break his own heart. He walked to the staircase as if everything was fine, but once he was out of sight of the apartment door, he took off, sprinting down the stairs and out of the building, ankle smarting from his earlier injuries, but refusing to let that stop him.

He was going crazy. On the street, he didn’t slow. If anything, he only ran faster, his imagination whispering that someone was behind him, chasing him, that if he didn’t keep moving they would overpower him and everything would be over. He made it about three blocks before his lungs gave out.

He bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in lungfuls of air, his ribs protesting beneath the bruises. He looked back, half expecting to find Levi behind him, but there was nothing. Shiloh embraced the knife sharp stab of disappointment. There was a weird sort of comfort in the pain, reminding him he didn’t deserve good things.

It was better that way.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, then called for an Uber. He didn’t have to wait long at this time of night. Once in the car, he kept his eyes closed while the driver spoke to someone on his phone in another language, Vietnamese maybe? Shiloh rested his head against the cool glass of the window for the whole ride back, dread settling deep within him when his house came into view, curdling in his stomach like spoiled milk.

Shiloh hated the place. It was just a two-story modern home with six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, luxurious enough to appeal to Micah’s ego, but remote enough for the neighbors to mind their own business. Their nearest home was at least five miles in any direction, ensuring nobody could hear Shiloh scream. Also, ensuring nobody picked up on Micah’s business ventures.

He pressed in the code for the gate, then slowly made the short walk up the drive. The lights were on. Usually, that meant nothing given Micah’s minions often stayed and partied even when Micah himself was away for business. Still, Shiloh attempted to guard himself to the best of his ability. There was nothing worse than a surprise attack.

Shiloh disengaged the lock, then pushed open the heavy wooden door, praying nothing waited for him on the other side. But luck never favored Shiloh. Ever. Micah sat in the parlor, slouched in a fancy wingback chair, jean clad legs crossed at the ankles, a near full whiskey glass in his hand.

When he saw Shiloh, he grinned. Not the one he gave right before he beat the shit out of him, but the smug one he saved for when he felt he’d won some victory against him.

“Welcome back, little one. Did you do what I told you?” he asked.

Shiloh didn’t answer, just stalked across the room, pulling the gun free and slamming it down onto the table beside him. “Here.”

To the outsider, it would appear nothing had changed between them. Micah still sat; Shiloh still stood. But the subtle shift in Micah’s eyes set Shiloh’s nerves on edge, like the screaming violin in a horror movie. He just sat, blinking at him with this lazy hostility, letting Shiloh know the only thing keeping him from a beating was fatigue. Like he was simply just too tired to beat the shit out of Shiloh again and like he was annoyed that Shiloh would even put him in a situation where he needed to beat him.

Instead Micah picked up the gun and pointed it directly at Shiloh’s head, his voice quiet, every word enunciated for effect. “I asked you a question.”

But Micah wasn’t the only one who was tired. Shiloh was tired too, Shiloh was angry too. Too angry to even care about the gun pointed at his head. As far as history went, it was one of Micah’s less creative intimidation tactics.

“And I didn’t answer,” Shiloh said, mimicking his brother's cadence back to him.

It was easier to be bold after a really good beating. Micah held back after that. It wasn’t out of concern by any means. It was just strategy. Micah didn’t want to kill Shiloh. He’d have nobody to torment. Micah also tried to lure Shiloh into a false sense of security. It was always more fun whenever Shiloh didn’t see it coming.

Shiloh’s time with Levi had left him raw. He just wanted to sleep. He needed sleep. A deep, dreamless, drugging sleep. He opened his mouth to say so, when Micah pulled the trigger.

He startled at the hollow click of the gun dry firing, his heart thundering in his ears. He sighed, his words dull from an exhaustion so profound he couldn’t even name it. “You could have killed me.”

He could tell from Micah’s expression, he’d hoped for a bigger reaction. Fear, anger, tears, surprise. Something. But there was no element of surprise anymore. Shiloh always expected the worst, he always saw it coming. He just no longer had the brain capacity to worry about Micah’s motives.

Micah chuckled, releasing the magazine, showing him it was empty. “I know the weight of this gun loaded or empty,” he bragged. “Besides, I’m assuming your little boyfriend had enough sense to not hand you a loaded gun. He’s seen how useless you are with one.”

It was his mention of Levi that ignited the little fight he had left. As hopeless as he felt, there was this tiny sliver of a chance that maybe there could be something more with Levi. No matter how absurd or impossible it seemed. He clung to it. Held it tight. Used it as the duct tape across his mouth to keep him from deliberately antagonizing Micah into doing something drastic.

Instead he just stared at his maniac brother for a full minute while he waited for his heart rate to return to normal, then he turned, heading towards the stairs. “Goodnight, Micah,” he managed.

Micah’s chuckle was borderline deranged. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you do what I told you?”

“You got your gun back,” he said just loud enough for his brother to hear.

“Did you fuck him or not?”

Shiloh didn’t acknowledge his words, focused on putting one foot in front of the other, eyes on the stairs.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a baby,” he called, his glee evident. “You’re the one who said I ruined sex for you. Now you have my blessing. This is a good thing.” Micah’s laugh was malicious. “Kids, today,” he mused as if talking to himself.  “They’re never happy.”

Shiloh didn’t stop until he was in his room with a chair wedged under the doorknob. It was cold comfort, something to give him the perception of safety even though he knew, deep down, it wouldn’t stop Micah if he was truly determined. But the chances of him coming after Shiloh tonight were slim. He was still patting himself on the back over his perceived victory.

Shiloh supposed it was a victory for Micah. He’d gotten his gun back. Shiloh knew where Levi lived. Levi seemed to trust him. All the things Micah had demanded Shiloh agree to, before letting him off the roof.

Well, almost all of them.

Like Micah had said, he’d told Shiloh to fuck Levi. He’d explained—in the most condescending manner possible—that if Shiloh managed to do it correctly, Levi would be loyal. He’d trust him. He’d tell Shiloh inside information Micah could then use to take out Jericho.

But Shiloh had fucked it up. He’d choked. So many emotions swirled inside him, it was like his body was tearing at the seams trying to keep them all in. He was so sad, so frustrated, so angry. He wanted to scream, cry, kick his feet and beat against the walls until he was too tired to move, to think, to…be.

He hated himself. He hated himself for failing to get Levi to sleep with him and hated that had he succeeded he would have given Micah exactly what he’d wanted. He hated that he’d panicked—again—that he’d let too much information slip. He hated the pain and the hopelessness that was the only fucking constant in his life. How much could one person even take?

But more than anything, he hated how much he had wanted to succeed, to know what it would feel like to give himself to Levi completely. To have sex with someone who wasn’t just doing it to hurt him. Levi had been so…present. Locked in. He’d wanted to make Shiloh feel good, had cared if he was enjoying it. What did that say about Shiloh that he’d managed to even fuck that up?

Sex was such a normal thing, something so common it happened even amongst strangers. Sex might be the single most universal experience on the planet. But for Shiloh, it was Mt. Everest, this near insurmountable obstacle in his way. And every time he got halfway up the mountain, Micah was there, to kick him back to the bottom.

Shiloh fell into bed fully dressed, dragging his pillow beneath his head and his blankets over it, before he burst into tears. The embarrassing kind. The kind that caused deep, racking sobs from the deepest part of him. The kind that made his eyes burn and his jaw ache and his nose so stuffy he could only breathe through his mouth. He cried until his pillow was soaked and his body could no longer produce tears, until only those super embarrassing hiccuping sounds remained.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to use Levi, to be some kind of spy. But what choice did he have? As long as Malachi remained in prison, Micah owned Shiloh. He didn’t want to hurt Levi, this stranger that had somehow wormed his way under his skin so easily. But how did he sacrifice the brother who’d protected him his whole life for the…possibility of something more with Levi?

And really, what was the likelihood that Levi would stay after he realized just how truly, deeply, damaged Shiloh really was? People always said nobody can love you until you love yourself. If that was true, Shiloh was fucked. The only person Shiloh hated more than Micah, was himself. At least Micah had a backbone. There was something to be said for never feeling anything. He’d used to think it sounded awful, but now it sounded…peaceful.

Shiloh wiped at his wet cheeks and snotty nose, trying to drag himself out of the downward spiral that helped nothing. He just had to get Malachi out of jail. Once Micah got him out, then Shiloh was free. He didn’t have to try to just hang on anymore. Maybe he’d finally have the courage to do what he had wanted to do for years.

Shiloh sat up, opening the drawer, grabbing a prescription bottle at random, dumping an unknown number of tiny white pills into his hand before swallowing them dry.

He didn’t know which pills he’d just swallowed, maybe a benzo, maybe one of his antidepressants, his anti-psychotics. Who even cared? Micah had forced Shiloh to play Russian roulette at least half a dozen times. This was Shiloh’s version. Maybe nothing would happen, maybe he’d wake up in the hospital, maybe he’d sleep for ten days, maybe he’d finally just fade away forever.

It would happen. One day. One day, he’d give himself the break he deserved. One day he would drift off to sleep and never wake up. If there was something on the other side, Shiloh was opting out of coming back for another round. This whole living thing wasn’t for him. The world was a cesspool and humanity was garbage and Shiloh just wanted off this fucking ride. For good.

Tonight, with Levi, had felt like it was almost something. Being with him, underneath him, consumed by him, had been the closest thing to peace Shiloh had ever felt. Being wrapped in his arms had felt safe. But there was no such thing as safe. Safety was all about perception, the blanket humans wrapped themselves in to sleep at night. But there was really no such thing as safety. Death could come for anyone at any time. Tragedy could strike anyone at any time. It was all too much.

He was just…

He was just done.

He didn’t want to do this anymore.

One day. One day he’d have the courage to open the drawer and swallow the whole fucking bottle. But today wasn’t that day. Maybe once Mal was free. Maybe then he’d have the courage to follow in his mother’s footsteps.

At least she’d gotten away from Micah once and for all.

Part of him wished she’d just taken him with her.

###

Shiloh woke to a sharp slap on his cheek. From the way his face burned, it wasn’t the first. He tried and failed to open anvil-heavy lids three times before he succeeded. The world blinked into focus in pieces. He was in his room, the sun was shining through his window, Micah sat on his bed, holding Shiloh up with only a hand fisted in his hair. When Shiloh’s eyes started to drift shut again, Micah delivered another slap.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Micah chided. “If you can’t take your meds responsibly I’ll start doling them out to you.”

Everything hurt. He couldn’t stop his lids from trying to shut. The hand in his hair disappeared, then Micah was picking him up, carrying him bridal style. Shiloh couldn’t even keep his head up, he just lay there, limp as Micah took him…somewhere. Maybe he’d toss him off the roof this time. That was the last thought he had before he lost consciousness again.

A thousand needles pierced his skin at once, stealing the breath from his lungs as instinctively tried to run from the assault, but there was nowhere to go, there was a wall at his back. He was so dizzy.

The bathroom.

The shower.

Micah.

He contemplated throwing up, but knew all too well that it would just lead to something far worse. Instead, he just slumped against the wall, letting the icy spray pelt him, willing his brain to rally, silently apologizing to his body for last night’s impulsive decision. Suddenly, Micah was in front of him, blocking the spray of water, fist tangled in the fabric of Shiloh’s shirt.

“You trying to kill yourself, baby brother? Huh?” He grinned. “Do you think I’ll let you go that easily? I promise. Even in death, I’ll still find a way to get to you.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Shiloh heard himself ask.

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I made a promise to our mother. Right before she died. I promised her that I’d take her weakness out on you and Malachi. If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at our coward mother. She’s the one who bailed and left you guys holding the bag. It’s a shame really. If she was still here, maybe we’d be friends, you and I. Maybe the three of us could have held a united front, tortured our mother together, like real brothers. But I guess we’ll never know.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Shiloh whispered, head lolling on his shoulders.

“Now you’re just being hurtful,” Micah quipped mockingly. “I do so much for you. Do you not have a roof over your head? Food? Nice clothes? You’re so selfish, Shiloh. You think you’re just entitled to everything?”

Shiloh didn’t have it in him to fight, but that clearly wasn’t good enough for Micah. He slapped Shiloh again, but it barely registered, the frigid water had inadvertently numbed his skin. There was something weirdly funny about that. He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face or the laughter that bubbled out without his permission.

Usually this would have sent Micah into a blind rage, but he was clearly feeling benevolent today. He sat down right under the spray, pulling Shiloh forward with a palm around the back of his neck. “Do you even realize how fucking crazy you are? Maybe I should tell you? Malachi has coddled you too much. I don’t think it's good for you. You deserve to know just how dangerous you are.”

Shiloh schooled his features into something like concern, before it slipped away and his laughter took over once more. “If I was truly dangerous you would have killed me.”

Micah gave him a look that was as close to sincere as Shiloh had ever seen, so much so it stole the near manic giggles falling from his bruised lips. “See, that’s just not true. If I could have killed you or Mal, I would have by now. But I did the next best thing. I cast you in the role of victim instead of villain.”

When the silence stretched between them, Shiloh thunked his head against the tiles. “Are you waiting for a thank you?”

“No, I didn’t do it to be thanked. I did it to protect you.”

Shiloh scoffed, “Oh, you’re so benevolent.”

Micah reached back and wrenched the handle, turning off the water, but making no move to leave. “Consider this your coming to Jesus moment, Shi. Listen, carefully. If it wasn’t for my vigilance, my protection, you would have been in prison long before Malachi.”

Shiloh’s mind reeled. None of this was real. Micah was just trying to get in his head, play more mind games with him, creating a false narrative to lure Shiloh back into blind obedience. “Whatever you say.”

The empathy bleeding from his psychotic brother’s eyes, almost made it believable, almost made it seem real. But psychopaths have no empathy. Micah was just an empty vessel, a human birthed into the world minus a soul. A small oversight on someone’s part, surely, but they all suffered the consequences.

“What I say? I say you’re an ungrateful little shit. You sit on your high horse looking down on me…on Mal even…because we embrace our crazy, we acknowledge how fucked up our desires truly are. But you’re only up there, because that’s where we put you. If you knew…if you truly knew…if you could just…remember how alike we really are—” He drove his pointer finger into Shiloh’s temple— “You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.”

“Are we done?” Shiloh asked, head pounding, heart racing, hating how much he believed Micah.

It was all bullshit. Micah was a master manipulator. This was what he did. But something…something about his words rang true in a way Shiloh couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made his skin crawl. Or maybe Micah had just gotten in his head…again.

“No, we’re not done,” Micah said. When Shiloh sighed, his gaze sliding towards the door, Micah gripped him by his chin, yanking his head until their eyes met once more. “I’m trying to be patient with you. I really am. I don’t think you understand how much I hold back. How hard it is for me to not beat you until your face caves in.”

“Gee, thanks,” Shiloh said, words muffled with the intensity of Micah’s fingers digging into his jaw.

Pain exploded in the back of his head as Micah slammed him into the tile. “Stop trying to antagonize me.”

Right. It was Shiloh who was truly at fault in their current scenario. Still, Shiloh heard himself say, “Sorry.”

Micah’s fingers were no longer pinching his face, but massaging it. “I know you can’t help yourself. That’s why you have me here to remind you. To take care of you.”

Shiloh’s vision doubled than cleared. Partially from being shoved into the tiles, but most likely from whatever he’d swallowed the night before. “Thank you,” he said, words a bit slurred.

“That’s better,” he said, beaming at Shiloh with a smile that didn’t reach his reptilian eyes. “Today, you’re going to go back to your new boyfriend and play house. Got it? He needs to trust you, he needs to want to introduce you to his friends, his family, his boss.”

Shiloh closed his eyes. “I doubt he’ll want to see me. I…snuck out on him last night. He didn’t want me to leave. He said it was too dangerous.”

“Even better. You’ll go back, apologize in whatever way you have to, and tell him you changed your mind, that you want to stay with him. That you’re afraid of your big, bad, brother and you need him to protect you. His type eats that shit up. Then you’ll just report your findings.”

“I-I don’t get what I’m looking for.”

“You’re looking for a way for me to get rid of him that doesn’t involve me killing him. Nobody gives a fuck about some vigilante mechanic and his little group of lost boys, unless that mechanic is married to a billionaire’s son. I can’t afford the entire Mulvaney family gunning for me. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“What kind of thing? I don’t understand. Why would someone who wants to punish bad people have anything to hide?” Shiloh asked, desperately wishing for caffeine and something in his stomach.

“Everybody has something to hide, Shiloh,” Micah chided. “Everyone. Even you. Find me something that allows me to take him off the chessboard. If he’s in jail, amazing. If I can blackmail him into giving up the neighborhood, that works too. You just need to find whatever dirty little secrets he’s hiding.”

Not everyone was a monster. Not everyone had deep, dark secrets. “You know he kills people. Why isn’t that enough.”

Micah looked disgusted. “You know who else knows he kills people? The cops. They literally just look the other way. Can you believe that shit? It’s almost like nobody wants to do their jobs.”

Micah had more than a few cops in his pocket and at least one district attorney on his payroll. That’s how he’d gotten Mal locked up. But, sure, the cops who knew Jericho took bad guys off the streets were the corrupt ones, not the scumbags on Micah’s payroll who had no issue with planting evidence, falsifying documents and lying under oath.

“What if he doesn’t forgive me?” Shiloh asked, heart clenching at the thought.

“Then you make him forgive you. By any means necessary. You don’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you don’t give me what I want. You will go back to your little convenience store clerk, you will get him to fall for you, and you will find me the evidence I need to wipe the board clean.”

“I-”

Suddenly, Micah’s large hands were on his face again. “And, if you’re a really, really good boy, maybe—when all’s said and done—I’ll let you keep him…as a pet.”

“A pet?” Shiloh muttered.

“Yes. As long as he minds his own business, you can fuck like rabbits. Hell, he might turn out to be useful. Maybe I’ll even bring him on as one of my own men. Money’s money right?”

“Someone like Levi would never work for someone like you,” Shiloh spit, unable to stop the venom dripping from his voice.

Micah scoffed. “Oh, that’s too bad for you. I’d hate to have to torture and kill him while you watched.” He started to stroke Shiloh’s sopping wet hair. I’m just not sure you’d ever recover from that…mentally. You’re such a fragile little thing.”

“Just leave Levi out of it. Once you have what you need to get rid of Jericho just—just let Levi go. It’s better that way.”

Micah sighed. “Our little doodlebug, ever the martyr. Fine, have it your way. Get me what I want and I’ll let him live.”

“And you’ll get Mal out of prison?” Shiloh asked.

“So greedy. But, sure, I’ll get Mal out. I kind of miss him, if I’m being honest. He’s nutty as a goddamn Christmas fruitcake but he sure is entertaining.”

“Soon?”

“That depends entirely on you, doesn’t it? But I’d hurry if I were you. It will only take Mal losing his temper one time for his release to be entirely out of my hands.”

Shiloh could feel that frustration from last night welling up inside him. He was so tired of being a hostage in his own fucking life. “Yeah, sure. Fine.”

“That’s the spirit,” Micah said, getting to his feet. “While you’re in here, you might as well shower. It’s well past noon and you have some making up to do.”

Shiloh dragged himself to his feet with effort.

When Micah saw his miserable expression, he laughed. “Oh, it's not so bad, doodlebug.” Shiloh flinched at the use of the nickname for a second time in a handful of minutes. He knew it was Mal’s nickname for him. He just used it to further antagonize Shiloh. “At least you’ll get to try your hand at make-up sex.”