Strain Read online

  “Mmm, you feel good, cutie.” Kaleo’s hips brushed Rhys’s backside, his breath hot and moist, gasping against Rhys’s ear. His arms around Rhys felt too much like an embrace, but Rhys couldn’t spare the breath to object as he gripped the edge of the desk, white-knuckled and moaning. He fought to keep from crying out and begging Kaleo to stop.

  It got a little easier after the first few thrusts. Not good. Still painful, but endurable. It had hurt with Darius, too, but not like this. With Darius, there had been pleasure despite the pain, but now Rhys was just too sore, and he wanted Kaleo to finish and go away. He grunted when Kaleo gripped his hips and began thrusting harder, slapping against his ass, groaning. The increased force made the ache worse. Rhys cried out as Kaleo’s thrusts stuttered to a halt with a low shout.

  He whimpered softly when Kaleo’s weight slumped against his back. He wished the panting breaths on the back of his neck would stop. Finally, Kaleo pushed back and reached around Rhys’s hip once more.

  “Well. That’s not very flattering.”

  Rhys flushed, hiding his face against the surface of the desk. Great. Kaleo must have heard him with Darius this morning and assumed he’d enjoy this. “Sorry. I’m just . . . I’m tired. The attack yesterday and . . .”

  With a sigh, Kaleo pulled out of him, and Rhys forgot to suppress the hiss.

  “Aw, man. You should have said something if it hurt!” Kaleo sounded genuinely distressed.

  “Sorry. I just— Sorry,” Rhys muttered. “Thanks for, um . . . helping me out.”

  Kaleo scoffed. “Not sure I did you any favors here.” Rhys felt him shifting, fastening his pants.

  Rhys ducked his head and pushed away from the desk, pulling up his own pants, trying to ignore the slippery wetness between his ass cheeks. “It’s what I’ve got to do to live, right? You’re trying to help. I get that.”

  “I’m trying to keep my ego under control here.” Kaleo gave him a wry look. “C’mon, cutie, have a seat. Talk to your Uncle Kaleo. Is it that bad?”

  “It’s nothing.” Rhys shook his head, trying to muster another smile. He was out of practice with the whole everything’s okay routine since his mother had died. “Like I said, I’m tired, and you know, a little sore, and I lost my sister yesterday and . . . I’m fine.”

  “Right.” Kaleo sighed, gripping Rhys’s shoulder. “Sorry about your sister.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks again for, um . . .” Rhys waved his hand vaguely between them. “Helping. Do you think I could have a few minutes alone?”

  Kaleo nodded. “Sure, kid. Come out to eat soon, though. You’re too skinny.” Rhys stared at the dingy carpet, its pattern faded to an indistinguishable gray muddle, as Kaleo loped toward the door. He stopped, backlit by the fading sunlight outside, and turned a bright grin to Rhys. “Don’t think I don’t plan to try again. When we get back to base, Schuyler’s gonna love watching me with you.”

  He was gone before Rhys could stammer a suitable protest.

  When Rhys overcame his humiliation and ventured outside again some time later, the Jugs were sitting around the fire eating strips of steaming venison. He saw Kaleo with his head bent, murmuring something to Xolani, who slid a troubled glance to Rhys. The smell of the meat almost sent Rhys back inside, but someone pressed a dripping cut of meat into his hand, and Rhys made himself take a bite.

  The flavor flooded his tongue, awakening taste buds that had long since gone dormant on an inadequate diet of bland fare. Humming as he chewed, he gobbled the rich, dripping meat for a few bites before his stomach lurched. He bolted up from where he sat cross-legged on the lawn and ran toward the crumbling, ivy-covered garden shed, staggering to a halt around the corner as he retched.

  Xolani joined him a moment later with a canteen of water.

  “You have to take it slow. Small bites. Your body’s been starved so long, it doesn’t know what to do with food anymore. I’ll make you a broth. That’ll be better until your stomach’s used to having richer food in it again.”

  “Sorry.” Once the nausea passed, Rhys’s stomach gave a hungry pang—the first he’d felt in years.

  “It’s okay.” She rubbed his shoulder. “Kaleo says you’re in some pain.”

  Rhys looked away. “It’s nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, Rhys. I wish we could give you time to heal up and get used to it all, but we can’t. Sad fact is, those abrasions are probably your friend right now. They increase your chances of exposure. I’ll get you some ointment, and it’ll get better in a few days, once you’re used to things.” She continued stroking his shoulder, and again, the gesture reminded him so much of his mother, he wanted to turn and lean on her, to hide his face against her arm until the burning in his eyes went away. “If you actually tear or start bleeding badly, you let me know. Otherwise, there’s not much I can do but make sure the guys know to be gentle with you.”

  “Okay.” Anything to make her stop talking about it.

  “I also put something in your room. Darius sent Titus and Jamie out for some creative scavenging.” She laughed softly. “He wants you to wear a butt plug, and I agree it will probably help you get used to stretching. There’s some lube, too. Keep that with you in case the guys don’t have theirs. Tonight, when you go to bed, try putting the plug in for a while to get used to it.”

  Rhys’s face flooded with heat, and he refused to acknowledge that last bit. If he could get away with it, whatever that thing was would find its way into the coals of the fire tonight, but Xolani didn’t need to know that.

  After a moment she patted his shoulder again and led him back to the fire—either she was confident in his cooperation or didn’t want to push him for an answer. “After dinner we’ll start teaching you how to shoot. Try to nibble. Suck on the juices if you can’t make yourself swallow until the broth is ready.”

  Nodding, Rhys accepted a scavenged barbecue fork with another strip of warm, rare venison on it. He gnawed gingerly but offered it to Kaleo before it was half gone.

  “Sure you don’t want any more?” Kaleo frowned. “You’re skin and bones.”

  Rhys shook his head with a thin smile. “I’m full, thanks.”

  As he waited for the others to finish eating, Rhys realized he was staring at Darius across the courtyard and ripped his gaze away. Whatever his twisted fascination with Darius was, he needed to stop. He’d already made too much of a fool of himself in the shower that morning, hollering the way he had. God only knew what they must think of him now. Like Kaleo, they probably thought this whole warped scenario was something he enjoyed.

  Why was he the only one who seemed to care how sick all this was, how much it made a mockery of everything intimacy was meant to be?

  And Jacob . . . Jacob was no doubt waiting to pounce triumphantly, crowing that Rhys was every bit the deviant Father Maurice had always accused him of being.

  When they were done with supper and the first watch had secured the gate, one of the Jugs tapped Jacob on the shoulder, murmuring something, and Jacob followed him into the monastery. Titus and Xolani took Rhys out past the garden shed and taught him how to carry, load, and sight a handgun, shotgun, and assault rifle. They didn’t fire, as there was no sense wasting ammunition until he had mastered the basics, but he began to learn how to aim.

  It offered Rhys a distraction, at least. He knew he was just biding his time, waiting to see if someone would take him inside as well. Would it be Darius? The thought made his stomach tighten with something he tried to convince himself was reluctance, but he couldn’t quite manage it. It hadn’t done that with Kaleo.

  After a while, when Rhys was too tired to attend to their instructions about the guns anymore, Xolani turned to throwing knives at a target drawn on the trunk of one of the trees. When the sun set, they all retreated into the monastery and secured the door. In addition to the gate being closed, all the exterior doors were barricaded and guards were posted.

  Darius didn’t acknowledge Rhys as he retreated to his room, hoping no one w
ould waylay him. It was too much to ask, though. Just as he was about to reach his door, someone came jogging up behind him.

  “Hey, kid! Um, Cooper.” Rhys turned to see a Jug he hadn’t met yet, who smiled broadly. “Hi. I’m Bailey.”

  It was like Kaleo all over again. Bailey was friendly, and his intentions seemed good. Rhys wanted to burst into tears at the idea of going through it again. Instead, he bowed his head and let Bailey follow him into his room. He couldn’t help but whimper in pain this time—he was so sore. Apparently Xolani had warned Bailey about that, though. He did try to be gentle, and he wasn’t offended when Rhys wasn’t aroused. He murmured soothing reassurances that it would get better, that they’d all been there after their first time on the bottom. Then he did his thing and left Rhys lying on his cot in dry-eyed despair.

  Feeling filthy and shamed, Rhys curled into a ball and tried not to spew up his meager supper. He glanced over at the dresser and saw the plug thing Xolani had talked about. Rhys gave it a disgusted look and jerked on his clothes, snatched it up, and stormed out of his room to look for someplace to throw it away or destroy it. With the monastery barricaded for the night, he couldn’t get out to the fire like he’d planned, so he went for the kitchen, instead. Just as he was about to start hacking at it with the meat cleaver, footfalls came behind him.

  “Don’t do it, boy,” Darius growled.

  “I don’t want it,” Rhys grated, tightening his jaw.

  “Good. Glad you got that off your chest. Now ask me if I give a shit.”

  For a moment, he considered telling Darius to just go ahead and kill him. What was the point of trying to live if he was going to be degraded and dehumanized this way, violated not only by people he didn’t want and couldn’t care less about, but by inanimate objects, not allowed even the tiniest bit of privacy and dignity?

  But even now, he didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not pointlessly. It had been one thing when he’d been willing to do it for Cady and Caleb. But not now that he finally, finally had a small chance to discover what life might be like outside the monastery and out from under Father Maurice’s hellfire-and-brimstone tyranny.

  Rhys’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he laid the cleaver down.

  “Upstairs. Now.”

  He was already wet after Bailey, so once Rhys was bent over his bed, Darius’s fingers slid right in. Rhys heard Darius behind him, stroking himself hard and fast. Darius pressed the head of his cock to Rhys’s sore hole, inserting just the tip, and then his hand moved between them along the shaft, slapping against Rhys’s backside with each stroke. He pushed in just a little more, just enough to wrench a pained cry from Rhys, and then went still, groaning and pulsing.

  Afterward, he grabbed the plug.

  “You’re gonna wear this every night, boy, and I don’t want any complaints.”

  The plug was wet when Darius pushed it against Rhys’s entrance. He began to work it in and out with gentle thrusts that eased the gradually widening bulges into Rhys’s hole.

  “Oh God . . .” Rhys pushed back despite the ache, arousal surging up in a dizzying rush.

  “That’s it. Take it, baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?” That voice. That was why Rhys couldn’t remain unaffected by Darius the way he had with Kaleo and Bailey. He wished he could. “Next time you take my cock up your ass, it’s gonna be so good. You’ll beg me for it.”

  That was what he was afraid of. All day, he’d been hearing echoes of the crude promises of pleasure Darius had made to him in the shower that morning. But Rhys forgot to protest as he rocked back again and that final, widest knob eased past his aching ring. His ass spasmed around the narrow stem. He moaned into the bedding, shuddering, waiting to adapt. Then Darius’s hand wrapped around his cock, and it was all over at just a touch. The sheets of his cot were wet and sloppy as Rhys collapsed onto his belly and waited for the twitching to pass.

  “Good.” Darius patted his rump an almost paternal gesture, sending outrage zinging through Rhys. Darius sounded far too satisfied with himself. “You sleep with that tonight. Take it out for a while in the morning, then try it again for longer in the afternoon and evening.”

  Rhys nodded, hating Darius and hating himself for responding. He drew up the covers, hiding his nudity, and Darius stretched out on his mattress on the floor and didn’t say another word. Unfortunately, Rhys had no chance of drifting off to sleep anytime soon, despite his exhaustion. Not with that strange, stretched, full feeling inside his guts. Not knowing he had the semen of three different men trapped inside him. He lay there long into the night, resenting everything, with that plug driving him mad and a boner he couldn’t quite will away.

  The boy was definitely going to be trouble, and not just because of that quiet streak of rebellion. No, the trouble had started the moment Darius had seen Rhys lead Bailey into his bedroom and something had twisted uncomfortably inside his own gut.

  He almost hadn’t gone to Rhys’s room at all that night, deciding it would be best to avoid the boy entirely. If Rhys hadn’t sneaked downstairs, Darius might have succeeded in ignoring him.

  So much for that idea.

  They hadn’t intended to stay more than one night at the monastery when they’d hunted down the revs, but Xolani had suggested they add a couple days to their stopover, arguing that their men would have an easier time exposing their recruits to the Alpha strain if they weren’t on the march. Darius had agreed, but it hadn’t been until he’d seen Bailey shutting the door to Rhys’s room that the idea of Rhys having multiple partners had shifted from abstract to concrete in his mind.

  His response hadn’t been pleasant.

  That uncomfortable feeling told Darius he needed to step way back. Possibly not touch the kid again at all. There was no way he could permit that hint of possessiveness to take root and sprout. Rhys needed to be fucked by as many men as were willing. Darius couldn’t stand in the way of that, despite his unexpected urge toward territorialism where the boy was concerned. And he certainly couldn’t develop anything resembling affection for a kid he was likely to have to put out of his misery in a few weeks’ time.

  The second day was worse. He saw at least five of his men tap Rhys and lead him away. The boy looked fucking miserable, and Darius gritted his teeth and forced himself not to pay any attention. Then Kaleo came down the stairs before supper, his expression a little wistful as he buckled his belt, which made Darius want to put a fist through his face.

  Fuck this shit. Darius laid his strip of leftover venison aside and tapped Houtman on the shoulder. “Upstairs.”

  He didn’t like the quality of Houtman’s smile at that. It made the tense twisting in Darius’s gut even worse than knowing his men were fucking Rhys. Houtman’s expression was far too smug and calculating, and his voice was irritating as he led Darius to his room.

  “Of course, I understand what the Bible says about all this, but you know that old story about the man facing the oncoming flood and refusing the rescuers the Lord sent him, right? I assume if this is the means God has provided me to survive, He must have some higher purpose for me. He means for me to endure, to bring His word back into the world now that the worst of the plague has passed and humanity is rebuilding itself.” Houtman made a satisfied sound as he dropped his pants. “He has great things planned for me, for all of us. Like Moses leading the Children of Israel out of bondage . . .”

  It took all of Darius’s patience not to snap at the guy to shut up. Luckily, driving himself hard into Houtman’s ass had the same effect.

  What it didn’t do, though, was relieve any of Darius’s irritable tension. Instead, he just felt vaguely sickened and couldn’t wait to get out of there. He didn’t speak a word to Houtman as he walked away, pausing after he closed the door behind him to fasten himself up again.

  When he glanced up, Rhys was standing in the hallway outside his room, staring at him. For the briefest instant, he thought he saw distress in the kid’s eyes. But then that strangely empty expression wiped al
l animation from his face. Turning with a jerky, almost robotic precision of motion, he slipped back into his room and shut the door.

  That was it, Darius decided, storming downstairs to send Gina to bed so he could take her watch shift. He couldn’t allow Rhys to become dependent upon him any more than he could let himself be territorial about Rhys. It would only prevent them from doing the job they had to do.

  He wasn’t going anywhere near that fucking kid again.

  “Something wrong, Rhys?” Xolani leaned against his dresser, looking at him closely. “The guys say you’re hardly speaking a word to anyone.”

  Rhys shrugged.

  “Are you still in a lot of pain?”

  Another shrug. He was, but it didn’t matter. Answering didn’t seem worth the bother. After two days of being everyone’s sex toy, it was pretty damned clear that what he felt or wanted was irrelevant. All he could do was just get through it.

  Xolani stood by patiently as Rhys sat on his cot, feeling disgusted. Three of the Jugs had approached him already that morning, all with the excuse that they wouldn’t get a chance once they were on the road today.

  “I can wait for as long as it takes you to talk.”

  Something snapped. “What, so now I can’t even have any privacy in my own fucking head?” He glowered up at her. “Bad enough I’ve got to do all this with everyone knowing that I’m some pervert . . .” He huffed and fell silent. Dammit. Xolani didn’t deserve him taking his frustration out on her.

  Xolani’s expression smoothed over, became neutral. “Pack your gear while we talk. We’re late. We meant to break camp at dawn.”