Roses Wilt, Bites Scar [boyxboy]

Chapter III

"Slap on wrist. And he'll be looking for new insurance policy," Arlo sighed, staring down at his battered and bruised knuckles. How many people had been in his situation because bastards like Trent had sold them out? How many people were being hurt right in that very moment because of the actions of a loved one? It was quite a depressing notion.

"How long do I have?" Arlo cleared his throat, his throat still aching from the fight, desperately needing a drink to reduce the sandpaper-like sensation that followed any swallow.

"Not twenty-four hours," Arlo looked up at the man, seeing that smile looking a tad less enthusiastic, "auction starts at midnight, ghosts come out to play," Arlo nodded weakly, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs.

"You got any tips? On surviving, and stuff?" the Russian chuckled, his expression seeming more genuine, if not a little taken aback.

"You're very talkative, most just cry and beg for mercy," Arlo shrugged, trying to smile himself but wincing from the pain it caused him. He wondered if maybe his jaw had been fractured, he had taken quite a severe hit during the fight.

"I've been in deeper holes. Tips?"

"Obey," that seemed simple enough, Arlo had learnt how to follow outlandish instructions a long time ago, "do as told. If they say be quiet, be silent. If they say cry, sob," the Russian paused for a moment, his expression fading away to a bleak nothingness, "if they say spread legs, look pretty and be thankful for whatever you get," did the man care? Is that why Arlo saw the flicker of pain cross his face? Did he genuinely feel for the people he saw bought and sold on in these auctions? That seemed like a bizarre notion considering he had been the one to deliver the news of Arlo's change in fate, maybe that was his day job, maybe he didn't stay with the victims much after they had been brought to wherever the boy was.

"Hey, wait," Arlo called out when the man turned to leave, catching his attention once again, "do I get a phone call or anything?" the Russian cocked an eyebrow, although Arlo would have thought he would have expected such a suggestion if he had been in this business for so long, "I won't do anything stupid," the Russian was silent for a moment, looking as though he was actually thinking about it.

"My ass on line," Arlo grinned when the Russian removed his phone from his pocket, bending down and sliding it across the floor to the boy, "nothing stupid."

"I promise, I just want to call my sister," Arlo was thankful he actually remember Viola's number, dialling it into the phone and holding it up to his ear, feeling a lump in his throat when he heard her voice down the receiver, "hey, Vi, it's me."

"Arlo? Who's phone are you using? You didn't break yours again, did you?" Arlo didn't want to dwell on the unimportant aspects, not knowing how long the Russian would allow him to speak. He just needed his sister to know he was OK and that he loved her. He wasn't sure he would ever get to see her again, he would be just another family member to disappear. And that made him feel awful.

"Anyway, doesn't matter. You're late. You missed dinner last night, I got you-"

"I'm gonna be pretty late, Vi, Trent threw me under the bus. I'm fucked," Viola went silent, only the subtle crackling through the receiver assuring Arlo that the call hadn't cut out.

"What do you mean? What's happening?" Viola's voice wavered, fear laced into the apprehension in her words.

"I won the fight," Arlo didn't want to go into the details, he wanted his sister to live her life without the worry of might be happening to him, "collect the cash, it's twenty thousand, that'll last you a little while."

"Arlo, stop, what the fuck are you talking about? You're not making sense," Arlo sighed, rubbing his eyes, wishing his headache wasn't throbbing so ruthlessly in his mind. He couldn't think straight.