I didn't really sleep that night. I'd kept my door open so I could hear if the kid left his room in the middle of the night, but if he had, I'd not noticed it. When the sun was rising, I fought my urge to go check up on him and make sure he was still in his room. He was free to go if he so wanted, I just... I just doubted he'd survive on his own. He'd walk in front of a car or something...
Fifteen minutes later, I lost the battle and got out of bed. I pulled on a robe and tiptoed my way out of my room, across the hallway and to his door. I pressed my ear against it, but heard nothing. I hesitated for a good while, but my curiosity and worry won, and I quietly opened the door.
And there he was, still in bed, under the covers, but the second he heard me, he hurried to sit up, and retreated until he ran out of room.
"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to spook you," I said soothingly. "Just wanted to see how you're doing."
He turned his head down, retreating into himself, trying to keep his body small. But... there wasn't a lot of fear in him now. He was still scared, but not afraid of his life like yesterday. I let out a relieved breath and slowly approached his bed.
"Are you feeling better? Did you sleep well?" I asked with a friendly smile.
He kept himself turned away from me, but somehow... somehow he seemed more aware now.
"You look better," I noted, studying his face. There was a little more color on his face. "I bet you're hungry."
There was something black on the floor on his side. His jeans? Yeah, he'd taken his jeans off. For some reason, that made me feel so much better. That was such a human thing to do. Maybe... Just maybe...
"Do you mind if I sit? I'll stay on this side," I said, slowly sitting down on the bed, as far away from him as I could. He didn't seem to mind, so I made myself comfortable. I glanced out the window. "It's going to be a really nice day today. Maybe you'd like to spend the morning with me in my garden?"
I could've sworn he was about to look out the window as well, but stopped himself. I studied him, his posture, his expression, even his breathing. I couldn't just be imagining things. There really was more life in him. He was showing interest.
"I have a really nice garden. No thanks to me though. My gardener does all the work. He's amazing," I told the kid. "Or we can stay indoors. I'm sure you could use the rest. I can also stay out of your hair until you feel better. Or completely. It's all up to you."
His head moved a little in my direction. Not even half an inch, and he still kept his gaze down, but he did react to my words. That felt really, really good.
"Do you want me to leave you alone?" I asked tentatively.
He shifted a little, turning away from me. I thought that was his way of telling me to leave, but then he lifted his left hand a little, turning his palm up. I tried to see what he was looking at, but his fingers blocked my view. It looked like he was holding something.
"What is it?" I asked quietly.
He reacted to me again. He didn't look at me exactly, but somewhere in my direction. There was still fear in his eyes. Fear and pain. He hesitated for a really long time, then looked back at his hand. He let out a few deeper breaths as I waited patiently. We were getting somewhere. I knew we were. He just needed a little bit more courage.
"I'd like to see it," I said gently, then held my breath when he turned his whole body toward me. "What do you have there?"
He stared at whatever he was holding, then lifted his head up, his eyes meeting mine. He quickly lowered his gaze, took another deep breath, then moved his hand closer to me. I stayed perfectly still, maintaining my smile.
He stopped when his hand moved past the center of the bed and froze completely. He stared at it, his expression turning more scared, and yet... yet he already trusted me enough to show what he was–
"Oh, you poor baby..." I muttered when I finally saw it. I understood why he felt the need to show it to me, even though he still feared me.
He wasn't holding anything in his hand. The object was literally in his hand.
"What is that..."? I muttered, carefully leaning closer to see one of the nastiest wounds I'd ever encountered. "How did I miss that...?"
There was something big and black sticking out of his palm, right next to his thumb, and the surrounding skin was oozing pus. It looked like a piece of glass or a metal or something. It must've been there for days.
"Can I...?" I asked quietly, then carefully took that hand in mine. "Man, it looks painful... You poor thing..."
He relaxed a little while I studied his infected hand. The piece was deep under his skin – I could see the outlines right below it. Even I felt sick looking at it, and I'd seen a lot. His body was doing its best to get it out, but it was quite large, maybe half an inch wide, and by the looks of it, really stuck in there.
Seeing it brought back my rage. How did he get it? And why had no one... No... I didn't need to ask why no one had done anything about it yet. Those pieces of shits... It was probably that leader roach that had caused this...
I forced myself to keep smiling when I turned back to the kid.
"You know what? I happen to know how to patch up wounds. I can take care of that in no time," I told him.
The kid looked up at me, then at his hand. His expression told me it hurt like hell.
"You did good showing me this," I said, giving his hand back before getting out of bed. "I'll take care of it, don't worry. You'll feel much better in no time. I'll go grab my stuff and I'll be right back, okay?"
He didn't respond in any way, but I was sure I saw relief in his eyes just before I left the room.
One of the perks about being in the mafia was that we all had to know how to take care of injuries, even the more serious ones, and we had our own drugs. The kid's hand was no problem for me. I entered my secret lair down in the basement – a corner closet with a couple of more locks since I wasn't actually holding anything too incriminating in my own house – grabbed whatever I needed, then headed back to the kid.
He had stayed where I left him, in his bed, staring at his injured hand. This time, he didn't really react to me entering the room. He didn't look at me, but he didn't get scared of me, either.
"All right," I breathed out, sitting down next to him. "You know this is going to hurt a little, right?"
He turned his head a little toward me, showing me he was listening.
"I need to pull the piece out so I can see what I can do," I continued. "So... Are you ready?"
Hesitantly, he gave me his hand. I took a careful hold of it, then grabbed my tweezers.
"I wish I didn't have to hurt you," I muttered. "But I have to get it out."
The kid looked away when I moved his hand so I could see what I was doing. He held his fingers spread for me while I carefully took a good hold on the piece.
"You should focus on breathing," I told him, then started pulling.
He stayed completely still without letting out a sound, but his body tensed when the pain grew worse. I had a good hold on the piece, so I didn't stop until it was completely out, the gash left behind spilling blood on my clothes. I ignored that and instead grabbed a clean piece of fabric to press it on his wound.
"Luckily, it was just under your skin, not deep in your thumb," I told the kid as I eyed the piece of... glass?
The kid let out deeper breaths, and I glanced at him. He stared into nothingness, his face pale again, though the pain seemed to be subsiding a little.
"Come – let's clean the wound," I told him, and got up so I could lead him into the bathroom.
It wasn't easy to stop the bleeding, although there wasn't an alarming amount of it coming out. Stitches weren't an option, not with the infection, and I was pretty sure the wound was too old for them, anyway. We stood next to the sink, keeping his hand under running water to get it as clean as possible. Once the bleeding was calming down, I took a better look at it. It could've used getting stitched up, but I decided against it. It would be too painful for the kid. All I could really do was to make sure it was cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged well.
Once it was all done, I stepped back to watch him study his heavily bandaged hand. He turned it around a few times, then carefully moved his fingers.
"It'll hurt for a while, but I have painkillers for you," I said quietly.
He turned a little toward me, never lifting his eyes, then just stood there in front of me.
"It probably feels better already with the piece of glass gone though," I said. "Come. Let's get you something to eat so you can go back to bed and rest."
As we returned to the bedroom, I realized he was wearing the clothes I'd brought him last night. I smiled at the sight, but sadness quickly overtook it. He was so, so tiny... He was almost as tall as me at six feet three, but he was as wide as my wrist. All his bones were sticking out, and even though my old clothes were small, they were still enormous on him.
"You know what? You should go back to bed. I'll bring breakfast here," I told him.
He stopped following me, but didn't go to bed. He was still staring at his hand, holding it by the wrist.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, staying with him. His behavior... I had the feeling he was trying to reach out to me again. I just had to wait. "Or don't you want to go to bed?"
He spread his fingers a little, even his injured thumb. I was glad to see him move it. And the bandages weren't getting soaked in blood, even though he was straining the wound.
"Do you need something?" I asked, taking half a step closer to him.
Slowly, he let go of the injured hand and pressed it gently against his chest, protecting it. He took a quick look at me, brave enough to meet my eyes, then he reached toward me with his right hand. It was my turn to stay immobile when he carefully touched my chest with his fingers, letting them linger on me for a brief moment before he lowered his gaze and stepped back.
"Was... Was that a thank you?" I asked, guessing because I was confused.
He didn't respond to me.
I smiled at him. "You're welcome. Now you should go back to bed. I'll bring you something to eat."
I let him decide if he wanted to go back to bed or not, and left to get him something to eat. I grabbed whatever I could think of from the kitchen, piled it all on a tray, then brought it to the kid's room. He actually was back in his bed when I returned to him, and he carefully looked at me. I rewarded him with a smile.
"Here's breakfast. You must be hungry," I said as I put the tray in the middle of the bed. I fished out a bottle of strong painkillers from my pocket and gave it to him. "And here's something for your hand, but you should eat first, okay? Otherwise you may get sick."
He peered at the food I'd brought. Fruits, bagels, yogurt... I kind of went overboard, but only because I had no idea what he liked.
"Do you see any of your favorites?" I asked. "I can make something else, an omelet, some bacon, toasted bread – I think I won't burn the house down if I try."
The kid was still staring at the food. I gave him time and turned my attention to his hand. He held it in his lap, his palm down, protecting the injury. That's why I never noticed it. He'd never let me see it.
I forgot the hand when the kid leaned in and carefully took a banana from the tray. He retreated from me, turning his shoulder at me like he feared I'd take the fruit away from him.
"That's a good choice. I love bananas," I told him. "Lots of protein. I think."
Again, I just stared at him, completely forgetting my own empty stomach. The kid was eating with a better appetite now. Still slowly, but better. He even seemed to stop fearing I was taking the food away from him.
Once he was done with the banana, I slowly reached toward him with my hand, my palm up, silently asking for the peels so I could throw them away. I didn't take them from him. I just waited to see what he would do.
He didn't look at my hand, but he knew it was there, and it made him timid. He ignored it and kept his head down, staying still. Maybe I should've retreated, but my instincts told me to be patient. It was my alpha whispering in my head, telling me what to do. I trusted it. So I waited.
And only a moment later, the kid found his courage and peered at my hand. His movements were very subtle while he still tried to figure things out. I could almost see his thought pattern. I wasn't hurting him. I wasn't touching him. I wasn't scaring him. I wasn't yelling and screaming and threatening him in any way.
He figured it out and slowly picked up the peels and turned back to my hand, though he still was uncertain if that was what I wanted. I lifted my hand, carefully gesturing for him to give the peels to me, helping him to find the right answer. He was careful when he placed the peels in my hand, then pulled away.
"Thank you," I said with a smile before he could shut me out again.
And he... didn't? He took a moment to recollect himself, then turned a little more toward me. Maybe... Maybe after a good night's sleep, that piece of glass out of his hand, and with food in his stomach, he had more energy to deal with this new, scary thing that was me.
"You're doing great, baby boy," I told him in a mutter. "I know you're scared, but you're safe here. No one will ever hurt you again."
He looked at his bandaged hand. And I realized... our alphas didn't understand words, only body language, but this kid clearly knew what being hurt meant.
It was the human side of him that was listening.
I had a wide smile on my face as I watched him. "I wish I knew your name, kid."
He ignored me.
My instincts told me to leave it at that, so I tore my eyes off him and grabbed a bagel from the tray. I didn't get to finish it, though. Someone was at the gate, ringing the doorbell.
"You can eat anything you want," I told the kid while I got out of bed. "I'll be right back. That's probably Francis. You remember him, right? From last night?"
The sudden noise had forced the kid to retreat behind his walls. I held back a sigh as I watched his frozen posture.
"I'll be right back," I said, and hurried out to stop Francis from brutalizing the doorbell.
I reached the entrance hall and opened the intercom. It indeed was Francis' ugly face on the camera.
"You are disturbing my guest," I growled at him.
"Morning to you too, Boss," he replied, smirking. "Now here I was thinking maybe the kid was an assassin or something."
"How can he assassinate anyone when he can barely pick up a banana?"
"Just let me in," Francis said. "I've got something to show you."
"If it's another roach infestation–"
"Not another one, no," he said, his expression grim.
I wrinkled my nose and opened the gates. I watched him drive off, then made sure no one else sneaked in while the gates were closing. Francis was already knocking on the door by the time my yard was secure again, so I let him in.
"What is it?" I asked him, gesturing for him to follow me into the kitchen.
"Have you seen the news today?" he asked, taking a laptop from his bag.
"No."
He put the laptop on the counter and turned it on. A moment later, I found myself watching the news. The nightclub was looming behind the reporter, and the street was filled with cops, soldiers, and ambulances.
"A mass shooting took place last night in a local nightclub at–"
I glanced at Francis. "Is there a particular reason you're showing me this? I want to go back to the kid to make sure he's all right."
"Just watch it."
I sighed and turned my attention back to the video. Well, most of it. Part of me was still worrying over the kid. And then...
"–has been identified as Lonnie Hill, the leader figure of the newly formed terrorist organization, Rightful Sons. With me is Captain Hale from the special operations unit to answer some of our questions."
The camera zoomed out and showed me an ugly face I didn't care to see first thing in the morning.
"Ugh..."
Francis chuckled at my reaction.
"Captain – your team was in charge of finding and arresting Mr. Hill and his organization, correct? Is it true that all thirteen bodies have been identified as members of Rightful Sons, the newly formed group who posted a video of themselves burning the memorial flags in front of the City Hall only a day ago?"
"We have confirmed all bodies wore their emblems, but we are still in the middle of identifying all of them," the captain said, looking so all and mighty in his uniform, holding his rifle.
"And is it true no civilians were harmed during the shooting?"
"Correct."
"Would you say all victims were executed in cold blood, as our witnesses are claiming?"
"It appears to be this incident was carefully planned, and the goal was to eliminate the gang."
"And what about the shooters? According to the eyewitnesses, a group of unidentified men entered the club around two in the morning, executed Lonnie Hill and the rest of Rightful Sons, then left. Do you have any leads on who these men could be?"
"We are currently conducting our own investigations, so it's too early to say at this point."
"To me, this attack looks like a dispute between rival gangs," the reporter said tentatively. "According to some witnesses, one of the unidentified shooters could have been Michael Mercer."
The captain smirked a little behind his stupid mustache. "Like I said, it is too early to say at this point while we still have days' worth of evidence to go through. But I can assure you, if Mercer had something to do with this, I will personally make sure he will be treated accordingly."
"But–"
"Sorry, that's all the time I have," the captain spoke, interrupting the reporter. "I must get back to work."
The reporter gave him an annoyed glance, then turned back to the camera while the captain walked away. "While the investigation is still–"
Francis stopped the video. I let out a deep, annoyed breath at the frozen screen, then crossed my arms over my chest.
"I suppose we're expecting visitors soon," I said with a snort.