But on the day of the escape, something went wrong, and Daniel still couldn't figure out what mistake he made in his plan. It went so wrong that he didn’t even have time to pick up his documents and money, he only took some cash from home. They caught up him out in the suburbs of Los Angeles, forced him to pull to the curb and dragged him out, and then all hell had broken loose. Vincent listened to him with icy fury, boiling over with every word he shouted in his rage, and growled fiercely:
“You betrayed me! You!” and struck with the back of his hand for the first time since they'd known each other, causing Daniel to fall back onto the cold asphalt, stunned, not even feeling the pain in his numb cheek, but stunned by the very fact of the blow.
They grabbed him and threw into the car, his head painfully collided with the car door. He was driven back to Vincent's house to continue there. Vincent, his favorite Vincent, rolled up the sleeves of his expensive shirt and beat him hard, fracturing ribs and fingers with loud crunch. Horrifying Daniel with his fury. Fierce, ferocious, frightening to no end. He raped him, then beat him, and then repeated. He finally drew a knife and made a thin cut across Daniel’s cheek. It burnt Daniel, bleeding and barely breathing in agony, another sharp pain seared through his body.
“You won't be so handsome to be lured away by lovers now, Danny," Vincent whispered, cooling down. Daniel wanted to say that he Adrian and him weren't lovers, but he only mumbled faintly, finally drifting off into a faint.
Vincent left him crawling on the floor that night, jumped into his vintage Ferrari 400 Superamerica in a frenzy, and drove off, tires screeching, to blow off steam as he often did. Only this time, blinded by bloodlust, he lost control while taking a turn, oversteering, and crushed headfirst into a tree. Steaming heap of debris instead of what once was his cherished possession. Unlike Daniel, apart from a broken rib, cuts on his face, Vincent suffered a severe blow to the head that left him with amnesia. That amnesia was what kept Daniel alive - once Vincent regained consciousness in the hospital, he asked about Daniel and was horrified at what he'd done to him.
He ordered to heal Daniel, arrange for plastic surgery to remove the scars, restore his toy, his pocket artist, his fiancé. Daniel was transported from the cold basement to the luxury of a private clinic, where they were accustomed not to ask questions, where his physical pain was alleviated with anesthetics, while his moral anguish was subdued with tranquilizers. He underwent patching, stitching, and external healing, then was presented in a pristine package to the formidable psychopath.
Daniel didn't see Adrian after that day, couldn't see him, couldn't see him at all as he was kept alone in the house, deprived of his phone and tablet. Attending conscientiously to his psychological trauma, mending both the toy and the inner workings to ensure the living human mechanism functioned as seamlessly as a mechanical one, all with the aim of making Vincent happy again. Vincent, now harboring an internal flaw in his head, was a ticking bomb set to detonate the moment he recalled Daniel's attempt to escape and him collaborating with the FBI.
“What's on your mind, baby?” Vincent yanked Daniel out of his reverie, prompting an involuntary flinch. Daniel tensely hoped didn’t give himself away in any manner.
“About a future painting. Thinking about Pierrot in our garden," Daniel turned slowly away from the window toward Vincent, obeying the hand that pulled him affectionately.
“Pierrot, how unusual. A rather sad character, don't you think?” Vincent kissed his cheek and descended to the mark, licking it reverently.
“I can't help it, these are the only characters I can think of," Daniel twitched, unable to help himself. “You don't let me out of the house, so where am I supposed to find joy?”
“Come on, Danny," Vincent cradled his face, pressing his forehead against his, punctuating his words with tender kisses. "You know it's for your own well-being; you need to get better. We are almost home. I'm hungry, aren't you?”
“I don’t want to eat," Daniel froze, mechanically responding to the kisses.
“But you will, you need to eat well, you've lost five pounds," Vincent cut him off firmly.
At dinner, Daniel was served a small plate of pills in addition to olive wagyu steak, spinach rolls and a salad. Daniel sighed dejectedly and tried to negotiate once more.
“Vincent, I feel woozy after the pills, I can't paint, the images won’t come, my fingers shake. And without painting, I'm dying.”
“Danny why don't you finish your treatment and then we can talk about this again?” Vincent put his pills into the palm of his hand, popped them into his mouth, and took a drink. “Here, I'm taking mine. Come on, don't be stubborn." Daniel swallowed his pills and Vincent smiled softly, pleased with him.
Following dinner, Daniel, with a faint hint of medicated haze in his head, donned silk pajamas and headed to his bed. Observing Vincent from beneath his long lashes, he found him reading a tablet in bed. Settling on his side, Daniel nestled in, reached for the nightlight, switched it off, and whispered, “Good night, Vincent.”
“Not so fast, baby, what about a kiss?” Vincent turned him around and ran his palm over his face, exhaling softly, “You're so beautiful, Danny, I love you so much!” He began to undo the buttons of Daniel's pajamas during the sensual kiss, stroking his chest and flat stomach. Daniel’s nipples hardening with his touch, heart racing anxiously at his iliac spine.
He sat up with a jerk, muscular and strong, threw the blanket off himself and Daniel, his groin bulging under the thin silk briefs. Vincent slid his palms over Daniel's trembling body, rubbing the tightening strands of scars, his face twitching guiltily as he rubbed them. He pulled down Daniel's pants and underwear, exposing the hardening cock, ran his hands around it, touched it gently feeling the tip becoming wet, and then ran his hands around it again. As Vincent stared unwaveringly into his eyes, Daniel felt his breath grow erratic, cursing his body for its betrayal, for the lingering physical attraction to his tormentor.
Vincent came pushed his cock all the way in in a slow, thrusting motion, pushing his tongue in his mouth, taking Daniel in both holes at once, asserting his right to him, to his beloved omega. He moved painfully slowly, teasing Daniel's aroused mind with his slowness. He laughed happily, pulling away from his lips when Daniel thrust his hips up sharply, setting a new pace, and obediently sped up, agonizing with the loving gaze fixed on Daniel's eyes. At times like this, Daniel thought that all was not lost, that it was worth forgetting that terrible day and letting them be happy. Lost in the ecstasy of sensual pleasure, he tended to the bleeding wound on his heart, screamed out in orgasm, sprawled mindlessly across the bed, glad for the moment of calm.
Vincent wiped him gently with a wet towel, smoothed his scars once more, kissed each one, and said for the millionth time, “I am sorry, baby. If I could, I'd turn time back.”
“And if I could, I'd forgive," Daniel replied abruptly, hating himself for his bodily weakness, openly rebelling. Vincent's whole body shuddered, and he whispered softly, covering him with the blanket, “You didn’t used to be so cruel.”
“Things used to be different, Vincent," Daniel replied, looking away.
***
“Where are we going?” Daniel asked indifferently, getting into the car, somberly contemplating the lively, sunlit morning.
“Dr. Myers, he offered to meet after hours today because he had an idea for a breakthrough," Vincent explained, putting the tablet aside and sighing at the look on Daniel's disgruntled face. “Baby, this is important, let's not bicker.”
It was not in the interest of the vulnerable to engage in debate with the powerful, thus Daniel kept quiet. He turned on the Charlie Chaplin movie again, distancing himself from Vincent. Better to watch raucousness on the screen rather than in real life. Midway through the movie, which he was already familiar with, their car abruptly halted as the leading escort vehicle suddenly braked and backed up.
“Code yellow, code yellow," Matt said into the ear mic, listening to the bodyguard from the first escort car talking to him. “Turn around. Return to the base.”
Vincent tightened up, opened the glove compartment and took out a gun, swiftly took the safety off. He smiled softly at Daniel, who looked scared in the face of the imminent threat.
“Don’t worry, Danny, we will get away.”
The front car began making a turn and then abruptly stopped, when a black SUV blocked the road in front.
“Shit, code red. Retrieve the subjects; we proceed on foot," Matt yelled into the earpiece, swung the door open, leaped out, and thrust his gun forward.
The dry clicks of gunfire sounded in front, causing Daniel to flinch as he huddled his head into his shoulders. Despite being aware that the car was armored and shielded from gunfire. The doors on both sides of the back seat swung open, the bodyguards from the second escort car swiftly extracted them, lowering their heads and forming a protective ring around them.
Daniel's alarmed eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, absorbing the unfolding scenario in an instant: the intense sun, the sweltering heat, the black cars – both theirs and others', the blood and bodies on the ground, the gun barrels, and the approaching masked men with only their eyes visible.
Assailants crumpled to the ground, including some from their own side. Amidst the chaos, sporadic screams from onlookers pierced the air, and a police siren wailed in the distance. Daniel stood in astonishment; his gaze fixed on one of the attackers. With the discerning eye of a professional artist, he recognized the blue eyes—it was Adrian!
He had to run; it was the only chance to escape — realized Daniel. In an instant that felt like an eternity, he grappled with the decision of whether to dash towards Adrian or leave him behind with Vincent and his everlasting alpha problems. He made the decision and swiftly sprinted, exploiting the confidence of the bodyguards who hadn't anticipated the protected subject making a break for it. He ran without crouching, without seeking cover, moving at the fastest pace he had ever experienced in his life, gasping with a mix of fear and a peculiar sense of exhilaration. As he descended into the subway, he caught sight of Vincent's wild gaze, attempting to escape the grip of the bodyguards, who remained focused on securing the remaining and more valuable subject. There was a haunting darkness in Vincent's eyes that triggered a vivid recollection of that day. So, the amnesia is gone, and he remembers all now... Well, need to hasten, or else... face death.
Get the money and documents from the safe deposit box, get on a bus, then another, a third, a fourth, and a fifth. Travel all the way to Utah, where Daniel Bell, a renowned artist, will vanish into the Mormon community, assimilate into its fabric, mirror its essence, and emerge anew in a different country. The only option that maintains his absurd existence, that grants him the opportunity to create.
