Chapter 13

Devyn crumpled to the bed as soon as he was alone, sobbing in agony and fury. God, he should never have gone out to the stables today. He'd known that it would be hard to keep the pain from showing, but he figured he'd had enough practice.

But, shit, being with Michael obliterated his resolve. He had thought he'd be able to see Michael, be around him at least, but keep enough distance so he could maintain his mask. But the other teen had caught him off-guard, surprised him, and he hadn't had the presence of mind under Michael's gentle assault on his lips to protest at the time.

And now Brad was pissed with him; of course, he'd probably already been pissed if Haskins had said anything.

But now someone outside of the household, outside of his carefully stacked hand of lackeys, had seen his bruises again. Someone he didn't have control over, like that damn deputy Watson or the principal of his old school who had played football with Brad in college. Fuck, who didn't Brad know these days?

Devyn had learned the hard way that Brad Milburn's charm and charisma had an extensive reach. The man seemed have a way of controlling every situation. Devyn had learned to trust no one, for years now.

He flopped an arm over his eyes.

Except Michael. He trusted Michael. He sort of accepted Lyle, and maybe Chris and Trent--well, at least they hadn't outright hurt him, yet. Jason seemed okay, not trustworthy--not totally, because he still answered to Brad, but the man did seem to be willing to listen.

Not like the others. Not like his old teachers and principal. Not like that damn deputy.

Deputy Watson--the asshole who 'took his statements' when he'd had a voice years ago, when he'd tried to tell someone--teachers, officers, principal--anyone who would listen to what his step-brother really was, what the man had done to him, what the man let be done to him. At twelve, he'd believed the deputy would help him, he'd believed the officer would do something.

Oh, the fucker had done something alright. Devyn chuckled silently remembering how he'd trusted people like the officer and his principal to help him. And they'd written out their 'findings' that Devyn was just an angry teen, taking out his anger about his mother's death on his supportive step-brother who was just trying to handle a self-destructive sibling. They'd told everyone that Devyn had been lying to rebel against his upstanding step-brother, that he was doing it just for attention--and everyone believed them. Devyn's angry accusations and claims after that were blown off. The damn deputy and principal had curtailed all of his attempts to get someone, anyone to listen.

Then he'd found himself 'homeschooled' for his own good. Brad's clients became his tutors, and...

Devyn brushed an angry hand through his blond hair. He'd been so stupid then, trusting. Brad had laughed at him when he had sworn that one day someone would take him seriously, that someone would listen again. But Brad had been right. Devyn hated that he had been so naive back then, not realizing just how many people could be bought and controlled by his step-brother. He'd even trusted the fucking doctor that Brad kept taking him to--really, he's a damn doctor; he's supposed to follow that Hippocratic oath or something--at least that's what he believed, until that man had--

Fuck, that man was coming over soon. Damn it.

He rolled over, pulling his notebook from its hidden place between the wall and desk. He found himself idly drawing on the page. The point of the pencil growing duller and duller as he got lost in the rhythmic monotony of shading and shadowing the images.

He hadn't realized that so much time had passed when he heard the door opening. Shit. He quickly slid the notebook under his pillow before the door opened enough to reveal Dr. Hembry.

Devyn saw his bodyguard follow the doctor in. Good, maybe the damn doctor will leave him alone this time, Devyn thought, as he eyed the approaching older man warily. He knew that Brad had saved the man from a malpractice suit that the asshole probably deserved. Hell, Devyn thought as his hand floated to his throat, he stole my fucking voice; he deserves to rot in hell.

"Devyn," the man said as he approached, "I hear you aren't feeling well."

Devyn edged away from the man slightly, glaring.

^I'm fine,^ he mouthed to the Doctor, noting the frown that Jason cast him, obviously seeing Devyn's irritation with the man.

"Well, let me just see," Dr. Hembry smiled placidly. Then he turned to the bodyguard. "You can just wait outside. I'll be done in a few minutes."

Devyn's eyes widened as Jason looked over at him. Devyn shook his head slightly, hoping the guard wouldn't leave him alone with the leering man. Devyn felt his heart lift in hope when the dark-haired guard moved to the other side of his bed and sat down, earning a frown from the doctor.

"I really don't think there's much you can do for him," Jason said. "He just has some bruises."

"Hmm," the silver-haired doctor turned back to Devyn, obviously irritated by the guard's presence. He reached for the bottom of Devyn's shirt, and Devyn hesitantly removed his hand draped over his stomach.

He felt the cold, wrinkled fingers of the doctor slide up his ribs over the bruises. He was sure the asshole's probing lasted much longer than necessary, but his gritted his teeth and refused to look at the man.

@@@@

Jason eyed the doctor warily as the man slid his fingers over Devyn's ribs. He wasn't sure what it was about this guy, but he didn't trust him. Jason didn't like the way his hand looked more like he was caressing the kid than actually examining him. He cleared his throat when it had gone on long enough. "So, anything broken?"

Dr. Hembry finally pulled back his fingers, and Devyn yanked down his shirt.

"No, I think he's good. Just in a mite bit of pain, I would guess," Dr. Hembry announced. He rummaged in his bag, pulling out a syringe and small bottle of clear fluid, adeptly filling the syringe.

Devyn immediately shook his head, eyes wide at the sight of the needle. He tried to roll away, but the doctor already had a grip on his arm. Jason took in the kid's look of alarm.

"Wait," Jason said, rising from his perch on the edge of the bed, "Devyn doesn't seem to like needles. Can't you just give him some pain pills?"

"Devyn's always been afraid of needles," Dr. Hembry stated calmly.

"But--" Jason moved toward the doctor, but the man had already stabbed Devyn's arm.

^Ow!^ Devyn cursed as the plunger depressed, sending the clear fluid into his system. He snapped his elbow back at the doctor, catching him on the side.

The doctor just grimaced, catching Devyn's hand and forcing it back to his side. "Calm down, Devyn," he warned.

Dr. Hembry smiled widely at Jason, patting Devyn's thin arm, as the boy seemed to drain of energy. "There all done. He'll be asleep in a few minutes and won't feel a thing."

Jason's brow knitted as he watched Devyn's eyes get heavy. Had the doctor just knocked the kid out with painkillers? For bruised ribs?

Dr. Hembry packed his bag with a smile, seeming to understand Jason's confusion. "Devyn's always been a bit irascible even when he's healthy. In pain, the kid is likely to be full-on belligerent, as you could see."

Again, Jason frowned at the man. The kid hadn't acted out at all--until he'd been stabbed with a needle--in fact, the boy obviously had tried to hide the fact that he'd been in pain.

"I think Devyn would have been fine with some ibuprophen," Jason reiterated.

Dr. Hembry cast Jason a sideways glance, obviously irritated by him questioning his handling of Devyn. "Devyn will sleep well tonight, without pain. Isn't that what you'd want him to do?" The man smiled gently, rubbing his hand on Devyn's bicep as if still soothing him from the shot.

"Well..." Jason hemmed. Of course, he wanted the poor kid to rest well. He just wasn't sure that an injection had been necessary, especially if the kid was afraid of them. "Yeah, of course."

"Good," Dr. Hembry smiled that annoyingly wide smile of his. He was still rubbing the kid's arm absently. The older doctor looked down at the boy fondly. "If you need to go get dinner, I'll get him comfortable and sit here with him for a while to make sure he's okay."

Jason tilted his head at the odd offer. "He's sleeping. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than to sit with a sleeping kid, doc," he laughed.

Dr. Hembry's wrinkled hand stilled on the kid's arm. "Yes, I suppose I do," he finally said obviously realizing that Jason wasn't going anywhere before turning to gather up his bag. "Tell Brad to let me know if he needs anything else."

Jason just nodded as the man ambled by him. He looked down at the sleeping boy, who looked so much younger and innocent in sleep. His long lashes swept against his cheeks, blond strands falling over his forehead. Jason pulled the comforter out from under the boy and slid it up over him.

Jason noticed the edge of the kid's notebook peeking out from under his pillow. He chuckled to himself at how much the kid obviously liked to draw if he was drawing in bed too.

He leaned over and picked up the pencil and pulled the notebook out from under the pillow so the kid didn't roll over onto them in the middle of the night.

Just as he was about to drop the notebook onto the desk, his eyes caught the images on the page.

Damn, the kid was talented, he thought, as he noticed the intricate shading and shadowing details. Most of the images were just random--cubes with complex patterns, a fisted hand, an eye nearly closed, drops of wat-- No, wait, it wasn't water, he realized. It was shaded too dark, and it was dripping from the point of a dagger on the corner of the page.

"Shit," Jason cursed, as he glanced back at the kid. "You better not be thinking about attacking Brad again."

Curious, he flipped back, looking at the other images in the notebook.

There were several bare male torsos, and Jason had to smile at the kid's obviously hormone-driven drawings. A few pages had images that looked suspiciously like Michael--leaning in a barn doorway, riding on the back of a horse (no shirt of course), as well as a couple close-up drawings of his face.

But there were other drawings too, and Jason could easily see the angry kid that he'd met over a week ago in them. There were dragons carrying off someone with its sharp claws piercing the man's skin, a tiger mauling another man, a shadow image stabbing another man in the privates.

"Jeez," he muttered, "this kid needs some therapy before he goes postal."

He started to drop the notebook back down, but suddenly stopped, something in the image drawing his attention back.

Was that--? He squinted as he looked at the man being mauled by the tiger more closely. "Fuck, that looks like that Crantz guy."

Jason quickly flipped back through several of the drawings again, this time focusing on the 'victims', and now noting how they resembled the boy's tutors. There were some of Sam and Nelson as well as the good doctor. He wasn't surprised at all by the ones of Brad being attacked in several different ways.

He had a moment's elation when he realized that HE wasn't the subject of any of the imaginative murder scenes. Neither, he realized, was Chris, Trent, or Lyle. Hmm, maybe those guys hadn't earned his wrath--yet.

He flipped the notebook closed, debating telling Brad about the gruesome images. But maybe this was the kid's way of dealing with his hate and anger, now. Maybe it was enough to imagine it, draw out his anger, so he didn't act on it. Maybe this notebook was what kept the kid from attacking Brad, or anyone, anymore.

If he suggested to Brad the kid should see a therapist, then Brad would want to know why. He'd think the kid had done something wrong again. Could Jason betray the tentative trust that they had been building like that?

Fuck, maybe he could call up his dad's psychologist on Monday. See what the man thought he should do.