Vin Tanner arrived at the Federal Building at exactly eight-thirty in the morning. He parked the beat-up Jeep in the parking garage as he usually did and, with a bounce in his step, made his way to the elevator. ‘It’s going to be a good day,’ he thought and smiled.He’d spent the weekend at Chris Larabee’s ranch, helping his friend with a new horse, getting it accustomed to being ridden. ‘And the horse wasn’t the only one that got ridden,’ he laughed to himself, remembering Chris and their wild lovemaking in between chores.
The ATF sharpshooter was whistling a tune as he exited the elevator and entered Team 7’s offices. He was usually one of the first of the ATF team known as "The Magnificent Seven" to arrive and today was no different. Vin made himself a pot of coffee to start the day and grabbed the files on the latest case they were working on. He stopped and checked his mail slot, grabbing a few new papers and envelopes and took a sip from his coffee as he headed to his desk.
Settling into his chair, he began to go through his mail. He trashed the notice from payroll reminding everyone that his or her health insurance options were due. He put aside a letter from the District Attorney’s office notifying him of an upcoming pre-trial conference. The third letter made him cock an eyebrow. It was a folded and stapled piece of paper with his name typed on one side. He slid his finger between the fold and tore the paper from the staple.
As he read the one-word message inside, ‘Faggot,’ his eyes closed and his jaw tightened. When he opened his eyes again, he balled the paper up and threw it into the small trashcan next to his desk. Putting the vulgar note out of his mind, he plowed ahead with the tasks of the day, opening the case file.
"So much for it being a good day," he muttered.
Forty-five minutes passed quickly as he worked through the stack of files on his desk and his coworkers drifted in. Gradually the office took on the general buzz of activity Vin was accustomed to. Buck carrying on over yet another conquest met with groans of disbelief from Nathan. Josiah’s soothing baritone washed over the resulting debate like cool surf on burnt sands. JD’s voice pestered Ezra to explain, yet again, the new computer program and why it worked perfectly for Ezra but refused to cooperate for him.
"There’s a bug in it, Ez, I'm telling you," JD persisted. "Vin," he called from across the room. "You can’t get the thing to work either can you?"
Vin glanced up and shrugged at the two men and bent his head back to his work.
"See, Ezra? You only think it works ‘cuz you don’t really know what you’re doing..." JD’s protestations were cut short by Ezra's erudite defense of his superior knowledge. Then a ragged chorus of male voices was raised as each of the team members greeted Chris Larabee.
"Mornin’," the blonde man said back to the room in general.
The sharpshooter felt a simultaneous tug in his heart and groin at the sound of Chris’s voice. Vin leaned back in his chair and watched as the team’s lanky leader strode through the open room, coffee mug in hand. He briefly spoke to each member of his team on the way to his office and, passing by Vin’s desk, thanked him for his help with the horse over the weekend. Vin nodded his head but kept quiet. He had plenty he wanted to say, but none of it was fit for an audience.
Chris went into his office and Vin returned his attention to his desk. He let the familiar noises and now-frequently ringing phones lull him into a sense of well being, the early-morning ugly accusation forgotten until his own phone rang.
"Tanner," he grunted into the mouthpiece, cradling the instrument between his shoulder and chin while shoving papers into a folder. He strained to listen above the hubbub in the Team 7 room. "Agent Tanner," he tried again. "Can I help you?" He plugged one ear with a finger while pressing the phone against the other.
"Faggot," a voice hissed.
Vin felt the blood drain from his head while his heart began a rapid thumping. Saying nothing, he waited for the caller to continue, knowing if he’d ever heard this voice before he could identify it. He just needed to hear more.
"Queers die," the voice came back. But it was only a harsh whisper.
"Speak up you chicken shit," Vin said between gritted teeth. "You got somethin’ to say, say it." The line went dead. Damping down the rage that began a slow boil in his gut, Vin laid the receiver back in its cradle and stood up. With muscles knotted against the urge to run across the room, he walked with studied nonchalance to the door of Chris’s office.
Chris looked up and smiled warmly at him, but quickly adjusted his expression to match the one on his lover’s face. "What?" he asked with concern.
"We need to talk," Vin said.
"Yeah, sure," Chris replied, waving Vin into the room with his hand. "Shut the door."
Vin started to comply when a woman’s voice cut through the air on the office intercom. "Agent Tanner, Line 6." Vin sighed. "I’ll be right back."
He took the call at his desk and, hanging up, grabbed his jacket. He stuck his head back through Chris’s doorway. "Got a tip on McMurtry," he said retrieving his car keys from his pocket.
"Did you want to talk to me first?" Chris asked, not bothering to mask his concern.
"Nah, it can wait," Vin brushed the topic away with a shrug. "I won’t be long. I’ll catch you up when I get back."
"Take somebody with you," Chris said as Vin headed out the door.
The sharpshooter nodded as he walked out, but ignored Chris’s suggestion. Tommy Wilkes, his snitch, didn’t trust many people. He almost always refused to meet Vin unless the ATF agent was alone.
Vin headed for the Jeep, planning his strategy with the man. Sure, Tommy had initiated things today, saying he had information about Ian McMurtry, but sometimes it was like pulling teeth to get the little weasel to give up the information. A quick stop at the ATM would probably help him talk, he thought.
+ + + + + + +
Half an hour later Vin parked his Jeep, putting a quarter in the meter before jogging across the street to the park. He usually met with Wilkes here, sitting on a bench or picnic table, both having good views of their surroundings. He knew something was up when he saw the snitch sitting on the ground near the trees. But he didn’t see anyone else around. And he’d been waiting for a tip on McMurtry, even a minuscule one, for so long that he had to take the chance. McMurtry had been on the ATF’s "most wanted" list for about two years already and Vin and the others wanted him bad.
"What’ve ya got for me, Tommy?" Vin asked, still scanning the area.
"McMurtry’s errand boy, Joey Maldonado, he’s over across the street," Wilkes replied.
Vin heard the uneasiness in the man’s voice, but looked over toward the café tables Wilkes pointed to.
"And?" the agent asked, hoping for further enlightenment.
"And," the snitch responded, "he said he’d talk to you, in return for immunity."
"Why?" Vin demanded, squatting down to look at Tommy Wilkes face to face. "Why now? And what’s in it for you?"
"I don’t know why!" Tommy returned defensively. "Told me to call you, said he’d give you McMurtry. And now that you’re here, I’m leaving," he added quickly getting to his feet. He left without even asking the agent for his usual fee.
Vin cursed silently to himself. He knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. If Maldonado was willing to give them McMurtry… "Shit!" he cursed aloud. "Somethin’ just ain’t right. This is too damn easy."
But easy or not, the opportunity was there. He pulled out his cell phone as he walked across the park toward the errand boy, and dialed Chris. He’d at least let him know what was going on so they’d be prepared when, hopefully, he returned with Maldonado to the office.
"Yeah, Chris, it’s me," he spoke. "You ain’t gonna believe this, but-,"
"But your faggot boyfriend is gonna die," a gravelly voice finished after grabbing the phone from Vin’s hand.
Vin found himself walking across the park, flanked by three men in ski masks, one of whom was pressing the barrel of a gun to the back of his neck.
"You just walk nice and quiet-like and nobody else around here will get hurt, pretty boy," the man with the gun spoke, gesturing to some of the children on the playground.
+ + + + + + +
"Who is this?!" Chris shouted into the phone. "What the fuck do you want?!" he added, but the line was already dead.
Buck, who had heard his old friend’s shouts, came into the office.
"What's up, Chris?" he asked, concerned.
"Somebody’s got Vin," Chris replied, moving his gaze from the handset still in his grasp to Buck.
"Whaddaya mean ‘somebody’s’ got him? Who’s got him? Why?" Buck’s line of questioning grew more agitated in proportion to his boss’s actions. Chris was now pacing his office, hands raking across his scalp. "Chris!" Buck demanded the other man’s attention by stepping into his path. "What’s going on?"
Chris stopped and stared hard into the bewildered face of his oldest friend. He weighed his choices and the incumbent risk of admitting an enormous secret, one that he and Vin had together made a pact to keep from all others. One that could possibly destroy either or both of their careers. But in that moment, what had seemed imperative in theory was lost in reality. With Vin’s safety in the balance, Chris realized there was no real choice. If ever he needed to trust in his friendship with Buck, it was now.
"Someone’s got it out for Vin – and me. They just took him. He was on his cell, checking in with me, when they grabbed him and said they would kill him." Chris tried to relay the facts as calmly as possible but his alarm was threatening to sink him.
The big man placed a steadying hand on his boss’s shoulder. "Why? Who’s got it out for you?" He shook his head at the nonsense of it.
"Because.... we.... Vin and me.... we," he floundered for a way to say what he didn’t want to.
"Chris," Buck said gently. "If this is about you two–" He also started to stumble over his words and resorted to waggling his hands in the air as if that would complete his sentence. "You know—I mean, I know, you know?"
Chris gaped at his friend. "You do?"
Buck shrugged. "Yeah, sure. It’s kinda obvious..."
"It is?!"
"Well, I know you better’n most, Chris," Buck back-pedaled. "Probably would never occur to the rest of ‘em," he said appeasingly.
"Shiiiit," Chris let out a soft curse and glanced sharply through the window of his office at the rest of his team and back at Buck.
"I haven’t said anything," he declared, shaking his head. "Ain’t my business, pard. But, what has this got to do with the phone call? And where is Vin?"
Suddenly Chris’s panic resurfaced. "I don’t know where he is." He tried to look Buck squarely in the eye when he said, "But the message was that they were gonna kill my… boyfriend."
The other man merely regarded him with concern. "Tell me where he went and why," he directed.
Chris finally took a breath then relayed the last conversation he and Vin had had.
+ + + + + + +
Vin felt the blow coming and braced for it. If he could have opened both his eyes enough, he would have seen it coming clearly, but his left lid had puffed up awhile back and now all he could make out was bits of light on that side. But he still knew the punch was coming when he felt the air move before the massive fist connected with his middle. Hands over head cuffed to a chain in the ceiling, he couldn’t keep fending off the attack with tightened muscles. For one thing, the very same muscles were about to collapse from the abuse they’d been taking since he had been brought here–a basement from the smell of it–about an hour ago. He didn’t think it had been much more than that, although he was feeling like he’d been here a year.
One second he’d been on the phone with Chris and the next thing he knew he was being held captive by three men who were too afraid to show their faces but had plenty of bravado with a defenseless man. He labored to keep his wits, to figure a way to help himself out, but the punches and slams had been coming regularly for so long that now his faculties were muddled. Reflexes were slowing. Breathing was getting too difficult. Either his tongue had gotten too big or his mouth too small. The hearing in his left ear was gone, a persistent ringing in its place. And he didn’t need a mirror to know that it wasn’t sweat dripping down his face. Waves of chills played up and down his shirtless torso. His mind felt light and he kept forgetting why his arms were throbbing.
Then came the knife.
"That woke you up, didn’t it sweetheart?" The voice sounded as close as the blade–right up against his ear. "Thought you queers all wore earrings? So where’s yours?"
Vin felt the tip of the knife prod the back of his earlobe but resolved to keep his mouth shut. So far, mouthing-off hadn’t gotten him very far.
"Run out of sparkling commentary, lover-boy?"
"You ain’t smart enough to keep up," the sharpshooter retorted automatically, realizing his mistake too late.
The knife ripped through Vin’s earlobe. Ignoring the strangled cry of his victim, Vin’s tormentor hissed angrily, "I figured out that you pissed me off, you smart-assed pansy."
"Stop," an angry voice intruded on Vin’s preoccupation with his most recent wound. The man with the green mask had a deep, gravelly voice and was clearly the one in charge.
The knife-man moved away at the other’s admonition.
"I told you to rough him up, not bleed him to death, you idiot," the new man complained as he approached Vin. "We need him. At least ‘til we get his ‘girlfriend,’" he said in disgust. He stepped close to Vin. "You obscene, depraved deviant." Bourbon-and-cigar breath assaulted Vin’s nostrils. "How dare you bring your disgusting blasphemy into the Bureau."
Vin lifted his weary, pummeled head. "You don’t like Catholics?" he mumbled.
Smack! came the hand across his mouth. "You just can’t seem to learn, can you?"
Vin had to agree: he couldn’t seem to keep himself from treating these guys like the asinine motherfuckers they were. He was probably going to die and all he could think of was how to tick them off. Wonder if this is what Chris meant about his stubborn streak? He started to throw out another retort when the man’s words suddenly clicked in his brain and he remembered the ugly note in his mailbox this morning. If this guy was a coworker, why couldn’t he place him?
"You got a problem with me," he choked out, "be man enough to face me." He felt like a stomped-on bug, but he’d be goddamned if he wasn’t going to challenge this sonofabitch. And he wanted more than anything to know who this guy was.
"Well, that’s just the problem, isn’t it? We can’t have a man-to-man talk when only one of us is one."
"That covers me, now what about you?" Vin said in spite of himself.
The response came on a voice trembling with rage. "You think you’re such a man, you fucking fairy? Let’s see how much of a man you are. Strip him," the man ordered. Vin felt two rough pairs of hands jerk his pants and shoes off and prayed for oblivion.
+ + + + + + +
"You know how to contact this Wilkes fella?" Buck asked."I don't know. Vin may have a file on him in his desk. They usually meet at the park near Chestnut," Chris replied, heading out of his office and towards Vin’s desk.As Chris began rifling through Vin’s papers and files, he attracted the attention of the other team members.
"What’s going on, Buck?" JD asked, approaching the two."Vin’s in trouble," he replied, going through papers in the garbage. "Someone grabbed him while he was on the phone with Chris. Said they were gonna kill him.""Where was he?" Nathan asked.
But he was ignored as Buck pulled out and read a crumpled piece of trash and handed it over to Chris. Buck saw the pain cross his old friend’s face as he read the single word, saw him push it aside as he put the note into his pants pocket and continue to search through the sharpshooter’s belongings.
"Where was he?" Nathan asked again.
"Out checking a lead with one of his snitches," Buck finally replied when Chris didn’t."If he was with that uncouth Mr. Wilkes, then I may be able to shed some light," a southern voice intoned. The team leader finally looked up from the desk and gave Ezra a deadly stare, telling him that he better give up that information, and soon.
"I had the unfortunate experience of having met the man, while Mr. Tanner and I were engaged in surveillance one evening," the southerner began. "I believe we’ll be able to find him at the OTB on Elm."
"That’s just two blocks from Chestnut," Chris finally spoke, nodding to Buck as he headed for the elevators.
"What can we do?" JD asked, still confused by the sudden events.
"We'll let you know!" Buck shouted as the elevator doors shut.
+ + + + + + +
"Tell me, Buck," Chris began. "Who else knows? Who do you think suspects? Who would do this?"
"I don't know, Chris," the mustached agent replied. "You two ain’t the social butterflies around town – ain’t like you’d hit any of those clubs to be seen at. Probably somebody in house," he continued. "But hell, you’ve heard all the jokes, all the lockerroom talk that goes on in an agency like this. Kinda hard to point to just one person, or even a dozen."
"But who would have it in for me and Vin?" he questioned as he wove the truck through Denver’s midday traffic.
"That’s an even harder one to pinpoint," Buck chuckled, meeting Chris’s resulting glare head on. "You and Vin don’t take shit from nobody, no matter what rank or division. Hell, you’ve both stomped on enough toes to keep several podiatrists in business!"
Chris had to smile at that remark, despite the turmoil inside him. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road when he spotted the OTB Ezra mentioned.
+ + + + + + +
"You ain’t gonna get away with this," Vin muttered.
"I beg to differ, Tanner," the man retorted, pushing on Vin’s chest, causing him to sway back and forth.
"You know, for a bunch of homophobic assholes, you guys sure are gettin’ your jollies playin’ around with a naked man," Vin said, despite reminding himself that he would probably get hurt for the remark.
"Don’t you even begin to compare what you and your boyfriend Larabee do to each other with what we’re doing," growled the heavy-hitter behind him as he dragged the edge of his knife down Vin’s spine.
The sharpshooter arched his back as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle his cry.
"Chris’s gonna kill you straight out when he finds ya," he gasped.
That brought another blow across his face and Vin actually saw stars bursting against the inside of his eyelids then. As he painfully lifted his head back up, he tried not to smile as he saw the man shaking his hand out.
"He’s not going to have to find us, we’re going to lead him right here. Come on," the leader then said to the man with the knife, "Let’s go call the man in question now."
Vin sagged as he heard the footsteps retreat from the room.
"Keep an eye on him," the older man’s voice called back into the room. "And try not to have too much fun…."
Vin felt a wave of nausea as he realized he still wasn’t alone. He tried to turn himself around. Tried to see into the shadowy corners to find the quiet third man. He hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t initiated any of the attacks on the sharpshooter. He had just followed the older man’s orders.
"So, you got something against me and "my kind" too, or you just along for the ride?" Vin asked, trying to sense which part of the room the guy was in. He turned this way and that trying to see, to hear, to anticipate any move on the other’s part. Then he twisted the wrong way. He cried out as his battered and abused body protested, muscles and nerves afire.
+ + + + + + +
Chris and Buck walked into the betting establishment, each of them searching the crowd, looking for Tommy Wilkes. Chris had an idea of what the man looked like, remembering how Vin had once described him.
"You see him anywhere?" Buck asked.
"No," Chris replied, obviously disappointed. "Shit!" he swore, pounding his fist onto one of the countertops.
The two were about to leave when the quiet shrill of Chris’s cell phone stopped them. Buck waited patiently during the conversation and when Chris ended the call he gestured to the phone still in his boss’s hand and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"That was Nathan," Chris said. "Vin’s Jeep is parked at an expired meter over on Chestnut, near the park."
He had turned his attention back to the main entrance of the OTB when the phone rang again. Chris flipped it open again and barked his name into the speaker.
Buck watched his friend listen intently, the scowl on Chris’s face turning to a mask of fury and his short, shallow breathing becoming apparent. When he hung up, Chris stood still and stared into space.
"Well?!" Buck shifted his weight waiting for Chris to speak.
Chris gradually met Buck’s gaze. "Keep looking for Wilkes and wait for Nate. I’ll send him to get you."
"Where’re you going?"
"Back to the office. I’ll touch base when I get what I’m looking for," he said vaguely.
"But—" Buck hesitated, knowing there was a lot Chris wasn’t telling him.
"Do it, Buck," Chris commanded, his jaws clenched. "I’ll check in with you in an hour and I’ll get the others on it." He turned and stalked out of the establishment.
+ + + + + + +
Chris’s hands stroked Vin’s chest and kneaded his buttocks. His tongue lapped at his cock and Vin pushed himself forward, aching to be consumed by that mouth. But the tongue left his groin and worked its way up to his navel, where teeth nibbled at the little stretch of skin at the top and his tongue dipped into the divot, swirling around and around.
"Feel good?" Chris whispered.
"Hmmm," Vin acknowledged.
"How ‘bout this?" The tongue worked its way up to his right nipple and, just as Vin was about to say, "Yes. More," the teeth bit hard into his sensitive skin. Rough hands worked on the chains at his wrists, high above his head and the fantasy vanished as excruciating pain consumed Vin’s shoulders.
"Huh?" Vin’s mind crawled out of the blankness it had retreated to. Prying his eyes open just a slit, he recoiled at the bright light that sent a piercing sharpness clear into the back of his skull.
"God, you’re a perv, Tanner."
It was the one who had come from the shadows. The last thing Vin remembered clearly was a soft-spoken man talking nicely, promising help, and just as Vin’s defenses began to crumble at the thought of relief, he felt the first kick to his ribs. The attacker had kept at it, jabbing and kicking the young sharpshooter like a punching bag, until Vin’s resolve broke and he cried out for mercy. In the same calm, soothing voice, the man had promised him more. Then, mercifully, Vin’s memory was blank. Until now.
"He’s back with us," the leader in the green-mask said to the torturer. "Let me talk to him."
Vin’s chin was lifted from his chest by a rough hand. He opened his eyes as best he could to look his demon in the eye.
"You’re pretty tough," the man said grudgingly. "…for a fairy."
Finally, Vin was out of retorts. He only wanted to lie down and sleep. Or die. But he couldn’t come up with a thing worth saying.
"You must know that you desecrate the Word of the Lord every time you even think carnal thoughts of another man. Are you not fearful for your everlasting soul? If you have no regard for your own fate, have you no concern for the corruption you’ve brought to one of the finest law enforcement officers there ever was? How will you feel knowing that you’ve single-handedly purchased a special place in Hell for a once-honorable man? You are a base and vile creature. And Larabee will get a last opportunity to witness your debauchery when he arrives."
The words had droned in Vin’s head. The senseless words of a madman. He’d stopped paying attention until that last part. Struggling against the powerful urge to give up and die, Vin lifted his head, squinted at the man in the green mask and somehow managed to lob a wad of bloody spit at his face.
"You’ll wish to Heaven you hadn’t done that," green-mask said tightly.
For once, Vin agreed with the maniac as blackness engulfed him again.
+ + + + + + +
Pain. It was all around him. It was on him and in him and hovering in the air waiting to land on him and aggravate the pain that was already eating away at his body and his mind. His mind. Playing tricks on him again. For some crazy reason he kept thinking of horses. Being at Chris’s and working with the horses. He was thinking about breaking the new stallion. A whip cracked and the horse shied and whinnied. The whip cracked again and a hideous noise filled the room.
Vin’s body shuddered in the after-effects of the last whip stroke and he heard the noise again. It was coming from his own throat. I t was a sickening sound. How long had they had the whip out? He couldn’t remember. Knife-man had traded in his first toy for this more sinister one. The first few lashes had been tolerable, but then he started to feel the skin on his back shred and the tip of the instrument had curled around his hips, ripping tiny bits of skin away from his belly. And then it had moved lower and then he didn’t remember until the shriek had leapt from his mouth.
"That’s enough," said the leader of the group. "Get him down."
As the chains above were released, his arms fell heavily to his sides. He tried to scream at the abrupt sensation, for he was sure then that his shoulder had been dislocated, but the sound was extinguished by the tightening of a nylon cord around his throat. His limited vision began to blacken and he prayed he would faint. Instead, blood rushed to his head as he was thrust forward over the back of a steel chair. Handcuffs quickly contained his ankles to each of the back chair legs, his wrists to the front. His throbbing head bounced against the hard seat and his naked backside pointed up in the air. He gasped for air and turned his head as much as possible to try to see his attacker.
"Kinda short on conversation now, aren’t you pretty boy?"
"Fuck…you…"
"Well now, interesting you should bring that up," the torturer crooned, moving up behind Vin and stroking the cleft between his cheeks with the end of the whip, stopping to prod at the tight opening. "Because I was just thinking that was exactly what you needed. A good, hard poke."
Vin watched upside down as the soft-talker stroked the long whip handle then whacked it against his palm a couple of times. Let me die, Vin thought. Let me die. His prayer was interrupted by a scuffle at the opposite side of the room. He twisted his head against the seat of the chair and caught a glimpse of long, thin, black-clad legs and boots. Oh God! Chris!
"Excellent! An audience," came the old man’s gravelly voice. "You’re just in time, Mr. Larabee. Make sure he has a clear view," he directed the man bringing him in.
Vin heard Chris attempting to yell through a gag and struggle to escape a tight grasp. But Chris was outnumbered when the soft-talker joined his comrade to wrestle Chris into a chair.
Once Chris had been secured to it, the one in charge walked over to the ATF leader and, placing a hand on his shoulder, said, "You know this had to happen, Larabee. You know the rules. There cannot be perversion in the Bureau. We have to preserve the sanctity of the ranks. Look what this disgusting abomination has brought to your own door. But, with his elimination, you’ll regain your senses." And he patted the shoulder like an old friend. "There now. On with the show."
+ + + + + + +
"Buck? Shouldn’t Chris have called by now?" JD asked.
"He said he would. Let me check the office," the mustached man replied, as worry lines creased his face. After a brief conversation, he put away his cell phone, cursing, "Dammit, Larabee!"
"What’s happened?" Nathan asked.
"Chris never showed back to the office," he replied. "Dammit, Buck!" he swore to himself. "You shoulda known."
"You should have known what, Mr. Wilmington?" Ezra asked.
"That Chris had no intention of going back to the office. That other call he got, it must have been the kidnapper. And he went to meet with the bastard on his own," he muttered.
"So, we’re back to square one," Josiah intoned. "Anybody have any new ideas?"
"Wilkes is still out there," Buck replied. "He’s the key. Ezra you and me’ll go back to the OTB. The rest of you boys start lookin’ for Chris’s truck."
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