Chapter 1: Abduction
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Sensual, lustful music emerged, as four, large, purple lights shined over a set of darker purple curtains.
24-year-old Javier Garcia jumped out, landing in a fireman’s boots, squatting slightly, purring heavily to the male crowd, “Gentlemen, help has arrived!”
An array of enthusiastic whoops and lust-filled cheers emerged from the crowd, many taking off their shirts and hats and twirling them around as if a war had been won.
Javier spun around across the catwalk three times before landing on his knees with a loud, “Unnngggh!” Javier tore open the top of his fireman’s costume, showcasing perfectly shaped abdominals to the crowd. Javier thrust his hips forward in a naughty manner as if giving someone the time of their life. The all-male crowd cheered wildly, some of the men holding their arms and drinks up, happy to have such a deity-like man in their midst.
Before Javier stood Dr. Lingard, hands on the catwalk’s surface like a tongue-hanging, drooling puppy wanting a treat from his owner. Dr. Lingard’s eyes gleamed with pure, sexual desire, becoming wider and wider with each second. A fellow male stripper passed a hose to Javier from the darkness, Javier taking it as he was back on his feet; Javier held the nozzle to his crotch, and throwing his head back, made pure white foam emerge like a tsunami. One shirtless clubgoer enthusiastically opened himself up, allowing foam to fall onto his hairy, muscular chest like no one’s business.
Dr. Lingard held out a dollar bill like a child, wanting Javier to notice him. Javier threw the hose at Dr. Lingard, which the latter held onto as Javier pulled him onto the stage. Javier took the bill with his teeth, lips brushing against Dr. Lingard’s knuckle with pure desire. Dr. Lingard let out a flattered sigh, as he stood up and fainted onto the ground past the catwalk.
Javier was slightly taken aback, but neverminded it, returning to his remaining fans. Javier spun around on his right hand three times, before standing perfectly still on it, spreading his legs in a V-shape. Javier unbuckled his belt before whipping it around like a real whip onto the ground and ditching it. Javier jumped onto his feet, and pulled down his fireman’s pants, showing off his pair of tight, black, boxers. Javier kicked the pants to a few fortunate fans before aiming his backside at the side of the catwalk, allowing a few men to deposit a few tips into his boxers. Javier aimed his backside to the entrance, placed the hose in between his legs, and allowed the foam to fly out from underneath his bottom, salaciously bellowing, “OOOOH!”
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Javier sat in the club's dressing room, chugging down a water bottle like there was no tomorrow. The two men with ample facial hair entered the dressing room silently.
Troy–the younger of the two–aimed his gun at Javier’s head, making Javier freeze as he stared at his two assailants through his mirror with wide eyes.
THE WAREHOUSE…
“Hands we can see them, pretty boy,” William Carver’s gruff voice commanded, pulling out a bundle of rope from his coat.
Javier’s hands were tightly tied behind his back, a black sleep mask guarded Javier’s eyes, and a strip of tape kept him mute. After his ankles were tied together, another two of Carver’s goons carried Javier out of the club and to a black SUV driven by Troy himself.
Javier’s body laid over a remorseful Reggie’s, a smirking Carver’s, and a stoic Johnny’s laps. Carver hissed into Javier’s ear, “Our rival's main floozy…”
Javier’s teeth grit under the tape, trying to elbow Carver’s gut, but it was futile. Johnny viciously pinched Javier’s ear, hissing, while keeping a Beretta against Javier’s forehead, "Stop if you know what’s good for you, pretty boy.”
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“I disapprove of Javier’s current occupation, David. But I do not want Javier to commit the same atrocities I had done in life.” 65-year-old Salvador told his eldest son–David–as they sat together at the table of their large family home that night. 60-year-old Elena sat at the table with her husband and son, holding a cup of tea.
37-year-old David snorted, “I don’t want that for Gabe and Mariana either.” David then felt his cell phone buzz in his trousers pocket.
David opened it only to find a chilling text from Dr. Lingard: THE WAREHOUSE HAS JAVIER.
Chapter 2: Behind the Bookcase
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Troy and Johnny were gunned down, their blood covering the front entrance of Carver’s house without any fucking care in the world.
Carver sat on his knees with his hands bound behind his back, both of his eyes blackened, and blood coming from both of his nostrils. Reggie–on the other hand–hid behind a large couch that was before a red rug, not wanting any part of the New Frontier, namely their leader, David.
“Where is Javier Garcia?!” David roared at Carver like a lion at a zoo. In David’s hands were a pair of rusty, worn pliers that were covered in Carver's blood after ripping off his fingernails.
“He’s behind the bookcase!” Reggie shouted like a frightened Victorian lady, pointing to the ornate bookcase behind David. Reggie then hurriedly vacated the house, putting The Warehouse behind him.
“If you did anything to my brother, I’ll do something even worse to you.” David hissed at Carver, acid dripping from his words; David ordered Rufus and Max to move the bookcase away, finding another door behind it. After David opened the door, his blood boiled when he saw a completely naked Javier covered in dirt, bruises, and hay that was under him as he was curled up into a ball in the corner. Hurriedly, David wrapped his jacket around Javier’s nude frame, bridal-carried him out of the room, and passed him off to Dr. Lingard and Ava, telling them to take Javier to their van.
David ordered Rufus, Max, and Badger to rip Carver's clothes off as if Carver was Cinderella before the ball. David dragged Carver down a hall by his ankle, into a nearby bathroom. David zip-tied Carver’s hands together and deposited him into the tub. After David filled it to Carver’s face, Rufus handed David a small but lit-up cattle prod.
“Buenos noches, motherfucker…” David hissed vilely, before dropping the prod into the bathtub. Carver’s pain-filled screams and electric blue lights flooded David’s body; David’s face appeared stoic, but accomplished, knowing Carver was not a problem anymore.
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“Javier!” Elena cried out in sheer fear, seeing her youngest son naked, dirtied, and bruised in David’s arms as David strode past her and into the family home. Salvador, who was waiting for David and Javier’s safe arrival with Elena outside, jaw-dropped and stood as still as a statue, his cigarette falling from his fingers.
Inside, Kate sat on the couch, trying to distract herself with a book when she saw David bring Javier in his jacket. “Oh my god!” Kate cried out.
“Kate, start the tub, I’m cleaning Javier!” David ordered his wife, voice half-stern and half-frantic.
After Kate filled up the tub, David deposited Javier inside, Javier’s blank, but frightened face staring up at the light wooden ceiling.
David rapidly scrubbed Javier’s armpits, wanting all traces of The Warehouse on his brother gone; Kate scrubbed Javier’s legs, feeling pity for him; Elena–with glassy eyes—tirelessly scrubbed Javier’s back, dirt falling off and into the water. Meanwhile, Salvador prepared Javier’s childhood bed, wanting his child to rest after so long. Kate and David carried Javier into the room, carefully and firmly holding onto his legs and arms respectively. A pair of pastel blue boxers guarded Javier’s undercarriage. Javier was placed onto the bed, Salvador carefully draping the blanket over him. All the while, Javier was whining and trying to speak like a newborn baby, but Salvador soothed Javier, rubbing his youngest child’s head with a calloused hand.
“Shhhhh, you’re home with us, Javi.” Salvador breathed. Kate and David entered with medicine and a glass of water, respectively, so Javier would physically recover from what happened.
Javier swallowed two pills independently before David helped him drink some water. After that, Javier took a deep breath, lying on the bed, hand on his chest. Elena maternally kissed Javier’s head, hugging him. David stood by the door, with his arms folded. A teardrop fell from his eye, as Elena left the room with him following suit.
After David gently closed the door, he sat on the couch and sighed.
How would the Garcia family bounce back from this?
Chapter 3: Constellation
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Days passed since David and his soldiers rescued Javier from Carver’s clutches. In those days, Javier rarely left his childhood room, only leaving it to use the bathroom or get more medicine.
The clock struck 2:04 in the morning. Everyone was fast asleep in bed, except for Javier.
Javier’s eyes were tightly shut as he carefully closed the back door behind himself, not wanting anyone to hear him leave the house. Once it was closed, Javier sighed before walking through the backyard and through a wooden gate, walking to a small forest that was near the Garcia home. Javier found himself in a clear spot in the middle of the small forest, wind blowing through his shirt as he looked at the many, many, many stars in the night sky.
Javier pointed to the stars in the sky until he found those that formed the Big Dipper. For the first time in days, Javier smiled. The Big Dipper was his favorite constellation out of everything in the sky. Javi took a deep breath and orally released it, feeling somewhat lighter now.
“Couldn’t sleep either, Javi?” David suddenly inquired, with a bit of cockiness in his voice.
Javier’s throat hitched, turning to his left to see David confidently slanted against an almost dying tree.
Javier’s toes curled as his left hand slowly became a fist, nodding to David, “Yeah.”
“How are you feeling?” David asked, slowly and steadily closing in on Javier.
“Like I still have some shit in me,” Javier softly answered. At that point, Javier could see smoke come out of David’s body. However, David pinched his nose bridge, beginning, “I’m sorry that Carver took you. Had I known—I would have had Rufus and Max guard you.”
Javier put his hand before David, protesting, “No, David. You couldn’t have stopped it. I feel like Carver was gonna get me no matter what you did.”
David pressed his lips together, shaking his head slowly and ominously as if a demon was in his head. Javi backed away slightly, wondering if he should get Kate or a priest.
However–-David looked straight at Javi like before, admitting, “Javi, Kate is pregnant. You’re gonna have another niece or nephew soon.”
Javier’s eyes widened, not anticipating what he had just learned. “I didn’t know.”
“Javi, listen. We need you here; I need you here. If I die before that baby is born, Kate will need help taking care of it.” David began, voice becoming commanding with every word. “Leave the stripper club behind. That baby doesn’t need to know that its uncle gets naked for money.”
Javier sighed, “I can’t David. I’ve made so many friends and fans there. I swore to myself I wouldn’t become a mobster.”
David half-smirked, “No, no. You ain’t gotta do no crime. Ava’s sister runs a gym, she wants you to be the receptionist. You have shit that a receptionist needs to excel. You have the looks, the people skills, and the care people want to see at the front desk. You can help Kate whenever you're not on the clock. You think you can be that?”
Javier looked at the ground. He imagined himself carrying out the tasks of a receptionist and the whims of an uncle with pure ease. “Yeah.”
David patted his shoulder, “That’s the spirit, Javi. C’mon, let’s get back to bed.”
The two brothers returned home, David’s arm keeping Javier close to him, refusing to let anyone else take him away from him and his family.
Chapter 4: David's Embrace
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16-year-old David was on the ratty, green couch in the Garcia living room. Even though the TV’s volume was mile high, David flipped vigorously through the channels, wanting something to distract himself from the thunderstorm that was pissing heavily and coughing loudly over his neighborhood that night. When David could not find anything good, he frustratedly chucked the remote at the wall and fell back onto the couch, covering his face.
3-year-old Javier padded down the floors rapidly, dressed in a soft blue onesie, holding Mr. Quacker in his fist, the stuffed duck flailing uncontrollably behind him. Tears kinged Javier’s face as he ran up to David.
“Daviiid!” Javier called out, flopping his arms up and down.
“What? What? What’s wrong, Javi?” David asked concernedly, sitting straight on the couch.
“Too loud! Storm scary!” Javier covered his ears, Mr. Quacker dangling loosely from his hand.
David huffed exasperatedly; with a grunt, he lifted Javier onto his lap, holding him tightly against his chest. Javier cried loudly, David rubbing and patting his back the same way their mother did whenever Javier was upset. David scooted his backside across the couch, grabbing the crocheted afghan their mother made several years ago; David placed it over Javier’s body and David’s torso, creating a soft cocoon that guarded Javier from the storm’s wrath. David placed his back against the couch’s right armrest, humming vigorously, patting Javier’s back softly through the blanket. A few minutes passed, and Javier was sleeping soundly against David’s chest, his left fist lightly gripping David’s shirt.
David looked down at Javier’s now serene form, breathing caringly and lovingly, “Alright, little man–time for bed.”
David stood up, carrying his sleeping younger brother to the safety of their room. David gently placed Javier on the dark blue bedclothes as Javier snorted peacefully with Mr. Quacker in his arms. David sighed contently, pulling the sheet over his brother’s body. David gently stroked Javier’s head before patting his head.
“Goodnight, Javi.” David breathed, before going to his bed.
Chapter 5: Ease the Pain
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Javier closed the door to his apartment, slid to the ground, leaned back, and sighed.
Javier had a bruise on his left eye, one on the right side of his stomach, two on his shoulders, and another in the middle of his stomach. A pair of white and red boxing gloves, one hanging very haphazardly behind his back, sat on his right shoulder. A black gym bag, filled with the day’s sweaty boxers and tank top, sat on his right. He had trained for eight hours straight at the boxing center, where his trainer, Saul Montoya, had prescribed a regimen so heavy, grueling, and punishing that it made having a rival moot.
Javier’s eye felt like someone stabbed a toothpick, a knife, and a monkey wrench into it at once; his stomach felt like a dog bit into it; his shoulders felt like a rock monster decked both of them at the same time.
Javier took a nice, long, cold, refreshing shower, removing the day’s stench and easing the day’s wounds. Javier released a long sigh of relief, throwing his head back, glad the day was now behind him. After Javier bruise-gelled his bruises, he lay on his couch, tearing into a pork rib Elena brought him the night before.