Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

street to the Lexus. “What‟s your name?”
    “Ange.” He translated Angel to the French. No point in changing his name to
    something else completely then forgetting to answer to it.
    “Get in, Ange.”
    Inside the beautifully clean, leather-upholstered car, Dudek shoved Angel onto
    his knees on the floor. Dudek opened his fly and pulled out his dick. Shit ! He‟d
    hoped the man would at least wait until he got him into the house. Maybe there he
    could have managed to avoid sex with him somehow. But now he had no choice.
    “Drive,” Dudek told the man in the front.
    Grabbing him by a handful of his hair, Dudek forced Angel‟s face down into his
    groin. “Suck my cock, and do a good job.”
    Be brave. Do it for Daddy.
    Closing his eyes tight, Angel took the man‟s cock into his mouth, holding his
    breath to avoid smelling it. But he couldn‟t avoid the sour, unwashed taste. All the
    things he loved about Daddy made him retch about this man. He was disgusting.
    Angel sucked hard, trying to get it over with quickly. Sperm flooded his mouth,
    strangely cool and tasteless. Angel swallowed, and Dudek pushed his face away and
    fastened his trousers.
    While Angel was still trying to prevent himself from gagging, the car stopped
    outside the house on rue Chappelle. Again Dudek kept his arm tightly around
    Angel‟s shoulders in case he tried to run, steering him up the steps and into the
    house. The man had a new slave—or so he thought—and he wasn‟t going to let him
    go.
    Intense apprehension tightened his stomach muscles as Angel entered the
    house. Trying to keep his breathing steady so he wouldn‟t empty his stomach onto
    the floor, he stood in the hall watching as the door was bolted behind him and the
    alarm set. He was in there now, trapped. Daddy, please be here. Please be okay.
    “Come with me.” Dudek walked into an office in the back of the house beside
    the kitchen. Angel followed, taking in as much information as he could, scanning his
    environment as Daddy had taught him to do. The house was grubby. Dirt from
    shoes had gathered along the edges of the floor in the hall. Paint, once white, was
    gray and peeling. An odor of blocked drains and dirty, used condoms hung in the
    air.
    In the scruffy office, with its worn, old furniture, Dudek looked at him. “Okay,
    kid?”
    “Oui, monsieur.” The foulness of the man‟s cock lingered in his mouth.

    146
    Fyn Alexander

    Dudek sat behind a crowded desk and began making calls. Angel stood by the
    open door, listening intently. He couldn‟t understand what the man was saying, but
    he could hear men‟s voices in the room down the hall. They seemed to be playing
    cards or some other game, because there were moments of silence followed by
    raucous calling and laughter, then silence again. Water was running in the kitchen.
    The sound of heavy feet on the uncarpeted stairs was constant. He had to start
    searching the house. Angel looked back at Dudek and saw the man watching him.
    Dudek put the phone down and came around the desk.
    Angel nodded at the kitchen. “You said I could eat.”
    A hand shot out, slapping him hard across the ear. As much from surprise as
    pain, Angel cried out. Dudek grabbed him and, for a minute or more, beat him with
    his open hands, slapping him across the head and shoulders until he sank to his
    knees with his arms over his head, trying to protect himself. The beating stopped as
    abruptly as it had begun. Dudek grabbed him by the arms, pulling him to his feet,
    and slammed him into the wall, pinning him there with his hands on Angel‟s
    shoulders. When he smiled, his thin lips drew back from teeth that must have been
    fixed by an expensive Western European dentist. They looked too big for his thin
    face. “Do as you‟re told, and I won‟t have to hurt you again.”
    “Yes, sir.” Angel‟s French was better than Dudek‟s, so the man likely never
    detected his accent.
    “I‟m your boss now. I own you.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You service me and sometimes the customers, and maybe one day I‟ll give you
    a gun and you can guard the girls like the men in the other room.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    He pushed Angel out into the hall. “Go into the kitchen and get some food.”
    A sharp, thin pain squealed through Angel‟s head. He rubbed his ears as he
    walked into the kitchen, where two young women, both slender and pretty, cooked
    and chatted to each other in a language Angel didn‟t understand. They wore