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Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4657 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21JS or the characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
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The following morning
“I'm telling you, Coach, something’s not right. I think he might be cracking under the stress.”
Fuller’s expression became serious, and he studied Penhall’s worried face through narrowed eyes. “Are you telling me he's unstable?”
Although loyal to a fault, Penhall knew he needed to voice his concerns. “I dunno, maybe,” he finally admitted. “I just know whatever happened at that fraternity changed Hanson, and not in a good way.”
“And Booker,” Fuller noted solemnly. “He’s always been unpredictable, but lying about his sick mother doesn't fit.”
“So, what do we do?” Penhall asked quietly, his dark eyes softening with concern.
Having given both Tom and Dennis the benefit of the doubt, Fuller knew the time had come to get tough. “Get Hanson,” he commanded. “It’s time we found out what kind of hazing ritual took place in the Pi Tau house.
**
Six days later
Holland’s snoring rumbled throughout the bedroom, the guttural sound grating heavily on Booker’s frazzled nerves. With the cacophonous noise thundering in his ears, sleep was elusive, and he fought back the urge to smother his bedmate with his pillow. But instead of committing a crime passionnel that would have seen him serve a lengthy sentence in a state penitentiary, he rolled over and stared morosely out of the uncurtained window and into the night’s inky blackness. He longed for the first hint of dawn to color the sky, to watch its rays destroy the darkness with an array of muted pink and gold hues because with the break of day came his freedom. After enduring countless humiliating—and often brutal—sexual liaisons with Holland, the day of his release had arrived, and within a few hours, he would finally walk away from the degradation and resume his life where he had left off.
Except it was never quite that simple. Just when Booker thought he had his life all figured out, fate had thrown him a curveball, and he knew nothing would ever be the same again. His life had changed irrevocably since agreeing to Holland’s contract, and he was no longer the same self-assured man he had been just a few weeks before. As a master manipulator, Holland had managed to chip away at his confidence, leaving him feeling vulnerable and worthless. The insecurities that had plagued him during his teen years now bubbled just beneath the surface of his psyche, the self-doubt creating an unpleasant itch that steadily gnawed at his mind. But his rising levels of anxiety were not entirely defined by the concerns for his own welfare. In a few hours, he would escape from Holland’s physical and emotional constraints, leaving Jorge to fend, once again, on his own, and the knowledge burned painfully at his moral senses. The Latino was a pawn in a cruel, sexual game played by arrogant, perverted businessmen, and through the art of strategic, psychological mind control, he was now trapped in an elaborate network weaved by a man who was clearly deranged. Booker could not, in all consciousness, leave the young man at Holland’s mercy. However, although he prided himself on his ingenuity, he had no idea how to free Jorge from the tycoon’s sadistic clutches, and as the days ticked by, it was a conundrum that kept him awake at night. But he was fast running out of time. Zero hour had arrived, and he needed to think quickly or risk missing a golden opportunity to save a man who did not deserve to suffer a moment's more degradation at the hands of a maniac.
A weary sigh expelled from between his lips, and rolling onto his back, he racked his brain for an answer to his problem, but for the hundredth time, he came up blank. All he could think to do was plead with Holland and hope a spark of human decency still flickered within the darkness enveloping the mogul’s blackened heart.
Without warning, light flooded the room, followed seconds later by a warm hand squeezing Booker’s cock, the jolt of pain causing his body to jerk violently. Holland’s bacteria-laden breath violated his personal space, the rancid scent assaulting his nostrils, and he instinctively turned his head, a disgusted moue forming on his lips. Surprisingly, Holland appeared unperturbed by the young officer’s audacious show of disrespect, and moving in closer, he whispered directly into his ear. “What are you thinking about, lover?”
The mocking intimacy of the pet name heightened Booker’s level of loathing, and without thinking about the consequences of his answer, he spoke his mind. “Jorge.”
There was a noticeable shift in Holland’s visage, and pulling back, a cloud of suspicion darkened his brow, defining the fine wrinkles on his forehead. His eyes rolled fiercely, a glint of savageness glaring from his gaze, and sitting up, he placed a hand around Booker’s throat and squeezed ever so gently. “You’re lying in my bed, and all you can think about is that cholo whore?” he articulated slowly, his manicured nails biting painfully into the young officer’s flesh. “Are you asking for a beating?”
Panic quickened Dennis’ pulse, and his heart thumped rapidly in his chest. By initially threatening Tom’s welfare, in only a short space of time Holland had conditioned him to obey; to kowtow to every command, every humiliating sexual act until it became second nature. But with his freedom only hours away, a long forgotten echo of the old Booker rose to the surface of his being, fighting its way through the fear and subservience until his thoughts bubbled forth in a rush of words. “I want to take him with me when I leave.”
Surprise arched Holland’s brow, followed seconds later by a slow, fiendish smile that curled the corners of his lips into a menacing sneer. Releasing his hand from around Booker’s throat, he studied his plaything with mild amusement. “Are you attempting to bargain with me, boy?”
Sensing an opportunity, Booker sat up so he could meet his oppressor’s gaze face-to-face. “Yes,” he replied guardedly, being careful to keep his tone moderate and non-threatening. “Maybe we can come to some arrangement.”
“Interesting,” Holland murmured, his eyes roving salaciously over Booker’s naked body. “But what is it you think you can offer me that I haven’t already taken?”
With nothing left to bargain, Booker realized he needed to up the ante or lose the battle. Fear formed a lump in his throat, and swallowing several times in quick succession, he struggled to keep his voice calm and steady. “If you don’t let Jorge go, I’ll talk Tom into releasing the tapes.”
Holland laughed at the insincerity behind the attempted intimidation. “My darling boy, somehow, I doubt Officer Hanson, the son of a decorated police officer killed in the line of duty will want the world to know a few college students managed to overpower him. Your threat has no substance. Leave the blackmailing to those of us who have the brains and the brawn to carry it out.”
Booker’s face flushed red, and he quickly lowered his gaze. No matter what card he played, Holland always managed to find the upper hand. Once again, the tycoon had outwitted him, leaving him feeling emasculated and humiliated. He knew he was fighting a losing contest, but just as he was about to concede, Holland leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “You know, my sweet,” he crooned, his fingers playing with Booker’s cock. “Perhaps there is something you could do for me.”
With his self-worth now in tatters, Booker barely registered the minacious tone in Holland’s voice. Instead, he clung to the last remaining hope that he might have actually found a way to liberate Jorge from a life of sexual, mental, and physical abuse, and ignoring the titillating sensation running down the length of his shaft, he focused his gaze on Holland’s emerald eyes. “If I agree, do you promise to let Jorge go?”
Holland’s tongue traced over the contours of Booker’s ear. “Of course,” he breathed, his fingers working over the young officer’s semi-hard erection. “All I want you to do is…”
As the tycoon’s fingers worked their magic, Booker closed his eyes and listened to the low voice whispering in his ear. But when his mind finally made sense of the request, his eyes flew open, and his hand clamped around Holland’s wrist, stilling his movements. “You can’t be serious!”
A wicked smile crinkled the edges of Holland’s eyes. “Oh, my beautiful boy, I’m deadly serious. If you want your precious Jorge, those are my terms; take them or leave them. The choice is yours.”
Booker chewed anxiously at his lower lip, his mind in turmoil. He had one chance, and if he blew it, he was condemning Jorge to a life of hell. “But I can’t guarantee it,” he whispered, his dark eyes filling with panic. “You’re asking the impossible.”
After rearranging his pillow, Holland flopped casually back on the mattress and folded his arms behind his head. “You may not know this about me, Dennis, but I’m not much of a gambling man. However, I’d be prepared to wager my fortune that what you deem as impossible will happen. It may take a week, it may take a year, but it will happen. And when it does, that’s when I receive my recompense.”
Confusion furrowed Booker’s brow. “But how will you know? I mean, if I don’t tell you—”
“Oh, I’ll know,” Holland growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You can trust me on that, boy. I have eyes and ears everywhere, so don’t even think you can try to deceive me because if you do, I’ll make sure you live to regret it, got it? So, do we have a deal?”
Booker slowly nodded his head. There was a fifty-fifty chance the pact would become null and void due to forces outside his control, and Jorge would go free without him ever having to pay up. But on the flip side, there was a fifty-fifty chance Holland’s gamble would pay off, and then he would have to face the consequences of his decision. However, that was a risk he was willing to take.
**
Later that day
A flash of lightning tore open the afternoon sky, followed by the rumbling of distant thunder. The natural light filtering in through the window of Tom’s apartment dimmed, and ghostly shadows formed on the walls, the vague silhouettes shifting, stretching, changing shape as the sun played peek-a-boo behind the large cumulonimbus clouds rolling across the city. With the storm came a sudden drop in temperature, the coolness of the air raising the hairs on Tom’s forearms, the fine bumps interspersing with the crimson wounds crisscrossing his flesh. A bloody razor quivered between his finger and thumb, and closing his eyes, he drew the blade across his skin, slicing open a fresh lesion. An instant calm washed away his anxiety, and leaning back against the couch cushions, he closed his eyes and thought back to the one-sided conversation he’d had with Fuller. His captain had made it clear if he did not divulge what happened at the Pi Tau fraternity, he faced suspension pending an investigation. However, the threat had little impact on Tom, and without uttering a word, he had risen from his chair and walked out of the Chapel. Now, six days later, he was alone in his apartment, coping with the destruction of his life in the only way he knew how; self-harm.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the blood oozing from the fresh wound, and a bitter smile tilted his lips. One day, he would find the courage to slash his wrists and gain his ultimate freedom, but until then, he would find his release through injury alone.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness