Dead men didn't think about their loved ones.

As August waited for someone to check up on him, he replayed all the fun moments he'd spent with Casey. Those had been some of the greatest days he'd had in a long time.

When August got sucked into the Black Viper's world, his life went to hell and he couldn't say he really enjoyed life. But things changed when he met Casey and then his adorable son. They made him want to be a better man and live his life to the fullest, not let the gang control him until he died.

The heavy door creaked open. August stiffened. He needed them to think he was dead, and when they least expected it, he'd spring up to attack. As he replayed his plan over, the footsteps on the stairs halted.

"I know you're not dead, dumbass." Jon's stentorian voice carried down to him. "Get up. Quit acting ignorant."

August groaned as he pushed himself off the floor, flinching against the bright light he flicked on. Amid the basement floor, congealing blood coated the pavement. August spotted the deceased man he'd sat with for quite some time, but he didn't recognize him.

"Another dumbass." Jon gestured to the man on the ground. "Wanted to take the money and flee. Said he wasn't cut out for the kidnapping business."

"What do you plan to do with me?" August asked, voice cracking with each word.

"Dunno yet. Might harvest your organs to sell them. You ain't an addict, so they might be worth something," he replied. "A shame we couldn't have done that with Casey."

August frowned, heart hammering in his chest. "What do you mean?"

Jon chuckled. "You don't know? Oh, right. They got you in here, you don't hear nothing out in the world."

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"Butch had a little too much fun with his cleaver." Jon snickered. "Who knew he could scream like such a little bitch? I think my favorite part was the dismemberment."

"Dis... memberment?" August swallowed painfully, feeling as though his mouth had been stuffed with cotton.

Casey couldn't be dead, could he?

The revelation shocked August to his core. His own weight wavered beneath him as he swayed, struggling to keep himself from falling to the ground in a heap of tears. He wouldn't believe a word that asshole said. Not until he knew for certain. It might be another mental breaking tactic of theirs, convincing him that someone he loves has been murdered.

"I thought he would've put up more of a fight, but I guess he just lost hope. He had nothing else to live for when he learned what happened to his son," Jon replied.

"What happened to Wyatt?" August asked before he could stop himself.

"In the process of selling him." Jon shrugged. "Gotta get money somewhere, right? We ain't been doing too good and those fucking pervs will pay a fortune for kids."

August recoiled. "You're not serious. You got involved with those fuckers? How goddamn sick are you all?"

"Desperate men do desperate shit," Jon replied. "You ought to know that by now. That's why you joined us."

"I'd never do anything like this," August spat. "Not even Veronica would've stooped this low."

"That crackhead bitch wasn't fit enough to do jackshit. And we made sure her son never gets a chance to follow in her footsteps."

"Why the hell would Wyatt ever go near this gang? He's a toddler, for fuck's sake. You dumbasses probably won't even be alive by the time he's eighteen."

Listening to his lies would only break his heart, because August couldn't determine what was false or true. Casey and Wyatt had to be safe. They were still alive. No matter what any of the gang members told him, he wouldn't believe it until he broke free and found out for himself.

"Have you forgotten why you sought us out?" Jon asked, sneering.

August cringed. "You idiots just took advantage of me cuz I was a stupid teen. It was the only way to make them stop."

Blood-stained memories flooded August's mind, no matter how hard he tried to forget about those days. Old gunshots echoed in his ears as those boys' pitiful screams pierced through his skull like a drill. Killing them was the only way he could be free.

August still remembered the weight of the pistol in his hand, how the recoil took him aback as he aimed the barrel at the ringleader of those boys and shot him in the neck. Hatred had coursed through his veins like liquid lava, but when it was over, it simmered to nothing but a hollow guilt in his heart.

Those boys used to pin him to the ground and burn him with their cigarettes. They carved the slur fag into his chest with a pockknife. They always made sure he knew he'd burn in hell.

If it weren't for the gang, they might've killed him. August never could fend off all the boys when they ganged up on him, but none of them were prepared for that day when the Black Viper's pulled up on them.

Carnage spilled across the sidewalks in seconds. August only took one shot, yet the miasma of gore was enough to make him lightheaded. Jon had pulled him into their car and sped off before the cops arrived on the scene. Even now, August still vividly recalled the memorial service held for those boys, claiming it was a tragic drive-by shooting. They treated those bastards like perfect little angels.

Despite how August knew what they'd done was horrific and injustiable, he was no better than them.

"You were glad we killed those boys," Jon sneered. "Fucking begged us to help your sorry ass. Once you're in, there's no turning back. That's just how shit is. If you'd just care about yourself, none of this would've happened."

August shook his head. "Even I'd never do this. No matter how desperate I was."

Jon shrugged. "It doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"What are you gonna with me, huh?" August asked. "Go ahead and shoot me. Kill me like this other guy. Put me out of my misery. Why waste time?"

"It's not my choice. Believe me, I would've killed you already." Jon groaned. "Look, I hate how things had to end this way. I really thought you were one of us. Guess I was wrong." Before heading back upstairs, Jon placed something on the step. "Just in case you need to end it all before the insanity and hunger gnaw away at you."

An act of pity. August realized Jon left a bottle of pills and water for him to kill himself by overdosing. It would be easier to hide his body. The cops would find him in some sketchy alleyway and assume he was another addict who overdosed. It was another, sadly, common tactic they used against their victims.

August wouldn't give them the satisfaction of breaking him. He'd fight until his very last breath.

🧁

Commotion upstairs drew August's attention. Despite how his body ached, he forced himself up to the door, pressing his ear tightly against it to hear what happened. Frantic screams reverberated down into the cramped room. The sickening stench of death only grew stronger, but by now, August's nose had gotten used to it.

"Fucking hell!" Footsteps paced the floor. "How the fuck did they find it? If either of you fucking told the cops, I swear to fucking God-"

What happened? Who found what?

"What do we do with the boy?" Sierra's voice asked in a softer tone.

Relief flooded over August. Just as he suspected, Jon lied to him. Wyatt was still alive, but unfortunately, it sounded like he was with them. So, where was Casey?

"Just keep him locked in your room," Butch replied. "We gotta get rid of him tonight. I got my guy coming for him."

"Are you seriously handing him over to them?" Sierra asked.

"Fuck else we gonna do, Sierra?" Butch spat. "You wanna be his new mommy? Think you'd be any better than his crackhead momma?"

Glass shattered and Sierra cried out. August could only assume he'd thrown something at her, or near her. She probably didn't want things to go this far. While August despised them all now, he knew Sierra never would've done something so heinous on her own accord. Fear held her hostage.

At least August knew Wyatt was still alive. Thanks to their bickering, he also pinpointed where they kept him. August never realized just how much their victims heard, trapped down in that basement. He wondered if any of them realized how non-soundproof the room was.

Staring into a void, August tried to come up with a plan to get the hell out of there. His body ached and he could barely move, let alone flee on foot. With only one way in and out of the room, August knew that he'd need someone to come check on him again. Each visit had been sporadic, and with them worrying about Wyatt, August was concerned that they wouldn't bother with him.

August had no fucking clue what time or day it even was. The way his stomach growled in hunger, he assumed he'd been trapped down there at least a full day. How much longer did that leave him until nighttime?

"Fuck." August groaned.

There had to be something down in the basement that could help him. Maybe he could break the door with something. They'd been foolish enough to leave him untied, but August assumed that was mostly because they saw how worse for wear he was.

With a grunt, August forced himself back down the stairs. He crawled across the concrete ground, desperate hands searching every crevice of the room for anything useful. He needed more than simple switchblades.

Carefully, August pushed himself up on unsteady legs when he reached Butch's workbench. His fingers brushed against papers he couldn't read. When he touched some cobwebs, he retracted his hand and moved upward, rummaging through some cabinets.

August didn't find a weapon, but something that might help. Matches. Like a child giddy to grab candy, August lit a match and held the flickering flame high. Concrete floor surrounded him, stained in congealed blood. His gaze landed on the corpse in the corner, and with his new light, it revealed the headless body.

Bile rose in his throat. August turned his attention back to Butch's workshop, hoping to find some of his tools that might help him unlock the door. August never bothered with the basement. Torturing people wasn't something they relyed on August for. They kept him busy with their drug dealings.

Panicked heartbeats skipped in his chest as he searched. His initial idea was to set the door on fire, but August worried that the flames would lick up every inch of the basement before they detected the smoke. He also didn't want to kill himself. So when he discovered a bloody hammer, he was relieved.

Without wasting another second, August forced himself back up those stairs with his hammer. He couldn't pound on the door and hold his flame at the same time, so he was forced to snuff the flame.

Pain pulsed through every muscle in his body as he raised the hammer and striked the door. No matter how much his body protested and begged for rest, he kept striking at the old wood. A loud crackle made him grin. Light peeked in through the cracks, and soon, August got a small view of the kitchen.

With the hole large enough to stick his hand through, August reached inside for the knob and turned the lock. The door opened with ease. August pulled himself up, determination sparking in his dull eyes as he shut it behind him. Nobody came charging at him in the kitchen, which was a pleasant surprise.

The hammer remained at his side, gripped tightly in his hand. If he could reach their living room, August could retrieve an old pistol they kept hidden underneath the couch. Each footfall had him on edge as he cursed the old, creaky floorboards beneath him. August couldn't move quick enough, and each movement sent jarring pain through him, but he kept going.

Hope blossomed in August's chest as he neared the living room. Almost there. Just a few more steps. When he reached the threshold, all that hope drained from his body, much like the blood he'd lost. Sierra came around the corner, from the bathroom.

Shock registered on her face before she dipped into the kitchen, wailing like a little bitch to alert the others. August cussed as he tried to force his legs to run. He needed that damn gun. It was the only way he'd make it out of there.

August reached the couch at the same time as Sierra bolted into the living room with a kitchen knife. Jon must've had the taser.

Before she could strike him, August raised the hammer and walloped her in the side of the head. It left a visible mark as she whimpered. August grabbed her by the wrist, wrenching it until she cried out and dropped the knife on the floor.

"August, please. I'm sorry. Please, don't kill me."

"Fuck you."

August bent down, retrieving the knife before shifting over to the couch. He plopped down on it ungainly, rummaging through the cushions before finding the gun he needed.

"What are you gonna do to me?" Sierra whimpered. "They'll be back soon. You can just run now."

"Where's Wyatt?" August asked as he checked the gun to ensure it was loaded.

Sierra shook her head. "He's already gone."

"Don't bullshit me. Tell me where he is. Now."

"Please, they'll kill me if you take him."

"I'm about to kill your stupid ass right now." August snapped, aiming the barrel directly at her head. "Tell me where he's at and we'll leave. You can do whatever the fuck you want. If you try to stop me, I'll end your pathetic life."

"They found someone who wants to buy him," Sierra explained. "We've got him locked up in my room."

"Take me there," August demanded.

"Just save yourself," Sierra begged. "Look at you. You're barely able to stand. Do you really think you could carry a child and make it out of here? They're literally just outside smoking."

"I don't give a flying fuck." August pressed the barrel against her cheek. "Take me there now, before I blow your brains out."

Sierra whimpered, nodding before clambering to her feet. August knew exactly where Sierra's room was, but he couldn't leave her alone down there. Not without her mouthy ass going to tell the others. While August wanted to shoot her, he also knew it would've drawn attention to the others. It was just his luck that they were taking one of their many smoke breaks.

Familiarness settled in as Sierra moved a chair away from her bedroom door. With carefully turned the knob, peeking in before August shoved her inside to get a glimpse for himself.

Amid the fluffy pink blankets and pillows on Sierra's twin-sized bed, Wyatt sat at the edge. He clutched a small stuffed tiger in his arms, little eyes bloodshot and cheeks dampened with tears. Upon close inspection, August noticed a small cut to his left cheek.

"Wyatt, come on." August gestured for him to follow. "I'm gonna get you home."

Wyatt's face lit up when he saw August. The little boy hurried off the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around his leg. August stroked his hand through his messy chestnut hair, forcing a small smile.

"We can go home now?" Wyatt asked, pleading with those doleful eyes of his. Reminding him so much of Casey's own lovely shade.

"Yeah, but we need to hurry. We're gonna sneak out the back. And when I tell you to run, I want you to go really fast across the street and knock on the neighbors doors until someone answers you."

"But-"

"I know, I'm sure your daddy taught you not to talk to strangers and all that, but think of it like Halloween, okay? Just make sure you tell them to call the police. Tell them how these bad men took you away," August explained, hoping the child would be able to manage such a task if he couldn't keep up or had to fend off Jon and Butch.

"What a touching reunion." Obnoxious laughter rang out.

August tensed upon hearing Butch's god-awful voice. The two men loomed over the hallway, blocking their exit. Even Sierra glared at him as if she could actually pose any harm to them.

"We can make a deal," August attempted to ration. "Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it. I can rob a bank to pay you if I need to, I swear. You can make me do the dirtiest jobs until I croak over."

"It's too late, August." Jon stepped forward. "We got his new daddy waiting outside."

Wyatt frowned, clinging tighter to August. "Not going."

"Sierra, you stupid bitch." August wrenched her arm. "Help me, dammit."

Both men drew their guns. August could shoot one, but the other would hit him in return. That left Wyatt in their disgusting hands, and likely more traumatized than ever.

"Please," August begged. "There must be something we can do."

"Don't make this any harder," Jon warned.

"Fine." August raised his hands in defeat. "I'll give up. You've outnumbered me. Can I at least be the one to take him? He trusts me the most. He'll be more cooperative."

Butch and Jon exchanged brief looks with each other.

To his surprise, Sierra spoke up. "He's right. Wyatt's gonna want to be trouble. Just let August take him."

"Alright, fine. Come on. We ain't got all day," Jon grouched.

"I'll go with them, so you can get ready for tonight," Sierra told Jon. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry." Butch smirked. "I won't let that happen."

With Butch leading them out to the garage, Wyatt screamed and wailed, crying against August's chest. As the boy pounded his little fists against August's chest, he leaned in and whispered softly against his ear. "Run when I put you down. Bite and scratch anyone who tries to grab you. Do not look back."

Wyatt's sobs ceased, confusion clouding his tearful eyes. August offered him a pitiful smile, hoping that somehow, he could make it to safety.

"August." Wyatt reached a small hand up to touch his face.

"Remember," August whispered softly against his ear. "Don't look back and keep running. Find help."

The moment they stepped out into the garage, August prepared himself for the worst. In his condition, he knew Butch would kill him. He only hoped that Sierra didn't chase after Wyatt.

When the garage door slid open, a van pulled inside. Dark-tinted windows made it difficult to determine how many people waited inside. Only when the driver finally propped open their door did a lanky man step out and approach Butch.

Unease blossomed in August's chest as the guy turned toward them, offering a playful smile and wave at Wyatt. While the two men exchanged words, August edged as close to the garage door as he could and gently placed Wyatt on the ground.

Sierra spoke up, "August, don't."

August made sure Wyatt exited the garage before pulling his gun, shooting two bullets at the delivery man. Before shots could be returned, August hunkered down and aimed for Sierra's leg when she neared the garage door's opening. Had he aimed at Butch instead, maybe, he could've escaped. But he didn't want to risk her catching Wyatt.

Gunshots echoed in his ears as a fiery pain engulfed his stomach. August gazed down at his abdomen as blood pooled through his shirt. Butch let his guard down as he neared him, but when August fired, nothing happened. He pulled the trigger again and again as his obnoxious laughter filled the garage.

Butch pistol-whipped him across the face before punching him in the mouth. A metallic tang lingered in his mouth as the impact sent him reeling back. Blood leaked from his wound as he struggled to keep himself upright. He wavered where he stood, but he didn't drop to the ground in defeat.

Just when August thought his death was near him, Sierra grabbed his ankle. The suddenness took him off his balance, causing him to collapse onto the ground. August fumbled to get up while Butch roared with laughter. August prepared to punch her in the face when he realized why she did that.

With a swift motion, she shoved her taser into his hands. Tears pooled in her eyes as she mouthed silently, "I'm sorry" No amount of apologies could amend what she'd done, but August had no time to worry about that.

"Just finish me off," August moaned in pain as he tried to stand. He remained on the ground, with the taser tucked under his arm. "Wyatt got away. That's all that matters to me."

"Aw, you're no fun." Butch pouted as he stepped over to him, crouching down to his level. "I thought you'd at least put up a fight."

In a swift motion, August pulled the taser and zapped him in the chest. It stunned the man, rendering him unable to move. He dropped his gun on the ground, which gave August the advantage to crawl over and snatch it up. Even while Butch convulsed on the ground, August shot the man in the head until the gun was out of bullets.

Butch was dead. Bleeding out.

August laid his head down on the garage floor, temporary relief flooding through him. He helped Wyatt get away. If he died now, at least he tried to save Casey's little boy. That's all that mattered to him.