Indebted

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SW
Suite 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 9161-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Indebted

© 2013 A.R. Hawkins.

Cover Art

© 2013 L.C. Chase.

http://www.lcchase.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-12386-062-8

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-302-0

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

November 2013

www.superiorz.org

To my amazing friends for helping and encouraging me on this endeavor. Thank you for the countless hours you spent with me on this project.

P
RESSURE
IS
an interesting thing and it’s amazing what a little of it can get you. Thanks to my dad, John Sandoval, I am now a master of the giving and taking of it. He made sure to exert the right amount on me while I was growing up. Now, here I am, forced into a role of power and responsibility I never wanted.

If you’d asked me as a young boy what I wanted to be, I’d have told you a firefighter. They’re noble men and women who risk their lives for others, often on a volunteer basis. However, as I got older, I would have told you a social worker. They often help people for little thanks or pay. I’ve always liked the idea of selfless acts. Never would I have thought I would end up working with my dad in one of the shadiest operations you can ever imagine, that’s for sure.

My father was never one to deal well with financial struggle. He liked the finer things in life, and apparently, so did Mom. His company, Sandoval Title Loans, wasn’t profitable enough. He couldn’t give her those things she felt she deserved, so she left us. She took off without even so much as a backward glance at me. That hurt like hell as a kid, but I made myself numb to the pain, finally coming to the realization she wasn’t worth missing.

Unfortunately, after my mom left, my dad stopped caring about family obligations altogether and started focusing only on financial gain. I guess he figured if you fail at one, you might as well succeed in the other.

That was when I was thirteen.

It was about a month after Mom left that Dad really started to change. I would come home after school and see him with all these strange men. To me, they always seemed tense, and would just as soon punch a guy out as look at him. Dad would schmooze them in a way I’d never seen before. Drinks were at the ready, along with fancy meals and women. There were always women. Where they suddenly came from, I had no clue, but they were always hanging all over Dad’s guests.

One of them even came up to me once. She pinched my cheeks and said, “You are so adorable, and I could just lick those dimples.”

If that didn’t creep me out enough, she then reached down and grabbed my ass, squeezing enough to dig her nails in. Dad didn’t like her attention drawn away from his new visitors.

He shouted, “Jesus Christ, Becky, he’s thirteen fuckin’ years old! Now get your ass over here and meet Donald.” Leveling a glare at me, he sneered, “Don’t you have some homework to get to?”

Grabbing my book bag, I sighed. “Yeah, Dad. I’ll be in my room.”

As the months went by, I noticed one man in particular who stood out. He was tall, lean, and blond, and had a really hard edge to him. Even as a kid, I knew he wasn’t someone to mess with, and it seemed everyone deferred to him. My dad would practically lick his shoes when he decided to grace us with his presence.

I eventually learned he was none other than Thomas Everson, the head of the notorious Everson crime family. He had taken a liking to John Sandoval. After all, Dad was sharp with money and had many finance degrees to prove it. His loan company was taking off, but not as fast as he would have liked. I guess that was where the Eversons came in. Turned out, Dad was weaseling his way into a fairly good standing with Thomas.

By the time I turned fifteen, the loan company was absorbed into the Everson portfolio, and Dad became their “Manager of Finances.” In crooked terms, it meant he was now behind all the dirty financial wheeling and dealing.

When I was sixteen, Dad decided it was time for his son to start earning his keep and stop being a “useless layabout lapping up all his hard work.” I started off as a runner, usually giving messages and delivering packages. I learned the hard way to never be nosy or ask questions. I made that mistake once when I peeked inside a delivery and ran my mouth about what I’d seen. That quickly travelled to Thomas, and my loving father let Everson’s thugs beat me within an inch of my life.

Without a doubt, I can say I was never the same after that. All the hopes and dreams that my life would return to a normal teenager’s were over. There would be no prom, sports, or dreams of college. I knew I would never get out of the life I was destined for. I’m ashamed to admit it, but at that point, I accepted it and gave myself over to this horrible existence. With that admission, I was determined I would never let myself be vulnerable again.

Just like that, the boy who once existed was gone.

By the age of eighteen, I aligned myself with one of the toughest motherfuckers in Thomas’s employ: Tristan Walsh. He was a few years older than me but had already made a name for himself as the “God of War.” To me, though, Tristan was the guy who took me under his wing. He must have seen how lost I was and felt sorry for me. Who knew the God of War had a soft spot?

Tristan started off with getting me to the gym as often as possible. Also, he began fighting lessons and shooting drills every morning at the crack of dawn. He worked me so hard I would drag myself to bed each night. I swiftly earned his respect, though, due to always being there before him and ready for more. Throughout all that, we became good friends. I could laugh and be myself with him in a way I hadn’t been since Mom was around. He never made fun of me or belittled me. He still doesn’t know how much that meant to me. No matter what kind of illegal, horrible things he does, he’s my personal hero.

All the hero worship and close proximity eventually led to a discovery about myself. I started noticing things about Tristan I’m sure most guys wouldn’t: like how, when he bent over, his pants would tighten perfectly over his ass. When he got closer or leaned in to show me a technique, his sweaty, musky male scent would assault me, and I’d start to harden. By the time I started having fantasies about him in the shower, there was no doubt in my mind that I was gay. To say I was scared shitless was an understatement.

I had no clue how I was going to hide it. My father would not be happy with a gay son, but only because it wouldn’t suit his needs. I really didn’t want to mess things up, either. Thanks to Tristan, I was becoming one tough asshole who could hold his own in any situation. I had also become really fuckin’ huge, thanks to all the time at the gym. Unfortunately, my teenage hormones would not be overcome, and my dad walked in on me with a cute little twink. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover that situation….

Slamming the door, he marched right into my bedroom, yelling, “What the fuck is goin’ on in here, boy?”

The twink pulled the blanket over his head.

I jumped out of bed with only a sheet around my hips and allowed the chips to fall where they may. “What the fuck does it look like, Dad? Your son was getting laid until you barged in.”

I had lost some fear of my father finding out after talking to Tristan about my being gay. Amazingly, he wasn’t even fazed. He made me realize I wasn’t a weak little kid anymore. If someone had a problem with it, I could fuck ’em up. Due to that conversation, I decided I wouldn’t out and tell my dad, but if he did find out, I wasn’t going to be ashamed of who I was. He’d taken enough from me already.

Looking me up and down with disgust, he spat, “I always knew you’d be a fag! All that sissy whining you did after Thomas punished you proved that.” Pacing back and forth, he sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. “Fine! I don’t give a fuck where you stick your dick, as long as you don’t turn up wearing pink and flaunting your penchant for ass.”

With that, he turned and left the room.

Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I sat down on the bed, stunned. I couldn’t believe I had won that small battle, but it felt good, nonetheless.

It wasn’t long before everyone knew I was gay. It was a long, uphill battle to regain the respect of the men working beside me. Why they suddenly thought I couldn’t kick their ass, because I’m gay, I will never figure out.

By the age of twenty, I had regained everyone’s respect, including a very small part of my dad’s. I’d been moved to work as a collection’s enforcer officer for my dad’s section of the organization. He ran the loan sharking, along with helping determine what investments would be profitable for Thomas.

My job consisted of collecting loan payments and handing down punishments for any that were missed. It should have bothered me, but by that point I had shut down any feelings of sympathy for anyone, including myself. That’s how I got my nickname: The Machine. I could easily break the bones of some family man and then go shoot pool and have drinks with my friends. I didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of me, and I sure as hell wasn’t afraid of them.

By the time I turned twenty-four, Dad had learned I had a flair for creative finances like him, and moved me into a management position.

At age twenty-six, I took over for him, and he focused his talents on Thomas’s other money ventures….

The sound of a buzzer startles me, and I realize I must have dozed off. I irritably hit the button on the intercom. “Yeah, what is it, Addison?”

She clicks her tongue at me and then her loud voice comes over the speaker. “Liam Sandoval, don’t you take that tone with me, or I’ll tell Tristan if he doesn’t get his friend in line, there will be no sex for a week.”