Maybe I should have practiced this more.
The thought lit up in Barnaby's mind like an uncomfortable splinter. Every time his step faltered for just a moment in the buckled, platform boots. it would worry him. When the unforgiving leather of his shorts tightened and squeezed uncomfortably against his ass and he had to readjust his movement in an attempt to overcome it, it worried him. And every goddamn time someone in that shady joint looked his way and smirked, it worried him.
He had his Hundred Power, but he had never been trained how to use it, and in case there were members of Ouroboros watching, knowing that he had Hundred Power would eliminate his element of surprise when he took on the whole fucking organization for ruining his life. That was his only major advantage, and it was one that he was not going to let them have.
The knife in his right boot would probably be enough to keep him alive if something went wrong.
But what could possibly go wrong when you were posing as a fifteen-year-old boy hooker in the sketchiest bar in Sternbild?
Barnaby wasn't crazy. He was desperate.
For eleven years, he had done everything he knew how in order to avenge his parents' death. He had found out about an organization named Ouroboros that had a confirmedexistence in Sternbild's underground, and that had changed everything. Every day he searched. Every day he planned. And at night, when other boys his age were playing video games or texting their girlfriends or doing homework, he would scheme.
The fantasies in his head of how he would destroy them were endless. He wrote them in a book - a beat-up miniature leather journal that never left his back pocket unless he was writing something in it about how he would annihilate their every member, expose the ones he didn't kill to the public and simply roll in the joy of having them thrown into the nastiest prisons where they would waste away on death row with nothing to think about except what they had done. The only time he smiled was when he imagined his parents' murderer rotting in Hell, flames licking at his flesh and chipping away at his bones just as the fire had consumed everything Barnaby had known.
Something heavy, like a thick, unforgiving haze, settled around his shoulders and pressed in against his head. That sickening feeling of knowing he was being watched and examined, scrutinized and torn apart by one of these bastards in the bar made him nauseous, but the turmoil in his stomach had nothing to do with fear.
It was nothing but pure adrenaline.
He was careful to keep his head cocked to the side, seemingly naive and inviting. Every little toss of his head from one side to the other as he sweetly observed the not-so-sweet scenes around him sent his golden curls bouncing and twirling around each other in a sexy, intricate dance. Every flutter of his mascara-laden eyelashes sent hungry glances in his direction. And every little smirk of his lightly painted lips made the other whores jealous with a rage many of them had never felt. The women weren't used to competition from anyone, much less such a beautiful, delicious little boy. Of course it had every man in the joint hot and eager, needy and distracted from their usual conquests.
But that one particularly heavy feeling would not leave him.
"Why don't you sit down, little bitch, and I can buy you drink?"
All at once the feeling lifted, replaced by nothing but a smooth voice that was more comforting than any Barnaby had ever heard. He knew that was deceiving. He knew that the warm, temporary feeling of welcome and comfort he felt in the pit of his stomach was a lie. Barnaby was so close to politely declining the man's offer, turning around to give him a splendid view of that young, leather-clad ass, when he brushed dark hair away from his neck and Barnaby saw it. Behind his ear. The same tattoo of the murderer Barnaby fantasized about torturing.
This man was a member of Ouroboros.
The speed of Barnaby's heart increased twofold. His emerald eyes widened before he could control his reaction. This was exactly what he had wanted. Exactly what he had hoped for. He struggled to regain his calm, sexy facade, curling one corner of his lips up into a teasing smile as he took a seat at the next barstool.
"I think I'll pass on the drink." A pink, catlike tongue swept over Barnaby's lips as he batted his eyelashes and pretended to contemplate something significant as he looked the Ouroboros member up and down.
"Don't think I'll pass on you, though."
Damn, I am making myself sick.
The man chuckled. It wasn't an unpleasing sound at all. The fact that Barnaby almost found it attractive repulsed him. The fact that the man reached out to briefly caress Barnaby's chin and jawbone with one finger repulsed him even more.
"You're cute. And new. I've never seen you before, little lamb."
A thick Russian accent clouded the clarity of his words, but his voice was so crisp and clean that Barnaby had no problem understanding him. The rest of the conversation was a blur. Barnaby kept his act up just enough to keep the man interested, but Barnaby also let his guard down just enough for him to become suspicious. There was some witty banter. A few shots of vodka were ordered. Some dirty flirting was exchanged. Somewhere along the way, Barnaby learned that the dark-haired man's name was Alexei. Judging by the way he was dressed - neatly, a perfectly crisp black suit, black shirt, and blood-red tie loosened just enough to allow a couple of buttons to come loose - he wasn't just a grunt.
Barnaby was sure that Alexei had information. And that was the reason he was dressed the way he was in those leather shorts almost too tight to walk in, matching leather boots, cute fingerless gloves with a sleeveless shirt just as tight as everything else on his body. He had even managed to obtain some elegant lingerie for the occasion, but with all the fucking lace and frills, it wouldn't fit beneath the leather that fit so perfectly against the curves of his skin. Any kind of underwear had been abandoned as an impossibility.
There was more prodding and teasing, flirting and caressing. Barnaby nearly vomited several times before he ended up in the lap of this man who could be his savior if only for the information he held. With the long, flexible legs he possessed at only fifteen, it was easy for Barnaby to wrap himself around his "target" just as he rested milky smooth, exposed arms around his neck. Their faces were so close; Barnaby could discern nothing but the dark abyss of the other's eyes, threatening to consume forever anything that looked their way.
Barnaby found a foreign, snakelike tongue darting out over his own perpetual smile, and before he knew it his lips were clashed together with Alexei's, the older man's tongue easily invading Barnaby's painted mouth and taking everything within for itself.
There went my first kiss. Bastard.
It wasn't like Barnaby had been saving it for anyone else.
The time between breaking the kiss and Alexei helping him off the barstool was filled with fearful questions. This was it. Now or never. This man wanted everything - it was obvious. He didn't just want Barnaby. He wanted control. He wanted the world. He wanted everything to be his and his alone.
Barnaby wasn't sure how far he was willing to go to get this lead to talk to him. He wasn't saving himself for anyone, but there were still natural reservations.
What would his parents have said?
There was no more time to think about it.
He was thrust into a dark room towards the back of the bar.
Alexei followed, and the door was shut behind them both.