Deadlock was tired of waiting. He sort of got out of hand in this chapter. It's his fault.
Chapter 3
Blurr was missing.
Hot Rod dropped his backpack on the ground, the contents rattling around as they hit the grey concrete. The black top road was bare, and no sight of a familiar blue car. Hot Rod dug his phone out of his pocket, while checking for any stragglers who might give him a lift. The school yard had already cleared of most students, and Blurr was still no where to be seen. His speedy buddy was usually pretty good about giving him a ride to and from school while his car was locked down. Hot Rod flipped his screen on, and frowned at the text message blinking in the top corner from Blurr:
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Something came up and I can't give you a ride. Catch you tomorrow!
"Okay, then," Hot Rod said, turning off his phone screen. He supposed it was inevitable that Blurr would be busy one of these days. Well that was a bummer on a Friday. Not to mention it was the day his dad got back from his trip. Hot Rod yawned into his hand and shoved his phone into his pocket. "Guess I'm walking."
"I could give you a ride, you know," a voice whispered in Hot Rod's ear.
Hot Rod shivered. That guy had gotten ridiculously good at appearing out of nowhere. Hot Rod sniffed and grabbed his bag. "What do you want, Deadlock?"
Since Hot Rod punched Deadlock in the face, he'd reappeared after school to ask Hot Rod if he wanted a ride every other day for the entire week. If he hadn't left every time Hot Rod said "No" he would have probably said something about it to Uncle Magnus or Springer. But as it stood, Deadlock was just persistent. That wasn't a crime, to Hot Rod's regret. It wasn't even at the level of harassment just yet.
Hot Rod usually didn't have a problem getting away either: Blurr was his ticket to avoid the man. Shame his normal escape route was cut off today by whatever Blurr found as a better use of his time. Hot Rod glared over his shoulder at his wannabe stalker. Deadlock stood with his hands in his pockets smiling innocently while waiting for Hot Rod's inevitable answer.
"It's really no problem," Deadlock said, tilting his head up. Hot Rod would never get used to the fact he was taller than this guy. Because he sure didn't feel that way. The way Deadlock kept his eyes glued on Hot Rod didn't help either. It made Hot Rod's stomach churn like it was trying to process one of Kup's home remedies. Deadlock motioned to his car, smiling wider. "My ride's pretty fast and we could stop anywhere you want on the way."
Hot Rod needed another escape. But who could he get? Uncle Magnus? No. Hot Rod couldn't call him. He was at the air port waiting to pick up Dad. Springer was on duty and couldn't take off. Arcee would be with Springer. Kup? No! He went with Magnus to get dad!
Hot Rod cursed and tried to pretend that Deadlock's smile wasn't widening by the second as he sensed the teenager's moment of weakness.
Deadlock licked his teeth. Hot Rod was running out of options and things were looking better and better for a certain Cleaner. This was better than when that stupid rival gang who had moved in on Gasket's turf ran out of ammunition in a fire fight. Deadlock couldn't believe his luck. In his stalk—research, he'd discovered Hot Rod didn't have many friends. He had that Blurr kid and that was it. All the rest of the folks he hung out with were either related (Ultra Magnus) or worked with his Dad: Kup, Springer, and Arcee.
After that, he was pretty much all alone. Deadlock could relate to that.
"You don't really want to walk all the way home, do you?" Deadlock tried. He needed this. He'd spent too much time watching, and not enough alone. That one on one contact was essential for figuring out the kid and what Deadlock wanted to do to him. Hot Rod took up so much of his spare thoughts, it was only fair. "I just want to get to know you. Is that really so wrong?"
"It is when you're like eight years older than me," Hot Rod said, raising an eyebrow.
"Five."
"What?" Hot Rod asked, eyes widening. Off guard. Good.
"You're seventeen, right?" Deadlock said. He held his hand out, and jingled his keys back and forth. A reminder that the ride option was still open. "I'm only twenty-two. That's not that big of a gap."
"I guess not," Hot Rod said. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and started to back away. Just like the days before. Hot Rod shook his head. "But I'm still not going anywhere with you."
"Oh, come on. I think you're interesting, and I just know we have a lot in common," Deadlock said. Hot Rod kept backing away, and Deadlock couldn't help the pout. Those blue eyes were glaring at him, and for once it wasn't appreciated. He needed the kid in his damn car! "What's one ride going to hurt?"
"I'm the son of the police chief," Hot Rod said. He had the nerve to lick his lips. "I can name at least twenty reasons why getting into a car with you is a bad idea even if you are just some punk who likes to graffiti walls."
"Right," Deadlock said.
Hot Rod grabbed his bag and backed away toward the road he needed to follow to get home.
Deadlock looked both ways, like one would if they were crossing a street. The second Hot Rod turned his eyes away from Deadlock to check for traffic, the Cleaner slammed his elbow into the back of the kid's neck, dropping him like a rock.
"How have things been at home with Hot Rod," Optimus asked as he dropped his bags in the back of his brother's large blue SUV. Kup was asleep in the back seat with his hat over his eyes and snoring away. Optimus was happy his cigar was at least unlit as hit hung loose on his chest. His Truck must still be broken. Optimus closed the back of the car door. "I know you weren't exactly looking forward to house sitting when I left."
"Aside from his inability to wake up on his own in the morning," Magnus said, "I think it's been fine. No real arguments and he's behaved himself."
"The kitchen table is still in one piece?" Optimus asked, trying not to laugh when Magnus glared at him. His older brother was never all that good with jokes.
"Yes, and all the chairs, too." Magnus said. He rolled his eyes, and wiped his hands off on a clean towelette. "Your living room furniture is in one piece."
"Good to know," Optimus said. He adjusted his bandana, the tip of which was resting on his nose, and reached around his neck to re-tie the knot. "I want to claim I wasn't worried about the two of you, but you know how it goes."
"You can rest assured. The worst incident that occurred while you were gone was Hot Rod playing police officer before his time."
"Oh?" Optimus asked.
"He ran across someone vandalizing a jewelry story and took it upon himself to ask the man to stop." Ultra Magnus opened the passenger door for his brother. Optimus hopped into the seat, and Magnus went around to the driver's side. He opened the door, and saw Optimus's narrowed eyes at the cut off story. In his seat, Ultra Magnus finished, "Well meaning, but unwise. He's lucky Springer walked by on patrol and split the two up before a fight could break loose."
"He's always been hot headed. Hot Rod always leaps before he looks, no matter what he intends." Optimus said. He rubbed his mouth through his bandana. He didn't need photographs to see Hot Rod standing up to someone and letting his mouth get away with him without thinking. "I wonder where he gets it."
"When you figure it out, let me know," Ultra Magnus said. "I'd like to put them on traffic duty for a week."
Optimus chuckled. "Fair enough, but for now—I'd just like to see him. It's been a long week away from home."
"I couldn't agree more."
Deadlock had Hot Rod in the car. He was in the trunk, but that still counted as in the car.
Deadlock may have been taking things a little too quickly with this whole Hot Rod thing.
He slammed on the breaks as he drifted into the side corner of his favorite empty lot. Far away from Turmoil's place and no where near Gasket. It was a safe place where he could shoot targets, or practice drifting across the dirt when he was stressed, or pick apart dead bodies when he was bored. Home away from home. Deadlock lifted his parking break and kicked his door open.
All it was missing was a shed or a house or hut or something for when it rained.
Deadlock popped open the back trunk of his car and looked around. He had an empty lot surrounded by trees and no lighting. It was good enough.
He pulled Hot Rod out of the trunk and tried not to get too excited holding the limp and warm body in his arms. Holding Hot Rod felt like carrying raw fire. Deadlock's arms were burning and it was spreading to every limb in his body. He needed to wake the kid up and get his head straight. Deadlock needed a good story. And an apology. He needed Hot Rod to not want to call the police on him. Or die. Deadlock wasn't exactly thinking clearly right now and cooperation was in everyone's best interest.
Deadlock carried Hot Rod bridal style and walked over to an outdoor set of lawn furniture he'd set up for when he wanted to take a break. He plopped Hot Rod in a chair and dragged another one over across from him. The air was warm, and the sun was still in the sky, but it'd be gone in another or so. Time was getting away from him.
The Cleaner leaned over and shook Hot Rod. "Wake up."
When Hot Rod didn't sir, Deadlock slapped the kid. "WAKE UP!"
Hot Rod jerked awake, his hand cradling the stinging pain across his cheek. He rubbed the tender flesh and was reminded of that one time Springer decked him. "Ow."
"You're awake! Good." Deadlock said, sitting far too close to Hot Rod's person. There was loose gravel under his feet, and he was sitting in a hideous white chair with red stripes that looked like it'd been painted to match Deadlock's ride. Hot Rod ground his teeth together when Deadlock leaned in again and said, "I'm sorry."
"What?" Hot Rod asked.
"I'm sorry," Deadlock wrung his hands together. He jerked his foot up and down, and looked around nervously. "For hitting you. And panicking."
Two and two came together much faster than Hot Rod would have liked.
Hot Rod had been kidnapped. He was in an abandoned field with a madman and he had been kidnapped. Hot Rod figured it might happen sooner or later in his life, concerning who his dad and mom were and all, but he hadn't been predicting this. Hot Rod looked around the empty yard and nearly said the wrong thing when he spotted shell casings. Instead, he settled on a much safer, "Where am I?"
Deadlock hummed happily. "Do you believe in infatuation at first sight?"
"Huh?" Hot Rod asked. He looked around, and checked for exists. This guy was nuts and Hot Rod might actually need to make a run for it. Deadlock rubbed the inside of his palm with his thumb and bit his lip. His eyes were wide, and Hot Rod swallowed. "Are...are you on something? Because you're looking a little burned out."
Deadlock rolled his eyes and huffed, like he'd been accused of being on boosters a million times before. Hot Rod asked the wrong question. Deadlock leaned forward. "Yes or no? Do you believe in infatuation at first sight? Not love, infatuation. Curiosity. Ever met someone and they just take over your head?"
"No," Hot Rod said. Technically Springer would have qualified if his Dad's stories were any indication, but he didn't want to give Deadlock a single bit of legitimacy to his madness. So Hot Rod lied. "Can't say that I have."
"I did," Deadlock said. He crawled over the space between them, pinning Hot Rod to the chair without touching him. "With you, I mean. Moment we met in the alley way, I knew, that we had a connection. I just can't figure out if I want to break your face or make—ma-mall—go hang out at the mall. I think with enough time getting to know each other, I can figure that out."
Hot Rod leaned away from Deadlock. There was something wrong with this man. "I think right now, I just want to go home."
Deadlock pouted and bit the edge of his lip. "And we could hang out later?"
"Sure," Hot Rod said. Fat chance. "Yeah, but I've got to get home or my Uncle is going to wonder where I am."
"I think you're just telling me what I want to hear."
No shit, Hot Rod thought. This was getting ridiculous. Hot Rod wanted to go home, and that Deadlock guy needed to back off. Now.
Hot Rod slid down in his seat, and pulled his leg up to smash his foot into Deadlock's chest. The man grunted, and let go of the chair's arm. Hot Rod snaked around and under Deadlock's arm, stumbling onto his hands and knees as he scrambled across the loose gravel. He made it two feet before Deadlock tackled his side, shoving his cheek into the rocks and overturning the lawn chair.
Deadlock pulled the boy into a make-shift stepover facelock, trapping Hot Rod's ankle between his thighs, and held Hot Rod's arm against his back instead of grabbing him around the neck. His other hand shoved Hot Rod's face into the ground.
The two breathed heavily, Hot Rod unable to buck Deadlock off him. The madman snarled and pulled on Hot Rod's hair.
"Don't—don't do that again," Deadlock growled in Hot Rod's ear. His voice was deeper. It sounded like a razor slicing through something. Dangerous. Hot Rod breathed harder when Deadlock wrung his hair and pulled tighter. "Do you understand me?"
"Screw you," Hot Rod said, pulling at his arm. "Get off me!"
"Fine," Deadlock sighed. Hot Rod couldn't see him, but he could hear the exhale, and felt the settled weight. Deadlock shifted, and Hot Rod's head was freed. It didn't do him any good, though, as Deadlock still had a grip on his arm. "We'll do this the hard way."
Hot Rod mouth snapped shut when he felt the metal barrel of a gun press into the back of his head.
