Hi guys! Are you okay? I hope so! Thanks for all the reviews.Credits: Crossfire by Stephen (great music - I recommend!). When I was your man by Bruno Mars. Lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid. She knows by J Cole. That's what listening to music while writing fanfic results on. Mention of a real restaurant in Chicago.Anyways, I should stop the introduction and start for once the chapter, right? So let's go!
'Man, you are making it unbearably hard. Let's test out the function first.''No, leave me alone.''Tomorrow night we are having the party and you are being the fucktoy.' Hands passing his bruised torso. 'There will be plenty of people anxious to play but since the master told me about you...after seeing you…You are one hell of a kind, I didn't know the police contracted bitch to work inside.' Giggles. 'I'm as anxious to bury my cock inside your tight ass. You're all mine fucktoy to play with now. You are participating in this as well.' Smirk. Predator-eagle eyes. Palm on his unclothed and flaccid member. 'Get hard for me, whore! You are handsome." Kisses down his chest. "You are being so good to me, getting deliciously hard. Let me use you now."'AAAAAAAAAA Fuck!' Crying out in pain. Pain. Excruciating pain. Fight.'Disgusting worthless filthy slut!' Grave, hoarse and breathless voice. Raged predator-eagle eyes. Kick. Stars in his vision. Unconscious world. Murmuring. Slap. Slap. Slap. Giant black eyes. 'You thought it hurt when your master raped you? I'm not as forgiving as him. You take what I give you. You deserve this!' Brutally thrust in and out.'Why are you doing this?''Because that's why you were born for. You are nice and tight, boy, perfect for this. You just don't want to admit it but you are enjoying this as much as I do. Tomorrow night...you will finally comprehend...and appreciate...someone will give your mouth something better to do instead of saying shit...fuck this tight delicious ass…when we fuck you simultaneously from both ends, slut…' Pain.
Why does he still have to wake up sweating cold and shivering, caught in a crossfire of nightmares instead of the sound of birds and the light of the sun? The great nature. Or rather wake up at the sound of police arresting these maniacs and calling out his name? The greatest sound. He'd trade anything for freedom. For not waking up stuck in the middle of the violent streets and the tyranny; he is being deprived of all that he should be blessed with. For waking up from these horrendous nightmares with his phone buzzing because they got a case, or his immediate presence in the station to bureaucracy or the team reuniting in Molly's for a round of beer and laughs. For waking up and seeing he is side to side with Erin.
Wake up sooner than her with her small sleep half-naked form between his strong hug. Whisper in her ear good morning, how beautiful, strong and sensational she is, how much he loves her because she was already awake by the hour but enjoyed the laziness. Hearing her contagious loud laugh while she turned around in his hug to her hazel eyes meet his green ones. Connect his lips with her velvety one. They talk about stuff and compliments about the night before and, in between twenty words, ninety 'I love you' are uttered. Suddenly, she is on top of him, her body, face, and hair beautifully shinily perfect. An angel. An angel he wished he could have passed more time with. He should have bought sunflowers, her favorite flower in the world that match incredibly well with her. He should have taken her more out to the restaurant. He would have held her hand to the dance floor and put his insecurities to the side and danced with her, what she loved. He should have said more that he loved her. She used to be his woman. He used to be her man. This isn't a nightmare, it's a real-life circumstance, one where she isn't by his side and never will be. One where eventually, she will be another man's woman. Another man will be her man. He just hopes her new lover will be better than he was, doing all the things he should have done while he was hers and she was his.
For waking up and finding out Hank isn't dead. Finding out that it ain't his fault, isn't his responsibility, his boss' and father figure's blood isn't on his hands. It would be hilarious, ridiculous, embarrassing and Hank would want to decapitate him at the sounds of everyone's laughs and interrogation looks, but he would hug him tightly. Even receiving a punch right in the face for the man and a hugely 'what the hell is wrong with you, Halstead?' in his unique and uncopied grave voice would be excellent to reaffirm it isn't his imagination acting and he is awake. A hug, a scream, and a punch to confirm he is alive and healthy. What will never happen, all because of him? Yes.
The drug effects are gone. Where's Nathan or Bunker or any of the henchmen when he needs drugs? The pain returns. His arms are agonizing from the time in the air without the support and for the stretched-out position on the ground, he lifts his weight to lean on the wall behind him. His rear is hurting like a bitch from the night before events. A different strange scary weight on his neck gets his attention. He wonders what the hell could be when his memory answers for him. Black collar, which was written slut in silver. The collar. It must be the collar around his neck. The whip's cuts on his back might get an infection from the unprotected contact on the dirty floor and the rest of his body is the personification of mess. The personification of trash. He is being torn to pieces, skin, bones. His heart was a fragile glass and his mind was made of stone, nowadays, his heart and mind are in ruins of what was once an empire built entirely by him. The sound of the lock is heard and all his body shivers, waiting for what might come next.
"Good morning, whore, or should I say good afternoon." He's been sleeping for almost a whole day according to Nathan, right behind him, Bunker, both in super stylish and fancy clothes. "I heard about yesterday's entertainment with our host. Did you like, Bunker?"
"I can't wait to bury myself into his tight white ass again," Bunker says, masturbating himself and devouring his naked shape with the giant predator eyes.
"Oh, I could see from the photos. It made me horny and wishing you." He takes a pile of photos from his back pocket and observes again, horny from the content on it and intriguing a sick curiosity on the prisoner detective. "Someone seems curious." He savagely glances at the host, goes in his direction, kneels, and shows the photos one by one. Jay's breath engates in his throat and his eyes water as the man starts to laugh statistically. Various photos of him. His unconscious, naked, tied up, shape laying down on the ground, a genuine, drugged, and a weak smile on his face, blood coloring the inside part of his tights and the leather black collar locked around his neck. He wants to throw up when he realized that Bunker had taken the photos after his passing out.
"Please take this away from me" Give me drugs instead. He curls up in a ball, lowering his head between his knees, shame from his shit. Suddenly, a hand is going from behind his tight, reaching his genitals and squeezing. Jay groans and melts his protective position to stretch out at the touch, tears streaming down his face, waves of pain and pleasure passing from the tiptoe to the head.
"Moreover, I heard about your misbehavior at the entrance with his guys," he gestures to the kneeled injured man and the cutter lip man, both entering the room, the first limping slightly and a purple bruise in the swollen lip of the second man. "you did exactly what I told you to not commit. You are a shame!" Two parts of him conflict with the phrase: a part is browsing a smart phrase to piss the man off while the other is reminding of the punishment it might occur in case he says a creative curse and his past. His need for heroin at the instant is unsustainable. "Even though I think you deserve a hell of a beating for it, today isn't appropriate. We are partying soon. You can't be so destroyed to our guests satisfy themselves in you and shatter you. Although I think we should do a little of a test drive to verify the quality of the product. What do you guys think?"
"I agree," Bunker says, excited as a child on Christmas in the hour of the present's opening. "Later we finish the preparation and start for real." He nods to the henchmen, they promptly understand the request and go away.
"No, please, leave me on my own, that's all I ask." Give me drugs instead. The hand on his cock travels to a bunch of his hair and pulls him up, crying out until he is on his feet. Then, the same grabs Jay swiftly by the neck, pushing him against the wall violently, his head hits the concrete with a broken bone sound, the boy whimpers despite himself and Nathan invades abruptly his mouth. His right hand continued holding his neck, intensifying the bruising kiss and inhibiting a fight of the other man, while the other slapped down on his ass causing the submissive man to flinch, automatically reaching up to push away, but instead, the dominant used his position pressed to the wall to benefit. In one move, Jay is hiked up into his arms and the hand on his ass grabbed his thigh and yanked it upward, pressing his pelvis against the chained man to keep him balanced, forcing the prisoner to wrap both legs around his waist, smiling broadly and maliciously. Jay doesn't even want to think about where his genitals are or his rapists and yanks his face away fighting to regain his breath and against threatening tears, Anderson takes this opportunity to trail wet open-mouthed kisses down the neck's line and bites the junction of his shoulder and neck. Jay arches into the pain, freezing when he chuckles darkly.
"Like a little pain, whore?" He hangs limp as the man ravages his neck. He knows that, once Nathan gets bored, he will be passed around like a party favor, and that is exactly what happened. Nathan some hour later steps back but Bunker doesn't give time to him to inhale and exhale before colliding his enormous structure into his small frame against the wall, enjoying the yell from his lips to invade abruptly his mouth way too much. The torment started all over again. Bruising kiss. Slap. Flinch. Lifting to his legs wrap around his waist. Wet open-mouthed kisses on the neck. Bite the junction of shoulder and neck, this time opposite Nathan's. They are like puppies with a toy, handling, licking, and kissing him all over. Jay, exhausted, slides to the floor shivering and covered in saliva at the end. He closes his eyes for a moment, praying for the unconscious world to welcome him or a heroin dose to knock him out for good, but rough palms and a weird grip on the penis startle him back to reality. He lifts his head and widens his eyes when sees the fluorescent pink cock ring around his cock turned on, the vibrations sending immeasurable shivers throughout the length of the penis and the body, in addition to the machine doing its job in letting him erect gradually, as he writhes in the task of removing the device, the more vibrate until he gives up altogether. The men burst out laughing.
"No, masters," the words come dragged and sentimentally, he refers to both males standing above him like two vultures flying over carrion and pleas for mercy, as using the nickname was going to make a difference in the obscure and sexual behavior "I'll do whatever you want, I promise, but take this shit out of my body."
"Shut your fucking mouth!" Putting the index finger over the sentimental man's lips, Nathan says softly, understating the depth of the uttered terms. "You are doing what we order with or without your consent or promise and we are ordering you to use this gorgeous cock ring on our body." He gestures to him and the other man. "This masterpiece isn't yours, it's mine and his. Look at these initials on your belly. NA. Do you understand that it means that you are mine, bitch?"
"Yes, master. I'm yours. Sorry."
"You are rewarding your terrible behavior at this damn party. Besides, we should go upstairs, your first guest has already arrived!" He unlocks the handcuff for a second to put it together in front of him. Jay sighs for not having his hands behind him and gives a rest to his sore shoulders but is still tied up, a horrible attribution and an obstacle to a possible escape if opportunity knocks so he tries his best puppy dog's eyes to implore for freedom.
"My hands…"
"Trust is built. I know you want your hands to have vantage in escaping, don't make me a fool." Nathan acknowledges his plan and, to confirm he isn't going to be made a fool, takes out a pistol from the waist and points to his chin. "Do shit and I will stick this baby angel in your mouth and ass so deep you aren't walking anymore!" He threatens profoundly and obscurely as his brown eyes can. "Walk." He gets pushed along the corridor and back upstairs. Upon opening the doors, the darkest and poorest darkness is replaced by the bright-lit and chic environment that blinds his no-used eyes as he is led to the living room, under the spiral staircase.
Like the rest of the house, the room is associated with those on the richest decoration magazines, giant, fancy, and golden. More hunting bounty and hunting weapons hanging all over the walls. Right in front of him, a dinner table decorated with a bouquet anticipates three long sofas and a 50-inch television on the left wall. Nathan passes through him and greets three people sitting on the first one as well as one on the other, men to be specific, and points in his direction. The men turn their heads. He freezes abruptly. Except for the securities, the men of the apparent same age and financial power - what the drugs, people, animals, and guns world's trafficking can enrich the emperors is implausible - are wearing equally white clothing, drinking wine, smoking cigarettes, and devouring his naked shape. Rows of heroin powder are ready to be inhaled on a mini table in front of them; his eyes water, his feet tingle, and his teeth grind of desire... no, no, no, not again. Even at their considerable beloved distance, their bad breath can be felt, and he avoids warning sarcastically - what hell's will for it though - at least for now. He analyzes one by one in particular.
The first on the right, wide grins his gold-plated canines, dread rising in his stomach and Jay makes a mental note to, under no factors, get near this bastard, his chances to utter a sarcastic remark and suffer a punishment later about his horrible color's taste and how ridiculous he is is as tremendous as this mansion.
The middle man is full of tattoos, an evil face - he certainly knows his job role and wants to kill him - and a giant rapper-like necklace with a golden cipher around his neck. Tattoos indecipherable, probably related to the super successful street gang he owns - not wanting to stereotype but he's worked long enough on the force to recognize a street gang boss.
The leftmost - again, not wanting to stereotype and underestimate - looks like a finicky rich angry boy raised by his grandparents with all the possible and impossible perks in apartment condominiums. In every aspect; from the way he is sitting on the sofa, to how he turns his wineglass in his right hand and places the cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his left hand, to the arrogant and mediocre kiss sent his way, making him huff in rage.
The isolated man's reaction to the situation is far from impassive or brutal or devouring or intimidating. Is frighteningly friendly. Know when someone is recognizing you but, despite your biggest effort to suchlike the idealization to not embarrass the surroundings, you're not recognizing the same? That's what goes on. Immediately, the stoic face collapses, and, for the first time since Hank's and himself's, a sorry, angry, human, caring and friendly glance is directed at him - a miracle - he quickly watches the other's reaction and disastrously disguising and imitating the most fake-looking predator equally. Could he be the only human besides him recognizing how inhumane and criminal is the fact involved? Could he be a possible ally? Where is this man from? The browsing system from known people in his brain is failing. He starts thinking about the many possibilities of knowledge the mysterious, intriguing, and compassionate man when the bad breath intensifies from behind his right ear.
"Well, well, well, look at what we have here, a former cop with a whore's body. Hot! Handsome!" The rightmost man with golden canines, circling and inspecting the nude form from every angle and for every detail. "I can see you are staring at it." He points at the drug above the table. "Do you want a shot?" Nods vehemently. "Did the cat eat your tongue or are you dumb? Verbalize!"
"Yes sir, I want, please." He emphasizes the please, glad he can mitigate his drug need finally. He loses the worried, angry, sorrowful look from the mysterious man about the phrase. He is quickly injected without protests and everyone smiles proudly, Jay smiles silly and genuinely, and the man smiles falsely.
"Let me ask you something, boy." The leftmost says. "Do you still possess your police uniform and objects? It is seductive to use your handcuffs in you to fuck you?" He asks seductively, making everyone laugh.
"If you want them so badly, take me home so that I can use them on you with immense pleasure. I take it and buy a toothbrush and toothpaste for everyone because the breath is worse than rotting cadavers. When was the last time you brushed your teeth, you bastards?" How coherent, playful and brave he sounded even though he is drugged is impressive. The known unknown man sighs loud and looks at the ground. Is he aware that is going to suffer reprimanding for his words? He knows. He knows that he knows too; that's why the look away. He is expecting a kick or punch, instead, the golden canines' man seizes his hair and jerks harshly to force him down to his knees.
"I and Bunker are going to give privacy to you all." Nathan announces. "Enjoy the party and him. Soon the others are coming." He says to the visitors. "Behave!" He shouts and disappears.
"You know the procedure, tough boy, execute it." No, he doesn't have any idea of what he is demanding. Looking at the man's eyes who, in turn, is looking at him and down, followed his gaze to his clothed genitals. He regrets it. He matches the vision plus the speech equally in the procedure. Now he knows what he is demanding. "Do it willing or forcefully." He lifts his shirt, shows a gun, unholstered. With shaking hands, he unbuckles the man's belt, unbuttons his pants, pulls down the zipper and the man's underwear to reveal the erection. He regrets it. He challenges him. "Shy boy, let me guide you this time." He seizes his hair and pulled his head down onto his penis. He pushes Jay's head down and continues to push it until he is down to the base. The extremely filled and ripping in twice sensation returns in his superiority. Suffocation. He gags around the massive member, desperate for air, digs his nails into the man's thighs, and cries; the vibrations reverberated on the man moaning and pulling him impossibly closer. The taste is salty. The scent is awful as the bad breath, preferable to be in the morgue smelling cadavers than smelling him, now impregnated in his brain. Determined to end rapidly, he moves his mouth up and down the man's erection, rubbing and massaging with his tongue, teeth, inside part of his cheeks. He moans when he moans for the second time, thrusting his hips brutally forward and letting his head fall. The detective swallows convulsively when he is forced further down as the men cummed. Looked like he is eating plain salt soaked in an acidic gooey hot liquid parked on the tip of his tongue. "That's such a bitch! Swallow it!" After a long moment, he obeys. He is thrown to the floor, where he covers his mouth with his tied hand, holding down the vomit. "Next!"
"No…" urge to vomit "go away…" he, like a fish out of water, struggles to get distance from the men. He manages 1 meter away until he is stopped by a pair of hands on his ankles forcing him to turn onto his back. He looks above and sees the tattooed man. He picks him by his arms, slamming him down on one of the columns in the room, tidying his handcuffed hands on it with rope. Jay watches peripherally the still sitting man. Besides the man seemingly knowing his identity, he is the only one not hurting him. Is the only one not doing anything at all, he is in a trance, in the moon's world.
"Daniel!" The leftmost man says. The man in question, now named Daniel, lands from his orbit around the Earth and concentrates fully on the speaker. "You are new to our group. Let's test out your loyalty. Rape him." He trembles. Unbelievable. Jay can't believe what is happening right in front of him. The man looks forsaken, petrified, and terrorized for the order, his eyes reverberate his emotions to the surface, a lonely and solitary 5-year-old boy, his old self. He wants to deny the order but knows he will suffer retaliation for it. The mere feeling of hurting the young lad is causing shivers down the men's spine and pity for his part for the crossfire aiming at him intentionally. If he is telling the truth - what he honestly thinks he is because of his corporal language - whoever this man is, was caught in a criminal lie badly far from the expected and doesn't want to be there anymore. Nowadays, not even among criminals, there is purpose's honesty. He is the only one hesitant to hurt him, not intentionally at least even last forcefully.
"Can I beat him up a little? It's better." The man finally finds his voice.
"Do or die!" The middle man points his gun at him. Daniel puts his hand in the air and tries to argue the lack of necessity and willingness to harm the youngest, his eyes making a constantly unstable equilateral triangle in the air: gun, the man holding, and the prisoner.
"Just do it!" Jay shouts out. Everyone looks at him, perplexed. Yes, he is aware that he is kinda permitting the only rational man to beat him or rape him despite tears watering at the thought of being physically or sexually abused, again. No, nonetheless, he can't testimony the death of the only rational man in this horrific manner in front of him from denying raping him. He can't carry this guilty. He has to carry a lot of deaths, his boss' death included, another will be too much. He ignores the other people to look directly at the insecure and almost crying man. "Do it. That's ok."
"Shut the fuck up you! Go!" Smiling uncontrollably, the middle man gestures with the gun to force him to get on with the crime. Jay squeezes his eyes shut to not see the helpless glance. The man steps on his vulnerable belly four times as strong and revengeful as his resentful form permits to please the others and not get killed, leaving him writhing on the floor in pain as he fights to breathe, blocking his previous realization. A pause. The man looks to the three main tormentors inquiring unspokenly if it is enough. They shake their heads, pressing him to continue the torture.
"I can't rape him. Give me the knife. I'll harm him equivalence to a rape!" Jay is unsure he can feel relieved that someone is choosing to not rape him deliberately and commonly or being terrified that the man might have signed his death sentence for denying the order and, at any time, a shot will ring through the golden mansion.
"You are doing both. Ultimate decision." The second man answers impatiently and delivers a knife to the companion, still pointing the gun at him more closely. He ignores the curse and advances on him. Starting directly over his pronounced left hip bone, he digs in the tip of the knife, dragging the knife across his flat stomach over his right hip bone and under the horrendous and nauseating initials NA, pulling a scream from the tied-up person. The man faces the gun, sees that he is obligated, and leans above the tied man.
"I'm truly sorry, Detective Halstead." He whispers in his right ear. Jay's eyes widened. The man knows who he truly is. He didn't sound mockery, ironic or sarcastic in his words, indeed, he is truly sorry, ashamed of what he is about to do. He isn't a true criminal. He passes his hands around his sides, rubbing up and down his bruised and multi-colored chest and stomach, resting in his hips for a second then continuing moving his hand down to palm the man's member. Meanwhile, his lips lick, kiss, and bite lightly up his legs towards his center, but purposely bypassing it, leading Jay to moan and cry out when he starts jerking him into hardness. He sobs out as he releases onto his hand. The man steps back immediately with his dirty hand, the liquid slowly dripping all over his forearm. "I'm going to wash. Excuse me." The man storms out of the room.
"Well…" the tattooed man says, looking suspicious to the others with the man's behavior, but shrugs his shoulders and continues. "...let's continue the party!"
"No…" Jay doesn't want anything to continue. He wants to talk with the known unknown man, lighten his identity, and why he is being sensible and prudent.
"We aren't selfish, we have to share you, it would be unfair." The man says, tearing his clothes off. He is the largest of the group and, consequently, the most brutal. The cruel grin can be proof of his deduction. He writhes as hands gripped his hips and the largest throws him face down onto the concrete floor and enters into him, shuddering in pleasure at the blood-curdling agonized scream that rings through the room and trying to memorize which of them with every thrust. He thrusts the boy's body, ruthless, violent, and savage pace as Halstead collapses bonelessly to the floor. "You scream beautifully well but someone gives his mouth something better to do, hm?" He widens his eyes and let the tears fall at the statement, his vision blurs and when he realizes, an elephant's weight crushes his bare and bruised chest, and one of the men grabs his hair and jerks his head up, forcing his penis into the young man's mouth. "This kid was born to be fucked from both ends…" He chuckles. Minutes later, they drive in with a groan and hold for several long seconds, ejaculating a fire inside the detective's ass and mouth.
"The cavalry arrived." The doorbell rings. Thousands of enthusiastic male voices burst through the hallway and entered his room. Jay is miserable.
"Please...please please no. No! No more! Kill me! Just kill me! Let me die! Let me be with him..." Jay cries and screams his lungs out. No one hears. The whole nightmare starts all over again. Eight hours. The entire night is spent like this. Halstead is given no rest, no reprieve, for eight hours. The men apparently knew the Kama Sutra decorated in their minds and wanted to have Jay in every possible position. He is forced to suck them off, choking him on every thrust. They even urinated on him for an hour, some urine on his body or hair or inside his mouth, those holding his head in place until he swallowed the yellow liquid completely. He was fucked until he could not think straight anymore, he lost count of time, people, and positions. He watched his overstimulated, overwhelmed and sweaty body being used like a sex doll, ass and mouth wide open for numerous penis, he let himself be raped again and again, he let himself be drugged again and again, without fighting back, his senses and mind were numb, moaning, whimpering and crying for more. Yes, he asked for more rape. But it's not what you think, he isn't a sadomasochist, but the heroin as an aftermath is a pleasure medicine to get through this shit so he asked for more rape for more drugs. He did it. If his counts are right - which he truly doubts - he was raped by at least 30 men repeatedly. When it was over, he wasn't able to open his eyes, imagine walking and getting downstairs with his bare feet, so whoever was calling him to go back to the cellar was obliged to carry him downstairs and, dissatisfied and spitefully, put him tidying up and laying on the ground leaning the back wall. Three things he knew for this night before passing out: 1.he would be hungover the next day. 2.everyone is ashamed and disappointed with him. 3.where is that mysterious known unknown man?
Hours before…
He sexually abused a police officer.
He runs. He runs faster and more distance than on the day of the physical fitness test to enable him to enter the Police Academy or the professional runners run in marathons like São Silvestre from São Paulo. He runs until his vision is so blurry he can't see anymore, his legs give up moving, the vomit escalates the Mount Everest that is his trachea, and starts putting his stomach out on his knees right in the middle of the high canopies and thick perfectly lined tree trunks' forest circling the wine mansion. After emptying his gut with the delicious brunch he had pizza from Spacca Napoli, he leans against a tree, shouting curses enough to serve to the next two generations of the man inside the mansion. He looks at his hand, still dirty from cum. He feels dizzy. A sound of a water current is heard and he decides to wash his forearm into it. He wants to take a shower. He wants to be brainwashed. He cleans the liquid evidence of the most horrendous and hideous crime that existed in the world and he just did it to protect himself and his cover, however, no matter how much he rubs himself until his arms peel, the sensation, the guilt, the shame, the memories are forever stuck on his mind.
He sexually abused a police officer.
He gets up and walks in circles, calming down his hundred miles per hour speed mind. Do you have a notion of what is passing on his mind? What was just his primer undercover assignment to take down the gun and drugs trafficking owned by Mario Walton installed at Carbondale, south of Illinois state. 5 hours south of Chicago. 5 hours south of his home. 3 days ago, reverberated all over Illinois and neighboring states that Nathan Anderson had Detective Jay Halstead from District 21's Intelligence Unit in custody and was abusing him after releasing his boss, Sergeant Hank Voight. Of course, when Walton told him about the drug negotiations with a Nathan guy, coincidentally they have the same name he thought, he would never imagine that it was Nathan. He would never imagine he would see Halstead. He would never imagine he would have to kick an already beaten-up and whipped Halstead. He would never imagine he would have to abuse sexually an already abused sexually, molested and raped Halstead. What wasn't in his imagination transformed into reality, a massive and painful reality.
He sexually abused a police officer.
He calms himself down after a long 20 minutes. He has to come back although he doesn't want to. First thing first, he has to give some calls. He curses Mario again for picking his phone away at the entrance door because the fun inside was so freaking amazing that a technology device couldn't distract him. He has to find a way to call his boss or, at best, call Voight about his guy. Chicago needs Detective Halstead. His unit needs Detective Halstead. Detective Halstead needs salvation.
That's it for chapter 13! Did you guys like the party? And how much this person can be helpful at Jay's rescue. It won't be immediately right now, more things will happen before he is saved! Hope you liked this one! See you soon!