Dry Run Read online

  “How long?” he managed to huff out.

  Joe’s brow furrowed, and he stepped up on the side of the treadmill and leaned over to read the display. His grubby little fingers pointed at the green number up in the top left of the screen. Fifteen, it said.

  “Is that how much I got left, or—”

  “That’s how much you’ve run. You’ve got thirty more to go.”

  “Shit.”

  “Feel like you’re going to puke?”

  Devin shook his head. No way would he puke. Joe, that skinny little bastard, wouldn’t let him quit even if he did, of that Devin was sure. All the same, Joe hopped down from the side of the treadmill and retrieved a water bottle. Devin reached for it, and Joe pulled it back and took a long drink. He smirked when Devin growled, but he pushed the bottle into Devin’s outstretched hand. Devin guzzled until Joe snatched the water away.

  “You’re going make yourself sick if you drink too much. It’ll all start sloshing around in your belly and feel awful.”

  This whole shitfest of an experience felt awful. Puking wouldn’t make it that much worse.

  Seventeen minutes. Devin groaned and let his head fall back. This was torture. And it was boring. If he was at home, he could have talked to Tanner and made the time fly. They could’ve played that game where Tanner thought of something, anything, and Devin had to ask yes or no questions until he figured it out. Except Tanner wasn’t home anymore.

  A door slammed behind him, and in the mirror, Devin saw Bea and a beefy guy come into the room. Bea had this expression on her face like she’d stepped in shit, but the guy was smiling all sleazy-like. His smile got even bigger when he lifted his eyes off Bea’s ass and lit them on Joe.

  “Keep running,” Joe said, and his eyes glinted hard and shuttered before he stepped outside Devin’s direct vision.

  Watching through the mirror, Devin saw that Bea wandered off to a jump-rope and faced away from them, but the big guy, he sauntered toward Joe with that smile that showed too many teeth. Devin could smell him when he got close, some kind of harsh chemical smell, like paint or something. There’d been a gallon of paint in the garage at home, and Devin had played with it one day when Tanner was gone. Tanner had just about beat Devin’s ass when he’d come home and seen the bright blue smeared on the walls.

  “Joesy,” the man said. The others all called Joe that, but with them it sounded sweet and respectful. With this guy, it sounded like he’d called Joe something dirty. “Been a while, amigo. I see you got yourself a new boyfriend. Bet you been missing taking it up the ass.”

  The mirror caught the ripple of muscle in Joe’s back. He was a head shorter than this guy, at least. Devin didn’t like his new little fucking dictator much, but he didn’t want him to get hurt.

  “Victor.” That was all Joe said. His voice was even, empty.

  Victor tilted his chin and stared down his nose at Joe. “Thanks for leaving me your snatch before she got all loose and sloppy. I tell you, she—”

  “Let’s say you don’t tell me,” Joe said. “Treat her right.”

  “Oh, Joesy, I always treat the whores just right. Don’t you remember?” Victor stepped closer, into Joe’s space, and cupped his jaw. Devin chanced falling off the treadmill to glance back and see Victor run his thumb over Joe’s lips. “Little Joesy.” Victor would have sounded reverent, except for the sneer. “Always had such a wet, pretty mouth.”

  Devin expected Joe to punch the guy. He readied himself to jump off the treadmill and have Joe’s back the second things got physical. He didn’t like to fight. It wasn’t something he was good at — Tanner had always kicked his ass hard when they’d practiced — but he could handle himself well enough. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Bea watching, the barest hint of concern on her beautiful face.

  They all waited, crystal and frozen in the moment.

  The wait stretched, and the sneer on Victor’s lips died. He was focused on Joe’s face, and whatever he saw there had him dropping his hand and taking a step back.

  “I’ll be watching, Victor. I’ll see. I’ll hear. Respect her.” Joe’s dead voice gave Devin chills.

  Victor popped his jaw and directed his attention to Devin. “Hey blanco, you’re gonna like fucking his dirty little Mexican ass. It’s so tight and hot even us straight boys love it. Or are you a faggot, too?”

  Devin’s feet pounded on the treadmill, and he kept his eyes trained on Joe’s back in the mirror. This fucker may be itching for a fight, but if Joe wasn’t giving him one, neither would Devin.

  “You ‘bout done over there, Joe?” Bea called from across the room. “Victor and I have other training to do if it’ll be a while.” Her face was softer and her eyes held more concern than the anger that Devin had come to expect from her.

  Devin wondered if Joe’s face betrayed any softness.

  “We’re going to be a while still, Bea. I can come find you when we’re done.”

  Bea nodded. “We’ll scout training routes. Should be back in an hour.”

  “Which route are you taking?” Joe asked.

  “Our route six.”

  Devin caught Victor’s cold eyes in the mirror, watching him. He held the gaze until he couldn’t stand the way Victor leered at him. He looked away. When he looked back, Victor mouthed, “White fag.”

  “Let’s go, Victor,” Bea said.

  Victor’s eyes dropped back to Joe. “Little Joesy, always my pleasure.” He made a mocking bow. “Be seeing you, blanco.”

  The smack on his ass by Victor’s broad hand shocked the hell out of Devin, and he stumbled. The belt of the treadmill shoved him off the back of the machine, scraping and burning at his skin as it went. A flurry of movement surrounded him, and he pushed himself up to catch the action.

  Joe was shoving Victor, backing him up between the trash can and the door, which rattled with the force of Victor’s impact against the wall. One of Joe’s hands squeezed Victor’s throat. The other had a vise-tight grip on the man’s balls.

  “Don’t touch my partner,” Joe growled. “Treat Bea with respect and don’t go near my partner. You understand me? I’m going to let you go today because you’re company property, but you touch him again and I will rip off your balls and shove them up your ass.”

  The second he was released, Victor vomited in the trash can.

  “I’ll see you in one hour, Bea,” Joe said.

  Bea nodded and pulled Victor out the door.

  Joe knelt in front of Devin. “I’m going to touch you so I can see how hurt you are.”

  Hurt? What? Devin struggled to catch up. His mind was still stuck on the image of maybe-five-foot-nine Joe handing that hulking psychopath his ass on a platter. The sting of the cut on his elbow when Joe touched it brought Devin hissing back to the present.

  “The fuck!” Devin jerked his arm away.

  “Be still.” Joe’s breathing was heavy, but his voice was calm. “Let me check you over.”

  His hands were gentle as he wrapped them around Devin’s forearms and lifted. There were rug burns on both wrists and at the elbows. Twin abrasions covered Devin’s knees. Joe hummed as he tilted Devin’s face.

  “You fell good. The burn on your jaw is completely on the underside. If you’d scratched up that pretty face we’d have been in real trouble. Lean back and pull your shorts down a bit.”

  “Fuck off.” All that stuff Victor had said burned fresh and loud in Devin’s ears. He wasn’t a fag or a whore. Joe was both of those things, and Devin wasn’t pulling down his pants for that. He pushed at Joe’s shoulder and sent him out of his crouch and down on his ass.

  Joe closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re bleeding through your shorts, big guy. I want to see the damage, see if you need the medic.”

  Embarrassment rippled over Devin for letting Victor get in his head. He lifted his shirt and scooted the hem of his shorts down past the scrapes. Joe didn’t touch him this time.

  “You probably need
to go next door to the medic, but can it wait for twenty minutes?”

  “Whatever. Why?”

  Joe’s mouth set hard. “We need to run.” He got to his feet and stepped onto the treadmill. “Climb up behind me and let’s go.”

  Getting started was awkward. Joe’s body was too close, and he kicked Devin’s shins a couple of times, but they eventually worked out a rhythm. All the while, Devin watched his new partner’s face in the mirror and wondered what the hell kind of man Joe was.

  ***

  Devin found himself slowly adjusting to life in the Flats, what little there was of it. The routine was the same every day: get startled awake by Joe, eat, run, shower, eat, nap, run, shower, eat, sleep. Joe kept fiddling with the treadmill so that every day Devin was running faster and farther. At first, because Devin couldn’t keep up, they’d taken turns running and skipped out on weight training, but now Devin was fast enough that they could run together, though Joe said he was still too slow.

  Devin would never admit it, but he liked it better this way, both of them on the treadmill at the same time. For one thing, when Joe was running, he was caught in his own head and mostly left Devin alone, and not having to hear “Faster, big guy” a million times a run was infinitely appealing. For another, they could lift again, and Devin liked being able to beat Joe at something.

  Once, Zeke and the impish devil-twins, Flix and Marcus, had come in and watched them lift. The guys stood around the bench in awe as Joe piled the max weight across the bar and Devin pressed it, no problem. Then Flix, dimples popping on his baby-fat face, wagered Joe a hand job that Zeke could do more reps than Devin.

  Those big, warm brown eyes of Joe’s narrowed shrewdly and sized up Devin and Zeke, who was Devin’s height but older and burlier.

  “Deal,” Joe said, and surprised the hell out of Devin.

  Zeke displayed his enormous, gentle grin and shook Devin’s hand before they started. It was close, and Zeke didn’t take it easy on him, but Devin won. His arms shook for the last rep, the one that beat Zeke, but Joe was standing there, calculating and quiet like always, and Devin wanted, maybe even needed, to prove his partner’s faith was justified.

  A little half-smirk was all the reward he’d gotten from Joe, but it had been enough.

  Today, though, today was different. They would be running outside. Devin was amped up at the idea of escaping the Flats and looking forward to proving himself.

  “Can we run west? Like into the old downtown?” Devin gave Joe his most innocent gaze and shoved another biscuit in his mouth. God, the food was so welcome. That was what had chased him from the hills in the end, the thought of having to live one more day on a ration of fucking canned tomato paste. Well, mostly that.

  “Like toward the hills?” Joe asked, nibbling at his own biscuit. He didn’t like to eat too heavily for breakfast, Devin had learned. Joe was also a smart fucking bastard.

  “I hadn’t really thought of it,” Devin said, keeping up the charade. “Just thought we’d run without the sunrise in our eyes.”

  Joe rubbed crumbs from his fingers. “Yeah, right. We run north today. Downtown’s west, and downtown’s not safe, not until you can run faster.”

  “You’re a douche, Joe. I run plenty fast. I can keep up with you.”

  “You don’t, you can’t, and do you even know what a douche is?”

  “I do, I can, and it’s you, obviously.”

  Joe pushed away his tray and laid his head on the table. He gave a big sigh and stood up. “You try my patience, child. Time to run.”

  The chair legs scraped the floor as Devin rose and followed Joe through the tray dump and out of the cafeteria. Joe’s tiny running shorts showed off his long, shapely legs, which reminded Devin why he’d sometimes spent hours in his older sister Mattie’s room — with posters of pretty boys on the walls — though after the first time, he had always been careful to be someplace else by the time Tanner got home each night.

  Devin pushed away thoughts of Mattie and the posters and Tanner and got in the elevator with Joe.

  Two floors down, the elevator stopped, and Joe moved close enough that the heat from his body seeped into Devin’s skin. Four boys, hard, angular, and not nearly as attractive as the boys up on A-floor, stepped in and stared at him with undisguised contempt.

  “What you lookin’ at, motherfucker?” the tallest one said. He was almost as tall as Devin, and his face was marred by a thin scar running from the side of his mouth to the outside of his eye.

  Devin dropped his gaze to the floor. “Nothing.”

  “We heard they keeping real white meat up on A,” another one said. His soft voice made the menace more real. A hand touched Devin’s face, tilting his head toward the speaker. “You real pretty, gabacho.”

  “Company property.” Joe’s body slid between the hard boys and Devin, and Devin hated how Joe’s shoulders brushed his chest and would feel him shiver. “Don’t have to like him, but he’s good for business, and what’s good for business is good for the rest of us.”

  Someone spit. “White man’s business ain’t never been good for us, Joesy.”

  Joe tipped his head as though admitting the point. “It’s keeping us fed, amigo,” he said amiably. His voice grew rock hard. “And this boy belongs to me.”

  A hundred times already, Devin had bristled at Joe saying some version of those words, but Victor had scared him, so this time all he felt was a rush of gratitude. He was Joe’s boy, and he’d be that, gladly, if it kept him safe. The threat from these boys was real; Devin smelled it in the sweat and sex and heat of the tiny space.

  The hand dropped from his face. The boys didn’t stop staring, but they backed away. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. The boys stepped out, laughing and shoving each other.

  “You did good, Devin,” Joe said, leading the way into the hall. He turned in the opposite direction of the other boys. “Those boys are angry, and they’ll take it out on you if you give them the chance.”

  Stifling his fear, Devin asked, “What makes them so angry? I mean, angrier than the people I’ve met so far?”

  “Most of us had it pretty bad before we came here, right?”

  Devin nodded. He didn’t really know, but it made sense. Judging by the stories Tanner had told him of the people he’d seen when he was out scavenging during the day, everyone left in Austin had it bad. Little food, thieves, scary diseases. He and Tanner had been lucky, with running water, food, and nice beds.

  “It’s better at Flights of Fantasy for all of us than it was out on the street, but the guys at the lower levels don’t have as nice a setup as we do. Their food isn’t as plentiful. There are more of them crammed in a tighter space. But the worst is the difference in our jobs.” Joe nudged Devin’s elbow, and they stopped outside the requisitions office.

  “How is their job different than ours? We all have to go get chased around by rich guys.”

  “Yes, but” — Joe sighed — “we, the A runners, have one or two runs a day, and we’re rented out to guys who have enough money to pay for an ‘experience.’” He made the air quotes with his hands. “We spend an hour or two letting them chase us around, show them the sights. We’re paid to tease, to be smart, to be pretty. Sometimes, well, a lot of the time, we help clients get their rocks off. But it’s once a day. Two times if we’re in peak season. And the men we have to deal with are required to treat us well or they’re not allowed to come back.”

  “And the guys below us have to do it more?”

  “Exactly. The men that hire them, all they can afford is a fifteen-minute chase through the less interesting parts of the city, followed by a quick fuck. The C and D runners, they have to do those runs four or five times a day, and it always ends with cheap, unpleasant sex. And they get paid less than us.”

  God, that would be a horrible life.

  “Plus,” Joe added, even though Devin had heard enough, “our clients are screened to be free of disease. They’re not allowe
d to have functional weapons. That’s not the way it is for the lower teams. The runners assigned to the low teams, they die or run away in six, seven months tops, most of them.”

  “That’s awful. How can the company do that?”

  “Around 100,000 people lived in Austin ten years ago, most of them kids. If a handful of the lower runners leave or die off every month, two handfuls arrive to take their place.” Joe’s big brown eyes were searching and sad. “We don’t live in a good world, Devin.”

  After that depressing conversation, they checked with Ángel at the requisitions desk and borrowed two of what Joe called vision shields.

  “We’ll have to return them when we’re done, and we’re not allowed to wear them when we’re on a run with customers, but it’s always a good idea to protect our eyes any other time,” Joe said. The shiny metal frames fit over Joe’s eye sockets. He tapped a button on the side, and a thin film spread from one side of the frame to the other.

  “Why? I’ve never heard of wearing these things.” Devin slipped his pair onto his face. As the film slid into place, the world went fuzzy, everything dark and indistinct. He could just make out the shape that must be Joe as it opened a door and led him into the outside world.

  Focus returned, sharper than Devin had ever known. Hints of silver glinted up from the pockmarked street. Each bead of sweat on the back of Joe’s neck glimmered, obvious enough that Devin could count them. The sun shone brightly, like it had the day he left his home, but it didn’t sting like it had then. He squinted, even with the shields, and tried to get his bearings. They’d come out a different door than the one they’d used the day he’d come here.

  “This is amazing,” he said. “I didn’t know we could see this well.”

  Joe’s eyes were obscured, but his mouth tilted upward in a small smile. “We can do all kinds of things, at least with some technological help. There are shields that fix your vision, give you visions, even monitor everything about your life, from your heartbeat to your bank balance. Some of them get implanted right in your eye. These” — he tapped his pair — “are basic and really old, like all the tech we have access to. All they do is keep us from blinding ourselves.