Chapter 1

“Ahab,” Francesco said slowly. “Yes, like in the book. No, I don’t know the last name. C’mon, lady, it’s not like there could be a lot of people named Ahab.” Ah, shit, he needed to control himself. “Sorry about that, really am. It’s just that he’s an old friend, and I don’t know how to find him.”

Two years after he had left that godforsaken island, and he was still searching for Mouse in prisons all over the country. A lot of people didn’t want to give him that kind of information over the phone, so he needed to bend over backwards to go on trips and see those people face to face only to beg them to release a type of information that they weren’t supposed to give away to any stranger off the street.

So far, no success. Francesco had found work at a car workshop, and it paid the bills. He lived in a small rented studio not far from it, and everything he made and didn’t have to go to paying living expenses went into his trying to find Mouse.

Where the hell had Mouse been taken? After all that time, Francesco still recalled that last day on the island to the last detail. And how the hell had he been so stupid never to ask Mouse for his full name? Not that he had asked the others, and none had asked him, either.

Funny how time had a way to put things in perspective, he thought as another negative answer was delivered to him via the phone. In a way, Karl had kept his promise. And in another, he hadn’t. Mouse had been on the chopper with them on the day of their departure. Only that he hadn’t been released to walk free in the world – Karl’s words, not his. No, instead, he had been put in a prison somewhere, and Francesco needed to find where that prison was so that he could go to him.

He ran his hands over his face. Was he some delusional fuck to continue his search after all this time? Two years felt like a lot compared to his age of twenty now, but each day, he woke up with hope that it would be the one when he would find Mouse.

Karl would have such a laugh if he had ever learned that during all this time, for two years straight, Francesco hadn’t fucked anyone. Well, at least, not anyone living and breathing, he thought and pulled his dildo from the drawer. He stared at it for a moment. He had basically chosen it because it looked like it had been modeled after Karl’s dick.

The fucker would think that was romantic or some shit. But Francesco thought only that at least physically wise, Karl must have ruined him for all cocks in existence. Sure, he would have liked a hard throbbing cock in his ass, at least now and then, but he hadn’t found it in himself to go ahead and do it.

He winced at first and then exhaled as he pushed the thing through his well lubed asshole. To think that he had been fucked so hard before when Karl took him whenever it struck his fancy, in all possible ways, and now he took his time with preparing his ass to take the silicone toy.

Not that guys didn’t want to get with him. At least a few times, when he had been aware, some dudes had given him the eye, but Francesco had just turned his head. He didn’t go clubbing, or drinking, or anything that other twenty-somethings did. He was just living and hoping.

And fucking himself with that Karl’s dick lookalike made from synthetic materials. It was enough to close his eyes and remember all of Karl’s hard fucking which the fucker also called loving, and he would come like a hose, over and over again.

Strange enough, he didn’t jerk off thinking of fucking Mouse a lot. Sure, if he did his best to remember those times he had been with both of them, that got him going and he could go at it like there was no tomorrow. He had tried to use two dildos at once, a second longer and slender, but it had been too painful. Silicone toys were nothing like the real thing, so he gave up on the idea.

But he did think of all the good times he had had with Mouse. The way they had used to spend half the night kissing and fooling around. That was something deeper than fucking. And it also kind of hurt, so that was a reason not to go there too often.

Not that he wasn’t tempted to think of his good ones with Karl, too, but he was stopping himself from doing so. With Mouse, he still had a chance, no matter how slim. Even though he had been the idiot to put the guy in the slammer, by not knowing how to strike a proper deal. With Karl, well, there was nothing there.

Karl had been clear. And while Francesco had always suspected that Karl would be forced to forget about him either way, the fact that he had chosen to do so on his own accord still hurt. The road was closed there. And that time, the other boys couldn’t tell him why Karl had gotten so pissed.

Francesco could imagine. Karl had told him that it made him worry whenever Francesco wandered off. And that day, just as they were about to leave the island, he had disappeared completely. Karl must have gone nuts.

“You’ll always be the best, fucker,” Francesco murmured to himself as he wiped his belly.

He grabbed the remote and left the TV on some news channel, as he began to prepare his dinner. It was a lonely life, but it didn’t bother him. For a while, his colleagues at the car shop had tried to rope him in their drinking and clubbing, but he had always said ‘no’. The guy who owned it knew Francesco had done time, but he had been surprisingly accommodating, something along the lines of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’.

His relations with his mom were cold at best, as she knew that he was behind why his stepdad had had to be hospitalized that time and he had been away. Of course, she had no idea why Francesco had put the asshole in there, and she would never know, he had decided.

His eyes traveled to the TV once in a while, something about floods, a war somewhere, or the new wave of crime. He could always switch to something more entertaining. But just as he reached for the remote, his hand froze on it. He pumped the volume up, although it was the picture displayed on the screen that had drawn his attention.

“The senator,” the anchorwoman’s piercing voice said, “was seen in a rare outing with his son.”

Senator. Son. Now that made a whole lot of fucking sense. Francesco hadn’t seen him in two years, but he looked just as handsome as then, or even more now that he was dressed in a suit and had his hair nicely brushed and styled in a modern undercut.

But the look on his face in the pic stolen apparently by some daring paparazzi was that of complete boredom mixed with frustration. His head was cocked slightly toward his father who was explaining something to him by the way he was gesticulating. Francesco doubted Karl was happy to listen to his dad droning about whatever.

“Motherfucker,” he whispered.

“The senator always talked about how his son would not develop a sense of entitlement if he were kept away from the public life,” the anchorwoman continued. The picture zoomed out, and now the woman turned toward a guest she had there with her. “But now, it looks like things are about to change.”

“Yes, indeed,” the guest said, a political analyst by what it was written under his name. “We have it on good authority that we’ll be hearing wedding bells soon.”