Alliance of Shadows, Book 5: LEIF

Teachable Moments

"Explain," Kaden said darkly. "I ain't saying s**t about your past. That's your cross to bear. My concern is that the asshole is gonna go after the kids."

"Never wanted any o’ ye tangled in this, but Seamus showin’ up ruined my peace," I told him.

"Secrecy's gotta end, Leif. Dre's at his wit's end, and I'm about to reach mine," he said, frustration clear in his voice.

I gestured toward the papers in front of me. "Hard it is, goin’ back an’ relivin’ me life before Dreson, Kaden. I’m tryin’, but Seamus ain’t makin’ it any easier on me. If ye want proof, there’s a folder over in the cabinet with pictures in it. Go look."

He pulled open the display cabinet, flipping through the photos. His blue eyes darted between me and the images, his tawny hands shaking slightly. "T-this is bad, Leif. D-does Dre k-know?"

The stutter—something I’d only ever heard when he was really rattled—made my gut twist.

"Aye, he knows," I replied. "It’s part o’ the reason he went te yer father last night."

Kaden exhaled sharply, replacing the folder with careful movements. "I'll leave you to do what you need to but, be warned, Dre’s probably gonna do something to bring everything to light and make the guilty pay. He’s smart like that."

With that, he left the room.

Pen in hand, I stared down at the papers again, the weight of everything still pressing against my ribs. Yet there was something steadier in me now. I had one more person that cared whether I lived or died, and at this moment, that was enough.

I had messed up, telling my friend I was gay. Then again, I had no way of knowing he’d turn around and tattle on me. That was the moment I realized nothing I said or did was sacred in our so-called friendship.

My eleventh birthday rolled around, but instead of cake, presents, and a party, I was dragged—kicking and screaming—into Seamus's father’s sprawling three-storey home in the country.

The walls felt too tall, the air too cold, the space too vast for comfort. It wasn’t a home. It was a place meant to swallow someone whole.

His father handed mine a thick stack of bills, counting each one aloud—slow, deliberate, as if mocking me with every number spoken. No matter how much I begged, pleaded, or fell to my knees, all they did was laugh.

Nothing could cut deeper than knowing your own parents sold you for being different. For refusing to conform. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t waver. They made it clear—this had been their plan since the moment they discovered I liked boys.

I was sold like chattel, no more than livestock, no more than the sheep grazing in the fields.

Seamus looked at me, but there was no guilt in his eyes. No hesitation. Just a strange pride, as if this moment—the fear clawing through me—was something to be proud of.

Actions that were probably going to get me killed.

I shook violently, terror gripping me as I tried to run. Then—sharp pain. A sudden jab in my arm. Turning my head, I saw his father holding a needle, the tip still piercing my skin.

Minutes passed—maybe less, maybe more—but my vision blurred, and my body stopped responding. I was awake. I felt everything—every touch, every movement—but I couldn’t control anything, no matter how hard I tried.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t fight.

They moved me, carrying me somewhere that looked ripped straight from a horror movie. The meds tore through me, forcing my mind to fight against the weight dragging me down.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Blindfolded, I could only listen.

The sounds of lewdness made me wish I could go back in time, back to before I ever told Seamus anything close to me being gay. He had been the first person in my life to stab me in the back, and the realization terrified me. This was how my life was going to turn out.

My eyes went wide as I watched the man pull a small brown bottle from the nearest cabinet, followed by a rag. He tipped the liquid into the cloth, then pressed it against my mouth and nose. A rush of panic shot through me. I finally managed to move my hand, clenching it into a fist as I fought to regain control.

Shocked, I gasped for breath, but all I inhaled was a lungful of ether. It was sweet, intoxicating, just like Seamus had been at first.

Just like Seamus, it was dangerous.

My eyes fluttered, my body slackened, my mind started shutting down, and the last thing I heard was Seamus’s brazen whisper, low and cruel, promising that I would regret putting my trust in anyone.

When I woke, everything hurt. Every muscle, every joint, every part of me felt torn apart. I tried to move, sobbing as I fought against my own unresponsive body, but nothing obeyed me.

I didn’t know what had been done to me. Didn’t know if I had done something to anyone. I just knew it hurt. I glanced around, and the horror deepened as I realized I was chained inside a cage.

"You did very well this weekend, Leif," George said from the front seat. "Perhaps your condition is useful, after all."

My what? Was being gay a condition now?

I wanted to ask since when, wanted to demand answers, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Speaking meant acknowledging him. Speaking meant opening myself up to more pain, and I had enough of that already.

George laughed. "I’ll be surprised if the number o’ men in the club don’t double by next weekend. Learned anythin’, Leif?"

Yeah, I thought darkly. Trust no one. Good people don’t exist.

I remembered nothing of what happened as I drew my knees to my chest and cried in the cold, dark space that was a prison in itself. I didn’t know how long I was there or how long it would last before someone noticed I was gone and came searching for me.

There had to be someone, right?

******

I set the pen down on the table and stretched out my aching back. Keys rattled in the front door, signaling Dreson's arrival home. Glancing at the clock, I smiled.

I truly loved that man to bits, and it was no wonder. Finding him had given me a new lease on life, a life I had long ago given up on.

His shoulders sagged as he stepped inside, the tension in his frame melting away when he spotted me.

"Evening, love," I said as he kissed my forehead. "I haven't cooked anything."

"That’s perfectly fine. I'll just order a few extra-large pizzas so we can feed the bottomless pits in the game room," he muttered.

Pulling out his phone, he placed the call to the local pizza parlor, ordering two extra-large pies, two cheesecakes, and three two liters of soda.

He turned back to me, resting his head on my shoulder as he sighed heavily. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," I answered, wrapping my arms around him.

Closing my eyes, I soaked in his warmth, breathing in his familiar scent, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing ground me.

When the food arrived, Dre and I claimed our slices and a few for the kids. Rowan and Cece were on their way with Heather and Conner, so we made sure to tuck some food aside for them. Meanwhile, Colton and Kaden had caught the scent of the takeaway and were now fighting over the remains.

The next morning, we woke to the blaring of the alarm clock. I groaned, slamming my hand over the pause button, then dragged myself out of bed and stretched out the stiffness in my back before heading downstairs to start breakfast for the children.

A few minutes later, Dre joined me, moving with a naturally fluid grace that said he was tired but alert. His presence was familiar, comforting, the silent rhythm of our morning unfolding without words. We moved around each other, falling into an easy routine as the sounds of the kids preparing for school filtered through the house.

Steam curled from my tea as I took slow sips, savoring the warmth. Across from me, Dreson cradled his customary cocoa, letting the heat sink into his hands.

"Heather, do you have your gym clothes?" Dreson questioned as he helped Conner with his coat and shoes. We’d recently taken to teaching him how to tie them, but until he got into his rhythm, we sent him with Velcro footwear.

"Yes, Daddy," she replied, grinning up at him as she propped her foot on my knee. I adjusted the buckles of the tiny shoes she had picked out on our latest shopping trip. "Is it Papa's turn this week?"

He nodded, brushing the tip of her nose with his finger. "Yes, munchkin. Now, unless it's someone you two know, do we talk to strangers?"

Since Seamus had decided to show up on Friday, we had taken to teaching our little angels about the dangers of talking to strangers. Something I wished someone had taught me a long time ago.

Conner’s eyes went wide as he shook his head. "N-no, 'cause s-s-stranger is d-danger, right, Papa? And we need to ask f-f-for the s-s-secret c-c-code before we go with anyone."

"Aye," I said gently. He had been the first to understand my unique way of speaking, telling me one night as I was tucking him in that it reminded him of his mother. According to him, she had a very similar accent to mine, proving that our children found grounding in the small, subtle ways we’d been taking care of them.

That alone made me happy.