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Singled-out

Book Two

Singled-out Page 22 Book 2

Singled-out

Book Two 22

10. TROUBLESOME TIMES 241. Chain gang 242. Hard labour 263. Home-sweet-home 284. Lab rat 30

11. STOCKADE 325. Shit-pile 326. Solidarity 347. Fresh meat 368. Lesson taught 389. Dawn 4010. One proviso 42

Singled-out 3 Book 2

Singled-out

10. Troublesome timesChain gang

What fucker would get his own personal prisoner galley? Rich spoiled brats like Mortensen Jr, usually they got themselves a speedboat. A yacht where they could take the girls and show off their wealth. Mortensen did do his women aboard his own personal vessel. He did fuck his way across the bay. Showing off that ultimate riches .. his power over other men. Having it away while he was rowed around by stupid fuckers who’d got up his nose.

Where the hell they were when they docked, Logan had no idea. But the boat suddenly burst with activity. Five other men were hauled up from the hold. Like Logan as good as naked. They looked done-in from the time spent below. Stuck down in the airless furnace of the hold.He felt one man glare at him. Logan sensed this thoughts. Who was this sonovabitch? What was so special about this cocksucker? He got to travel above decks. Breathing in sea breezes. In his own private accommodation. How much you pay for special privileges, cocksucker, that angry glare seemed to ask? Why you have it so good? Logan had no doubt. He was paying. Paying over the odds.

They came for him in the cage. He’d already watched the others have thick leather collars laced around the neck. Now like them, his hands had been laced to the collar. The thongs hung down his back from the collar, they were soon looped around his wrists. Hands round the back of his neck, his arms trapped alongside his head. All before Logan had his leg irons fitted and was jostled on to dry land. To join the rest of them, an new half-dozen Mortensen victims, all with arms raised behind their heads. Were they too wondering what the hell was this about? And where was this all leading them? Did they wonder what had singled THEM out? Logan didn’t have to. That pair of pricks he’d employed that had kidnapped Mortensen Jr .. they had answered that question.

What the hell DID Mortensen Jr have planned for him? Best not think about that .. best go with the flow. The flow was down on the quayside. The sun rising, the heat increasing. The six of them got jostled into line. A chain had been threaded through the crook of an arm, from one prisoner to the next, from the back to the front. Stringing them into a line. Bound together. Impossible to escape. Logan was not surprised to find himself placed in the middle of the line. Chained as one together .. impossible for him to get away. Like Logan, the others’ nakedness had been barely covered. A cord tied around their hips, front and back a piece of dangled rag for some covering. A Mortensen Jr fashion statement. All the rave, everyone was wearing it. This season’s latest, it seemed.

The sun was high by the time the line of men set off. A guard yelled out the rhythm. Left, right .. the clanking leg-irons dragging at their ankles as they walked. A slow march that would accompany their tracks across the sun-parched earth. Bound together with leg-irons and rope, clothed in as-good-as-nothing, they were marched bare-foot over the barren earth. It was hot, the rays of the sun stinging. Logan had known it bad, he had endured hardships. But this slow traipse through a sun-baked wilderness under the harsh touch of an evil sun .. it was no picnic.


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A chain gang .. for fuck’s sake! First a slave-galley. Now Ancient Rome’s coffle of captured slaves. That was where he had ended up? Mortensen’s plan for him? Logan had no illusions .. it was not that he looked made for hard work .. not his muscular build that had brought him here. He had earned his place. He had drawn first prize. Sent here by order of Mortensen Jr .. to be kept somewhere safe …. Until Mortensen returned, sent for him. And could deal with him. At his leisure.

ЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖ


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Hard labour


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Caption

He had sweated under the sun in his cage. But in this wilderness the baked earth gave back its heat .. they were being baked like on a furnace. This slow march in leg-irons was like walking barefooted over white-grey embers.

The sweat ran. And all the time the ponderous clanking of their footsteps pounded out a slow strength-draining pace. Chained together, forced to step out in unison, Logan’s foot stepping into his neighbour’s footprint in front. Automatons, like zombies. A slow depressing march .. every step bringing them closer to a miserable fate. And whatever surprise Mortensen had in store for Logan.

A shape materialised in the heat mirage. A gang of about twenty men. From afar, Logan heard the grunts. The distance closed, Logan saw the effort. Men were pulling an impossibly heavy rectangle of brown rock. Hauling behind them a huge boulder. The height of a man, just as long.

This was ancient Egypt .. slaves building the pyramids. A half-cube of heavy rock. Hauled by near-naked men. The grunts of straining .. Egyptian-slave-like. Their straining spewing on the over-heated air as Logan’s own slow troop clanked past.

All heavily muscled .. reward of endless back-breaking hard work. Deeply tanned .. a life baked under a pitiless sun. Filthy, dishevelled .. but seemingly well-fed. Grub to keep them alive .. to spend the agony of this life at the Mortensen’s behest.

Past agonised straining men Logan trudged. Men struggling, guys suffering. Their bodies were caked in sweat-streaked dust. Their backs red-streaked with signs of a harsh regime. Whips cracked above their heads. The stripes they wore bore witness to the bite of the cane. Stinging across straining bent backs.

Logan breathed in the dust, his fate had just passed him by. This surprise vacation Mortensen Jr had paid for him.



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Home-sweet-home

Unbelievable. It was like he was locked in some sword-and-sandals movie. Ancient Rome? Pharaoh’s Egypt? Or even some parallel universe, on another planet. Or just a mad Mortensen Jr wet-dream.No such luck. This was the here. This was the now. Logan had landed up in Mortensen’s surprise gesture. A holiday home, specifically tailor-made for Logan. Special treatment, fully paid-up.

Orders barked out. Another springy cane tore across the shoulder of the prisoner next to him .. barging them all into line. They had been marched single file over the baking wilderness towards the looming mountains. The sun beating down on their bare heads. Harsh rays stinging at bare shoulders. Shuffling along in a tight lockstep with the man in front. Any hesitation making the prisoner behind trip and earning them all a good lashing from the guards. There were the six of them, new arrivals trudging through the baking heat to some unknown fate. All with their hands locked behind their heads, linked together by the chain that passed through the crook in their arms. Impossible to escape, impossible to attack, impossible to defend themselves against a guard’s lash. Just the kind of thing Mortensen Jr would plan for hm.

The route through a long ravine had offered no shade or respite from the cruelty of the sun, it had seemed to sit high in the sky all the day. Burning down on their heads. No water, nothing in their bellies. The ravine was a quarry, they trudged along .. passing the sight of men sweating away with giant hammers at the rockface. Men like those seen hauling that massive block of stone. Chiselling away at the rockface .. barely dressed .. just in rags. Men whose themselves looked like chiselled out of rock. Bodies like statues from some ancient temple. Carved and etched from stone .. only deeply tanned, sun-burned. A quarry, a prisoner pit, - like in ancient times. Logan had reached his destination. This was home.

Marched further into the ravine, to the end. The guards went kept them slogging on to some kind of encampment. Then there they stood, they stood kept waiting. Stood in line facing some tents. The restraining chain removed, still with the vicious sun beating on their heads, frying out their brains. Kept waiting till it suited. Arms trapped in the collar behind their necks.

One-by-one this new crop of the Pharaoh’s slaves were subjected to inspection, scrutinised. One-by-one a fresh slave was led away. A guard pointed at a new arrival .. orders snapped at the prisoner, brain dulled by exhaustion and heat .. taking a lashing across a bare back for not jumping to it. Or just for the fun of it.Gradually, the sun began to move downwards, - though the baking heat still drained at Logan’s strength. Finally all decisions had been made. All had been led off. All except one. Only Logan was left. Dressed in desert dust, his front coated dry with his sweat. Just Logan stood there .. hands up, in prisoner mode .. “assuming the position”, in Mortensen Jr’s own words. The others had been moved out .. just Logan had been left behind .. singled out.

Logan had long-since spotted the figure under an awning. Someone seated behind a table in the shade watching activities, observing what was going on. Obviously the one in charge, boss-man here. Seated in a broad chair. The man in charge. Enjoying the


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shade, completely in the cool. Hidden, featureless. Just a black silhouette in the shade .. watching, biding his time. Left with just one prisoner. The one Mortensen had singled out.



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Lab rat


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Caption

Left for last. Singled-out. Others roughly dragged away, arms still trapped in the collars, jumping to the sting of the lash. Logan left .. just him. Under the constant watch of this half-hidden figure under his awning. Why did Logan have to get it into his head, this sonovabitch had left the best for last? He couldn’t help feeling jittery. Arms raised, his physique under scrutiny, his whole being getting analysed.

Like some lab rat. Stood for a seeming eternity .. nothing happening. Just him .. being taken apart. By this dude in-charge. Spotting him for strengths and weaknesses. Checking him out for a threat he posed. Imagining the opportunities his arrival offered. Special delivery. Mortensen Jr’s Special guest.

There was still some daylight but torches had been set either side of him. All the better for the asshole under his awning to analyse him. Logan knew what he saw .. a magnificent muscled physique .. a tall tanned blond .. but Logan had shuffled his way passed dozens of muscled hunks in the ravine. What was so special about him? As if he needed to ask …

What that asshole couldn’t see .. Logan’ hackles were getting up. Nervous, yes. Uncertain .. you bet. But the longer he stood like this .. the more he was losing a grip on his temper. Losing patience. Getting more pig-headed. Saying to himself. Gonna fuck that Mortensen Jr over. Not gonna be beat.

In the growing darkness that figure under the awning was beginning to disappear. Somehow that felt more ominous. It was getting to him .. despite himself. Dreading he might need a piss soon. He couldn’t avoid a nervousness twitching deep in his gut. Stood near-naked, lab rat, analysed. Last man standing. He suppressed that thought, not a phrase that gave him any comfort. Building himself back up. Telling himself, Mortensen Jr was not getting the better of him .. slave quarry or not.

He had peered into the shadows under the awning. Trying to see Mortensen Jr’s man here. Being paid to give Logan the VIP treatment. Clearly couldn’t get enough of looking him over. SHIT! He was gonna piss himself soon. Hadn’t this sonovabitch got anything better to do with his time? He wanted to call out and tell him to get the fuck on with it. But something told him he’d regret that soon enough. A large part of him told him it was better he was in no hurry to find out.



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11. StockadeShit-pile

This was dog-eat-dog country. That first night, by the time Logan was released that strange hanging around in the dark, freed from his prisoner collar and thrust into the stockade, - all the food had been eaten. He hadn‘t expected anything else. But he hadn’t eaten since his personalised taxi service from Mortensen Inc had docked at dawn. Now released from that strange encounter stood in the yard, thrust into the prisoner stockade .. Logan was starving. All food gone. But there was plenty of water in the barrels, Logan would have to be content with that. Filling his stomach with water to quell the pangs of hunger that raged in his belly.

When the gates of the stockade had swung open, Logan was assailed by quite a sight. A morass of stinking humanity locked in for the night. The space was heaving with the filth of male humankind. The smell of unwashed sweaty men was powerful even in the open air. Dozens of unkempt filthy hunks, muscular from a life of punishing labour. Sitting, wandering, jostling their neighbours as they passed. And suddenly Logan felt all eyes turn on him when the gates clanged closed behind.If he’d expected a hearty welcome, he was mistaken. If he’d imagined there’d be some sense of solidarity or camaraderie between Mortensen’s prisoners, he’d got that completely wrong. The mass eyes of the stockade turned on him. And not a single smile. The mass looked ravenous. A newcomer, fresh meat. The best he saw from some was indifference. From others he saw animosity. And greed.

What they saw was the big guy who had been kept back .. for no reason they understood .. or Logan himself for that matter. The other newcomers had been sent to the stockade hours ago. Logan had been made to stand alone, under the watchful eye of that top-dog under his awning. Making Logan alone to go through that strange charade. Standing, nearly naked, hands trapped behind his head. For no reason. To no purpose. Or for none that he understood.. Maybe these gawping prisoners understood better than him what it meant. Why he had been kept like that. Understood he’d been singled out .. sent for special treatment. Did that make him a threat? Someone to avoid, give the cold shoulder? Or did that make him vulnerable? Depended on how they took it.

Maybe they knew already he spelled out trouble. Best to give him a wide berth. Logan opted to bide his time. Just watch. Watch and learn. Find out how this place worked. He found himself a corner by the wall of the stockade, slid his backside to the dirt and, with his empty aching belly, he watched.

Male aggression was everywhere. Not much sign of these guys showing interest in each other. Everyone he saw was well-built, wearing hardly anything. Tanned like they had been under this sun for years. Evidence of the life he was to meet come-dawn. Punishing labour had formed the muscles on all the shoulders that surrounded him. Hard work had shaped hard-toned legs. And harsh treatment had laid its stripes across every back he could see.

His attention was caught by one hard-looking prisoner pass through the crowd, he just barged his way through. Sometimes the others jostled back. Other times a prisoner stepped back, getting out of the way of the bully. There was a pecking order here,


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Logan spotted. Some prisoners had bullied themselves instantaneous respect. Or deference .. out of fear. Logan suspected it was sheer brutal bullying that decided the rankings. Clawing each other’s eyes out for one place higher in this shit-pile. And he’d decided already where he was going to finish up.



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Solidarity


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CaptionIt seethed with the frenzy of an insect nest. A broiling quagmire of muscled men, each with more than enough power in the shoulders to make his mark. What set some apart was attitude .. bastards acting like hard-nuts. Looking for every excuse to use force .. just to make their point. To rise to the top of this shit-pile.

For Logan they were all in this together .. all trapped in Mortensen’s hell-hole. That brought them together .. but solidarity was the last thing he found. A simmering buzz of male aggression. Men angry at being robbed of their freedom. All day forced into bending the back, labouring under the threat of violence and the whip. Bullied by ruthless guards who held the whip-hand. Frustrated .. helpless to hit back. Instead they took it out on their own. THAT made them feel good.

Locked-down anger .. seething all day .. rages tempered by the lash and brutal punishment. So nights in the stockade they were taking it out on each other. Getting their own back .. hitting out where they could. A heady mixture .. too much muscular testosterone locked down in one place. Frustrated anger turned in on itself.

Was that a starting point, Logan wondered? Was that a clue, some way to fight his way out of this mess. All this heaving testosterone, all this supreme muscular power .. here was a formidable fighting force. If organised .....

A sudden shout got his attention. The sharp cry .. a man seized by shocked pain. Logan could not see above this buzz of stinking humanity. But the cry only multiplied. Joined by a pleading, begging. Pitiful cries. And then a loud scream. Several screams. No one turned a head, no one even looked.

Logan knew the cause. A man being taken by a gang of thugs. One of the newcomers. New meat, raw flesh. Getting raped. Some newcomer not yet hardened to this harshness. But the rest of this stinking humanity didn’t turn a hair. Hardened to cruelty. Viciousness had become their norm .. that was life. New prisoners arrived. Rape .. shit happened.



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Fresh meat


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Caption

Shit happened .. and Logan found that out soon enough. Spotting a gang of three making a bee-line for him. Drawn to him like flies to the honey pot. Three big thugs who moved as one. Moving in on him. They reckoned his turn had come.

He’d heard those cries of distress .. he’d guessed what had been going on. Not too hard to work out what this band of thugs had in mind. Logan had already worked out there was only one way here to survive. Meet like-with-like. Give as hard as you took. Bullies were weak, they thrived on another giving in, won their way by fear. No bugger here was going to see Logan’s fear. Couldn’t afford that.

The head-bully stopped right by Logan’s out-stretched leg. Looking down at the fresh meat seated leaning against the wall. Big but a loner. He had no one with him, no back-up. One against three.The man snapped out something incoherent at Logan. The dumb prick could hardly even string a sentence together! Logan returned his look but his face gave nothing away.

Without waiting for a reaction, the bully snarled another murmured insult at the new lone innocent. A sharp jab kicked at Logan’s leg. With a flick of the head, he indicated Logan should shift, move, go away. The words meant nothing. But the kick at Logan’s thigh said Logan was in their place. He was to fuck off. Piss off, move it.

Reluctantly Logan made to move, he started getting to his feet. But not fast enough. Another hard kick got him in the backside. He shuddered forward, stopped himself from falling. On all fours.

Another snarled order .. telling him to move his ass. Reluctant Logan feigned to look intimidated. Compliant he rose to one knee. Above his head he saw a sneer curl on the bully’s lips. Contempt that the new prick had given in so easily.

Like fuck had Logan usurped their place at the wall. Just some pretence .. to test his mettle. Then take him down. Newcomers were taught their place, three against one. There was a pecking order here. And they knew just where they were going to peck.



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Lesson taught

They wanted his ass? They’d have to fight him for it. He hadn’t gone looking for trouble. He was hungry, he was tired, Logan was more than pissed-off. He hadn’t brought this whole mess-up on himself. But he was the one having to pay the price. Some dumb sonovabitch comes looking for trouble .. Logan felt just in the mood.

From his position down on one knee, it happened in a flash. A single jab. One lightning flash of an arm. Logan’s fist lashed out. Caught the bully straight in the balls. A rage-fuelled upper cut into his gonads. Shocked, the man’s knee gave way, momentum pitched him forward. Onto Logan’s back. In the same second, Logan shot up. Driving upward from one knee. The inert body was sprawled over his back. Logan shot upwards, he straightened, threw the body high into the air. It somersaulted, it fell, it slammed into the ground. On its back. Expelling all its wind. Logan’s heel stomped. Caught the shocked body in the abs. Jack-knifing it up with another painful cry.

These motherfuckers wanted his ass, did they? Thought he was easy prey? He’d spent years being someone else’s hard-man. He was the one who fucked others over. Logan was already on the move. .. the second bully was still wide-eyed from the surprise. He took an elbow in the face. Falling backwards under the force of a sledgehammer of a blow. Logan saw blood spurting down his face. Logan’s leg lashed out. His knee slammed the stumbling idiot up between the legs. He went down .. crumpled together .. clutching his gonads.But without hesitation, Logan was already onto the third one. Seeing a frightened man take a backwards step. Logan went into a crouch. Both hands out in front, fingers flickering. Inviting the sucker to put his muscle where his dick was. Gesturing, goading the bugger to take him on. The man froze .. he stepped back .. right back, backed away .. giving in. Logan did not have to do a thing.

Logan straightened, he stood upright, cricked some tension out of his neck. Pitying his eyes took in the devastation, the bullies littered around, groaning, clutching their balls, bemoaning lost pride. Found their place in life, down in the dirt. Without a word, he went back to his wall. Leaned against it, stood, surveying, muscular arms across a broad hard chest. An intimidating statue of solid-muscled aggression. Up for a second round if they had the mind.

Seemingly unconcerned, he surveyed the mess he had caused. Unfazed. Seeing a pair of bullies limp away .. helped away by a cowardly third. Faces had turned, surprised. He had made his mark. Logan was watching faces around turned at the gang as they hobbled back to their lair .. scowling at the pricks who had disturbed their peace. And got it in the balls. Logan had made enemies that night. But he had also made a point.

Here endeth the first lesson .. strange how he remembered that phrase from eons ago. His reading of this brutish world into which he had been locked overnight had proved right. Violence ruled. In the past he’d done other people’s dirty work. Logan no longer took no pleasure in killing or beating someone up .. only used it to enforce his will. But in a hell-hole like this .. if needs must .... He’d fucked them over, these morons .. he had just turned their own tactics back on them, bullied them into humiliation. Then he’d turned his bare ass on them and sauntered away. Signalling to the others, this was nothing to him. All in a day’s work


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… Anyone else want to try it on?

He went back to his place, others seated nearby shifted away. Violent men had to be met with violence. It was the only language they understood. And Logan had just spelled it out. In his day he had been no stranger to viciousness. If this was the way things worked .. he could dust down his old skills. THIS newcomer was not to be messed about .. his ass was not up for grabs. He seated his bare ass back against the wall .. he’d let these assholes know. Violence met with violence – squared. That was what he’d give. That was how he’d earn respect .. Logan was made-for-purpose in this kind of hell.



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Dawn


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Caption

With the coming dawn the next morning, Logan soon learned to hate. And in no time at all events told him precisely where to target that hate.

Only the best .. as ordered by Mortensen Jr. Day 1 of Logan’s holiday package .. the boss of this facility would do the honours. Open the ceremonies in style.

Activity woke him from his heavy night’s sleep in the stockade. Movement as the other slaves started to perform. Normal bodily functions. And ... he later learned ... getting in prime position in the anticipation of food when the gates again swung open.

Logan was on his feet, leaning against that bit of wall he had claimed as his own .. watching and learning. Heads turned, he saw the massive gates open. But no food yet. In came a troop of about a dozen guards.

The leader snapped out a question. Logan couldn’t make out the words. He heard the guard repeat it, louder this time, shouting above the unkempt horde. This time he caught the meaning.

He understood because suddenly eyes turned on him, all the other prisoners twisted their heads around in his direction. It was him the guards had come for.

Then a voice cried out. Logan identified the caller, it was the man he had got in the nuts, the chief bully Logan had shown up. Pointing him out, getting his own back. No honour among thieves, it seemed. Had he expected any?


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One proviso

Unconcerned about being massively out-numbered by the mass of muscle hunks locked down in the stockade, a half-dozen guards strode out for Logan swinging their clubs. One made the mistake of grabbing him by the arm, pulling him to follow. Logan yanked his arm away, without thinking his other elbow caught another soldier on the side of his head. In an instant clubs were up. Canes raised, ready to lash out. Logan eyed them, seeing himself out-gunned, knowing he’d only finish up the worse for a good beating. Giving the guard who had grabbed at him a warning look .. conscious he had an audience .. Logan strode over to the gate. Followed by his escort, weapons ready. Logan knew he had no choice.

Outside, the gates were closing behind him. What the hell! No one else had been summoned. Only him, singled out again. Suddenly a hand was on his arm, pulling him, twisting him round. A shove between his shoulders slammed him forward. Throwing him into the wall, face-first. A hand had him by the scruff of the neck. Logan’s forehead was slammed into the stockade wall. Hard. Hands shoved on his shoulders. A blow to the kidneys - hard. Really hard. Pain snorted into the wall. Shocked by the speed, reeling from the blows to his head, the surprise had taken Logan’s breath away.

Jammed against the stockade wall. Hands all over him. His head was still sorting itself out, something was pulling back on his arms. Rope biting into the crook of his elbows. Pressure pulling his elbows behind his back. Yanking his arms together. Bound and disabled before he had the first idea what was going on. These guards were mindless thugs, maybe. But they’d gone for him like a well-oiled machine. Moved on him together, well synchronised. Gone in hard, gone in fast. These guards were idiot-thugs but he’d be stupid to under-estimate them.

They had been briefed. The previous night, the guards had locked the trash away for the night. As usual the newcomers were going to get raped .. for the first time in their lives but not the last. Who gave a fuck? That lot were all scum. The guards had got themselves a beer and hung around for the meeting the boss had called.

Aryobarzan put them in the picture. The new hairy one with blond hair .. he had crossed Mortensen Jr. The guards knew what that meant. The prick was fucked.Open season on him, Aryobarzan explained. Mortensen Jr had sent him there for safekeeping. He wasn’t immune to the fucker learning a lesson or two.“Let it all out, if you want,” Aryobarzan had said. “Had a bad day? Feel like taking it out on someone? The hairy blond is your man.” Knowing glances were exchanged. They all knew he was getting his ass ploughed as they spoke. But their own chance on him would come.

“One proviso ..”Aryobarzan’s face had gone serious.“Mortensen Jr wants him back. Got unavoidable business right now .. taking him away.”


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It wasn’t the first time the guards had had to babysit one of Mortensen Jr’s Specials when he went off on some enforcement spree.“But he’s claiming old Hairy-chest back. Seems he’s got a special place in his heart for the sucker.”

The guards saw the boss’s face go serious.“Mortensen Jr wants him back. And in one piece.”Aryobarzan eyed the guards. Seeing if they had got the message. But it was reinforced just the same.“Let rip. Give the prick the works. Mortensen Jr’s gonna thank you for that.”

Aryobarzan’s face stayed stern. Though the guards already knew the situation.“No maiming. No permanent damage. Understood?”The boss’s eyebrows raised. They did, they understood. They knew how far they could go. And they knew exactly what would happen to a guard who stepped over the mark. Stepped over Mortensen Jr’s red line.“Fucking the prick over .. that’s HIS right.”The boss smiled.“From this dumb motherfucker .. Mortensen Jr still wants his pound of flesh.”

A final shove on the back of his neck had slammed Logan’s forehead into the wall again. Then hands peeled away. Logan was released. It was anger and instinct that squirmed and wriggled against his bonds. Somehow they had got a rope in the crook of both elbows. Pulling them tight together across his back. Logan’s hands were free but he couldn’t use his arms. Then he stopped himself. He saw their faces. How fucking stupid he looked with all that useless struggling. He was the one making an asshole of himself. Making himself a laughing-stock. These pricks were getting off on seeing him struggle. And fail.

Deliberately Logan contented himself, .. denying them their fun. Besides, he had no choice. Whatever they planned, whatever beating they had in mind .. trussed-up like this - nothing he was going to do about it. Put up with it .. take it .. store it up for later. Logan forced himself to make do. Biding his time.A special time. The one Mortensen Jr had gifted him. The time of his life.



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