Saving Graves: A Club Irons Novel

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sneak Peek at Club Irons Book 3

  Saving Graves

  A Club Irons Novel

  Drew Sera

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No person, brand or corporation mentioned in this book should be taken to have endorsed this book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Warning

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes, adult language and disturbing scenes that may be difficult to read or considered offensive to some readers. This book contains content that is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

  Disclaimer

  Please do not try any sexual practice, especially those that might be found within the scope of BDSM/Fetish kink without the guidance of an experienced professional. Author is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Copyright © 2017 by Drew Sera

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.

  Cover Design by © Krissi Kissain

  Interior Design by © Drew Sera

  Special thanks to: Greg, Krissi, Ashton, my beta readers, and the Wicked Wonders Street Team. Your support means everything.

  Contents

  1. December 1990

  2. December 1990

  3. December 1990

  4. January 1991

  5. January 1991

  6. January 1991

  7. February 1991

  8. March 1991

  9. October 1993

  10. November 1993

  11. May 1994

  12. December 1995

  13. March 1996

  14. April 1996

  15. May 1996

  16. June 1996

  17. July 1996

  18. August 1996

  19. September 1996

  20. October 1996

  21. November 1996

  22. November 1996

  Sneak Peek at Club Irons Book 3

  Drew Sera

  Also by Drew Sera

  Chapter One

  December 1990

  The last bell rang, and I headed to the restroom for the eighth time today. I went into a stall and dropped my backpack on the floor. While holding my side, I leaned against the door of the stall. No one could see me; I was safe to shut my eyes.

  As the day had gone on, I started feeling like I was going to pass out. Passing out wasn’t an unknown event for me. It’s happened to me often, but I couldn’t let it happen at school. If I passed out, I’d be in the nurse’s office, which would eventually lead to Connor, the principal, and my asshole stepfather’s friend. I couldn’t deal with anymore right now.

  I nearly passed out in the stall, but when I fell against the bathroom door, I pulled through it. My stomach was killing me and I lurched forward, vomiting in the toilet. With each convulsion of my stomach, the pain in my side became unbearable. As I knelt on the floor of the restroom, a terrible chill came over me. I was afraid I was knocking on death’s door.

  I had to do something and stop this shit.

  From my backpack, I pulled out my last clean t-shirt that I packed for the day and tried to quickly take off my jacket. Shit! Fuck, the pain. I looked down at the blood that had soaked through my shirt. Shit, there was a lot more there now than there had been after fifth period.

  I started to pull the soiled shirt off, but I couldn’t raise my arms without shaking. Daggers of pain shot through me, and I started seeing dark spots and patches. I was dying. I put my jacket back on and zipped it up. I carried my backpack by the shoulder strap and headed to the courtyard of the school.

  The school seemed empty now except for a few kids lingering here and there. I’ll probably be dead by morning. I decided to go to the park. If I died there, at least it wasn’t at home.

  “Anthony,” a voice called my name.

  Fuck, it was my sixth period teacher.

  “Anthony, you should go home, sweetie. You look very pale. I could tell in class that you weren’t feeling well again. Do you want me to have the nurse call your folks—”

  “No, thanks. That’s not necessary. I’m heading home now.”

  Before my teacher spoke again, a voice that I had come to loathe was in the audible distance.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Graves. I’m surprised to see you here so late. It’s well after 3:00,” Connor said.

  I was shocked. The last bell rang at 1:30. Oh, fuck. I had passed out in the bathroom.

  “I’m heading home now,” I said and turned to leave when Connor’s hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Be quick about it, Anthony,” Connor said.

  My teacher watched the principal grasp my shoulder and I know she saw my reaction.

  The look in Connor’s eyes was menacing and I wasn’t going to look at him anymore. He knew I was bleeding under my shirt. He held me down last night while my stepfather cut me.

  Connor released me and I walked away from him and my teacher. The pain was unbearable and I was scared of passing out somewhere. With each step, the pain radiated through my body.

  I spotted the pay phone and walked toward it. All day long I tried thinking of a way out. My only hope was my dad. I deposited the quarter and dialed his number, praying he’d answer. I had it all planned out and had been rehearsing it in my head all day.

  “Hello,” came my dad’s voice in my ear.

  Tears welled up in my eyes and my voice caught in my throat. I grabbed at my side to hopefully lessen the pain.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  “Dad.”

  It was all I got out before I started crying. I could barely hear him over my crying and the pain was getting worse.

  “Anthony, son what’s wrong?”

  “I need help, please.”

  “Where’s your mother, Anthony?”

  “No! Please don’t call her, Dad. She doesn’t care. It’ll make it worse.”

  “Anthony, slow down and tell me what’s wrong. Please, slow down.”

  “I got hurt and am bleeding bad. I passed out in the bathroom at school…I don’t know what to do.”

  “Anthony, what happened? Where are you bleeding at? Where are you at? Can you get home? Why didn’t you call your mother?”

  “No! She just lets them hurt me.” I leaned against the pay phone and looked down. The blood was seeping through my jacket now. “They cut me.”

  “Who, Anthony?”

  “Bruce…Bruce and his friend…Dad, I’m bleeding and I’m so cold. I’m scared that I’m dying.”

  “Anthony! Can you get to a hospital? I’m on my way to the airport and I will get to you. Vegas Memorial is closest to your school…Anthony, are you listening?”

  I nodded.

>   “Anthony!”

  “I’m here.”

  “Get to the hospital and I will be on the next flight…Anthony, I love you.”

  I nodded again and hung the phone up. I wandered toward the parking lot and to a group of guys who were on the baseball team last year with me.

  “Hey, Anthony. What’s up, man? You want to go get pizza with us? Hey, are you okay?”

  I shook my head.

  “Can one of you take me to Vegas Memorial…please?”

  The guys scrambled off the tailgate of a truck and one opened the door for me. I held my backpack on my lap as the kid drove as fast as he could. He talked to me the entire way, but I couldn’t keep up with him.

  “Just drop me off by the emergency room.”

  “Should I call your parents or something?”

  “I already called them. They’re meeting me here.”

  I slid off the seat and stumbled to the sidewalk across from the doors that led to the emergency room. I was about to go inside but sat down on the sidewalk. If I went in, they’d call my mom.

  The urge to close my eyes was becoming too hard to avoid. I was afraid I’d end up inside and they’d call my mom. I dug into my backpack and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. I wrote my name and date of birth on the paper. I added that if I passed out not to call my mom or Bruce but to call my dad, Richard Graves.

  “Kid are you okay?”

  I opened my eyes and saw two people in scrubs standing over me. I was partially lying on the sidewalk and on the grass.

  I raised my shirt, exposing my knife wound and heard one of them yell for a stretcher. I held out my piece of paper and prayed they’d call my dad.

  Voices in the background faded in and out as tried to detect any familiar ones.

  Was it my mom?

  No…not her. There was a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Bruce or Connor.

  “Relax, Anthony,” I felt my hand being squeezed and I jerked, trying to pull away. “Anthony, son, try to relax.”

  My dad! I was safe. He came for me, just like he said.

  “Dad,” I tried to talk but was so tired.

  “Anthony, rest. Don’t worry about anything.”

  I could feel the coarse sheet rubbing against my bare skin and the realization dawned on me that I was without a shirt. My eyes flew open and I jerked my hand away from my dad again in an effort to try and cover my shirtless torso. He’d see everything.

  “Anthony, settle down, son.”

  “No, I. I need…” I frantically looked around the room, hoping to see my shirt. Of course, it was all bloody when I arrived. I spotted my backpack and knew I had a clean t-shirt in there.

  “Son, what do you need? Please tell me and I will help you.”

  I held the sheet up, hiding my body. I didn’t want him to see.

  “I want a shirt.”

  Why was he looking at me like that? Why can’t I have my shirt?

  “Anthony, try to relax, please. It’s okay, son.”

  My dad looked up at the monitors and then back down at me.

  “Relax, son,” he gently squeezed my shoulder. “Please try to calm down.”

  “I…” Fear nearly crippled me at the thought of having to go home.

  “What, Anthony? Talk to me, please. I can help you, but I need for you to talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to go home. Please don’t make me go back there, Dad.”

  My dad sat on the bed and pulled me into a hug and I just started crying. His arm pressed against the welts and lash marks that were all over my back and it hurt like hell. But it felt too good to try to escape from.

  This is what a hug feels like. I kind of liked it but was scared of it too. I had seen other kids get them, but I never did.

  “It’s going to be okay. God, Anthony. I’m not going to let you go back there. You’re coming home with me.”

  “Can I have my shirt, please?”

  “Son, the doctors need easy access to you right now.”

  I hated how I felt, but also wanted to stay wrapped up in his arms. I didn’t want him to see everything.

  “Anthony, you don’t have to hide.”

  I leaned back carefully and reached under the sheet and felt the area where I had been bleeding from. All I could feel was gauze and tender spots. I drifted off to sleep and woke up in the early morning hours to my dad’s voice.

  He was sitting with another man in the room and when he saw that I was awake, he came over to sit beside me.

  “How are you feeling, Anthony?”

  “Ok,” I replied.

  My dad gave me a small smile and looked over his shoulder at the man behind him.

  “Anthony, this is Detective Turner. He needs to talk to you—”

  I protested.

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone. Can’t we just go?”

  “Anthony, I had to file a police report along with the hospital.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Anthony, son, this has to be reported.”

  “Why? You can just take me with you. We don’t have to tell. They can just go on with their lives and I can come with you. Then I’ll be away from it and it’ll be okay.”

  “Anthony.”

  “No, Dad…please.”

  “Son, this needs to be done.”

  Just then someone came in with food. I was so hungry, but with the detective sitting here in the room, I just felt sick.

  “Anthony, do you like pancakes?” the nurse asked me.

  I nodded at the nurse. Truth be told, I’d never had pancakes before.

  “Are you guys in the middle of the report?” she asked my dad.

  “We hadn’t started yet. He just woke up.”

  “Maybe you guys can let him eat first.”

  I nibbled on the pancakes, which were pretty good, but I was nervous about the police. Another doctor came in and he spoke to my father and the detective for a few minutes. I pushed the tray of food away, fearing what was coming.

  The doctor, my dad, and the police detective approached my bed.

  “Anthony, with every minor that comes into the emergency room, we’re required to notify authorities of any suspected cases of child abuse or neglect. We knew right away yesterday afternoon that you fell into that situation. We took photos of the condition you arrived in and have turned them over to Detective Turner.”

  “Son,” I looked at my dad. “Anthony, you’re going to have to answer some of the detective’s questions, okay?”

  “Do I have to go back there?”

  “No, Anthony. But, I need you to tell us what happened,” my dad was pleading with me.

  “Can I have my shirt?”

  I was finally granted a hospital gown. It was something and I’d take it. The questions began and it was excruciating.

  I slowly explained how my stepfather and his friend were hurting my mom and I tried to stop them. It led to Connor holding me down while my stepfather cut my side. I got through as many of the questions as I could. It went on for over an hour. When they discovered Connor was the principal of my school, I thought my dad was going to lose it. I could see it on his face.

  I was burnt out and just wanted to hide. I had fallen asleep and when I woke up, the detective was gone but my dad was still here. He smiled at me and asked me how I was feeling.

  “Ok,” I said.

  I wasn’t sure if he believed me though.

  “Anthony, the doctor is going to discharge you this evening.”

  I began to worry again.

  “Are you still going to take me with you? I don’t want to go back—”

  “Son, please believe me, I’m taking you home with me. The detective is going over to the house and said he’d bring you back some clothes. Everything you had on yesterday was tossed out since it was bloodied.” I looked away. “Anthony, do you need anything from your room?”

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t have anything there you want?”

  “No, I don’t w
ant to go back there.”

  “You don’t have to. But the police would help us collect anything you wanted.”

  He didn’t understand. I didn’t have anything but clothes that didn’t fit me right. I had my backpack with me and had everything I needed.

  “I just want to go home with you. Dad, I don’t have anything there. Just clothes.”

  Finally, I had been discharged and the police detective gave us a ride to the MGM Grand. My dad and I were staying the night at a hotel and flying to his home in the Bay Area tomorrow.

  It was awkward around my dad. Even though I hadn’t seen him since I was very little, I talked to him a few times a year. But being physically around him was hard and I felt weird. At the hospital, I shoved the few articles of clothes the police brought me in my backpack.

  I sat on one of the beds in the hotel room as my dad sat on the bed across from me and read off stuff from the menu.

  “Anthony.”

  He reached across and when I felt his hand on my shoulder, I jumped.

  “Relax, son.”

  “Sorry, I…”

  “It’s okay, Anthony.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need to eat, so you have something in your stomach when you take your medicine. And you’re very underweight, Anthony.”

  “Ok,” I said, agreeing for food.

  I learned today that I might have a heart condition. My dad explained that when we get to California, I’ll need to be tested again so they can rule anything out. Dad said that my blood pressure and my pulse were very high. The emergency room doctor and my dad both said that there’s a good chance I was just nervous about everything going on. The doctor said it was common for kids in my situation.

  There were other kids like me?

  I heard him on the phone ordering food as I sat there with my backpack perched on my lap. My dad reached over and tugged on the strap of my backpack.