Bound by Hate

Steven woke up to an unfamiliar environment, or so he thought. His brain was still trying to process the dream he had. It's been the same one plaguing him for 8 years straight. A time when he had his free will snatched from him, tortured and battered by his masters or mistresses. It was that time he met her, Marrena, the love of his life. The girl who sacrificed everything to make sure he survived, including her life. Steven groaned in anger, remembering how unrecognizable her body was. The only way he identified her was the necklace around her hand, the same one he had given her.

He groaned, shaking the memories off, and in the process, tried moving his arms. He frowned when he couldn't; they were still cuffed to the bed. "Ricardo!" Steven yelled. "Where the f*** is he?" He muttered when Ricardo didn't appear.

"Lucas!" he yelled, and this time, a tall, handsome-looking guy appeared, opening the door. "Hi!" Lucas waved, munching on an apple. "Get me out of this!" Steven demanded.

"Someone's grumpy. Same dream?" Lucas asked, chewing slowly.

"Yeah," Steven sighed.

"Well, maybe you should see the therapist like Ric suggested."

"So they could hypnotize me and feast on my mind? Thanks, but no thanks."

"You're pissed, and it's fine. I would do the same if I were a slave for two years, fell in love, and had no memory of it." Steven stared blankly at Lucas, watching him give a reminder of his predicament.

"I didn't ask you for a summary of my life. Get me out of these cuffs, and where the hell is Ricardo?" he half-yelled.

"Sorry, boss," Lucas said, dropping his half-eaten apple on the table. "There was a problem with the shipment; Ric went to supervise." Lucas reported, withdrawing the key to the cuffs from his pocket. He went ahead to uncuff Steven.

Stevens rubbed his freed wrists, his eyes taking in the room.

"Again?" He asked, and Lucas gave a nod, going back to take his apple. "I'm beginning to think it's planned; it can't be a coincidence." Lucas shrugged, sitting on a couch in the well-furnished room. "Who would want to get on the bad side of the Rodriguez clan?" Lucas asked, his gaze on Steven.

"I don't know, maybe the evil Kevin talked about," Steven replied, sighing. This was the fourth time this month their shipments had been hijacked by the same people but using different methods. There had been no progress in identifying them, only the black mask they left at each scene.

"That's just a dying man's last words; you can't trust anything my bastard of a brother said," Lucas spat.

"I hope so," Steven muttered, taking off his shirt, his back to Lucas. "Damnation!" Lucas muttered, his eyes meeting Steven's back, or what was left of it. Marks and scars ran from his neck to his waist; from the view, you could tell it wasn't a whip or cane that did that. These marks were from heated iron.

"Whoever did this didn't want you alive" he muttered, taking a trip down memory lane.

8 years ago, before his own little betrayal, they were damn close, more like brothers. One day they woke up, and Steven was nowhere to be found. Ricardo exhausted his resources to find him, so did he. Every contact they had, every locator they used, all came up with the same results: no identification. It felt like he was dead. 2 years later, Ricardo didn't give up, and one day, while on another mission to find Steven, they finally saw him. His body was battered, his memories a mess. They were glad he didn't forget them, his brothers. Ricardo patched him up, used every means to make sure Steven got back on his feet. When he finally recovered, and they asked him about his time there, he couldn't remember. His time there left him wrecked, one of them was an addiction to the hardest drug on the web. Ricardo never wanted to involve his business in trading hard drugs, but he did because of Steven. They didn't get the real deal, instead, they got something closer to it. For the past 6 years, Steven has been on withdrawal, and it's not easy. He took a drug for 2 years and is spending close to 6 years; there's still no sign of him getting over it.

"Lucas!" Stevens called out, snapping him out of his reverie. "You spaced out. What were you thinking about?" He asked.

"Nothing, man. I'm good."

"You sure?" Stevens asked, his tone filled with uncertainty.

"Yeah, got to go, man. I promised Natalie I would walk..." He stopped his speech, staring at Steven. Natalie Williams-Rodriguez, a model and Ricardo's wife. They should be given the award for the most in-love couple.

Steven froze. He expected to hear that name; when he didn't, he raised his eyes to meet Lucas staring back at him. "It's fine, you can say her name." He gave a soft smile.

Lucas nodded. "I promised Natalie I would take Jean out for a walk."

Steven nodded. "Alright, off you go." He waved him out. Lucas muttered a farewell, leaving the room. Stevens slid to the floor, his eyes red; tears threatening to fall. Why was he a jinx to everyone around him? Jean, the girl who loved him, and he ended up breaking her heart in the most cruel way ever. She is Ricardo's sister, and he didn't take it lightly with him when he found out. It's been 5 months, and Jean hasn't moved a muscle.

Last time the clan's doctor ran a whole body scan on her, he said the same thing: "There's nothing physically wrong with her, it's mental. She doesn't have the will to wake up." "Keep reminding her of things she once loved, and maybe she might wake up mentally fit." "What do you mean 'mentally fit'?" Ricardo had asked in a feat of rage. "There's also a chance she might wake up mad or crazy. I'm sorry, Don." The poor doctor was shaking in fright as he gave the report; he didn't wait a second later before leaving. The fear of Ricardo was the beginning of wisdom.

A phone rang from the bed, and Steven got on his feet to take it. Just as he picked it up, he felt an excruciating pain in his head. "Argh!" He groaned, holding his head, the phone falling to the floor. Images started appearing in his head. They were blurry at first, and he couldn't make sense of them, then they cleared.

~ FLASHBACK~

Steven's eyes circled frantically around the room, as if for some heroic urging toward an escape, while his heart was racing with fear. He had been sold to this new master, a well-off and ruthless man, just hours ago, and now he was being displayed like livestock, standing naked and not budging, while his master showed him off to his wife.

The master spoke to her in a high-pitched voice, a cruel smile coating his lips as he signaled to Steven. "And this, my dear, is the newest addition to our collection. A fine young man, strong and healthy."

Steven's eyes met the wife's-a cold, calculated stare from an impassive woman who eyed him up and down, her face uninfluenced.

"Do you like him, my dear?" the master asked, pride oozing out of every syllable.

The response of his wife was immediate and violent: she flung a delicate porcelain plate at Steven's head, the thing shattering into a hundred pieces. Steven cried out, ducking to avoid shards.

"Pathetic," she spat. "He's nothing special. Just another worthless slave."

The flush of anger and humiliation swept across Steven's face. He knew that he needed to keep his head down, to survive this nightmare. But pride, with his new status as a slave, was hard to swallow.

The master burst out laughing, his eyes glinting with mirth. "Ah, my dear, you always know how to keep me on my toes."

>>END OF FLASHBACK<

"Now I know where I got this hideous scar from," he muttered to himself, rubbing his head where a big scar lay concealed by his hair. He felt something trickling down his nose and touched it to see blood. "Great!" he muttered, pulling out a tissue to wipe his nose clean. He suddenly remembered the plate shattering against his head and flinched at the recollection. It was something he hadn't recalled in years, until now, when the flashback brought it all back. He sipped air into his body, trying to let go of the emotions stirring inside his tummy.