My Trophy Boy

A Few Words

Q

I've been told that my abode has been turned into a tip. When I returned home 'a tip' was a massive understatement.

"Grant." I called out.

It was two o'clock in the morning and the place was eerily quiet. I immediately went on guard, not trying to activate much of my instinctive senses as Holland and Paris were about.

"Grant?" I checked in the kitchen for him. I didn't have to shout for him to hear me.

Where was he?

Glass was broken as well as ornaments. Shit was literally everywhere! What the fuck?

I checked the rooms and Paris was sound asleep. Where's Holland?

I checked the whole place and this sudden disappearance made no sense.

The garden.

I felt Doug Grant's presence. I walked towards the shed also picking up on Holland's scent. Oddly enough Grant doesn't have a scent, I can only detect him by his presence.

I opened the door to my garden shed which was usually locked. What stood before me was mind blowing.

"What's going on?" Holland's face looked like a deer in headlights whilst his body froze stiff.

Grant was tied up to a chair. He had cloth stuffed into his mouth. He seemed fine, looking at me not phased by the situation. Holland, however, had a frantic look to his eyes. My sheepish mate was on a laptop which soon slid off his lap and fell onto the floor.

"You're not human." He gulped in a small toneless voice.

Cockfucker.

I looked at Grant who gave me one shrug. Fuck.

"H-Holland. Baby." I took a cautious step towards him.

"Don't fucking 'baby' me, demon!" His voiced wavered, lacking the strength to yell at me.

Fuck the skies above! Why now? He's my beating heart and now our bond is in jeopardy.

I want Chris. I wish they hadn't left yet. They'd know what to do. Chris warned me of this potentially happening and I didn't believe them.

Fuck.