Cage the Night: A Battle Within

By J.K. Jones

Insanity. It's consuming. Terrifying. Addictive.

Richard Clayson's obsession with Beau has turned into a nightmare, a never-ending spiral of madness. His thoughts are consumed with the perfect image of Beau, a seductive beauty that's driving him to the brink of insanity. He's willing to do anything to keep his addiction alive, even if it m

• Language: English
• Publisher: jkjonesauthor
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781738731862

J.K. Jones

Hey there, I'm J.K. Jones, a Canadian author who likes her coffee black and loves to write dark M/M romance novels. I grew up in the bustling city of Toronto, and it's given me a bit of a different take on things. I'm just passionate about telling stories that grab your attention. I've been into creative writing for a while, and it's cool how I can naturally put together characters and plots that keep folks hooked. You might have come across my books like "Claw of Exile" and "Weeps Indigo." They're all about diving into the messy parts of love and relationships. I've been hanging out in Toronto for as long as I can remember, just doing my thing and spinning tales. I hope my writing connects with you and adds a little something to the world of dark M/M romance.

Book preview

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Chapter 1

By the time he makes it to the Blackwell residence, he can barely see straight. Blood thunders in his ears. The house comes into view, dilapidated on the hillside, a crumbling piece of shit Richard loathes more than anything. He presses harder on the gas, dirt and debris fly everywhere as he drives recklessly up the pathway. Sirens blared as he slammed his foot on the brake, nearly crashing into the front porch.

He tears out of the vehicle, clutching the cool metal in his trembling hand as he stumbles up the porch. Wooden stairs creak and groan under his weight, the screen door hangs off its hinges. Something’s wrong. Richard doesn’t bother formulating a plan, instead, he crashes into the front door, using his shoulder to smash the weak wood. The door splinters beneath the blow, bursting open.

Pain explodes in his shoulder, searing and crippling, all the way up to his collarbone. Richard blinks several times, his eyes adjusting to the blinding light. Garbage is everywhere, the stale stench of old mold and rotting food fills the air. The couch is torn to pieces, and bits of wool dance in the humid Georgia air.

He stares dubiously around the room until his eyes land on a figure in the corner, in front of the kitchen counter. He’s panting like a madman, the fire still red hot in his veins, the ire like an eruption of blinding lights—fireworks.

Beau?

In the middle of the room, curled into a ball with his head resting his head on his knees, Beau sobs into his arms. Richard stumbles blindly trying to get to him. He kneels beside Beau, checking him for any wounds. Beau lifts his head, his left eye is swollen shut, and his t-shirt is torn down to his navel. What the fuck happened? Richard demands.

Leave! Get the fuck out and never come back! Beau shoves at his chest.

Richard grabs his arms and shakes him. Where is he?

Horror flitters across Beau’s features. Richard doesn’t need to turn around to know the cause of that look. The silence is deafening, except for the convulsion of rage spreading through his core. He takes his time, touching Beau, caressing him, and brushing his curly black hair out of his eyes before turning to meet the man with cool detachment.

Mason leans against the door, a sleazy, lazy smile revealing his blackened teeth.

This ends right here. Right fucking now. Richard raises his gun, pointing it directly at Mason's dumb ugly face.

Well, Mason says, slow and deliberate. I reckon you’ve come to take over.

The words are cunning, and devious in their constitution, they are meant to get inside his head. A perverse thought comes to his mind because essentially, he has, and strangely enough, Richard isn’t the least bit bothered by it. Maybe this is where things were headed all along—to kill a demon he has to become one.

We aren’t so different, Mason continues. I was you, a few years back. I was. That might surprise you, but Beau makes me good money. We got an arrangement going, have for years, and it wasn't until he met you that things started to change…

Mason’s words stink like piss and shit. Richard can hardly stand it.

You fell for those doe eyes, Mason whistles. The boy is a looker. I wouldn’t classify myself as a fag, just a sucker for a pretty face is all.

Shut up! Richard grinds his teeth. You must be out of your Goddamn mind if you think I’ll ever side with you.

It isn’t about siding, Mason says. It’s about making sure my investment goes to the right person and, Sheriff... well it can’t get better than that.

You’re under arrest, Richard says, cutting off the crazy tirade once and for all. For murder in the first degree, human sex trafficking of a minor, and drugs with the intent to distribute. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

Mason smiles.

It’s a bleak twisted thing. As I’ve said before, we aren’t so different. This is so much bigger than you will ever understand. I felt the same way you did long ago, but what you don’t understand is that Beau’s a big black hole, he’ll suck the life out of you if you aren’t careful.

"We are nothing alike," Richard says.

Oh, but we are. Mason folds his arms. "With you, the business will go on. I know that now. If there is one thing I’m proud of, it’s what I’ve accomplished with Beau. I’ve molded him, shaped him into what I deem worthy, and trust me Beau’s sly, more slippery than a rattlesnake, a true Moonshiner if I ever saw one."

"You sick fuck." Richard pants, struggling not to pull the trigger.

Hey, Mason says smugly. I’m proud of it and because of you, I’m happy as a dead pig in the sunshine. It’s insane, isn’t it?

The white light burns bright.

Richard reels. His heart jams in his throat. The sexual abuse, the physical abuse, and the mental abuse—the sheer violation of Beau makes his stomach wrench, and he can barely stand. His legs quiver and the anger rushes at him.

The demon, resting weightlessly on his shoulder, a clawing grotesque creature snarling in his ear to kill, wants blood and shit everywhere. Richard knows he should cuff him, take him to the cruiser, and wait for backup—he knows that. Mason should be in jail with his own kind, with Bud and all those other deviants, but Richard is itching, twitching for something else.

He doesn’t want to see Mason behind bars, where he could get out ten or fifteen years later for good behavior. The insane thing would be letting this person—this creature live to spread his poisonous existence upon others. The demon bares its canines, wailing in his ear and foaming at the mouth.

Richard aims the gun and fires.

The bullets pierce fragile flesh and tear through the skin. Mason’s head explodes blood and chunks of brain blasting through the air. He steps closer, firing another round into Mason’s body, watching sadistically as it lurches violently, juddering and spazzing, jerking and erupting with blood spraying everywhere.

His mouth fills ferociously with the metallic taste of iron. It’s beautiful—so vibrant and so red and so fucking satisfying. The blood spurts and splatters across his face and he doesn’t stop pulling the trigger until his gun clicks empty.

Someone screams.

Beau dashes out of the house, slipping on Mason’s blood as he struggles to get out the front door. Far away he can hear more sirens, the backup he called is coming as he chases Beau down the wooden steps.

Beau trips, tumbling headfirst in the dirt, retching loudly. Richard follows him, walking towards his cruiser and grabbing the radio set.

All units respond! This is 10-34 come in, en route to 45 Miller Lane towards the Blackwell residence! Repeat all units! Over, Richard spits into the mouthpiece. There is static in response then several officers jump to reply.

Beau pukes again.

Richard crouches beside him, stroking his head soothingly; he looks up just in time to see the sea of police cruisers tear into the lot. They swarm the scene, and each cop gets out of their vehicle with their guns drawn and raised, ready for a fight.

Richard waves them off, patting Beau on the back before standing. Roy races over to him, checking him over to make sure none of the blood is his. Richard jerks his head towards the house, answering his silent question.

You alright, brother? Roy asks, his forehead creased with worry.

He looks at Roy, his body singing with high-pitched frequencies and Mason's blood hardening on his skin.

Never better.

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Chapter 2

Forensics placed yellow tape around the house. Beau is being taken care of by EMS, they bandage his bruises while Richard helps his team gather evidence. Roy looks shaken, but he takes out his notepad along with Tanya. Okay. What happened? he says.

After the meeting, I remember that Beau mentioned being alone with Mr. Buckley. I feared for his safety then I rushed over here.

Why didn’t you say so? Tanya asks. We would have all come had we known—

It was the heat of the moment, Richard says ducking his head bashfully. I apologize. I was just so worried. I couldn’t think straight. I went against protocol I know, but I was following a lead.

It’s fine. Tanya smiles. I’m just glad you’re okay.

Richard answers all their questions pragmatically, the lies flowing like honey through his duplicitous teeth.

They don’t ask Beau.

He’s practically catatonic as the EMS looks after him.

Richard struts around the area like a peacock, occasionally spewing orders and making sure they get all the evidence they need. They search the house; forensics sweeps the crime scene, and Tanya brings Beau some clothes he can wear. Roy comes up beside him, his eyes slanted with suspicion. Your arm doesn’t look right.

Most likely dislocated. Yeah, I’ll have them check it out. I want to get this done first, Richard responds.

You said Mason attacked you, right? Roy asks.

Yeah.

You said he charged you, right? Roy raises an eyebrow.

Sure did.

Roy spits on the grass and places his hands on his hips.

Funny.

What? Richard squints against the fading light, molten lava now bleeding into the skyline.

I reckon... the way Mason’s body is positioned tells me he was shot point-blank. From where he was standing near the door isn’t any way he could have charged at you and the distance between you and him doesn’t make sense. We also happened to find the murder weapon, conveniently placed out in the open, Roy observes.

That catches his attention. Murder weapon?

Yeah, I found it lying on the table. Either Mason was itching to get caught or things aren’t adding up.

Richard frowns deeply, he’s right, things aren’t adding up. He doesn’t believe a hardened criminal like Mason would leave a murder weapon out in the open. That’s practically begging to be put in jail.

You ran the prints?

Sure did, Roy says. That same butcher’s knife was used to cut Gary open.

And you found it? Richard asks, almost disbelievingly. Just like that?

"Just like that, Roy responds. It seems odd, don’t you think? Why would he leave it out like that? What did he have to gain by doing that?"

I don’t know... Richard sighs. Good questions.

It brings me to my next question... why did you really come here?

What do you mean?

Roy scoffs. "I saw your face after we thought Mason might be the killer, he had the means and motive... now suddenly you charged in, killed Mason in self-defense, and we find the murder weapon? It’s all a little too convenient, is what I’m saying."

It sounds awfully like an accusation. Are you saying I had something to do with this?

Not at all, brother, Roy says slowly. Not you... His eyes darted to the EMS surveying Beau. I don’t trust him. There’s a lot of information missing, and I think he knows what happened.

Richard’s hands curl into fists. It’s so like Roy to twist the blame. Why couldn’t he see it was a good thing that Mason was dead? Why couldn’t he realize that the world was better without men like Mason?

Deep down he knows this is just between the two of them.

Roy won’t share his opinions with anyone else, this is just a ploy—a trap to get him to tell the truth, which he won’t. Not now and not ever. They’ve known each other since they were kids, and he always was a shitty liar—especially with Lana and Roy.

He doesn’t bother responding.

Richard grinds his teeth and stares resolutely ahead. We’ll talk about it later. Richard grunts, striding away to the EMS.

It’s all patchwork, the paramedics bandage his shoulder and reset the dislocated bone back into place. The whole process hurts like a bitch and by nightfall, he’s aching to get some sleep. He finds Beau after, eager to get them both away from this atrocious place. He grabs Beau’s belongings and walks quickly to his car. Beau follows silently, getting in the front seat, staring vacantly out of the window.

The drive to the station is mostly quiet.

Richard chances several glances at Beau, but he doesn’t say anything because there isn’t anything to say. What happened with Mason was downright ugly. There is no way to sugar-coat anything; Beau doesn’t need his sweet patronization. When they get to the police station, Richard parks the car and waits for several moments.

You understand why I did it, Richard says, his voice rough and hoarse. You understand why he needed to die right?

Yes, Beau whispers.

Beau’s so pale, his face nearly translucent in the moonlight. Richard can’t even begin to understand what Beau’s going through but he does his best to make sure that Beau realizes he’ll be there for him, no matter what. He feels oddly possessive; considering everything they've gone through, Richard isn't willing to let Beau go, not yet.

Not when something is simmering just below the surface.

The thought of being separated from Beau leaves Richard stricken, it seizes his heart. It makes him crazy, his body threatening to tear everything apart just to be next to him. No matter what, I’m not losing you, Richard vows. I don’t care what they say but we aren’t going to be separated. I’ll figure it out, I promise, Beau.

They exit the vehicle and walk calmly towards the building. Several officers stare at him and Beau as they step inside, but he keeps walking, fully aware of the fact that he must look like shit, covered in blood and dirt.

Ah, sir. Houston approaches him stiffly. Casey Weiland from the Department of Social Justice is waiting for you.

Fuck. Richard drags a hand down his face. I’ll see her in my office. Things just went from bad to worse. I’ll be a minute, Richard says quietly to Beau. Sit here and wait for me.

Casey Weiland leans casually against the door near his office. Her face holds a severity like no other, with short jagged red hair, and a plain face wrinkled with years of hardship. Richard’s hands tremble as he opens the office door, then turns on the lights, gesturing for Casey to take a seat.

What the hell am I doing here, Richard? At this time of night?

Hello to you too, Richard mumbles.

Does this have something to do with that Blackwell kid? If you wanted to talk, you should have called my office tomorrow. It’ll take some time for us to find him a place, even though we are social services we can’t just snap our fingers—

He’s not going into the system, Richard says calmly.

Casey scoffed. Well, is Creed coming to collect him? Because as far as I know nobody has seen or heard from him in years.

He’s not staying with that piece of shit either.

Well, then the Georgia Department of Human Services will take him, and trust me foster care is probably your best option right now.

Casey. Richard leans forward. Look me in the eye and tell me that sending Beau to foster care isn’t a fate worse than death. The next foster care is three counties over, not to mention he’ll be ripped away from his town if his brother ever decides to come back.

I know. Casey sighs. He’s too old anyway. As much as we need the room for other children, what can I say? There isn't a place out there for him. What would you have me do?

Leave him with Monroe Armstrong, Richard says. I’ll take care of it.

You’re kidding right? Casey deadpans. What makes you think Monroe will agree to take a kid he barely knows and a Blackwell I might add?

You know Monroe and he will, Richard says, shuffling some papers.

Okay, even if he did, do you expect this to fly with the Department—

Look, I’ll sign whatever forms you want, and I’ll get Monroe to agree to be his temporary guardian if I have to, but he isn’t leaving Byromville, especially not when he has a warm bed he can stay in and is possibly going back to school with people he knows.

And Monroe is going to be fine with providing all of that?

Yes.

Casey leans back in her chair. Okay... I’ll see what I can do about contacting Creed, which is looking more like finding a needle in a haystack. As long as you are fully aware that once Creed comes back, and if he files for guardianship, Monroe will most likely be terminated. The court almost always finds in favor of biological family members.

"I’m well