Scent Of Blood

All Rights Reserved ©



Drama / Horror
Age Rating:

The Storeroom For Tortured Boys

Warnings: Torture, kidnapping, and implied r*pe of a minor, talking of electrocution, talking of whipping, drowning, branding, being rented out, kidnapping, selling people, excessive drinking, betting on people, collaring, putting a leash on a human, blindfolding, implied past r*pe of a minor and of adults, kissing, swearing, forcing a minor to drink alcohol, and food mentions. (Please tell me if I missed anything!!!)

Jack presses himself further into the back of his cell as the door to the storeroom bangs open.

The cell was packed full with other men, some young-adults, some teenagers. There was even a fifteen-year-old that had been brought in two weeks ago.

The worker that had come in sneers at them, pulling out his keys and looking through the crowd as each person tried to stay in the back, and out of his line of sight.

“You, you, you, you, you, and you.” He jabs a finger through the bars, pointing at the fifteen-year-old, two of the older men that were standing near the front, a skittish looking twenty-something man, a man near the back, and Jack. “Get up here.”

Jack grits his teeth, walking to the front of the cell as the worker unlocks it and pulls them out, before locking it again.

The two older men grabbed a hold of the fifteen year old and Jack, putting them behind them as they were lead out into the bar.

Shielding them.

Loud cheers rolled out from the drunk men and women inside, people downing beers and other alcoholic drinks left and right.

Up on the stage was a table, a white board, and a tank full of water.

On the white board, written in drunken script, Jack could see his name.

Marco, Jace, Jack, Will, Felix, and Danny.

That must be what the other guys are named.

Jack walks up onto the stage, staring worriedly at the tank as people started shouting bets.

“I got forty on Marco!”

“Twenty on Will!”

“I’ll be nice, put seven on Danny from me.”

“You scared of water, kid?” The older man next to him asks quietly.

“No.” Jack shakes his head, noticing the fifteen-year-old trembling out of the corner of his eye.

“I won’t lie, this ain’t gonna be pleasant, but it’s better than the shock collars.”

Jack remembered the shock collars.

It was his first day at the bar, after being grabbed off the streets the day before.

He remembered seeing the man there before, along with different people he had to play against.

Whoever could stand the most shocks without breaking won, and got extra food that night.

Whoever came in dead last got ten lashes with the belt.

Jack had lost.

One of the workers hops onto the stage, carrying a basket that they set down behind them.

Jack watches as the man puts his arms behind his back, and the worker begins tying them together.

“What’s going on?” The kid whined. “Please, I wanna go home...”

Jack rolls his eyes, wincing as his arms are forcibly pulled behind his back and tied, sending small sparks of pain through them.

The other men get tied, and Jack watches as a blindfold is tied around the man from the back of the cell.

“Thirty on Jace!”




“Betting polls are closed!” The owner of the bar proclaims gleefully, a magpie’s eye looking down at the table covered in cash.

“The owner always cheats.” The older man suddenly whispers. “As soon as someone bids a hundred, that’s the poor boy that’s gonna lose. You’ll be fine. He’ll give you a nice light weight.”

Jack sees what he means, as a collar with a weight on the end is brought over to the owner.

“The winner of today’s event, will get the usual reward of extra food!” The owner proclaims, a devious, scheming glint in his eye. “And the loser, will get branded with the marking of whoever bids the highest!”

The crowd bursts into cheers, and Jack’s heart dropped.

The teenager started bawling, much to the crowds pleasure as the laughed and ordered more beer.

The owner clasps the collar around the man, Jace’s neck. Carefully leaning him back, the owner watches as Jace just barely touches the water, then lets go of him.

Jace strains to keep his head up as the weight begins dragging him down, until only his mouth and nose were sticking out of the tank. After a few minutes, he takes a deep breath and his head falls under the water, the weight smacking the bottom of the tank.

The large timer stops on four minutes, twenty-two seconds.

Jack’s time to beat.

The crowd happily cheers at the time, so of the higher betters muttering about Jace’s time not being long enough.

Jace begins to struggle under the water as he loses air, and is hauled out of the tank.

“You’re up next, boy.” The owner gestures at the fifteen-year-old as Jace is lead away by a worker.

“Please!” The boy wails as a worker blindfolds him and drags him over. “Please, n-no!”


“I’ll put thirteen on Danny!”

“Please, he’s only worth eight!”


The owner waits a bit longer, then closes the bets once someone finally gives fifteen.

“Please, wait, please don’t put that thing on me!” Danny babbles as the owner locks the collar and weight around his neck.

The owner puts him down in the tank, and the timer starts again.

Danny struggled to hold himself up, whining and begging to be let out all the while. Jack could see his neck shaking with the pressure, before his head finally ducks into the water.

Danny didn’t even have enough time to take a breath, which made the crowd cheer at his stupidity.

He’d barely made a minute in the tank.

“Leave him under there!”

“Waste of money, stop taking ’em so young, Mr. Latimer!”

Danny was still shaking like a leaf in the tank.

The owner let’s out a bellowing laugh, grabbing Danny harshly and dragging him sputtering and shaking out of the water, the crowd laughing as he coughs up water and begins bawling.

“Get him a pint of beer, on me!” One of the ladies calls out, holding out a bill.

A worker grabs it and brings a cup over to the owner.

Danny coughs the last of the water out of his lungs and the owner slaps him on the back with a laugh.

“The lovely lady has paid for your painkillers. Say thank you, boy.”

“Tha-nk y-ou...” Danny sputters, crying more. “Please, I just want to g-go ho-me.”

The owner grabs the drink and pinches Danny’s nose shut, the crowd please with the new game as they watched him struggling for breath.

Danny finally takes in a gulp of air, and the owner starts forcing him to chug the drink.

“Seventy-five to take him for the night, Mr. Latimer?” One of the men in the crowd offers.

The owner strokes his beard in thought, before grinning. “Sold!”

“What? No!” Danny’s eyes grew wide as two workers hauled him away. “Please! Please, no!”

The two other men, Felix and Will, go next, each staying above the water longer than the last two.

Jack was feeling a lot more calm.

As long as he stayed above the water for longer than a minute, he would be in the clear, get a saltine cracker for participation, and be back in the cell in time to hopefully get more sleep.

He would be-

The door to the bar opens, and Jack looks over along with everyone to watch a girl that couldn’t be over twenty-five walk in.

For a moment, the bar guests go completely silent as everyone takes her in.

She was entirely dressed in pink, including a pink clutch purse and had pink bubble gum in her mouth that she would pop at least once every twenty seconds. Her long blonde hair was styled with two little buns at the top, and she wore pink converse on her feat.

Smiling coyly, she looks around the bar, before she finally stops on the manager. “Hey boys.”

“Amara!” The bar attendees all cheer as the girl called Amara beams.

“Amara, how are you doin’ sweetheart? We ain’t seen you around here in a while.” The ladies ask, each giving their own question as they beacon Amara over to their table.

“Here we are, Pink Starburst Cocktail, Princess Shot, Pink Pantie Pulldown, Pink Lady Cocktail, Love Potion Vodka, a Jungle Juice Vodka, and a sprite to make it all go down easy.” A waiter lists as he sets a tray full of pink drinks down in front of Amara.

“You guys,” Amara says sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him. “You’re just trying to get me drunk so I spend more money.”

“You know it darling.” He winks, kissing her on the cheek before heading back into the kitchen.

“Shit.” The man beside Jack curses. “I’m sorry kid. I’m really sorry. You’re not winning this one.”

“What?” Jack asks as the man is made to go stand by the tank. “What do you mean?”

“What did I miss?” Amara asks, taking a sip from one of the drinks and looking to the owner.

“Just in the middle of betting, Miss. Amara.” The owner grins, his yellow teeth hidden by the stage lights.

“Ohh! How fun.” Amara purrs. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Her eyes drift over to Jack and they brighten excitedly as more bets are thrown.

“Well, it’s almost time to shut the betting down.” The owner says, not so subtly looking over at Amara, who waves her offhandedly.

“Ohh, you know me. I have a type.”

“Of course.” The owner nods knowingly.

Jack felt like everyone in the bar glanced over at him.

The owner locks a collar on the man Jack now knew as Marco before pushing him down.

As Marco keeps his head afloat, Jack looks over at Amara, who was chatting with the ladies and the men that would walk by her table. Occasionally, Amara would look over at Jack, almost like she was thinking up something devious.

“And time!” The owner declares as Marco is pulled out of the water. “Eight minutes! Will Danny be our looser of the day, or will that fate rest on this poor man?”

Jack is pulled over to the tank, fighting back a scowl.

Why did everything the owner did have to play out like a soap opera? Nobody was fooled by the smart persona he tried to play.


“I got fifty on hand.”

“Thirty, ain’t no one doing better than Marco.”


“One-fifty,” Amara says calmly, leaning forward in her seat and sipping her drink.

“Bets are closed!” The owner yells, making Jack’s ears ring as a blindfold is tied around his eyes.

Shitshitshitshitshit, what did Marco say about going over a hundred?

Jack feels the weight around his neck, and he knows, he can just tell it’s heavier than what the other guys wore.

That dirty, cheating son of a bitch-

He’s pushed backward, the water enveloping his ears and making everything-


He can hear the choking noises he makes as the collar pulls against his throat, but it’s like he’s in another world, another dimension.

Marco was right. This isn’t so bad.

The weight pulls him under.

He’s eventually pulled up, to loud cheers and more drinking. His blindfold is removed and he stares at the timer.

Thirty-seven seconds.

“And we have our official loser!” The owner cheers, pulling him up.

Jack can see Amara pouting from the crowd.

“And who is going to claim the prize?” The owner asks with a grin.




“Three hundred.” Amara takes another sip, popping her gum.

“Miss. Amara.” The owner grins creepily, gesturing grandly to one of the doors. “It would be a pleasure.”

Amara gets up, daintily grabbing a drink and walking upstage, smiling at Jack.

“No.” Jack stands stunned as three workers begin to pull him towards the door. “No! I didn’t lose! He cheated!”

The door opens and he’s shoved inside, a worker maneuvering him around to untie his hands.

Pulling them to his front, they’re tied down to some form of metal piping while Amara browses all the different branding options.

“We could do an A.E? Or would you prefer one of the images?” The owner asks as Jack’s shirt is cut off and his legs are tied down.

Amara smiles at a cartoon bunny, grabbing it and screwing it onto the metal rod.

“This one is perfect.” She decides, handing it to him and sitting on the stool the workers had placed down in front of Jack. “Hello there.”

“He cheated!” Jack protests, struggling against his restraints. “To steal your money! I didn’t lose!”

“Goodness.” Amara rolls her eyes, looking over at the snickering workers. “Who cares? It’s just three-hundred.”

“Amara is a good friend of mine and my favourite customer.” The owner smirks, watching the rod grow hot in the furnace.

“You flatter me, chief.” Amara giggles, snapping her fingers at one of the workers. “Take off your belt. He needs something to bite down on. I wouldn’t want the poor boy’s teeth to break.”

“Anything for you, Amara.” One smiles, unbuckling his belt and handing it to her.

Amara folds the belt in half and tussles Jack’s hair. “I always liked the name Jack, like the Titanic. How fitting you were drowning today.”

Grinning, she teasingly forces his mouth open, placing the belt inside and trailing a manicured nail down his cheek.

“Nice and hot.” The owner carefully pulls the branding rod out of the small oven and turns.

“No, wait, wait, ple-” Jack’s voice breaks off into screams behind the belt as the owner presses the brand down on his lower back.

Amara’s nose wrinkles up at the smell of burning flesh, and she happily takes the fluffy pink earmuffs one of the workers offered her to slightly block out Jack’s screams.

The owner pulls the brand away and puts it in a bucket of water. One of the workers hands Amara a wet washcloth as the other takes his belt back and puts it on.

“Shh...” Amara coos as she wipes the sweat off of Jack’s brow. “It only lasted a moment.”

Jack moans in agony, his head lolling down to rest on Amara’s hand. She continues to gently dab at his face, cooling it off while the owner busied himself getting some rubbing alcohol ready.

“Can’t let that get infected.” He comments sadistically.

“This is going to sting a bit, baby,” Amara says softly, peppering kisses all over Jack’s face.

The owner pours the rubbing alcohol out and wraps up Jack’s chest.

Jack shrieks at the stinging pain, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he slumps in a dead faint.

“Poor baby.” Amara laughs, kissing down Jack’s ear and jawline. “I’ll give you a thousand for him.”

“He could pull in good money. He’s young, you know my boys out there.” The owner says casually, trying to subtly drive up the price.

Amara glances up at him, one eyebrow raised. “You can always kidnap another one, can’t you?”

“Too many missing men in the neighborhood gets a little harsh with the police.” He shrugs. “Three-thousand could really help out business.”

“One-thousand or I’ll take my business, and enormous lee-way with my banking account elsewhere.” Amara threatens cheekily.

“Fair enough, you got yourself a new plaything.” The owner blows out a harsh puff of air, waving at the three workers. “Go help Miss. Ellery transfer her drinks to her car, and get a new shirt for him.”

The workers nod, guiding Amara out.

“Well,” The owner snorts once the door shuts behind them. “You got lucky Jack. Miss. Ellery is real big on consent and love and all that shit with her boys.”

Jack groans, whining as the owner pulls him up by his hair and bends down to hiss in his ear.

“But you better stay in your place, or you’ll end up in a ditch far faster, with her.”

He cackles at that, letting Jack’s head drop back down as he ran a finger down Jack’s side.

Jack shivers away, faintly begging.

“Well, if it’s any consolation to you, you were fun. Maybe Amara will give you back to me instead of offing you.”

A worker opens the door and begins untying Jack.

Jack falls to the floor once the restraints holding him up are gone, and the worker heads back into the bar.

Returning with a bucket of water, he throws it onto Jack, who cries out, his eyes darting around the room and searching for a hiding spot.

“Put that on.” The owner demands as the worker throws the shirt at him.

Jack shakily pulls the shirt on and Amara skips back into the room.

“Pleasure doing business with you, chief.” She smiles, clipping a pink collar onto Jack’s neck and attaching a leash.

“Always, Miss. Amara.” The owner smiles as Jack shakily stands and follows her out of the room. “Come back anytime.”

Walking outside, Amara grabs Jack’s arm to guide him over to her pink Cadillac.

“I know, who would’ve thought I’m into old stuff, right?” She asks as she herds him into the backseat. “I hope you are too, it’s kinda my room mate’s whole deal. Well, she not really my roommate, but...”

Amara trails off, grabbing one of her drinks out of the cup holder and taking a long sip.

“Anyway, you’re going to love Saoirse.” She finishes weakly, shaking her head slightly as she starts the car. “Sorry...M’ a little buzzed. Saoirse took me in I guess...I don’t have to pay rent or anything. I’m sure you’ll love her. She really likes Vintage stuff...Victorian, actually...”

Amara didn’t even notice Jack was fast asleep in the backseat, crying softly at nightmares.

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