Serving Alpha Gods

    It has been over a month since I first met Eric’s friends. They had become regular visitors to our house. My housemates were less than thrilled that these behemoths had as much free reign of the house as Eric did, and it was starting to affect my friendships. I had new keys made for each of them, and they were coming and going as they pleased. Often passing out on the couch when they needed a place to crash after a hard night. My housemates were growing cold to me. They loved Eric but five Eric’s were too much for them. They were loud, obnoxious, arrogant, rude, inconsiderate, and demanding. They were perfect for me, but not for my housemates. 

    I tried running interference, making excuses, or apologising for them, but still my housemates were growing colder with me by the day. I expressed this with Eric and he explained he would “Take care of it.” Whatever that meant, he never explained.

    I was feeling lonely in the house now, when i wasn't doing housework, I was spending the majority of my time in mine and Eric’s room. I craved the moment Eric returned home from work every day, and cherished the moments his friends would visit. They gave me the human interaction I required that I was no longer getting from my housemates.

    One day, I was in the middle of cleaning up a mess Eric and his friends made after playing rugby in the rain. They had tracked a lot of mud into the house, and when my housemates found out, I promised I’d clean it up.

    Suddenly, the phone rang. Of course, it was a number I did not recognise. I debated answering it, and I eventually lost that debate.

    “Hey Faggot?” I heard a familiar voice on the other end.

    “Umm Yeah, whose this?” I asked.

    “Are you busy? I’m coming over, you're gonna help me with something.” Just like Eric, there was no option to decline.

    “Well actually I’m-” The call disconnected. If I had to guess based on the voice, it was Jordan, but why was he calling me? What could he want?

    I hurried to finish cleaning the floor, so that my housemates wouldn’t be upset, and I’d still be free to help Jordan when he arrived. Fortunately, like Eric, he had no concept of punctuality and arrived several hours later. Unfortunately, he stormed in the house without cleaning his shoes, without announcing himself, without even knocking, and undid all my hard work.

    I sighed, but remembering Eric’s request, I turned my full attention to Jordan. He was looking rather uneasy, pacing back and forth, biting his nails. It was very uncharacteristic of him. Everything I knew about him suggested he was very cool and collected, cold and calculating. I silently questioned if he were on drugs, but none of Eric’s friends struck me as the type… Maybe for steroids. 

    “I need your help, get your shit and hurry.” He ordered.

    I was concerned and did as he instructed, gathering my wallet, phone and keys, and followed him outside. He led me to a ute which was similar to Eric’s, only ruby red instead of black. 

    “Is everything ok?” I asked out of concern.

    “Yeah everything’s fine, get in.” 

    Once I was in Jordan's Ute, which was decorated unsurprisingly similar to Eric’s, I asked. “Why do you need my help? I’m not exactly what you’d call physically capable.” 

    “The boys are at work, You’re the only one I could call.” He explained as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.

    I was rather disappointed I was his last resort, but I suppose that only emphasised how desperate he was in need of my assistance. I looked over to him, watching him as he drove. He had returned to his usual calm disposition, that most befitting the man I’d heard the stories about. He was the sniper of the team, the marksman. He preferred to take his enemies out from a distance, very clean and emotionless. He loved to describe how a head explodes when struck by a 7.62mm calibre bullet. I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or if he just loved to see me squirm at the image it produced in my mind.

After an hour I became concerned, we were leaving the city.

    “Where are we going?” I inquired.

    There was no response.

    “Jordan, just tell me what’s going on.”

    “Do I have to shove my dick in your mouth to get you to shut up?” He warned.

    I took the sign and decided not to ask anymore questions. I looked out the window to enjoy the view of the drive while I waited for whatever was to come.

    “You’ll find out soon enough, faggot.” he cursed.

    Another hour passed, the sun was at its peak, it must have been midday. Looking out the window, there was no civilization for miles. We were surrounded by trees when Jordan turned the ute off the road. We drove down a path and eventually came to a stop. There were no landmarks or any indication of where we were.

    He undid his seatbelt and opened his door, “Get out.” He commanded and I obeyed.

    Walking around to the back of the ute, he opened the tray. “Come grab a couple of shovels.” 

    I blinked. This was it, I thought, Jordan was going to kill me… First he was going to make me dig my own grave. Of course I soon learned I was mistaken as I saw Jordan retrieve a strange object wrapped up tightly in a tarp. I wasn’t stupid, he as carrying a body.

    “Oh my god.” I said instinctively.

    “Shut up, Faggot.” He responded, pulling the body up over his shoulder and turning to walk away, further down into the forest.

    “Is that a body? Are we burying a body?! Did you kill someone?” I asked in a panic.

    “I said Shut The Fuck Up Faggot!” He yelled.

    “Who is that! What did you do?!”

    “Grab the fucking shovels and help me!” 

    I didn’t know what to do, my instinct was to flee, but my logic was stronger, I had no idea where I was, the way back to the city. If Jordan was capable of murder, then its likely he would kill me if I tried to run. And so, I grabbed the shovels I found in the ute tray. I rushed to follow him, keeping a respectable distance. We walked for another hour, Jordan found a spot he liked and dropped the corpse. He turned back to look at me, his face full of anger and hatred. 

    “Dig.” He said, pointing to the ground. 

    Without hesitation, I did as he instructed. Jordan ripped one of the shovels out of my hand and we got to work. I tried to keep my mind focused on the task, on the hole I needed to dig, and not what it was for. Which was a little difficult considering the necessary shape and size were burning into my mind. My eyes darted between the hole and the corpse in spite of my attempt to ignore it. 

Jordan was as observant as Eric, and he broke the silence. “She was just some whore. I stuck my dick in her, she told me to pull out and when I didn’t the bitch attacked me.” 

I listened in silence, I didn’t want to interrupt. I simply continued to dig.

“I crushed her throat until she stopped moving.”

He looked up at me and stopped digging. I looked up at him, and saw his eyes. I couldn’t read them, They weren’t full of anger, or fear or anything. They were the eyes of a cold and emotionless killer. I recognized them, I had seen them before. Eric had the same eyes the night after our third date, when he ran over two innocent men. I didn’t know what to say, but it was clear Jordan was looking for a response of some kind. Perhaps he wanted reassurement, or maybe he wanted me to tell him to turn himself in. I said the first thing that entered my mind.

“Why a prostitute?” 

“Whore” he immediately correctly.

I swallowed the frog in my throat. “Why a whore? Don’t you have a girlfriend?” 

“No girlfriend.” He answered.

Once again, I was at a loss for words, but I continued digging, this time however I was afraid too look away from the murderer that stood before me.

“I had to fuck someone.” He volunteered.

A thought stirred in my mind, and without properly thinking it through, I blurted it out. “Why not me?” 

The emotionless eyes that challenged me from across the hole suddenly became filled with anger. Jordan violently tossed his shovel aside and approached me.

“The fuck you say to me, Faggot? You want to be this bitch dead in the ground instead? Or are you saying you want to join her?” He threatened. 

I swallowed again. “Eric told me to do whatever you said… If you needed to fuck someone… why couldn’t you fuck me?” 

I couldn't believe what I was saying. I was helping dig a hole in the ground to bury a corpse and the killer was inches from my face. And yet here I was, jealous, why he would choose this whore over me. A woman was dead and all I could think about was his straight, superior, homophobic cock. 

Jordan reached forward and grabbed my throat. He squeezed tightly, I dropped the shovel as I was pulled from the ground. He sneered, pulling my face up to his before tossing me down. I landed over the corpse. I felt immediate dread and hurried to remove myself from the dead body. In my clumsy hurry I was unable to climb to my feet before Jordan pressed his body down against me. His chest pushed my body down against the corpse, and his hand tugged violently on my hair.

“You fucking faggots, all you can think about is our superior alpha male cocks.” 

Suddenly I felt a pull on my pants and heard a rip. The gentle breeze of the cool autumn wind crossed my cheeks… Although I could not see it, my ass was now exposed. I heard something unzip, that could only be Jordan's pants. I bit my lip, closed my eyes, and pretended the corpse was just a rock or rolled up rug.

“You keep your degenerate secrets hidden while you fantasise about us in your disgusting minds.”

It went in deep, much deeper than I was expecting based on the girth. As with Eric when he was angry, Jordan was rough and unkind. There was no method here, no goal, He wasn’t fucking me for pleasure, or even to make a point. He was fucking me for the sake of it. It was clumsy and painful, it felt as if his dick couldn't decide the direction it wanted to go. I had been violated before but never quite like this. 

“Making us do something we regret.”

I suppose he had finished, his rhythm was so erratic I couldn’t feel his dick convulse. He pulled out, and by the hair on my head he turned me around to kneel before him. I saw his dick, it was covered in cum and blood… My blood. 

“Clean it” He ordered and I obeyed.

The rest of the experience seemed unremarkable by comparison. We buried the body, walked back to the ute, and put the shovels away. He put a towel on my seat so I wouldn’t bleed, and drove me to the hospital. When we arrived, He explained I was “fagging out on a new dildo” and got so into it I wasnt being mindful. He also explained I was too embarrassed to speak about it, when I was asked if it were true, I looked to Jordan, who was avoiding eye contact with me, and then simply nodded. 

After my treatment, the doctors insisted I remain overnight for observation. Either in a weird kind of thanks, or an apology, or both, he remained with me in the room until Eric arrived. 

Eric gave him a bro hug and thanked him for taking good care of me. Eric slapped me for what I could only assume was making him worry, and he left to go retrieve some things I might need from home. 

Alone in the hospital room, Jordan and I sat in silence, I pretended to sleep, but I could feel his eyes glued to me. Eventually I sighed and returned the look.

“Whose Nathan?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, but he kept staring at me uncomfortably.

“That stuff you said… Earlier today, and you mentioned that name, Nathan, back when we met at the club. Was he your squadmate?” 

“Fuck. You. Faggot.” He rushed to his feet, walking to lean on the windows edge, looking outside at the passing traffic. I decided to leave it at that, and wait to see if Jordan felt like talking. Around ten minutes passed, Jordan broke the silence.

“Fucking ginger cunt, We caught him jerking his cock so many times. Claimed he was just horny. Soon we caught him staring, we asked if he was a fag and he said no. Then we caught him sniffing our jocks and cumming into our socks. Fucking degenerate. He didn’t make it back from the next mission alive.” 

There was more emotion in his voice now than there ever had been. It was full of anger, hatred, but also regret. He was angry at Nathan, this was clear, but he was also angry at himself. Eric once told me he would die for these men, he would kill for them, and yet such a controversy destroyed their group dynamic. 

“Whose idea was it…?” I hesitated asking, but my curiosity got the better of me.

“We all agreed to it…” He replied.

“That's not an answer.” 

“Who the fuck do you think, Faggot?” he asked, turning back to me. But not exactly answering. I assumed it was a rhetorical question, and he was referring to himself.

“This sort of thing can be scary, especially if you don't understand.” I tried to be supportive.

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy.” 

He left the room, and I wouldn’t hear from him for a few weeks. The next day, Eric drove me home from the hospital. I was happy to finally be going home. We were half way there when suddenly Eric spoke. 

“Jordan told me what you did for him, everything you did for him. Don’t expect a thanks from him.”