Disclaimer This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders to the rights of Starsky and Hutch.

Warning: "Family Business" is truly a dark tale and contains some scenes of incest, male rape and foul language that may be offensive to some readers. If this is not your cup of tea, then please refrain from sipping. I truly do not want to offend anyone and it is never my intentions to do so. Please consider yourself warned.

Aloha Everyone . . . It is summer and school has finally come to a close. I thank all of you for your kind emails regarding my return to fan fiction and for your sweet sentiments and continued friendships during my self-imposed hiatus. I also wanted to thank you all for the lovely Torino Awards that I received. I was truly honored and humbled at the same time. I have truly missed all of you and I have decided to use these next few weeks to explore a disturbing topic that has been on my mind for some time now. Please take the time to read the warning above. I don't want to upset anyone okay? I will not be offended at all if you choose not to read this one. Mahalo again, for always being such bright lights in an often times dreary world. You guys truly rock. . . . and now I bring you . . . "Family Business."

Aloha Pumehana . . . Shawne 'til dawn

Family Business

Chapter One

The warm rivulet of blood that ran down his forearms and slowly pooled into the crook of his aching shoulders, was the catalyst that brought the dark haired man to the surface of awareness, pulling him up from the black abyss he'd fallen in.

'Fallen? More like shoved . . .' the brunet thought dazedly; slowly attempting to lower his arms, his reflective sarcasm caused a slow grin to pull at the corner of his mouth, before it quickly disappeared into a grimace as he felt his body suddenly scream in agony. White hot tendrils of fire blazed a trail from his numb fingers to his stinging, bloody wrists tied taunt with rawhide strips that had once been soaked with water and was now nearly dried, brutally pinching his skin and cutting off the circulation to his swollen hands above. Fiery pain raced down his stretched forearms, glistening with sweat, to his taunt shoulders and across the pulled muscles in his upper back.

The dark haired cop gasped softly, gritting his teeth tightly to keep from crying out as every throbbing muscle in his arms, and upper torso, clamored at once for attention. The unforgiving pain stole his breath away and the curly haired brunet groaned as he slowly lifted his heavy head, only now realizing that it had been hanging down between his outstretched shoulders and arms. His strained neck protested the forced movement, as Starsky wearily lifted long dark lashes, spiked now with perspiration. Dark blue eyes, glazed and unfocused, squinted slightly as he looked past his secured hands that held him up, to the thick chain that attached itself to his bindings and ran through a metal loop that was screwed to the wooden rafters above him.

The weary cop dropped his head once more, trying to shake off the residual grogginess, breathing heavily as he attempted to drag his feet back under him, trying to gain purchase to alleviate some of the weight off of his arms and shoulders, easing the relentless pain that tore at his straining muscles. Starsky slowly lifted his head once more to look around, his detective mind trying to piece together what had happened, as he took in his surroundings. He knew he had been hanging for some time now, the punishing pain in his upper body confirmed that, but it was hard to tell how much time had elapsed since he had first gotten into this mess.

It was dark and stifling hot wherever he was; the humidity alone made drops of perspiration run down between his shoulder blades and along the sides of his neck. His head pounded and pulsed and his left temple stung terribly as sweat ran down the side of his face. He was locked up in some kind of a wooden shack or barn; the sweltering sun forced bright light between the wooden slats and Starsky squinted, turning his head away from the glare.

The brunet looked again to the rafters, determined blue eyes locked on the chains above him. Starsky tried to steady himself from swaying, but since the balls of his bare feet were barely touching the dirt floor it made it very difficult to accomplish. Taking in a deep breath the dark haired detective held it, dreading what he was about to do, realizing he would pay for it in the end, but knowing he could think of nothing else until he tried this. With all of his strength, the brunet yanked at the chain, using his weight to jerk against his bonds, hoping beyond hope to loosen the screw from the beam above, twisting his already bleeding wrists, only to mangle them further in the process, swearing angrily as he realized he only succeeded in tightening the leather thongs, the rawhide slicing cruelly into his already torn and abraded flesh.

Groaning softly, Starsky finally gave up his futile attempts at escape and lowered his head once more to ease the merciless pounding in his skull. His body ached even more from his thrashing and he could feel the blood running freely from his ravaged wrists. Breathing heavily, overheated and trembling with exhaustion and pain, the brunet ceased his struggles. Dark lashes hid the frustration and anxiety he felt, as he fought off the waves of dizziness and nausea that assaulted his senses. His head felt like it was going to explode and he fleetingly wondered if he was suffering from a concussion. Unbidden, sky blue eyes, soft with affection and laughter filled his mind's eye, and the brunet sighed wearily.

'Hutch. I need you now buddy . . . hurry up!'

He hoped Hutch was on his way to rescue him from this nightmare. 'Hell, if it wasn't for Hutch's bright idea, I wouldn't even be in this mess,' the dark haired detective thought morosely. Hanging and hurting, with nothing else to do, Starsky let his thoughts wander back to the time before this whole nightmare began . . .

oo0oo

"Country roads . . . take me home . . . to the place . . . I be-long . . ." Starsky sang loudly, nodding his head to the beat of the song, drumming the rhythm of the music upon the steering wheel as he drove along, unintentionally drowning out the melodically mellow voice of John Denver that came through the radio as his own voice rang out slightly off-key, 'West Virginia . . . mountain momma . . . take me home . . . country roads . . . take me home . . . country roads!" The curly haired detective grinned, pleased with his solo performance and the crescendo in his voice at the finale.

'Too bad Hutch couldn't hear that,' the brunet thought smugly, his bright smile fading as he took in the never ending stretch of road, flanked on each side by never ending fields of corn and pastureland. The dark haired cop sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that he had Hutch beside him. He felt bored and restless with only grass and cattle and corn to look at for the last two hours, and listening to country music was not his thing, but since it was the only radio station that came in clearly, he wasn't about to complain. Reaching across the bench seat of his Torino, Starsky snagged the folded paper and read the address and directions to the farm scrawled in Hutch's familiar handwriting with a phone number scribbled on the bottom.

"Just in case you get lost buddy," Hutch had said, handing him the note at the airport two days ago. "It'll be nice to just relax up at the farm . . . get some fishing in and some fresh air . . . you'll see Starsk. I'll have everything ready by the time you get up there," Hutch chuckled at the brunet's skeptical look, his pale blue eyes softening with fondness for his partner, "Hey . . . trust me okay?"

Starsky smiled at the memory and refolded the paper, slipping it into his wallet that was on the seat beside him and looked once again to the road. 'Yeah . . . well you would think there would be some kind of payphone out here Blondie,' the brunet thought sourly, his dark blue eyes peered out from behind his shades, scanning the terrain for any road signs or telephone booths. 'One day, when I retire from the force, I'm gonna make some type of mobile phone so that people who are lost like me, can get help right away!' the curly haired man thought irritably, 'I should have never let you talk me into this Hutchinson! Fishin' and fresh air . . .' the detective grumbled under his breath.

Starsky sighed as he thought about his fair-haired partner. He knew Hutch had been worried about him. It had been a rough month for the both of them. Finding John's body in the cheap, seedy room of the St. Francis Hotel and finding out that his childhood mentor had been secretly hiding his homosexual tendencies had rocked the brunet's world. He'd known John Blaine practically his whole life and it was mainly because of John that he'd chosen to become a police officer himself. To find out that Blaine had led a double life saddened the brunet, not only because he was close to John and his wife Maggie; but because he knew John was ashamed of being gay and that he had felt the need to hide that part of his life from his family and friends.

The dark haired detective sighed again and looked out his window at the sea of endless green. 'No wonder Hutch left this place and came out California . . . there's no action here!' he grouched silently to himself. Yet, if the truth were known, Starsky was thankful for this bit of respite from the busy city and its dreary dirtiness. He was tired . . . tired of worrying about Hutch and him surviving on the streets, tired of hospital rooms and recovering from injuries, tired of seeing people hurting, the bums, drug addicts and prostitutes on the streets, tired of watching his back from the bad guys, especially when he had to watch both his back and Hutch's from the "good" guys too.

It blew Starsky away when he found out that Alex Corday, a fellow officer of the law and someone that they should have supposedly been able to trust since he was a fellow "good" guy, was the one who was really responsible for taking John's life. Needless to say, it had really shaken the brunet to the core. Dealing with his mentor's death and funeral had been hard enough, but to realize that John had led a double life and that his life was taken by someone who was supposed to be trusted . . . and then helping John's wife, Maggie, deal with the aftermath of everything, when he himself was having challenges dealing with it . . . well . . . it had definitely been a rough month.

Going over to tell Maggie about John's death, explaining how her husband had been with a man and how they found him in the dirty hotel room, robbed and murdered, was one of the most difficult things Starsky had ever had to do; and he could still hear Maggie's soft, sorrow-filled voice as he remembered her begging him to understand that her husband had been good man . . .

…

"I'm sorry David," Maggie whispered as she turned from the shelf, "I know you're not lying. I guess I've known about it for a long time. I knew, but there are some things better left unsaid."

Starsky watched sadly as Maggie stood in front of him, tear filled eyes beseeching, "David . . . John was a good man. No matter what you find out, John was a good man!" It broke his heart to hear Maggie's soft words, to hear her silently begging him to understand and not judge her husband, but to love and accept all that he was unconditionally . . .

…

The dark haired detective sighed once again as his thoughts took him back to his childhood days, remembering how John became an almost surrogate father for him as he was growing up. Growing up had been difficult, especially with the suppressed anger he felt as a boy towards his mother, for sending him out alone to California after his father had been gunned down in the streets. It took Johnny Blaine to breach the walls of his heart and to make him understand that his mother made that difficult decision out of love.

Soon afterwards, the Blaine's had become his extended family and John had become his idol and mentor. It was John who taught him things from plastic model-making to football. Whenever he or Ross, his childhood neighbor and friend, had disagreements or were in trouble, it was always John who came to the rescue. John was an integral part of not only his childhood, but of him reaching manhood and becoming a cop. How could he ever think that Johnny Blaine was anything but a good man?

It was shortly after the Blaine case had been solved and closed that Hutch got word of his parent's intention to sell his grandfather's farm in Minnesota. Starsky knew the decision had been a difficult one for his blond friend to stomach, for Hutch had had so many fond memories created on that farm with his grandfather whom he dearly loved.

They had a week of off -time coming to them and the tall blond had enticed his dark haired partner to spend the week with him up at the farm before the property was sold. If it weren't for the fact that Starsky had promised to help Maggie pack up and move her belongings from the Blaine's large home to a smaller apartment she'd bought, the brunet would have ridden the plane over to Minnesota with Hutch the other day.

"Just drive your red tomato on up after you help Maggie move out," Hutch had cajoled, "It'll be a nice, peaceful drive for you and then we can both ride home together after the weekend is over? It would be a great road trip . . . what do you say buddy?"

'Hmph! Should've known that "nice" and "peaceful" meant boring!' Starsky complained silently as he drove, remembering his partner's words. "You always know what to say to get me to do the things I don't wanna do Hutchinson!" Starsky said to no one, a grin lighting up his face as he thought of his blond counterpart batting his pale lashes coquettishly, finally resorting to begging, softly saying, "Pleeeease Starsk," when the brunet took too long to answer.

The dark haired detective chuckled softly, glanced at the review mirror and saw that he was alone on the narrow strip of road that trailed endlessly behind him. He flicked his cobalt blue eyes to the front and saw the endless strip of deserted road ahead of him, the cornfields had now turned to forestland on the left side of the road that stretched as far as the eye could see, 'Damn . . . where the hell am I?' the brunet wondered, reaching over for the map.

The sudden loud hiss of steam that came from his bursting radiator made the brunet swear under his breath. The perpetual summer heat had been plaguing his car for the past few months now, pissing his blond friend off whenever they had to walk to work in the sweltering heat of the day. He had taken his car in several times to Merle for adjustments and had thought the problem had been fixed, but this cross-country drive might have pushed his baby over the edge once again.

"Damn!"

Pulling over to the side of the road, Starsky got out of the car and lifted the hot, shiny hood, carefully avoiding the billowing clouds of angry steam. "Shit!" the brunet swore again, pissed with himself, for not bringing any coolant or water for his car. Starsky sighed in exasperation; he had thought the problem had been fixed. He would need to get help, but looking up and down the empty strip of road and wishing and praying wasn't going to bring a tow truck to him. "So much for peaceful and nice . . ." the curly haired cop bitched softly to himself, his sable curls almost plastered against his head as sweat dripped down the sides of his face. 'Well it's a good thing Hutch ain't here," Starsky thought silently, remembering Hutch's last blowout that mirrored the Torino's . . .

…

"Look Starsk," Hutch said irritably as they stood in the middle of the busy street next to the stalled red car whose engine hissed and steamed, "I think it's about time you made a choice between this pile of junk and me!"

"Don't make me choose," Starsky glared at his partner, sweat running down the sides of his face.

"Walking in this heat ain't exactly my idea of a good time!" Hutch snapped.

"My temperature gauge went up about 10 degrees," Starsky said, trying to make his irate partner understand.

"Well mine's going up about 20!" Hutch shouted, ice blue eyes freezing the overheated brunet on the spot.

"Well if I keep drivin', I might blow my engine," Starsky futilely pointed out, swallowing as he saw the look his blond partner gave him.

"You do this again, you might blow a partner!"

…

Starsky gave an exasperated sigh. Yes, it was good thing Hutch wasn't here. He'd be pissed as hell, that's for sure, if he'd had to walk in this heat, and walking was the only option at the moment. For a minute or two the brunet pondered over his dilemma, hating to leave his car out in the middle of nowhere, but making up his mind; Starsky leaned into the car and shoved his wallet into his back pocket and his gun into his holster, rolling up the windows and locking the doors of the Torino. Sighing with frustration, the dark haired detective resolved that he would walk to the nearest town if he had to. Rolling up the sleeves of his light blue denim shirt and walking a few yards along the road, the Californian cop took one last look over his shoulder at his beloved automobile parked in the distance and he shook his head disgustedly as he snorted, "Peaceful and nice huh Blondie? Right!"

oo0oo

The sudden creaking of the door made the brunet lift his weary head once more, bringing him back to the here and now. Breathing heavily, his heart beating erratically, Starsky watched as the door to the shack was slowly opened.

To be Continued . . .