A/N: You guys wait so long, and it amazes me every time.

The office was an urban cave. Dark, molding and hidden behind the weeds of forgotten buildings and motels, convenience stores and crumbling apartments, authorities paid little attention to the gray eyesore. It was an impulsive construction, cast up in the storm of industrialization when America believed that every citizen would be suiting up for places like these. Every person would spend the day typing in a cubicle. That was to be the way of the future.

Then people discovered that they could type at home, or make money in the outdoors, and these establishments once cloned now blend into the background as droplets in used, mop-water buckets.

Panels of commercial light flickered over faces of disgrace, who were also shunned by society. They seemed to fit right in with the atmosphere, soaking in the dust and giving back some of their own. They were made by Forgotten America. They had arisen from neglect, just as the spider webs had in the corners of the ceiling.

Kendall was smirking, blending into the ground like a rooted tree. He may not have the years of the men standing behind the desk or those at his flanks, but he could have passed as one of them all the same. His arms were crossed over his chest, as some of theirs were. He was armed, just as they were. He was there to make something of himself, as they were, and wanted to handle his business as efficiently as he could. "I know you wanna pay me." He dripped. "I know you got that money fer me."

The man across from him just sneered and put up his hands. "I'm tryin', buddy. I jus gotta get it."

He sighed. "Now, Stan." He strolled, slowly. "Don't play me games here. I know you got cash, and I know you knew I was comin'. Hospitality I'm receivin' says so." He gestured to the door and its bodyguard. "S-expectin' a fruit basket, but this'll do."

Stan clicked his tongue. "Can't get nothin' past you, huh, Knight?"

"Not really, not really. Sorry ta disappointment."

"Nah, jus' the opposite. Here, take a seat, please." The man heaved into his own chair, waving his hand at the one in front of his visitor. "My guest."

Kendall didn't have to look back at his two to know that they had him covered. They were good dogs. "Most obliged."

Once he assumed the blonde comfortable, he continued. "So. Papers."

"Cut the shit, Stan." He was good at sounding full of mockery and yet serious within the same tone. "I wanna get shit movin' here."

"Okay okay, I guess I'm jus not used ta company. And a little hesitant." The man looked him up and down, knowing already the rumors that preceded Kendall Knight. "I love this property. It was a good one. And you…ya jus—"

Kendall crossed his legs and raised his eyebrow over perfectly lined eyes.

"Young. Like what, six—"

"Seventeen in like two weeks, want my address so ya can send me over a card?"

The guy deadpanned. "Look kid—"

"I own property all over this fuckin state and into the next. Now look, Stan." He leaned forward, tapping his knuckles on the plywood desk. "I know you like this property. And I know you don't wanna pay me fer that shipment I lent out ta ya. But I already paid fer this spot and I got up pretty early this mornin' ta come here an' finish up this deal. And you worryin' about my copyright year ain't part a any a that, feel?"

The guy huffed. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Jesus Stan, jus' gimme the papers."

The older grunted and snapped his fingers, not having to wait long for a lanky black male no older than Kendall to deliver him a grocery bag.

"High class," Kendall commented.

"Hey," Stan remarked as he dug. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know." The gangster took the pen he was offered. "Briefcase days're over."

"Damn right they are. Can't even run a fuckin' red light without Uncle Sam knowin' bout it." He counted the corners, shuffling them to a neat pile before sliding them over the faux wood. "There they are. All jus like we talked, don't even gotta read 'em."

Kendall shifted in his seat gave that wry smile. "Oh, I think I'll read it." Who needs books, huh, Logie? "Kay, first of all, ya spelled my name wrong."

"Jesus Christ."

His eyes were going to pop out of his head. They were throbbing in their sockets, pulsing with the overexertion of his brain and still allowing salt water to pour.

Logan had been crying for half an hour. The inside of his body was sore from its own wracking, stomach still spasming with the threat of upheaval.

The outside was just sore from the treatment.

Two large men had attacked Logan on the sidewalk with the crack. The Hispanic had grabbed him by the throat to prevent further noise, and it had worked. Logan gasped when the air was cut off from his lungs. He tried to pull the long fingernails out of his skin, but they were clamped too tightly. His mouth had hung open, gurgling pleas, as his eyes bulged wide. Logan had tried to stop them. He tried to get the white guy away from him. He tried to kick backwards when he felt hands sifting through his hair.

He missed.

The man seized his arms, ripping them backwards until he had his wrists close enough to tighten the zip-tie.

Then he was being hauled to that car.

They opened the door and shoved him inside, only struggling for seconds with the small thing's thrashing and kicking form. Once they folded his legs, the door was shut, they were in their seats, and the Oldsmobile was screeching out of the neighborhood.

Logan wasn't faring any better now than he was before.

"PLEASE! PLEASE JUST LET ME GO PLEASE I WONT TELL PLEASE!"

"Shut the fuck up, little girl."

"PLEASE I'M BEGGING PLEASE!"

"AYE. SHUT THE FUCK UP, HE SAID!"

"PLEASE, I—MMPH." The Hispanic one had whipped back to smack him hard in the mouth, cutting his lips against his own teeth.

"THERE."

"Gracias, Raul."

"Yeah, what-the-fuck-ever. Jus' wanna get him there."

"Oh, I more than agree." The driver smirked and turned left. "He should be pretty fun before he's useful."

"Yeah." He stated. "Bonita."

Stan rubbed his temples. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Easy there…" Kendall finished the sentence before turning to the last page. "We'd'a been done forty-five minutes ago if we didn't hafta print two better copies. Whose fault was that again?"

"Oh shut up Knight just sign the Goddamned thing."

The blonde smirked over the ending paragraph. "Yep…all looks good here. Wow, you sure got a way with words, don'ch'ya, Stanley?"

Stan sighed in his chair. "I have half a mind to shoot you in the effort to save myself some time."

The teen sensed his left man shift his hand. "Easy boys, it's a joke." He could feel the gunman relax almost instantly. "Okay then…" The sweep of his hand closed the deal, and both parties were ready to leave.

"Fucking finally."

"Yeah-Yeah," The bad boy rolled his neck on his way out the door, "like you're the only one in the room with a life. Drive safe, Stanford. I'd shake yer hand but it'd probly take too long."

When the visitors had left Stan rolled his eyes toward one of his guards. "Kids."

Kendall's guys were busy scanning the area and Kendall was busy scanning his phone. While he was in his meeting, he had gotten a couple of business-related texts, an email, and a coupon alert from a department store app. What was bugging him, though, was the text from Logan. It came in 47 minutes ago, and all it said was, "Hey."

Now, Kendall had gotten that text before, but not from Logan. "Hey" meant people wanted his attention when they didn't have it. They wanted money or sex or someone to love them or fulfill their dreadfully boring lives and Kendall hated that "Hey" text. It was such bate for a reply.

The weird part is that Logan doesn't send those.

Why would he need to? Logan always had Kendall's attention -probably too much sometimes- and if Logan had something important to say, he would just send a perfectly detailed, grammatically-correct message so that all Kendall had to do was read it in order to know what was up. He didn't do the fishing thing, and Kendall appreciated it greatly.

So what. The fuck. Is this?

"Hey," Kendall waved at the guys. "shut yer engines back off fer a sec, Imma make a call 'fore we go."

Once the dogs did as they were told, Kendall put the phone to his ear, gnawing on his lower lip. Maybe he…no I dunno. Logie…come—

"Hello, Kendall."

The gangster's heartstrings cramped to the center of his chest. Everything inside of him was surging to that one spot, all collecting around his heart trying to comfort it through the erratic pounding that it was forcing itself to perform. His vocal chords seemed to have done it, too, temporarily disabling his speech.

"Oh, now don't be rude, Kendall." The man drawled. "There's someone here who wants desperately to speak with you…"

The air was pulsing through the guy's nose. He needed more than anything to hear a voice filled with happiness and safety. He could feel it, could feel his stomach rejecting the anxiety and the sweat pouring down his neck.

The man was still on the line, chuckling with the people on his end. "I have a feeling you'll regret it dearly if you don't manage a hello, princess…"

Kendall sucked in a breath.

"K-Ken…K-…"

His body quivered on the bike. "B-Baby…no…n—"

"That's quite enough discussion for one phone call, so sorry, Kendall." And he could hear the grin coming through the speakers. "Little Logan just wanted to call to let you know that he's making a visit at my estate this evening. Is that correct, Logan?"

The sound of a whimper grew in Kendall's ear, and the image of this guy holding the phone up to a terrified little boy made him sick.

"Logan, tsk tsk. Rude."

"AAH!"

Kendall's blood froze with the cracked sound. "DON'T TOUCH HIM."

"Kendall, Kendall…relax. Just a little slap. Gotta smack'em around sometimes to get what you want, don't you? Nevermind, I don't need to hear the details of your love life at the moment." The man let out a theatrical sigh. "I already know what you're like, don't I?"

"What are you talking about."

"Kendall, Kendall…adorable little blonde Kendall…big green eyes, so full of wonder."

"What—"

"I made you, Dimples."

The phone hit the cement, and in his haste to retrieve it Kendall and the bike fell also. Pain should have blossomed quickly in his hip and the scrape on his elbow should have stung, but he was too busy listening to the man on the line. The man that he knew.

The man that he was supposed to forget.

He choked.

Kendall didn't even notice his workers lifting the bike off of his body, or their cautious concern over his well-being. He just listened to the man reciting his address, drawling on about how he had heard that Kendall had grown up and made something of himself and couldn't wait to 'give congratulations to his favorite little sport.' It made Kendall feel dirty. His scalp itched and his knuckles were white. He listened to the address and he couldn't forget a thing that the man said even if he tried.

No matter how hard he tried.

"I expect I'll be seeing you soon then, Kendall?'

His voice shook as he answered. "I'll e-end y-you."

"I've missed you so much, Kendall. Always a man at heart. Always trying so hard. See you soon then. Shouldn't be too long of a trip now that you're already northward of home." He spoke so lightly that it took all Kendall had not to slam his head against the concrete.

"Y-Yeah."

"Well then—"

"Samuel?" He had to confirm it. If he didn't say it out loud then he wouldn't believe it until he was standing in front of the man. He couldn't let him have that advantage as well.

The lips behind the phone curled upward, wet and maniacal. "I remember telling you to call me Sammy, dear boy."

He barely swallowed down the bile. "Wait for me."

"Oh, dear boy," he chuckled again, and Kendall regretted wondering what was so funny, "I've always waited for you to come."

Kendall was already vomiting when the phone beeped twice at the ended call.