7. Six

I lingered in the doorway, watching Eli where he was curled up on the worn leather couch in my office. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, jaw clenched tight. His platinum hair was mussed against the cushion. Tattoos stark on too-pale skin stretched over sharp bones. He looked small—fragile. Not at all like the young man I’d met downstairs a few nights ago.

A strange feeling stirred in my chest as I watched the steady rise and fall of his breathing. I had planned to use him, to shape him into a weapon against the cult that had stolen my sister from me. He had inside knowledge that could be invaluable to taking them down. And clearly the boy had been through hell, making him a perfect candidate to mold to my purposes.

But seeing him like this—so broken and vulnerable—triggered an unfamiliar instinct, threatening to derail my ruthless plotting. I wanted to... protect him. Shield him from further harm. Help put back together the shattered pieces of his psyche.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the intrusive thoughts. Sentiment was a weakness I couldn’t afford—not with Daniella’s life on the line. I needed to stay focused on the mission.

“He’s been like that ever since he got here,” Life said next to me, keeping her voice low. “He didn’t say what was wrong, but he looked pretty shaken when he arrived, Shepherd.”

I nodded once in acknowledgement, my eyes never leaving Eli's troubled face. “I'll handle it from here. Thank you, Life.”

She squeezed my shoulder and left, closing the door with a soft click behind her. I stood there a long moment, warring with myself. What was I doing? This wasn't part of the plan. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for the boy. He was a means to an end.

With grim determination, I pushed aside the unwanted emotions and strode over to the couch. Crouching down, I brushed a lock of hair from Eli's forehead, noting the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the gauntness of his cheeks. He'd been through so much already. More than anyone should have to endure. I could use that—channel his pain and anger into a drive for vengeance against those who had wronged him.

My fingers lingered on his cool skin a beat too long before I pulled back. Standing, I went to the closet and retrieved a pillow. Careful not to wake him, I gently lifted Eli's head and slid the pillow beneath it. He sighed in his sleep, nuzzling into the softness. Something tugged in my chest at the sight.

I studied him, my thoughts churning. I tried to convince myself that these small acts of kindness were just another way to manipulate him. To make him feel indebted to me, so that he would be more likely to go along with my plans. The boy seemed starved for affection, for any scrap of human decency. It would be all too easy to exploit that.

But even as I rationalized it to myself, I knew there was more to it than mere strategy. Some deep-buried part of me longed to soothe his suffering any way I could.

I knelt beside the couch, bringing myself to Eli's eye level. He blinked up at me blearily, momentary confusion clouding his gaze before wariness shuttered his expression. I could practically see the walls slamming into place, a defense mechanism he'd no doubt honed over countless hurts and betrayals.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

Eli pushed himself up into a sitting position, instinctively creating space between us. He rubbed at his face, then shrugged one shoulder. “Fine.”

The single syllable spoke volumes. He was anything but fine, yet admitting to weakness wasn't an option. Vulnerability led to exploitation and pain.

I shifted to sit on the edge of the couch, turned to face him, careful not to crowd. Eli eyed me like a caged animal debating fight or flight.

“You're safe here, Eli,” I said, keeping my tone calm as I held his skittish gaze. “No one will harm you under my protection.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he swallowed hard. Conflict played across his angular features—the desperate want to believe warring with the inability to trust. He'd been burned too many times.

I slowly reached out, telegraphing the movement, and laid my hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't pull away. I let my hand linger on Eli's shoulder, the contact grounding me amidst the tension. His eyes flicked to mine, then away, eyelashes casting shadows on sharp cheekbones.

“You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready,” I said quietly. “But I'm here to listen, if you want. No judgment.”

Eli's throat bobbed as he swallowed. Fingers twisted anxiously in the hem of his shirt. “I...” His voice cracked, the hesitation hanging in the air. He blew out a shaky breath. “I don't know where to start.”

“How about from the beginning?” I suggested gently. “What made you come here?”

Eli drew in a ragged breath, eyes darting around the room as if seeking escape. But there was none to be found. Only the steady weight of my gaze, patiently waiting.

He licked his chapped lips. “I got fired from McHappy’s,” he said finally, the words clipped. “I was late, but it wasn’t my fault. The manager, Brett, he’s had it out for me for a while. He’s been looking for a reason ever since he found out I was gay.”

I made a noncommittal noise, encouraging him to continue. Eli's hands clenched into fists, tendons stark beneath inked skin.

“That job was my only real income. Sure, I get some cash from apprenticing at the tattoo shop, but it's not enough. Not even close.” His voice rose, frayed edges of desperation creeping in. “I'm already behind on rent and they’re about to shut off the water. Fuck, I don't know how I'm going to pay that, let alone eat.”

Eli's breaths came faster, shallow and erratic. On the verge of hyperventilating.

I squeezed his shoulder, trying to ground him. “Breathe, Eli. Nice and slow.”

He struggled to comply, squeezing his eyes shut. Gradually, his breathing evened out, but the tension remained coiled tight in every line of his body.

“I can't go back to living on the streets,” he said, eyes glassy. “I can't. Anything's better than that. Even—”

Eli cut himself off, pressing his lips into a tight line as if the words were too painful to speak. But I could fill in the blanks.

“Even going back to the Children of the Light,” I supplied.

Eli's head jerked up, eyes wide with shock. “How did you know?..”

I held his gaze steadily, unflinching. “When you agreed to meet me for coffee the other day, I mentioned that I had also escaped from a cult years ago.”

His brow furrowed as he searched his memory. Then realization dawned, quickly followed by suspicion. “You never said which cult.”

I hesitated, warring with myself. Revealing this part of my past went against every instinct, every hard-learned lesson about guarding my vulnerabilities. But if I wanted Eli to trust me, to open up about his own trauma, I needed to lead by example.

Slowly, I stood from the couch and turned my back to him. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my slacks and tugged downward, exposing my right hip. There, stark against my skin, was a symbol burned into my flesh. The same mark burned into his.

I heard Eli's sharp intake of breath behind me. “You're one of them,” he said, voice flat.

I fixed my clothing and turned to face him again. “I was. A long time ago.” I searched his guarded expression, willing him to understand. “They stole my childhood, subjected me to their twisted idea of salvation. It took me years to break free of their hold on my mind.”

Eli stared at me, eyes haunted by the shadows of memories I knew all too well. How deep had he been in their dealings? How close to Father Ezekiel’s twisted inner circle had he been?

His gaze skittered away from mine, focusing on a point over my shoulder. His fingers plucked at a loose thread on his jeans, unraveling it further. “I was there for five years,” he said quietly. “All that time, I never made it past being a Seeker. I never got into the inner workings of the cult, but…”

The unspoken 'but I saw enough' hung heavily between us, a reminder of the scars we both carried. No matter how brief, any exposure to the cult's inner workings left scars. I knew that all too well.

A soft knock at the door shattered the charged silence. Gavin entered, his movements precise and efficient as always, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil lingering in the room. He carried a tray with a steaming mug of tea and a plate of sandwiches. Setting it on the side table, he turned to me with a respectful nod.

“Is there anything else you need, sir?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, thank you Gavin. That will be all for now.”

As he made to leave, I caught the briefest flicker of concern in his cool gray eyes as they darted to Eli's huddled form on the couch. For a split second, his facade cracked, lips tightening before he steeled himself, restoring the calm professionalism I’d grown accustomed to. It was gone in an instant, his professional mask firmly back in place. But I knew him well enough to read the unspoken question.

Gavin had been with me for years, steadfastly weathering all the mercurial shifts in my temperament. He knew about my... condition. About the splintered facets of my psyche that warred for dominance. And he had learned how to manage me. How to tell all my alters apart and to adjust my schedule accordingly. It was thanks to his help that I could muddle through daily life when the switches were frequent.

After Gavin left, closing the door softly behind him, I turned back to Eli. He watched me from the couch, his brow furrowed and lips pressed together, as if weighing my intentions like a seesaw balancing on the edge.

I gestured to the tray Gavin had brought. “Eat, Eli.”

Eli’s gaze darted between the sandwiches and my face, his stomach rumbling audibly as he hesitated, fingers twitching at his sides, caught in a battle between hunger and uncertainty. After a long moment, the basic need won out, and he reached for one with a trembling hand. He took a small bite, chewing slowly as if savoring the taste of real food. I wondered how long it had been since he'd had a decent meal.

As he ate, I retrieved two fresh bottles of water from the cooler, placing one in front of him. I claimed the other for myself, focusing on the cool plastic against my palm.

“Gavin seems to know you well,” Eli said abruptly, breaking the silence. There was a note of something in his voice that I couldn't quite parse. Envy, perhaps? Or longing for a similar connection?

I considered Eli's comment about Gavin as I took a sip of the hot tea. “He's been my assistant for a long time,” I said after a moment. “He knows how I operate.”

Eli's eyes flickered with a storm of emotions before he looked down, fingers pressing into the soft bread as if he could find answers hidden within. “Must be nice,” he muttered. “Having someone like that.”

I studied Eli as he took another small bite of his sandwich, noting the way his shoulders hunched inward defensively. Even as he ate, his body remained tensed, a coiled spring ready to flee at the first sign of threat.

Setting down my water, I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. “Eli,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “Tell me what happened earlier. What has you so shaken?”

Eli froze mid-chew, eyes darting up to meet mine before skittering away again. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. For a long moment, he said nothing, gaze fixed on his hands as they methodically tore the crust from his sandwich.

I waited patiently, giving him space to gather his thoughts. Pushing too hard would only make him shut down further.

Finally, Eli drew in a shuddering breath. “I saw some of them today,” he said quietly. “Cultists. Children of the Light.”

I kept my expression carefully neutral, but my heart clenched at the tremor in his voice. “Where?” I asked.

“Near my apartment.” Eli's fingers clenched, nails digging into the soft bread and leaving indents. “That’s why I was late for work. They stopped me on my way to work and tried to talk to me. I couldn’t think. I should’ve… I should’ve…”

Eli's words choked off, his breathing growing erratic. I could see the way his breath quickened, the tremor in his hands as he tore at the crust of his sandwich, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Moving slowly, I closed the distance between us and crouched in front of him, bringing myself to his eye level.

“Eli, look at me,” I said, infusing my voice with quiet authority. After a moment, his haunted gaze met mine. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and slow.”

I demonstrated the calming breaths, holding his stare steadily. Eli hesitated, a gasp escaping his lips as he fought against the urge to retreat. But slowly, his breath began to sync with mine, the frantic rhythm easing into a steadier cadence. Some of the wild panic receded from his eyes.

“Good,” I murmured. “That's good, Eli. Keep breathing, just like that.”

As the immediate crisis passed, I assessed him critically. He was shaking like a leaf, face bone-white. A sheen of sweat glistened on his temples despite the chill in the room.

“They know where I live,” Eli choked out. His voice trembled, each word a struggle to keep from cracking, as his eyes widened, revealing the raw fear that twisted in his gut. “They'll come for me. I can't go back there. I can't.”

He looked up at me pleadingly, desperation and vulnerability etched into every line of his face. A thrill raced through me, but it felt heavy on my conscience, like a tide pulling me between the desire to protect him and the urge to bind him to me.

I held Eli's desperate gaze, my mind racing with possibilities even as something twisted in my chest at the naked fear in his eyes. This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for—a chance to bind Eli more tightly to me, to make him dependent on my protection and goodwill. His terror of the cult could be a powerful tool, if wielded correctly.

And yet, a part of me recoiled at the thought of exploiting his trauma for my own ends. The instinct to shield him, to soothe his fears, rose up fiercely once more. I tried to shove it down, to focus on the cold machinations that had guided me for so long... but I was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain that ruthless detachment where Eli was concerned.

Perhaps there was a way to reconcile my conflicting desires. To use his need for safety to draw him in, while also providing the genuine care and security he so clearly craved. I could be both his manipulator and his savior. The one who held his leash and the one who sheltered him from harm. It was a delicate balance... but I'd always enjoyed a challenge.

I reached out slowly, giving Eli time to pull away if he chose, and laid my hand on his knee. He tensed at the contact, but didn't flinch. Progress.

“You don't have to go back there,” I said firmly, holding his gaze. “You can stay with me for as long as you like.”

Eli blinked up at me, brow furrowed as he processed my words. “With you?” His voice barely broke above a whisper, a flicker of disbelief in his wide eyes mingled with the soft glimmer of hope.

I squeezed his knee lightly, grounding him with the touch. “Yes. I have more than enough space, and my home has excellent security. No one would dare come for you there.”

Eli's eyes darted between my face and the hand on his knee, uncertainty warring with desperate longing in his gaze. “I... I don't know,” he said haltingly. “We barely know each other. And I don't want to impose...”

“You wouldn't be imposing,” I assured him, keeping my voice steady and confident. “I'm offering this freely. You need a safe place to stay, and I have the means to provide that.”

Eli swallowed hard, throat bobbing. His fingers twisted anxiously in the hem of his shirt. “For how long?”

“For as long as necessary. Until things blow over with the cult, or until you feel ready to be on your own again. There's no set timeline.” I held his skittish gaze, willing him to accept what I was offering. What I knew he needed, even if he was afraid to reach for it.

Eli’s gaze fell to his hands, fingers twisting at the hem of his shirt. Stay with a near-stranger, but be safe from the cult's reach. Or risk it on his own, clinging to his fierce independence even as it threatened to crumble at any moment.

I gentled my grip on his knee, rubbing my thumb along the inner seam of his slacks. Soothing. Persuading. “Eli. Let me help you,” I murmured.

Eli’s shoulders drooped, a sigh escaping his lips as if a heavy weight had been lifted, the tension dissolving like mist in the morning sun. He drew in a shaky breath and released it slowly. Then, with a jerky nod, he acquiesced. “Okay. I'll stay with you.”

A rush of relief surged through me, but I forced my features into a mask of calm, concealing the exhilaration bubbling just beneath the surface. This was the outcome I had hoped for, but I couldn't let Eli see the extent of my satisfaction. Not yet.

I gave his knee a final squeeze before releasing my grip and standing. Eli tracked my movements warily, but the skittish prey animal look had faded from his eyes. He no longer seemed poised to bolt at any sudden sound or motion. Progress indeed.

I stood and offered my hand to Eli, palm up in silent invitation. He hesitated a moment, wary gaze flicking between my face and my outstretched fingers. I could see the conflicting emotions playing out across his angular features—the desperate longing for safety warring with the ingrained mistrust that had kept him alive this long.

After a tense beat, Eli reached out tentatively and placed his hand in mine. Slender fingers, nails bitten to the quick, skin roughened by a hard life. So fragile, so easily broken. The warmth of his trust enveloped me like a cloak, and I tightened my grip around his fragile hand, acutely aware of the power I held over him.

I pulled Eli to his feet, the motion smooth and controlled. He stumbled slightly, unbalanced, and I caught him with my other hand on his waist, steadying him. Eli tensed at the touch but didn't pull away, allowing the contact. Allowing me to guide him.

With a gentle but firm pressure, I steered Eli out of my office and down the industrial stairs of The Playground. The main floor was empty at this early hour, the stage and lounge abandoned. Our footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, the only sound aside from Eli's shallow breathing.

I kept my hand at the small of Eli's back as we emerged from the Playground into the rainy afternoon. Fat raindrops plopped into puddles all around the parking lot. Eli hunched in on himself, a mimicry of his posture on my couch mere minutes ago. Without a word, I shrugged off my blazer and draped it over his head and shoulders. He startled slightly at the unexpected weight but clutched the fabric close, burrowing into the residual warmth of my body heat.

I guided Eli to my Range Rover parked in the alley behind the club. He hesitated briefly before allowing me to usher him into the passenger seat, movements stiff and wary. As I slid behind the wheel, I noted how Eli huddled against the door, putting as much distance between us as the confines of the vehicle allowed. His fingers plucked restlessly at the hem of my black blazer, a nervous tic.

Eli flinched as the engine purred to life. Guilt pricked at me for the sadistic thrill I felt, knowing I was the one who made him jump. I wanted to be his source of comfort, not fear. At least, not the kind of fear that would send him running. No, the fear I craved from Eli was a more insidious sort. The kind that kept him off-balance, dependent, malleable.

As we pulled out onto rain-slicked streets, I reached over to turn on the heated seats. Eli made a small, involuntary sound of pleasure as warmth seeped into his body, chasing away the bone-deep chill. I hid a smile, filing away that little tell. The boy responded beautifully to simple creature comforts, starved as he was for any scrap of care. It would be all too easy to ply him with these small luxuries and to bind him to me with silken chains of his own need.