11. Chapter Eleven

Rylan awoke with the taste of Bautista still lingering in his mouth. The memories of the night before played behind his eyelids, tormenting him.

What does he want from me?It seemed obvious what Bautista wanted, and yet…there was no way that he actually wanted Rylan. More likely, he just wanted a willing mouth for his cock. But he had said he had enough women, that he didn't need Rylan for that.

He still let you suck him off, didn't he?

Rylan groaned, covering his face with his hands. Shame washed over him, but with it came a strange elation. Bautista had enjoyed it. The way he had looked after, like a man who had committed some terrible sin, yes. He had liked it.

Suddenly, Rylan couldn't bear lying in bed. He rose in a rush, showered, dressed in the only clothes he had, and went out to see if he could catch a glimpse of his captor.

He went to Bautista's study, but the room was empty, the door standing open. He headed down the stairs to the front door. There were two guards on duty. Neither of them were Carlos.

"Where is Bautista?" Rylan asked tentatively.

"Gone on business," one of the guards replied, not even bothering to look at Rylan.

Disappointment washed over him, dousing the foolish thoughts he'd been indulging.

As he glanced out the door, he spotted Giraldo coming up the path. A sneer formed on Giraldo's lips as their eyes met. Rylan's gut churned, fear and anxiety taking hold. He quickly retreated into the house.

Rylan wandered aimlessly through the halls, exploring the parts of the house that were unlocked. He desperately wanted to know more about Bautista. The desire to understand what drove the enigmatic kingpin was consuming him, and the mansion seemed to hold secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Voices led him down a hall. Female voices, which lifted his spirits somewhat. He found an airy parlor, where three women lounged casually, chatting amongst themselves. Teresa was there, along with two others he didn't know. Their voices were low, but Rylan could sense the tension in the room, their body language putting them at odds with each other.

Teresa looked up, her gaze indifferent. "Oh, it's you."

One of the women, a blonde beauty with sharp eyes, gave Rylan a dismissive look. "He's the one Marcus made stand in the corner while we made love." She spoke in English, perhaps to include Rylan, perhaps to mock him.

Made love,Rylan thought with derision. That wasn't making love. But he said nothing, rendered silent by the memory of his humiliation.

Teresa blinked long, dark lashes at her. "Do you call him Marcus in bed, Maria? I didn't think you'd dare."

Maria ignored this, her gaze fixed on Rylan, full of disdain and jealousy. The third woman, whose chestnut curls framed a delicate face with large, innocent eyes, appeared intrigued but slightly confused by Rylan's presence.

"You're not a guard," she said hesitantly.

Rylan offered her a smile. "No. I'm Rylan," he said.

"I'm Linda," she said, her voice softly accented. "If you're not a guard, what are you?"

"I'm a fashion designer," Rylan said, flushing. He didn't want to tell her he was a hostage. He had a feeling none of them would care.

"How fascinating," Maria muttered, her stare never leaving Rylan. It was clear she didn't approve of his presence.

Teresa, however, remained impassive. She seemed unfazed by Rylan's arrival. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to the ever-changing landscape of Bautista's whims and could no longer be surprised.

Rylan sat down on a plush chaise near the women, trying to remain calm despite the piercing gaze of Maria. She seemed intent on unsettling him, her eyes glinting with malicious glee.

"Where is Carmelita?" Rylan asked Teresa, in an effort to make conversation.

But Teresa simply blinked at him. "Somewhere else."

It was clear she didn't mean to explain. Rylan shriveled a little.

"Have you heard the story about Carmelita's mother?" Maria asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Rylan shook his head, apprehensive but curious. "Oh, it's quite the tale," she went on, a wicked smile playing at the corner of her lips. "You see, Marcus's wife discovered she had a taste for danger. And she found herself a lover."

Rylan's breath hitched, his interest piqued despite his trepidation. He had known that there had been a wife, but not much more than that.

Maria was clearly enjoying herself. "Not just any lover. It was Marcus' most trusted man, second only to Carlos Hernandez himself."

Rylan wasn't sure if he was supposed to be impressed or appalled, but he made what he hoped was the correct face.

"Marcus found out, of course," Maria went on, her voice low and sinister. "And when he did, he decided to make an example of her and her lover. He fed them both to his pet crocodiles."

"What?" Rylan gasped. "That can't be true." But Carlos had said something similar, when he'd first shown Rylan around the compound.

"There are crocodiles," Linda said, a little breathless. "At the back of the compound, behind the barracks."

"I heard from one of the cooks," Maria said with relish, "that Marcus had them both gutted, but they were alive when they were dropped in the crocodile pit."

Rylan felt the blood drain from his face. His stomach churned, horror and disgust roiling within him at the brutality of Bautista's actions. He imagined himself in the wife's position, caught in a moment of passion, only to be met with such a nightmarish fate.

Maria laughed at Rylan's reaction, her eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. "Look at you, all pale and weak like a frightened little girl," she mocked. "It's laughable that Marcus would tolerate someone like you."

"Enough, Maria," Teresa warned, her voice firm yet gentle. She gave Rylan a sympathetic look before turning back to the blonde. "You've made your point. Now let it go."

Feeling wretched, Rylan stood up abruptly, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He hurried out of the room, unable to shake off the chilling image of the wife and her lover being fed to the crocodiles. The thought made him hunch over with dread, and he wondered if Bautista was truly as monstrous as people said.

As he stumbled back to his cell, he was was tormented by questions. Was it true? Was Bautista truly a monster? And if so, how long would it be before Bautista tired of him and decided to dispose of him, too?

***

The helicopter engine roared, filling the cabin with noise. Bautista gazed out of the window at the dark landscape below, frowning as if deep in thought. But his thoughts were far from the meeting he had just attended—instead, they were consumed by Rylan's lips wrapped around his cock the night before.

He clenched his fists as he tried to focus on the reason for his departure from the compound. The meeting. It had been important. But it had not been so important that he had needed to have it today. In reality, he had simply needed to be away from the house, and the awareness of his prisoner in it.

Pathetic. He grunted to himself in self-reproach.

"Sir?" The pilot glanced back at Bautista with concern, but the mafia kingpin waved him off, not wanting to discuss his inner turmoil with anyone.

"Nothing. Just get us back to the compound," Bautista growled, his voice low and dangerous. The pilot nodded, focusing once again on maneuvering the helicopter through the skies.

Bautista sighed, leaning back in his seat as he allowed his mind to wander back to the previous night. Rylan's submission had been so complete, so eager, that it haunted his every thought. He couldn't shake off the memory of the boy's pale skin flushed with desire, the shape of his mouth as he'd begged for Bautista's cock.

Stop it,Bautista thought angrily to himself, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. He needed to regain control, to remember who he was—the leader of Los Lagos cartel. He had a reputation to maintain. He couldn't afford to be soft, especially not for someone like Rylan.

But every time he closed his eyes, he couldn't stop himself from thinking back to the night before, when Rylan had been on his knees, eyes wide and innocent as they met Bautista's gaze. The memory of how tight and wet Rylan's mouth had felt around his cock was like an electric shock, a thrill that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Jueputa," he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for being so affected. He compared Rylan's eagerness to the women he usually fucked—Teresa, with her seductive smile, and that slutty blonde whose name escaped him at the moment. They were always willing enough, but none of them had ever been as desperate and submissive as Rylan. It was intoxicating—and dangerous.

Bautista reassured himself that a blow job from a man was only degrading to the guy who was sucking the dick. Didn't the Romans believe that? he thought, trying to ease his guilt. And Rylan was his prisoner, wasn't he? Practically a slave. There was nothing degrading about sticking your cock in a slave. Especially one who was so eager to take that cock.

And how eager Rylan was.

I bet he'd let me put it anywhere,Bautista thought wildly as the twilight sped away on either side. That little freak would beg me to fuck his ass.

Bautista swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his desires threatening to consume him. He couldn't afford this distraction. But even as he told himself so, the image came into his mind of bending Rylan over his desk and sinking into the hot, tight clench of his body.

God, what would it feel like? To take him in such a forbidden way, and to hear him plead for more. To put his teeth to Rylan's neck and bite down and tell him, You belong to me, and hear him echo back, Yes, I'm yours.

But then, like treacherous sand beneath his feet, the fantasy shifted from fucking Rylan's sweet, warm body to something more intimate. He imagined himself leaning down, capturing Rylan's soft lips between his own, tasting the remnants of his seed on that wicked tongue.

The image was too much for him and he immediately cut off the thought, disgusted with himself. Putting his mouth on Rylan would be crossing a line he couldn't afford to cross. He was just a warm hole for Bautista's dick, that's all. Anything else would be wrong.

"Almost there, sir," the pilot announced, bringing Bautista back to the present moment. The compound came into view, with its lush gardens and high, well-guarded fences. As the helicopter began its descent, Bautista breathed out. Firm ground beneath his feet, that would be enough to steady him.

Focus on what matters,he reminded himself. It was no use. He knew there were important matters to attend to—meetings to hold, deals to broker—but for now, all he could think about was Rylan's mouth.

"Thank you," Bautista muttered as he stepped out of the helicopter, crunching on the gravel. The still-whirring blades stirred up dust as he walked up the driveway of Casa del Rey. His sprawling estate loomed ahead, a symbol of his power and control—two things he needed to hold onto now more than ever.

"Jefe," Carlos greeted him with a nod, his stoic expression betraying no emotion.

"Carlos," Bautista replied tersely, still trying to shake off the disturbing thoughts that had plagued him during the flight. "Any issues while I was away?"

"None," Carlos responded, his voice low and gravelly. "Everything has been quiet."

"Good," Bautista nodded, offering his thanks. "Keep it that way." He couldn't afford any distractions, not when the mere thought of Rylan's lips on his own threatened to derail his resolve.

With measured steps, Bautista entered the front hall, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. His home. Fought for and won. A comfort. And somewhere inside it, a viper with a mouth made for sin.

As if his thoughts were a summons, he caught a glimpse of Rylan standing on the mezzanine above the grand staircase. Pale and ethereal, he looked like an angel who had wandered into hell by mistake. Startled to see Bautista, Rylan pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes wide and full of anxiety.

Bautista grit his teeth, feeling his gut do something strange and treacherous. It twisted and tightened, as if reaching for the very thing he'd sworn to deny himself. He bit back a groan, willing his body to obey him as he turned away from the tempting sight.

He strode purposefully toward the dining room. He needed to put distance between himself and Rylan—to bury his wayward thoughts beneath the weight of his responsibilities.

"?Papá!" Carmelita's excited voice cut through the tension as Bautista entered the dining room. She rushed toward him, her dark curls bouncing with each step. "You're back!"

"Oye, mi vida," Bautista said, forcing a smile as he scooped his daughter into his arms. Her innocence was a balm to his battered soul—a reminder of what truly mattered. He held her tight, trying to let her love fill the void in him.

"Did you bring me anything?" Carmelita asked, her eyes shining with anticipation.

"Of course," Bautista replied, pulling a delicate necklace of pink and blue beads from his pocket. He held it up, so the pendant swung out of her reach. "But I'll only give it to you on one condition."

"What's that, Papá?"

"Dame un beso," he said, with mock seriousness. Carmelita giggled and kissed him on each cheek. Bautista dropped the necklace into her small hand.

"?Gracias, Papá!" she squealed, throwing her arms around him once more.

Bautista breathed out. For now, he could focus on her, and push all thoughts of Rylan away.

But later? Later, all bets were off.