14. Chapter Fourteen

The next few days passed in a haze. Rylan lived from moment to moment waiting on Bautista's notice. He felt like he was losing his mind. He wanted Bautista, wanted his touch, even rough as it was. He lay awake wondering if Bautista would come to him, but instead Bautista ambushed him when least expected.

Rylan would be wandering the house when suddenly Bautista was there, crowding him against the furniture and forcing Rylan to surrender.

It was intoxicating. Rylan didn't know when it would happen, or what Bautista would want. But always it was fast, rough, demanding, and secret. Bautista's expression was fraught with agonies, as if he were torn between tossing Rylan down the stairs and descending on him like a starving man.

"Take it," Bautista would growl, shoving himself into Rylan's willing mouth. Rylan gagged a little but obeyed, sucking and licking with fervor. The taste of Bautista's cock sent quakes of pleasure through him, and he couldn't help moaning around the thick girth.

"Such a good boy," Bautista muttered, his voice low and dangerous like the rumble of distant thunder. He gripped Rylan's hair tightly, yanking him back to look into his eyes. "All mine."

Like that, and the days merged together, interminable waiting broken by moments so intense Rylan felt they might be the end of him.

Bautista's hunger for him seemed limitless. One afternoon he found Rylan lingering by a window, and simply bent Rylan over the sill, taking him there where anyone could have seen. Later, one of the guards mentioned that the upper floors were no longer being patrolled, and Rylan knew it was so Bautista could have his way in secret, none of his men any the wiser.

Except perhaps Giraldo, who leered at Rylan every time he saw him, and Carlos, who seemed to know everything.

On a hot afternoon as Rylan lay on his bed in his peacock dressing gown, the door slammed open. Carlos was there, looking thunderous.

"Get up," he said tightly. He did not look at Rylan, simply marched him up to the top floor where Bautista's chambers were and thrust him into the room. The door banged closed behind him.

Rylan stood still, not sure what he was supposed to do. And then Bautista walked into the room, steaming as if he'd just stepped out of a bath, and naked.

He wiped his face on a towel and then tossed it aside. "Come here," he demanded, and when Rylan did, Bautista took him into the bedroom, ordered him onto the bed, and had him.

It felt unreal. Rylan gasped as Bautista drove into him again and again, each thrust pushing him further into the mattress, overwhelming him with rough pleasure.

"Look at you," Bautista taunted, his hands knotted in the silk of Rylan's robe where it was pushed up over his ass. "My little prince, begging for more."

The nickname sent a jolt down Rylan's nerves, and he arched his back, offering himself up completely to his captor. "Please," he moaned softly, feeling Bautista's cock pulse inside him. "I need it. Please."

"Such a greedy prince," Bautista chuckled darkly, releasing Rylan's waist to wrap a hand around his erection. Rylan gasped—this was new. Normally Bautista ignored Rylan cock as if it wasn't there, as if he was trying to pretend Rylan was a woman. But now he stroked Rylan in time with his thrusts, bringing him to the brink of ecstasy.

"Say my name," Bautista commanded, his voice tense and insistent. "Let me hear you scream it."

There was no way Rylan could disobey him. His vision blurred. He cried out. "Bautista!"

"Again," Bautista demanded.

It was too much. "Bautista!" Rylan sobbed, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm.

Everything went soft and hazy. Rylan felt Bautista shove in deep, heard him groan, felt the pulse of him as he spent in Rylan's body. Then there was the inevitable moment Bautista pulled out of him, leaving him empty and mournful. Too soon. Rylan took a shaky breath, stealing himself for whatever humiliation Bautista felt Rylan deserved now.

But instead of a cold dismissal, Bautista's weight settled against Rylan's back, his arm curling around him possessively. His mouth was on Rylan's shoulder, his breath hot and heavy, and when Rylan wriggled tentatively, Bautista made a gruff sound of disapproval.

"Shh. Go to sleep."

To sleep next to him felt too intimate, unreal. But Rylan did it because that was what Bautista had told him to do, and he had no other choice.

***

That was the first night he spent in Bautista's bed, but it wasn't the last. Rylan found the clothes Bautista had bought for him had been moved, placed into a drawer in Bautista's dresser. Not that he was allowed to wear them much. Bautista liked him naked, or only wearing the silk dressing gown. He liked fucking Rylan in that dressing gown. But when Rylan slept, he slept naked, with Bautista close behind him.

One particular night he awoke groggy and disoriented, Bautista's warm body no longer pressed against his. The room was pitch black, the suffocating darkness making it impossible to see anything. He heard Bautista speaking in Spanish, his voice tense and hushed.

"?Qué está pasando aquí?" Bautista demanded, the tone of his voice revealing the urgency of the situation.

"Los Manos Rojos," came the whispered reply. "Han cortado la electricidad."

Rylan shivered as Bautista's hand brushed his back, the touch a fleeting moment of comfort amidst the chaos.

"They've cut the power," Bautista murmured close to Rylan's ear, his breath hot. "Stay here."

"Wait, Bautista—" Rylan's plea went unheard as he was left alone in the dark.

The distant sound of gunfire sent a jolt of terror through Rylan. Naked and vulnerable, he knew he couldn't just stay there waiting for whatever was about to happen. Desperate for some light, Rylan fumbled around the room, feeling the cool silk sheets under his fingertips as he searched for something, anything to help him see.

"Shit," he muttered, finally finding a Zippo lighter on a nearby table. By its light, he found the drawer with his clothes, and dressed quickly, his movements frantic and clumsy in the half-darkness.

His mind raced with panic. This wasn't just some random power outage; this was a full-blown attack. And he was in the middle of it, trapped in this godforsaken compound.

"It's going to be fine," Rylan whispered under his breath, trying to steady himself as he buckled into his sandals. "Bautista will handle it."

He took a deep breath, the scent of Bautista's cologne still lingering in the air. For a moment he wished that he could have stayed wrapped up in the erotic haze they'd shared for the past few days. But reality had come crashing down around him, and there was no time for fantasies now.

He clenched the zippo lighter in his palm, feeling its cold weight grounding him as he crept towards the door. The shouting downstairs grew louder, a cacophony of panic and violence that made Rylan's skin crawl with terror.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, using the lighter to scan the room for somewhere to hide. His eyes landed on a large wardrobe in the corner, its dark wood offering the illusion of safety. He snapped the lighter shut and was dropping it into his pocket when the door suddenly swung open. A blinding beam of torchlight stabbed into his eyes, making him flinch and throw an arm up protectively. "No, please," he stammered, his voice high-pitched with fear.

"West! Get your shit together." The familiar gruff voice cut through the haze of panic. As the light swung away and Rylan's night vision returned, he recognized the last person he'd expected. It was Giraldo.

"What's going on?" Rylan demanded shakily.

"The compound is under attack. Los Manos Rojos. Paramilitary. They hate Bautisa," Giraldo answered, his tone urgent. "I'm working for your father. We need to get you out of here while they're distracted."

"Really? You expect me to trust you? After what you said to me?"

"For fuck's sake, West," Giraldo said impatiently. "That was an act. I had to be sure no one would suspect I was working for your father. Now come on, we don't have much time."

Rylan hesitated, torn. Going with Giraldo might mean freedom, but trusting Giraldo felt like a mistake. His gut told him not to go. But then again, his gut wanted him to stay where Bautista had told him to, to please the man who had kidnapped him. How could he trust his instincts when they were so messed up?

"I can't believe I'm considering this," he muttered under his breath. Was he really going to choose to remain Bautista's prisoner just because the man made his dick hard?

The sound of gunfire and shouting outside jolted him back to reality, reminding him of the danger they were in. "You need to make a choice now," Giraldo urged, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. "Do you want to stay here and be killed, or do you want to go home?"

"Alright, alright," Rylan relented, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

"Move your ass, gringo," Giraldo snapped, grabbing Rylan's wrist and pulling him out of the room. Rylan stumbled after him, his heart pounding in tandem with the sound of gunfire all around them.

Bautista,he thought with a pang of regret, and then he shook it away, angry with himself for feeling anything but relief.

Giraldo kept a firm grip on his wrist as they made their way through the darkened halls, shadows flickering around them like ghosts. The darkness of the house seemed to close in around them. Every creaking floorboard and rustle of fabric seemed magnified, echoing through the halls like a betrayal. Rylan's knees shook, and he feared one wrong step would betray their presence to the invaders outside.

"Quiet," Giraldo whispered harshly.

Despite his earlier reassurances, Rylan couldn't shake the lingering mistrust that clung to him. The memory of Giraldo's scornful sneer cut deep, the hurt still raw and throbbing. "I'm not exactly an expert in covert ops," he hissed, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into his words.

"Try harder," Giraldo shot back, the urgency in his tone brooking no argument.

A sudden noise from a corridor up ahead jolted Rylan to high alert. He froze, his breath hitching in his throat as the sound of footsteps grew louder. Giraldo pulled him back into the darkness, holding a finger to his lips in a silent command for silence.

"?Quién está ahí?" called a voice.

Rylan recognized it. He didn't know the man's name, but he was one of those who had guarded Rylan's room in the early days. He had never hurt Rylan or said anything cruel to him, in fact he had simply turned his eyes away without comment.

For a moment, Rylan considered calling out, asking for help. But Giraldo's hand closed on his mouth, stifling him. Rylan's pulse thrummed wildly in his ears, the blood roaring through his veins as the footsteps drew nearer.

"Mierda," Giraldo muttered. He released Rylan. "Silence," he whispered. Rylan nodded mutely, nauseous with fear and adrenaline. Giraldo leaned against the wall, his body one dark mass among shadows.

As the unnamed guard rounded the corner, Giraldo struck like a viper. There was a flash of steel, a gurgling cry, and then Giraldo took the man's weight, easing his slumped body to the ground.

He turned to Rylan, rising to his feet. "Come on!" he hissed.

Rylan was frozen with terror. Giraldo swore and caught his arm, dragging him into motion. Rylan barely had time to process the fact that Giraldo had just killed one of Bautista's men when they were outside, in the night.

The compound was a warzone. Gunfire erupted around them as they slunk between buildings, keeping to the shadows. The cacophony of chaos threatened to overwhelm Rylan's senses, leaving him shaking with the effort it took to stay quiet and focused.

Rylan caught glimpses of Bautista's men, recognizing their clothes and weapons though he did not know the men themselves. Their utilitarian khakis contrasted with the black uniforms of the attackers. What had Giraldo called them? Los Manos Rojos? They frightened Rylan, even more than Bautista's men had. They were an unknown, dangerous quantity.

He tried to keep his head, tried not to let his feelings overwhelm him. But he had never been good in crisis situations. Really, he'd never been in a crisis situation, not before Bautista's men had come for him. This was so far out of his realm of experience he had nothing to fall back on.

"Stay close," Giraldo ordered gruffly, his grip on Rylan's arm tightening as they approached the perimeter.

Apprehension rose in Rylan's gut. Would they be able to get out? What if Bautista's men shot them by accident?

As they rounded another corner, Rylan stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a group of Los Manos Rojos soldiers gathered directly ahead. His breath hitched in his throat, a fresh wave of terror coursing through his veins. "Shit," he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the menacing figures.

"Keep moving," Giraldo urged, tugging at Rylan's arm impatiently. But Rylan found himself rooted to the spot, his body refusing to obey his mind's panicked commands.

Suddenly, a high-pitched cry split the air, only to be rapidly cut off. Rylan's blood ran cold as he saw the Los Manos Rojos soldiers carrying a figure in bright pajamas that kicked at them with all her might.

Carmelita.