4. Chapter Four

Terror only lasted long enough for boredom to set in. Rylan's brain spent restless hours alternating memories of his kidnapping with visions of horrors yet to come.

There had been a plane journey. Rylan had been blindfolded for all of it, could only hear the roar of the engine, feel the familiar weightlessness of take off, and later the sickening drop into landing. Another trip in a vehicle had followed, only this time instead of a closed van he thought he had been in an open vehicle. He'd been able to smell trees and water, fresh air. And then the journey ended here. A mansion. People speaking Spanish. A cartel.

South America,he thought, but beyond that he couldn't know.

He lay sprawled across the plush bed, his slender body sinking into the mattress as he stared at the ceiling. The room was elegantly furnished, but it felt like a gilded cage. Night had fallen. He could hear the sounds of activity outside. It had not stopped all day, but when he'd tried to look outside he'd found his window barred, and angled such that all he could see below was the roof of some wide building and beyond that, trees to the horizon. The room he was in had its own bathroom, very clean and functional, but there was nothing else of interest. So he'd returned to the bed, sinking into melancholy. Now he clenched his fists, feeling the soft fabric of the bedcovers beneath his fingers, and tried to ignore the dread that wormed its way through his chest.

The door creaked open; Rylan's heart skipped. One of the cartel men entered, carrying a tray. Rylan sat up, unsure whether to feel relieved or alarmed, but the man set the tray down on a table without sparing Rylan a second glance and left just as silently as he'd arrived.

The scent of warm spices bloomed in the still air. "Guess it's dinner time," Rylan murmured. He eyed the food warily, wondering if refusing it would be seen as some sort of act of defiance. But as the rich aroma of the wafted up to him, Rylan found himself unable to resist.

The silence in the room was palpable as Rylan's fingers traced the outer edge of the dinner tray, his curiosity piqued. A bowl of soup, vegetables and what looked like chicken in a thick broth. He hesitated for a moment before tentatively lifting a spoonful to his lips.

The flavour was intense, hearty, delicious. "God, this is good," he murmured, unable to suppress a small moan of appreciation. The tension that had knotted itself within him began to dissipate, if only slightly, as he lost himself in the comfort of a warm meal.

He'd barely finished when the door was thrust open again. Two of the cartel men appeared, their faces set in grim determination. They roughly grabbed Rylan by the arms, yanking him away from the remains of his dinner and out into the dimly lit hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" Rylan asked, his voice wavering.

The men remained silent. Rylan suppressed the urge to beg them. Whatever was going to happen was inevitable.

At the bottom of the stairs, they shoved Rylan into a warmly lit study, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees before a massive mahogany desk. The air held the scent of leather and cigar smoke, and beneath his palms the rug was rough and unforgiving.

And there was Bautista. He sat behind the desk, straight and proud and strong, and everything Rylan was afraid of.

"Leave us," Bautista commanded, his voice a low, threatening growl. The two henchmen nodded and quickly retreated, leaving the captor and captive alone in the room.

"Please," Rylan whispered, his heart racing as he looked up at Bautista. "Why am I here?"

Bautista's dark eyes narrowed as they roamed over Rylan's slender form, taking in every detail of him. A predatory smile spread across his face, causing Rylan to shiver involuntarily.

"Such a pathetic little thing you are," Bautista mused. "Your father raised you to be nothing of value. A worthless little prince. You need to learn your place in this world."

Rylan's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. "Is that why you brought me here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "To humiliate me?"

"Maybe," Bautista replied, the word dripping from his lips like honey. "Amongst other things."

Rylan clenched his fists, trying to maintain his dignity as he attempted to stand up, but Bautista's voice stopped him cold.

"Stay where you belong," Bautista ordered, his tone low and dark, like a predator stalking its prey. "Crawl over here."

Rylan's heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making it difficult to think clearly. He knew that defying Bautista would only lead to punishment, but the thought of submitting to him so completely filled Rylan with dread.

"I don't want to," Rylan whispered, unable to meet Bautista's eyes.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Bautista snapped, his impatience clear in his words. "I gave you an order. Obey or suffer the consequences."

Rylan's breath hitched in his throat, the weight of Bautista's threat pressing down on him like a physical force. Swallowing hard, he reluctantly crawled past the edge of the desk, until he was at Bautista's feet. Shame washed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in its depths.

"Good boy," Bautista murmured, satisfaction evident in his voice. He lifted one foot and laid on it Rylan's back before following with the second. Rylan shook with humiliation. The position forced Rylan to confront the reality of his situation—he was no longer in control, not of his body, nor of his fate. Bautista owned him, at least for now. Rylan wondered how far the man would go.

"Remember this feeling, little prince," Bautista said softly, almost seductively. "This is what you are worth. Nothing at all. Your only value is in your obedience. It's a powerful thing, don't you think?"

Rylan hesitated, his mind racing as he tried to process the emotions coursing through him—humiliation, fear, and something that felt dangerously close to excitement.

"Answer me," Bautista demanded, his voice sharp and commanding.

"Yes," Rylan whispered, his voice weak even to his own ears. "It's...powerful."

"Good," Bautista purred, a note of satisfaction in his voice. He took his feet from Rylan's back, and stood up. Rylan watched as he reached for a decanter of whisky and an elegant cut-glass tumbler. With a flourish, he poured a double measure into the glass, the amber liquid gleaming in the dim light. Rylan noticed the way Bautista's strong fingers gripped the bottle, the strength in his hand and wrist.

Bautista took a slow sip from his glass and set it down. Then he lifted the bottle. "Open your mouth."

Rylan didn't understand. Bautista made a tutting noise and caught Rylan by the chin, forcing his head back. "Open," he demanded, and then he pressed the mouth of the bottle to Rylan's lips. The scent of the potent alcohol filled his nostrils. There was no choice but to comply, and he opened his mouth hesitantly.

The whisky was warm and smoky. It would have been pleasant, except Bautista tipped the bottle up and flooded Rylan's mouth. He swallowed, but it was too much. It made him cough and splutter, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to breathe. Bautista chuckled darkly, setting the bottle down and reaching for his glass again as if to mock Rylan's lack of control.

"Such a delicate little thing, aren't you?" he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. "You really should learn to handle your liquor better."

Rylan tried to regain his composure, his chest heaving as he fought back the urge to cough again. his face was wet, his shirt soaked. His humiliation was complete, and yet he couldn't deny the strange thrill that coursed through him with each harsh word from Bautista's lips. He felt his nipples inside his shirt, peaking through the damp cloth. It made him acutely aware of the heat that had settled low in his abdomen.

Oh God, was he aroused? By this? By such harsh treatment? It must have been the alcohol. Or perhaps it was the way Bautista looked at him, the intense focus of those dark eyes.

He squirmed on his knees to relieve some of the ache that was beginning to build within him. The sensation was both mortifying and exhilarating. He pressed his lips together, trying to hide his shortening breath, fearful that Bautista would notice his growing arousal.

"Look at me," Bautista commanded, and Rylan had no choice but to comply. Their eyes locked, and Rylan felt an electric jolt run through him.

He knew it then. He really was trapped. There was no escape from Marcus Bautista Aguilar, not for him. Whatever was going to happen, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

***

Bautista's eyes narrowed as he studied Rylan, the young man's fear so evident. But it wasn't just fear that Bautista saw—there was something else, something darker, that intrigued and confused him.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he demanded.

Rylan swallowed hard, seemingly struggling to find his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" Bautista leaned down, looming over Rylan at his feet. "I think you do."

"Please," Rylan whispered. His eyes, Bautista noted, were a strange shade of blue. Almost lavender. And in them was that neediness, like he was begging for something only Bautista could give him.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," Bautista told him, his voice low and dangerous. "You should be afraid." He gripped Rylan's shoulders. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Yes!" Rylan cried out.

The word went Bautista like a jolt of electricity. "Good," Bautista breathed. "That's smart of you."

He squeezed Rylan's shoulders until the boy winced. Bautista grunted with satisfaction. There was something about this boy, something about how easy he was to hurt, to intimidate, and how quickly he gave in. Bautista found it appealing in some way he couldn't really explain.

"Wh-what do you want from me?" Rylan stammered weakly.

Bautista hesitated. What was it he wanted? He wanted Rylan on his knees, to subjugate him. To see how far Rylan's submission would go. To own him completely.

And yet.

"Nothing," he finally said, the word bitter on his tongue. "I want nothing from you."

Rylan's gaze wavered, disappointment and relief flickering across his face before he lowered his eyes. "O-okay," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears.

It triggered something in Bautista, a yearning he hadn't felt in years. Perhaps never had felt before. The desire for something he could not obtain. The air between them was thick with tension. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to do something—anything—to break it.

Rylan was breathing fast. His tongue darted out to wet his lip, and the flicker of it sparked heat in Bautista's crotch. It was like a physical touch, like Rylan had reached out and stroked him.

"Get away from me," Bautista growled, jerking back.

But Rylan didn't move, his eyes wide in surprise as they locked onto Bautista's. And in that moment, Bautista felt something in him snap.

"Didn't you hear me?" he roared, his anger surging. With one swift movement, he shoved Rylan away from him, the force of his push sending the young man sprawling on the floor with a gasp of pain.

"I'm sorry," Rylan gasped, cowering.

The sight sent a wave of weakness through Bautista's body, a strange, dizzying heat that snatched his breath away.

"Get up," he demanded, his breath coming fast and heavy.

Rylan's eyes were spilling over with tears as he slowly pushed himself up off the floor, his body trembling with fear and something else—something desperate. "Please," he whispered again, his voice barely audible over the roar of Bautista's pulse. "Please don't hurt me."

Bautista inhaled. What was wrong with him? Always, when he wanted someone hurt, he simply hurt them. It was never like this. He never wanted like this.

"Get out," Bautista commanded, his voice strained as he tried to maintain his composure. "Remember what you are."

Rylan hesitated for a moment, then bolted for the door. On the threshold he paused and looked back over his shoulder. Bautista's breath hitched as their gazes locked, and he was struck by the hauntingly lovely face that stared back at him. The confusion in Rylan's eyes seemed to mirror his own.

"Go on," Bautista growled, breaking the spell between them.

Rylan nodded, swallowing hard before he slipped through the door, leaving Bautista alone with his roiling emotions.

"Mierda," Bautista muttered, turning away from the closed door. He poured himself another glass of whiskey and tossed half of it back.

"Carlos!" he barked, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. Moments later, Carlos appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "Bring me a woman."

"Oh?" Carlos asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. He was Bautista's best subordinate and oldest friend, so he had every right to look curious. "Any particular woman?"

"A fuckable woman," Bautista snapped, his patience wearing thin. He needed to get this feeling out of his system, and burying himself in the warmth of a woman seemed the only way to do so. "Teresa, bring me Teresa."

"If that's what you want," Carlos replied, frowning as he examined Bautista, and then disappearing once more.

As Bautista downed the contents of his glass, he couldn't shake the memories of Rylan's soft skin beneath his fingers, the way those lavender eyes had widened with fear and desire. But he refused to allow himself to indulge in such fantasies, instead focusing on the woman Carlos would bring, the one on whom he would slake his thirst.

He flexed his fingers, imagining the feel of her body yielding to him, her softness, her curves, her sweetness. But when the door opened and Teresa walked in, it took an effort for him to find his appetite.

She was beautiful, with her with long dark curls and sultry eyes, and she smiled for him as invitingly as always, but all he could see was Rylan's haunting face, that mixture of fear and desire, and the undeniable pull it had on him.

But some things were impossible. He held out his hand. "Come here," he said, and she did.