8. Chapter Eight

The afternoon hung dull and heavy in the room that was Rylan's prison cell. Below, he could hear the sounds of the cartel going about its business. But in here there was nothing. Only dull silence.

He was so bored he could die. After the incident in the kitchen yesterday, Bautista had ordered him locked up again, and as all the books in his room were in Spanish, he was starting to go a little stir-crazy.

I could take up exercise,he thought. Do some push ups. Maybe I'll get ripped. Of course, he would have had to know how to do a push up for that, and previous experience suggested it was not his forte.

A sudden knock jerked him out of this reverie. He sat up, sliding off the bed, and then he hesitated. He was locked in. Why even bother knocking?

"Come in?" he called.

The door opened to reveal Carlos. "Bautista wants you in his study," he said, his voice low and menacing.

Rylan's skin quivered. The memory of the last meeting in Bautista's study played like a reel in his mind. Like I have any choice, anyway, he thought.

He straightened his now fairly grubby clothes and followed Carlos obediently.

As they entered the study, Rylan's eyes widened, and his heart did something treacherous in his chest. They were not alone. Several of Bautista's men lounged around the room, their gazes falling upon Rylan with leering interest.

A horrible thought crossed his mind: He wouldn't let them...do something awful to me? Rylan couldn't be certain that Bautista wouldn't throw him to his leering wolves. Surely not. But...

"Ah, Carlos" Bautista's deep voice cut through the tension, drawing everyone's attention to him. As always, he was impeccably dressed in a creamy linen suit, his dark hair slicked back to reveal piercing black eyes. "Thank you."

Rylan tried to ignore the other men in the room as he approached Bautista, his heart pounding wildly. He tried to remain calm and composed, but the fear was eating away at him, making his knees weaken.

"Look at me," Bautista said sharply. Rylan lifted his gaze. Bautista's dark eyes bored into his. Then the man turned away, gesturing to the restless onlookers. "Do you see these men?"

"Yes," Rylan choked out, trying not to show how frightened he was. His voice wavered, betraying him. He clenched his fists to steady himself.

"These men are my soldiers. Some of them," Bautista clarified. "I have many more."

Rylan hesitated, feeling the weight of the other men's gazes on him. What does he want? Why are they all here? "Okay," he said, unsure what Bautista expected of him.

"Parceros," Bautista addressed his men, "This is Rylan, my...guest." The pause was loaded with meaning, and Rylan flinched. "If you see him wandering somewhere he shouldn't be, return him to his rooms. Gently," Bautista added with a cruel smile.

Someone laughed. Rylan caught the leers of the men. He felt like a piece of meat being examined by ravenous wolves. Their stares were hungry, predatory, and it made Rylan's skin crawl.

"If any of my men give you an order," Bautista said, turning to Rylan again, "then you must obey him. Anything he tells you, you must do. Do you understand me?"

Rylan flinched. A vision of being caught out of his rooms by a group of cartel soldiers flashed through his mind. The vision played out vividly. Caught, groped, forced…Rylan could imagine it all. His cheeks flared with humiliation.

He couldn't hide it, and Bautista saw it. The cartel kingpin made a gruff sound. "Where did your mind go? Somewhere disgusting? Are you fantasizing about this?"

Rylan shook his head, but his cheeks were so hot, and Bautista leaned in closer, his black eyes gleaming with amusement.

"The thing that fascinates me," he said in a low, insinuating tone, "is how perverted you are."

Rylan's face burned, and he stammered, trying to form a coherent response. "I-I don't know what you're t-talking about." His voice was barely above a whisper, and he couldn't bring himself to look Bautista in the eye.

"Really?" Bautista raised an eyebrow, smirking at Rylan's obvious discomfort. "You're trembling like a fawn. I can practically smell your perversion."

Rylan's face flushed even deeper, and he tried to suppress the wave of shame and reluctant arousal that washed over him. He hated how easily Bautista could read him, how effortlessly he could strip away his defenses and leave him exposed and vulnerable.

"How messed up do you have to be to get like this?" Bautista grabbed Rylan's chin and forced it up, making him look at his disreputable men lounging around the room. "These men despise you. Does that turn you on as well?"

"Please," Rylan whispered, desperate for some kind of escape from this situation. But Bautista only grinned wider, seemingly enjoying Rylan's struggle.

"Who could believe," Bautista said, addressing his men again, "how sick some men become?"

Bautista's men watched the interaction with a mix of amusement and disapproval. Some chuckled quietly, while others shook their heads or rolled their eyes. Carlos simply glowered at Rylan as if this was all his fault, saying nothing.

One of the men laughed out loud. "You sure he's a man, jefe? Looks like a girl from here."

Bautista snorted. "I haven't checked. Are you volunteering, Giraldo?"

Giraldo held up his hands. "No way!" He looked at Rylan with amusement. "Not even for that pretty mouth."

Rylan felt humiliation wash over him, his stomach twisting into knots as he struggled to maintain his dignity.

"Don't worry, little prince," Bautista said, rubbing a hand over the back of Rylan's neck. "I won't let these animals tear you apart. So long as you're a good boy and do exactly as you're told."

Some of the men laughed. Rylan felt a sob rise in his throat, but he forced himself to swallow it.

Perhaps taking pity on him, Bautista pushed him toward a corner. "Go. Stand. Be silent."

Rylan did as he was told. The rest of the afternoon passed in a miserable blur. Bautista and his men spoke in rapid Spanish, and Rylan could understand maybe one word in ten. All he could do was dwell on the situation he was in, turning it over and over in his mind.

Trapped. At Bautista's mercy. And Bautista was not a merciful man.

Eventually, the men left. Only Bautista and Carlos remained. They spoke a little more, ignoring Rylan completely. Was that good? Rylan didn't know.

What would happen when Carlos left the room? What would Bautista want with him then?

His worries came to nothing. When Carlos turned to leave, he paused in the doorway. "Are you done with him?" he asked in English, jerking his head at Rylan.

Bautista paused, glancing up. "Sure. Take him away."

And that was it. Carlos said nothing on the way back to Rylan's room, locking him in silently. Rylan leaned against the door, his breath coming heavy.

It wasn't clear what all that had been about, except humiliating Rylan. Maybe that was the whole point. If it was, then Bautista had won. Rylan felt so helpless he might as well curl up into nothing.

This wasn't the end of it. The next day, Rylan was again summoned to Bautista's study. Another group of men filled the room, all deep in discussion with Bautista. The air was thick with tension, making his heart race.

Bautista gestured for Rylan to approach. "Come here."

Rylan hesitated for a moment before approaching Bautista slowly. He tried to keep his face neutral despite the heat rising in his cheeks. The shiny barrel of a handgun resting on the table by Bautista's elbow caught Rylan's eye, and he flinched from it. This was a man who held life and death in his hands.

He saw the way Bautista's eyes seemed to undress him, stripping him bare in front of the other men. He felt exposed, vulnerable. Bautista was toying with him, like a cat with a particularly enticing mouse.

"Fetch me a drink," Bautista ordered, his attention turned back to the discussion.

Feeling as though every pair of eyes but Bautista's were on him, Rylan glanced around. There was a tray with a decanter on it and a cut-glass crystal tumbler. Rylan poured a measure into the tumbler carefully, afraid he was going to drop the decanter and be punished for it. But he managed without spilling anything, and handed the glass to Bautista. As he turned to go to the corner he'd stood in yesterday, Bautista's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, yanking him back.

"Wait," Bautista said coldly. "My shoelace needs to be tied."

Swallowing hard, Rylan sank to his knees. He was aware of the men watching him as he fumbled with Bautista's shoelace. Finally, when it was tied tight, Rylan tried to rise but a hand clasped his shoulder in a grip like iron.

Bautista leaned in closer, his breath hot on Rylan's neck, causing goosebumps to erupt across his skin. "Better," Bautista murmured. "Your hands are shaking," he added, smirking at Rylan's obvious nervousness. "Perhaps you need something to steady them."

He tossed something onto the floor. Rylan stared at it like it was a live snake.

It was a collar. Not a fashion collar or one of those day collars Rylan had seen before in fetish fashion, but a dog collar. Just a simple, leather dog collar. The implication was clear: Bautista wanted to assert his dominance over Rylan, here and now, in front of his men.

"Put it on," Bautista ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

Swallowing hard, Rylan reached for the collar. It was rough under his hands. A real dog collar. It smelled of canine sweat. He fastened it around his neck, feeling the heavy leather hang heavy on his skin.

Bautista gestured sharply at him. "On your hands and knees," he commanded, his eyes locked on Rylan's. "Like a dog."

Cheeks flushing with humiliation, Rylan obeyed, dropping his hands to the floor and struggling to maintain his composure. Bautista's presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, and Rylan was drawn to him despite the danger that he represented. Every nerve in Rylan's body seemed to hum with anticipation as he knelt there, waiting for whatever Bautista had in store for him.

"Such a good boy," Bautista said sarcastically. "So eager to please."

He lifted a foot and laid it across Rylan's back. Then he kicked the other up to cross one ankle over the other, using Rylan as a footstool again.

"Now, where were we?" he said, turning back to his conversation.

Rylan's heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the weight of Bautista's legs bearing down on him. The humiliation was intense. Being used like this, as nothing more than a footstool for Bautista's pleasure, it was unbearable. And yet, Rylan felt a strange heat coil through him, catching him by the throat.

The meeting seemed to last forever. The weight on Rylan's back bore him down, pinning him in place. He felt like a kite on a string, at the mercy of the wind. Was Bautista the wind or the string? The anchor or the force that buffeted him?

Finally, the men left. It was then that Carlos stepped forward, seemingly unable to contain himself. "Jefe," he growled, his voice thick with something that could have been anger or frustration. "This game goes too far. It could have consequences for all of us."

Rylan's breath hitched, and he felt a sudden fear course through him. He wasn't sure what Carlos meant by "consequences", but it couldn't be anything good. He braced himself for Bautista's reaction, unsure of what would happen next.

"Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?" Bautista said, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you think I don't understand the risks involved?"

He swung his feet to the floor and stood up, stepping closer to Carlos and staring him down.

"If I choose to indulge myself like this, it is because I know it won't harm our operation." Bautista's eyes bore into Carlos', daring him to challenge the statement.

Carlos remained silent, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Sí, jefe."

Rylan felt a twinge of shame run through him. Clearly what Bautista was doing to him was wrong, if even Carlos thought so. And yet, Bautista persisted.

What did it mean?

"Take him away," Bautista said, turning his back on Carlos and Rylan both. Carlos nodded silently and jerked his head for Rylan to follow.

Back in his room, Rylan paced the floor, his fingers lingering on the collar around his neck. He didn't know what Bautista intended, and his anxiety over not knowing was driving him mad. Was he humiliating Rylan for fun, or for some other nefarious purpose? Was this all part of an elaborate tease, so he could drive Rylan out of his mind?

Bautista seemed equally disgusted and intrigued by the idea that Rylan might be attracted to him. He goaded Rylan, seeking responses, watching to see any sign that Rylan might be aroused.

Does he want me to be?

But why would he want that? Unless…

Rylan stopped dead. The strangest idea had come over him. What if this was some twisted kind of foreplay? If Bautista intended…something? If he might, once he'd worked Rylan up into a frenzy, take advantage of that?

God, it was madness. Rylan ran his fingers up into his hair and tugged on it in frustration. Whatever Bautista wanted, he had to remind himself: Bautista was his captor and meant him no good at all.

***

It was late, the depths of night, when Rylan was summoned again.

This time, the soldier at his door was not Carlos, but when Rylan tried to ask where they were going the man either did not understand or refused to answer. He simply jerked his head for Rylan to follow him.

Rylan followed him. The house was dimly lit, and their footsteps rang out on the tiled floor. The man led Rylan to a part of the house to which he had before been admitted, and then to a large, imposing wooden door.

The man knocked. A voice called back. The man opened the door and ushered Rylan inside, before shutting it again.

Rylan's heartrate sped up as he entered the dimly lit room. It was a suite, more richly furnished than his own. The air was sweet with the scent of roses, and he saw them spilling from their vases, probably cut from the gardens.

"Come here," came a man's voice. Bautista.

Rylan followed the sound through another room and into a third, where a large, imposing bed dominated the space. He stopped dead, staring at it, and then forcing himself to lift his gaze to the man standing beyond it.

"Stand in the corner, facing the wall," Bautista ordered, his voice cold and authoritative.

Rylan obeyed immediately, his heart in his mouth. He tried to steady his breathing, but it was almost impossible with the rush of conflicting emotions surging through him. He was frightened and exhilarated. Whatever happened tonight would be something new.

He'd taken off the collar before going to bed, and now he wondered if he should have put it back on. Would Bautista be angry about that? He wished he knew what to expect. He could hear Bautista walking around the room. Every time Bautista approached, Rylan's body tensed, anticipating a word or a rough hand. But Bautista did not touch him, did not speak to him, and Rylan's nerves drew taut.

The door opened. Rylan stiffened in surprise. Light footsteps entered the room and crossed the floor.

Bautista said something in Spanish, and a woman's voice, soft and yielding, replied. Rylan strained to listen, holding himself very still.

The rip of a zipper was followed by the fall of cloth. The bed creaked. Rylan's breath stopped in his throat.

Bautista said something in a demanding tone, and the woman murmured acquiescence. Rylan heard the snick of a belt unbuckled, a soft gasp, and a low chuckle.

A hot, searing wave of jealousy crashed over him. Jealousy and hurt. He couldn't believe that Bautista would do this, making Rylan listen to him having sex with another…with a woman. And what must the woman think of Rylan, standing there in the corner like an obedient pet? It was almost too much for him to bear.

Rylan covered his face with his hands, trying to block out the sounds and focus on anything else. But it was no use; the eroticism of the situation was too powerful to resist. He found himself unable to tear his mind away from the image of Bautista's muscular body moving against the woman's, the raw passion fueling their actions.

He struggled to hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes. He felt so humiliated, so degraded, and yet he couldn't deny the deep, carnal desire that stirred within him. To be her, he thought miserably. To be the object of his desires. He knew he shouldn't crave it, but he did, and it sickened him.

Behind him, he heard Bautista groan, an unmistakable sound. The bed creaked heavily and then stopped. The room was filled only with the sound of panting breath and the blood rushing in Rylan's ears, hot enough to burn.

A sound. Something wet. Bautista's voice, low and harsh, issuing a command in Spanish, and then the sound of someone hurrying out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving Rylan alone with Bautista in the dimly lit bedroom.

Rylan could barely breathe, feeling as if a vice was tightening around his chest. The humiliation and hurt swirled within him like a storm, threatening to consume him entirely.

"Rylan," Bautista called out, his voice cold and commanding. "Come here."

Reluctantly, Rylan turned and obeyed, each step towards Bautista feeling like wading through quicksand. When he finally reached the bed, Bautista stood before him, his trousers zipped and belt buckled, dark eyes boring into Rylan's soul.

A large, rough hand reached out, cupping Rylan's face gently. He felt the heat from Bautista's touch sear into his skin, the powerful man studying him intently.

Bautista's hair was mussed. Rylan longed to reach up and smooth it into place, but he didn't dare.

"Are you jealous, little prince?" Bautista asked, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

Rylan opened his mouth to respond, but no words would form. The intensity of Bautista's gaze was suffocating, stripping away any semblance of control Rylan had left.

Bautista's smirk sharpened. "I have many women here if I want them. Any pleasure I wish for is mine for the taking. I am not a desperate, hungry man, ready to settle for any hole I'm offered."

The implication was clear; Bautista wanted Rylan to know how superfluous he was. How utterly useless, even in this regard.

"Cat got your tongue?" Bautista taunted, his fingers tracing Rylan's jawline, sending pinpricks of electricity over his skin. Rylan swallowed hard, fighting back tears and trying to find his voice, but it remained stubbornly elusive.

Satisfied by Rylan's speechlessness, Bautista released his grip and stepped back. "Go to your room," he said dismissively, turning away from Rylan as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience.

Tears finally spilled down Rylan's cheeks as he stumbled out of the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him. The soldier on guard looked uneasy, but Rylan couldn't spare any thought for him. He was too shaken to think of anything but Bautista's cruelty, and his own misery.