Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Griffin Lawson

S mart boy. He veered away from the area of boulders, most likely guessing it was a good place for me to hide.

I'd had a feeling he'd be walking back since he'd stopped earlier.

As long as he didn't turn toward the wider part of the stream, he would walk between two of the eight trees where I'd prepared a wire for him to trip over. Because he'd brought his gear, and I'd brought mine.

Good thing too. My boy was definitely a fighter. And a fast little shit.

Was he nervous? As he trailed closer to the trap, he looked around himself every few seconds. The ground was more level here, without many rocks and pits.

I folded my arms over my chest and smiled to myself. He was almost there. A few more feet.

Don't change course.

I'd initially only wired four of the trees, and if I'd stopped there, he'd have smooth sailing right about now. Instead… I stood straighter, staying hidden behind a boulder and some spruce trees, and I watched him walk right in there. So focused on what might happen around him, he didn't pay attention to his feet. His left foot got caught, and he let out a short scream as he stumbled forward and landed on the ground.

I grinned.

"You son of a bitch!" he yelled. He hurriedly scrambled to his feet and glared in this direction. "Are you in there? I know you can see me!"

Wasn't the first time he'd yelled that.

He huffed and spun around a couple more times to check his surroundings, and then he cursed and took off in a light run.

My cue to follow.

I waited until he was past the stream, when I almost couldn't see him anymore. Then I ran after, sticking close to the trees, one by one, ready for whenever he turned around.

It's your turn now, little one.

I paid extra attention to where I landed to keep from making too much noise, and slowly but surely, I gained on him. The vegetation grew thicker, making it easier for me to hide, and I sank into a feral mind-set where all I saw was my prey.

I'd missed that feeling. I'd instinctively known it would be enhanced with Tracy, but when we'd hunted the prey in a group, something had gotten lost. This was going to be my crack. When it was only him and me.

I picked up a small rock along the way, and I threw it as far as I could to the east.

He heard it when it made impact, which gave me room to advance in the opposite direction.

"Why are you hiding, you coward?!" he screamed.

Closer.

It was the headiest sensation—and to a degree I'd never experienced before. My rapid breathing matched the muted sound of my footfalls, my body was warm and felt more flexible, my focus was razor-sharp, and pain didn't register.

Closer.

Thirty or so feet… Twenty-five…

Tracy started running once more, but I was faster. He had no idea I was behind him and approaching quickly.

He'd hear me very soon, but by then, it would be too late.

I felt my pocket quickly, making sure I had the handcuffs.

I heard him panting.

For an intoxicating moment, it felt like I was flying through the woods.

At fifteen feet, give or take, he must've heard me. He whipped around, and I caught the exact moment his eyes widened with fear and shock. It shot a bolt of dark glee through me, and then he was fucking mine. I slammed into him just as he screamed no, and I sent us both to the dirt. I was quick to shoot my hands out, minimizing my impact, and he had no time to fight back before I grabbed him in a chokehold.

I'd seen the effect I'd had on him earlier.

"Got you," I growled in a low voice.

He gasped, his hands flying to my grip on him, and he struggled to loosen my hand.

"No!" he choked out.

Yes.

I took a deep breath and settled my body over him, needing to feel his weight underneath me.

Fucking hell, he was gorgeous. Deep into his recovery from the shock, he just thrashed and choked out cries, and he repeatedly failed to pull my hand away. He scratched me up enough to let thin lines of blood well up from under the surface, but he had no real strength yet.

Wanting to push him further, I applied pressure to his carotid arteries, and I traced my nose along his damp cheek.

"You stole something of mine," I murmured huskily. "Tell me where the key is."

"I—" He gulped, and I inched back just to see the look in his eyes.

So much fear.

I pushed my cock against his lower abdomen, and his eyes nearly rolled back.

I eased up, allowing him to take a few deep breaths. He immediately went back to panting.

"Go f-fuck yourself," he croaked.

I felt a slow smile spread across my lips, and I couldn't deny I was relieved too. With his response, I didn't need to remind him of his safewords or what color he was. He had his wits about him.

He must've remembered he had legs—and that he could do something else with his hands—'cause he chose that moment to punch me hard in the side and squirm his foot from under me.

"You promised me a fight," I told him. "Why are you so weak and useless?"

Fury took over, and it was fucking glorious. He glared at me, seemingly gathering all his strength, and he thrashed for his life. He screamed at me, punched and slapped at me, and he scraped the soles of his sneakers along my legs.

It actually hurt, but I didn't show that shit. Instead, I chuckled and made sure he felt my cock getting harder?—

Fuck!

I screwed my eyes shut as he slammed his forehead up my nose, and pain exploded through my face. Oh, that little fucker! I groaned and gnashed my teeth, and I freed one hand to cup my nose.

Shit, shit, shit. Thankfully, no blood. My eyes welled up automatically, and I blinked rapidly.

"Get off me!" he snarled. To his credit, he shoved me aside so I was only half on top of him, and that was what he needed. When he attacked me with swift punches, I had to protect myself as the hurt spread like wildfire.

You're a fighter, baby.

"Jesus," I coughed.

Before I knew it, he was rolling on top of me, and his fists didn't fucking let up. He came at me over and over, and he was gone. He had to be. He yelled incoherent insults—I was a motherfucker who needed to be put in my place, and it was apparently my fault he'd run away from his friends.

Enough.

At a particularly harsh blow to my rib cage, I let the skin-deep rage fill my senses as much as possible, and I caught his wrists. Within a second, I pulled up my knee, pushing him forward, and then I could shove him off me, over my head.

I was on my feet before he was, so I yanked him up roughly and rammed him against the nearest tree.

"That's enough outta you," I growled.

My chest heaved, and I spun him around so my chest pressed against his back. That way, I could dig out the handcuffs.

"Tell me where the fucking key is," I ordered.

Shit, he'd gotten more than a few good punches in, and the pain was only increasing. I needed a solid dose of adrenaline to mask it.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he yelled. "Let me go!"

No.

He'd had his fun. Pressing the side of his face against the bark with enough force to make him go from offense to defense, I retrieved the cuffs and got one of them open. He clawed at the back of my hand and tried to kick backward, but I wasn't utterly new.

The first cuff snicked into place, and he choked on a breath.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted breathlessly. He poured all his energy into getting free—without success. I was ready for the interrogation to begin.

A beat later, I had him handcuffed behind his back.

"Coward!" he spat out. "You afraid of a fair fight? Huh? Fight me!"

No. There were other ways to defeat him. It was our first takedown together, and I didn't wanna take things too far.

"I said faster!" I snapped.

"Then stop pushing me!" he yelled back.

"I'm only pushing you because you're slow as shit." I grabbed his arm and dragged him across another stream, and he tripped and fell down on one knee in the water. "Are you clumsy too? Just my fucking luck."

"Go to hell!"

I snorted softly.

We were maybe halfway back to the interrogation site, and I was damn conflicted. Part of me wanted to push him to the breaking point, to see where he drew the line and started sobbing, while the other part of me was ready to dive back into Daddy mode.

He had cuts and scrapes on every visible inch of skin, and it was fucking with my head. I wasn't gonna do anything—not yet—'cause it would ruin the experience for him. But fuck if I didn't wanna get cracking on the aftercare part.

His breathing had barely calmed down, and I could tell he was holding back his emotions. He was furious with me, but he was also running on fumes.

"My arms hurt," he said hoarsely.

"Thank you for the information." I kept him in front of me as we headed into another area where the trees grew farther apart.

"Fucker," he whispered.

"Even your insults are weak."

He didn't reply.

Probably for the best.

After a few more minutes of walking through the woods, I heard we weren't alone. Someone was crying nearby.

Tracy heard it too. "Kit! Is that you?"

"Move it!" Well, that was Colt, so maybe the crier was, in fact, Kit.

Before long, they came into view, and Colt nodded at me.

"Everything good?" I asked.

"Oh yeah. Caught this little fuckhole quick enough."

"You suck!" Kit croaked.

"Nope, that's gonna be you—if you're lucky," Colt replied.

We walked closer and closer together until we joined forces, both with the same direction in mind. Kit was cuffed behind his back too, and Colt must've gotten his revenge from the backhand he'd received from Kit earlier. The boy had blood smeared over his cheek, and he was limping.

To be fair, so was Colt.

"Have you seen the others?" he asked.

"Not since we got separated," I answered.

He sighed. "Yeah, mine took off half a minute after your boy did."

Well, we had faith in Ryan and Jameson for their brats.

I rubbed my nose gently and winced. I didn't believe it was fractured, but he must've come damn close. This was gonna hurt for a while.

Colt nudged his boy forward. "You gonna talk or what? Where's the key?"

"Maybe in your ass," Kit muttered, sniffling.

Colt grinned to himself.

We didn't tell the boys we might've gotten a little lost on the way. Eventually, we made it to the interrogation site, where Ryan, Jameson, and Madigan had tied their prey to the trees.

"Don't say anything about the key," Justin urged.

"What key?" Tracy replied coolly.

I chuckled under my breath and accepted a bundle of rope from Ryan.

It was a good location. Small clearing, firepit blazing at the center, logs circling it, and trees that were fairly bare down here. I fisted Tracy's hoodie and pushed him toward the tree next to where Abel was restrained, and Colt took the next one for Kit.

Aside from having a good location, Ryan was clearly not new at this. He had a pot of coffee on the fire and snacks set up. All part of the torture. And the comfort for us, of course.

"These are damn good, baby girl." Ryan spoke around a mouthful of a cinnamon roll.

"I regret making them," she scoffed.

Ryan shrugged. "I don't care."

Madigan opened a small jar of Nutella, and Abel glared before he looked away.

Tracy clenched his jaw and watched my face as I tied him to the tree.

The streaks of blood from the deeper scratches, his matted hair, and the wildness in his eyes made for one sexy-as-sin little masochist. I almost kissed him right then and there.

Almost.

I smacked his cheek lightly instead, before abandoning him for a good cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll.

I had to hold back a groan when I sat down on one of the logs.

Goddamn, I was sore all over.

Though, I suspected I had nothing on the hurt the brats were in. They were all in various states of discomfort, with cuts, scrapes, blotchy marks, and dirty clothes.

"You're just gonna sit there and eat?" Abel asked incredulously. "How's this an interrogation?"

"Damn—this is good," I said, chewing slowly. More often than not, baked goods went stale within half a day, but these were still soft and full of flavor. Right amount of butter with the cinnamon and plenty of icing. Excellent.

"I know, right?" Ryan nodded and refilled his tin mug. "My brother-in-law's recipe. But he makes the bite-sized versions. They're great too."

Colt hummed and dug out a bottle of…all right, sprinkles. He wanted sprinkles on his cinnamon roll. That was a choice too.

"Nothin' like a nice treat after a…well, it was a simple workout," he said. "We'll call it a restin' day, I guess."

"Definitely a resting day—after all the mouthing off Justin did today," Jameson said. "I came prepared for the fight of a lifetime, and then he folds like a cheap suit after two minutes."

"Liar!" Angel cried out. "He almost knocked you into the creek!"

"Almost," I laughed. "That's cute."

Jameson smirked. "He almost hurt me too."

Justin let out a long sigh and tried to shift against the rope.

They looked amazing, all of them. Rope digging in, blood, dirt, messy hair…and the firelight casting a glow over them. And everything behind them was suddenly pitch black.

"So a key has gone missing," Madigan said casually. He turned toward the brats. "We happen to know one of you took it."

I took another bite of my roll and glanced over at our prey.

"I think we can rule out Angel," Colt said. "Madigan and I overheard her whisperin' to Abel at one point. Girl was tryna be clever and pretend she had the key."

That was interesting information.

Angel jutted her chin. "Yup, that's what I said. Totally not to throw you off, either."

I smirked. She was trying to cover it up, but I wasn't buying her act. The last thing she said—she played that card too early.

"So we rule out Angel," I stated.

"Agreed," Madigan said.

"Can I have some water?" Abel asked.

Madigan lifted his brows. "Uh, how thirsty are you?"

"Thirsty enough to ask," the boy shot back.

Madigan nodded once and retrieved a bottle of water from a bag. And to absolutely no one's surprise, he walked over to Abel and emptied it over his head. Maybe Abel wasn't surprised either. He didn't express shock or fury. He stood there and glared at his Owner.

"There's your water, boy."

"Thanks," Abel gritted out.

I shifted my gaze to Tracy, finding him and Justin in a quiet staredown.

Justin was one of my suspects. Kit and Tracy were the other two.

Abel was…a vibrant part of our community. He spoke loudly and expressed himself adorably with wild gestures, zero filters, and his heart on his sleeve. In short, I wasn't sure he could keep a secret. More than that, I knew his poker face was fucking awful.

Kit was new to me. From my observations, he was as sweet as he was cocky. He was extremely polite to the other Tops, and then he went balls to the wall with Colt. The boy had actually backhanded Colt. And that spoke volumes. He had the guts to get himself into trouble he might not be able to handle—and yet he did. He landed on his feet eventually.

Justin wasn't a Little. He was a straight-up bottom, a cocky sweetheart, a masochist, with switchy tendencies. He didn't play games unless all he had to do was stay silent. He didn't give shit up. So he could definitely have the key.

Angel often felt the need to assert herself in her Little space, as if wanting to make sure nobody forgot she was also a sadistic Domme—even if it was only to one person. Like Abel, she had a horrible poker face.

Then there was Tracy.

We locked eyes, and he didn't shy away. He was guarded and bracing himself.

I finished the last of my cinnamon roll, took another swig of my coffee, then rose to my feet—without making a face. Sweet Jesus, was my boy going to give me a proper rubdown tomorrow. Daddy needed aftercare too.

Rather than stopping in front of Tracy, I continued toward Abel.

He stood up straighter and clenched his jaw.

"Hello, brat. Why are you so sweaty?"

He scowled up at me. "I took a nice shower."

"You have a very generous Owner," I replied with a nod. He wisely kept his mouth shut. "Where's the key?"

He widened his eyes. "I don't know!" Instant hothead.

I glanced over at the other Tops, and I made eye contact with Ryan. "I think we can crack him fast."

Which was a good thing, because Abel was quick to revert into Little mode with Madigan, who had only cleared his boy for a taste of interrogation play.

"Excellent." Ryan stood up and nodded for Madigan to join us, and I waited while the latter decided what tool we could use. Ryan had brought a whole duffel bag o' treats.

We had a dog cage too.

"I swear I don't have the key," Abel said forcefully.

"We might believe you, trouble," Madigan answered. "That doesn't mean you don't have information, though." He came over with a vampire glove—that he handed to me—and a spiked paddle.

I put on the glove and squeezed Abel's jaw, settling my thumb and index finger nicely over his carotid arteries. The boy sucked in a breath, getting worked up before I'd even applied pressure. I wasn't doing that without Madigan's green light.

Ryan, Madigan, and I crowded Abel, and it was enough to get his breathing accelerated.

"I don't know who has it," he bit out.

"You're gonna have to give us more than that." Madigan dropped the paddle lower and gave Abel a hard thwack along his thigh.

"Ow! I don't know, I don't know! I don't know anything!"

"Everyone knows something," Ryan stated.

Madigan resumed his paddling, and Ryan and I gave him enough space to move freely. I stepped to the side, maintaining my hold on Abel's neck, and the boy gnashed his teeth against the pain.

"You can do it, Abel," Justin coached. "Just keep your mouth shut."

"Not my strongest suit!" Abel groaned. "Motherf—ouch!"

"Not yet," I heard Colt say quietly. I didn't know what he and Jameson were talking about, but I hoped they stayed back a while longer. Angel was next to curse us out and encourage Abel to breathe through the pain, and we logged every response, every reaction.

"Fuck! I promise I don't know anything!" Abel struggled against his tears, and Madigan nodded to me. So I applied just a bit of pressure, and the boy's eyes flooded with fear. "I don't know anything—I'm fucking telling you! Kit and Angel asked around, and everyone denied!"

Jackpot.

A clue, at least. Blurted out in the heat of the moment. I doubted it was fake.

"What did they ask?" Madigan pressed. "Word for word."

Ryan and I exchanged a look, and then we backed off. Madigan could keep working on getting clues from Abel, and I was?—

"Just scream when you're in pain, Abel," Kit urged. "Don't use words. Just scream and shout!"

"Or insult them!" Angel chimed in.

I kept my smirk to myself and immediately went over to Tracy. The only brat who hadn't spoken a word to Abel during his little moment in the spotlight.

At the same time, Jameson went over to Justin, and Colt went to Kit.

I used the same grip on Tracy that I'd used on Abel, and I got real close, so our noses almost touched.

"You know what I find interesting?" I whispered. "You didn't coach your little buddy into staying quiet."

He glared at me and said nothing.

"Would it make you feel bad, maybe?" I eased my fingers higher up so I could squeeze his jaw. The spikes that littered the surface of the glove dug into his skin. "Because you know what I think? I think you know something, and you don't want Abel to suffer for knowledge you sit on."

"You don't know shit ," he whispered back.

Except, I did. He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be. Fear flickered in his eyes—fear and nervousness—despite that he put on a decent show. My boy was strong-willed and resistant.

I took a step back and slowly removed the glove.

He traced every movement and licked his lips, something I'd picked up as a nervous trait. He did it at work sometimes when he was overwhelmed.

Without a hint of a warning, I backhanded him across the face, and he cried out as his head whipped sideways.

"You have information that you're gonna give me." I grabbed him in another chokehold, sans glove, and used my free hand to cup his crotch.

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going wide, and he spluttered. "Fuck you—I don't know anything!"

"Lies," I growled. "Where's the fucking key?"

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to shake his head.

Colt nudged me, and he nodded toward the firepit.

Got it.

I didn't say anything to Tracy. I just left his side, and all the Tops reconvened by the fire.

We huddled close so the brats couldn't hear.

"Angel and Abel don't have any info," Ryan said quietly.

"And I can't push Abel any harder," Madigan added. "I'm gonna call it and take him home in a few. He's approaching his limit."

I threw a glance over there, and sure enough, Abel was about to crack. He had tears rolling down his face, and he was trembling a lot.

It gave me an idea. "If you leave, we can tell the brats you're gonna beat a confession out of him. Because Tracy is definitely on my short list of suspects, and I think he might crack if someone else suffers in his stead."

"I was just gonna say," Colt said with a nod. "I have doubts about my boy. I don't think he has the key, and I'll know for sure if he realizes Abel's gonna take a beatin'. Kit will feel too guilty if he knows somethin'."

Perfect. We turned to Jameson next.

He let out a chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think Justin knows anything…? But man, he's a tough nut to crack. We don't usually play on this level either. We're more about the rough games than the mindfucking."

Fair enough. Besides, he did have his work cut out with Justin.

"All right, let Colt and me take the lead on this one," I proposed. "Madigan, you and Ryan make a show of getting Abel outta here with force, and we—" I gestured between Colt and me "—tell our boys we're certain Abel is the guilty one, and now he's getting punished for being a thief."

Ryan let out a low whistle. "Fuckin' A, that's gonna be gorgeous."

"Great plan." Madigan nodded. "Just wait till Abel's out of earshot. He might safeword if he thinks we're pinning him as the guilty one."

"Of course," Colt replied.

Madigan and Ryan got right to it, with Ryan speaking loudly enough for Angel to hear him when he asked Jameson to "spot the girl" while he took care of "the issue."

"No problem, buddy." Jameson trailed closer toward Angel, who had her eyes narrowed. "Mind if I gag her? I think it'll do Justin good too."

"Man, that's brilliant." Ryan clearly approved.

Then he and Madigan walked right up to Abel and began removing his restraints.

"What're you doing?" Tracy demanded.

"I will fucking run," Abel snapped, his voice strained.

Sweet boy. He'd have his Daddy's arms around him soon.

Abel didn't run. He couldn't. With both Ryan and Madigan flanking him, dragging him away, Abel could only scream and try to dig his boots into the soil.

"Please—fuck, no! No! Stop it! Daddy, please!"

Colt and I exchanged a nod before it was our turn. We strode over to our boys, and Colt spoke first.

"I guess you're innocent after all, junior. Well—that ain't right. You don't know where the key is, but you withheld information about who does."

"What're you talking about?!" Kit cried out. "I told you everything I know!"

I inclined my head and eyed Tracy. "You're a little liar just like Kit, boy. You may not have hidden the key, but you protected Abel."

Tracy hitched his brows and threw a quick glance in the direction Abel had disappeared. "What do you mean?"

Colt chuckled. "Y'all can quit the act. We know Abel's the guilty one. He'll get his punishment now."

Keeping my gaze firmly glued to Tracy, I watched a whole range of emotions flit through—nervousness, worry, confusion, and, of course, doubt. He didn't jump into believing something right out of the gate. But he was worried.

"What kind of punishment?" he pressed. Then he stiffened and became guarded. "I mean—we didn't sign up for punishments. We wanted to explore interrogation, not torture."

Nice try, baby.

I laughed under my breath. "What's an interrogation without punishing the criminal?"

He huffed a breath and couldn't look away from where Abel had been taken, and it was kind of making me melt. All while the lingering Sadist in me was dying to read his mind, to watch the internal battle unfold. Because he was going to throw in the towel. I was sure of it.

I knew exactly how to push him over the edge too.

I turned to Colt. "Do you still have your knife?"

"Yeah, sure." Colt brought out one of the knives he used for kink. It'd been dulled to the point where it was barely good to spread butter on a bagel, but you didn't necessarily feel that when you were hopped up on fear and felt the blade against your throat.

I accepted the blade and closed the distance between Tracy and me in a swift move. A beat later, I had the knife pressed to his throat, and he choked on a breath.

"I don't know why you're so interested in Abel's punishment," I said, keeping my tone low. "Luckily for you, I'm in a good mood, so I'll tell you." I nipped at his jaw and felt him tremble. "They're gonna push him past his breaking point very slowly, one tool at a time. Like this knife right here. Like a single-tail whip. Like humiliation. Until he begs for forgiveness and?—"

"Fuck, stop," he croaked. His eyes welled up fast, and he squeezed them shut.

Confess, little one.

In my periphery, I caught Colt slapping a hand over Kit's mouth. Jameson was making sure Justin couldn't get a word out either, muffled by the gag or not.

Nothing to derail the path Tracy was on.

"Why would I stop?" I asked. "Abel's the one taking the torture. Are you so weak you can't even hear about?—"

"He's innocent!" he shouted.

I eased back and cocked a brow.

He swallowed hard and coughed, eyes wild—like they'd been before, when I'd sensed he was lost in the game. "Abel doesn't know anything."

Kit tried to yell something behind Colt's hand, but the muffled noise didn't pierce Tracy's guilt.

Thank God. I needed this to end now.

"I got the note," my boy croaked. "Okay? It's me. The key is hidden on the pier in the Downtown marina. I'm the guilty one. Punish me ."

Fuck, I felt my whole body unclench and push away countless moments of tension. The entire damn day—hell, the week leading up to tonight.

It was finally over.

I let the knife drop to the ground, and I cupped Tracy's face in my hands.

"You're not getting punished, baby," I murmured. "Nobody is."

His breaths came out choppy, and he looked like he couldn't process what I was saying, which made me worried.

"What's your color, Tracy?"

He cocked his head a little, tears spilling over. "G-green—but…but I got the note. I'm guilty."

I shook my head and kissed his cheek, and I started untying him from the tree. The fact that he'd been so quick to say green offered me relief; it meant the kink of the evening remained at the forefront of his mind, but it was still clear as day that his mind had been sufficiently fucked with.

"Guilty of being called sticky fingers in a joking manner, maybe," I agreed. "Otherwise, the only thing you're guilty of is being a good boy. You did so fucking well tonight."

He sniffled. "Oh," he whimpered. "It's over?"

"It's over," I confirmed.

I vaguely registered the other Tops releasing their prey as well, including Ryan, who'd returned with Greg.

The moment Tracy was free of his restraints, he fell against me and locked his arms around my neck.