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“See that. If you want your body to get what it really deserves every tear, every bruise, every fucking inch of pain and relief you’ve been begging for, then come find me at Silvercastle Dock.”

I released his hair and stepped back, watching the way his legs trembled, the way he instinctively pressed his thighs together like he was trying to hide how turned on he was. His hand flew up to touch his abused lips, eyes glassy with shock and shameful want.

“Hey!” The burley hired goon started to say something, stepping forward like he thought he could do anything about it. I shot him one look and he froze.

Sig didn’t move. He just stood there between his so-called “masters,” breathing hard, cock still straining, staring at me like I’d just ripped his entire world open.

I turned and walked back to my truck without another word. But before I climbed in, I looked back one last time.

He was still watching me. Cheeks burning. His body betrayed him completely.

I smirked. I could bet my life on that he’d come. And when he did, I was going to make sure he never wanted to run again.

Santiago

I STOOD THERE FROZEN, lips still burning from the brutal press of George’s mouth, my scalp stinging where he’d fisted my hair. The two men with me, Marcus and his friend, shouted something, but their voices sounded underwater. All I could hear was the thunder of my own pulse and George’s words echoing in my skull.

Marcus grabbed my arm, trying to pull me toward his car, but I yanked free so hard I nearly stumbled. “Don’t touch me.” The words came out shaky, cracked. Marcus narrowed his eyes, but I was already backing away, chest heaving.

I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Ten minutes ago I’d been so sure; steal the phone, expose him right back, run. Win. But the second his mouth crashed into mine, something inside me had splintered. The fear, the rage, the sick, shameful want, they all tangled together until I couldn’t breathe.

I walked. Then I ran. Not toward Marcus’s car. I rushed towards my building. When I reached my room, I locked the door behind me, and when Billy asked “Hey, Sig, what’s with slamming doors?” I ignored him and rushed to my room’s bathroom and closed the door. I met my red-rimmed eyes in the mirror, my swollen, bruised eyes looked like they were ready to bleed. I rubbed my finger over it, still feeling the pressure of George’s mouth, the scrape of his harsh stubble against my soft skin. I’d never felt strength like him.

“I hate him,” I murmured. It didn’t give me the reassurance I wanted, my dick was swelling at the memory of him holding me, his woody cologne clung to my skin, and his wrist hostaging my hair.

I pressed my palm against my needy dick. It was so hard it was painful. Remembering the pressure of George’s palm, I stripped my clothes off one by one at a super speed and stepped under the cold shower.

“Umm,” my body’s heat against cold water felt like a delicious punishment. That’s what I needed to wake me up. I wanted to hate him. I did hate him, how could I not. He made me ashamed of who I was, his constant insults made me run away from home. Only then my parents agreed to let me change the school. He took away my dignity, and now, all I wanted was to kneel in front of him so he could hurt me more.

“Ummhh, fuck,” the image of me kneeling in front of George and letting him do whatever he wanted with my body made my legs weak. I grabbed my needy dick, because it was the only way to satisfy my urge. My hands worked me while my brain conjured an image of George’s strong, substantial hands wrapped around my cock, while I felt his thick hard cock pressed behind me. “This is what you want, Sig, stop fighting.” Brooks’ words in my ears broke me.

“Ah,” I exhaled as I released my cum into the water. I pressed my head against the tiles trying to catch my breath when my phone buzzed sitting in my jeans’ pocket. I grabbed the towel wrapping it around me. I picked my phone as I stepped out of the bathroom. It was a message from GBrooks72.

“I thought Marcus broke his phone?” I opened the message and my vulnerable voice broke through the phones’ speaker. “I’m weak. I deserve this.” I stared at my naked figure on the screen, but it was unrecognizable, he had blurred it.

Another message popped up.

George: The clock is ticking, Sig.

Chapter Nine

Santiago

My legs carried me across campus, past the lit paths, and into the darker streets where the big, historic houses sat like silent judges. Silvercastle Docks was only a fifteen-minute walk if you were stupid enough to go there alone at night. I was apparently that stupid.

By the time I reached the marina, my hands were trembling so badly I could barely keep them shoved deep in my hoodie pockets. The wind was vicious near the coast, making the entire area feel isolated and hollow as I walked along the rows of dark, docked vessels. A few amber deck lights glowing at a distance didn’t do much for reassurance. I pulled out my phone, my fingers shivering in the biting cold as they hovered over George’s contact name, GBrooks72.

A sharp horn blast startled me.

I looked up. George’s massive, authoritative silhouette dominated the deck of a sleek black boat. He was wearing a heavy leather jacket, completely unfazed by the freezing mist rolling off the water.

As I stepped toward the gangplank, my stomach flipped. Turn around, Sig. Just go home. Block him. Delete everything. My mind screamed at me to run. No, this is my way to get close to him, find out everything there is to know, and then ruin him for life, I vowed to myself. But as my feet kept moving up the wooden steps, the justification felt like a hollow lie.

I reached the deck, meeting his dark eyes. I forced my chin up, desperate to keep my head high.

“Watch your step,” George said, his lips curving into a smirk as he led the way.

I hesitated, my eyes locking onto the side of the hull. The boat's name, Heavy Anchor 72, was painted across the bow in block, jersey-style numbers. Seventy-Two was George’s number. He owned this place.