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“Oh yeah? I know your slutty ass couldn’t stay down without taking a dick for two days. Is it that football jock? Is he fucking your tight little hole now?”
“Fuck off, Marcus,” I spat.
He clutched my arm violently. A gasp caught in my throat as he twisted my wrist, a sharp spike of agony making my fingers go completely numb. The iced coffee slipped from my hand, hitting the concrete with a heavy, wet thud and bleeding into the dark street. “This is no way to talk to your master.”
“Let go of me! You are not my master. The deal was we met at Iron Clad, and that was it.” I shoved his hand off me with everything I had. Marcus tried to lunge forward again, but the massive guy from the passenger side suddenly stepped between us, interrupting him. He was absolute muscle; a giant who completely eclipsed Marcus, his frame built like an elite athlete. He wasn’t handsome like George. George was lean, toned, and elegant despite his strength. This guy was a wall.
“Hey, relax cousin, back the fuck up. This is no way to talk,” the giant said, pushing Marcus back with one hand. Then, he turned his heavy gaze onto me, his chest expanding under his jacket. “This is the guy, right?”
“Ask him,” Marcus muttered, crossing his arms.
I squinted up at the massive stranger, my breath turning shallow. “Ask what?”
“Santiago. I’m a huge fan of your art,” the giant grinned, his white teeth glinting in the streetlights. “Especially that George Brooks audio you put out there during the halftime show.”
A sudden, paralyzing shock ran straight through my veins. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Exactly what you want. To utterly ruin George Brooks.” The giant stepped closer, his shadow completely enveloping me against the brick wall. “What you put out there on the jumbotron was classic cinema. You had a limited audience, but what I can do with that raw audio will break records. It will be all over social media by morning, and George Brooks will be ruined for good.”
I knew instantly that I was completely outnumbered, and there was no way I could just run. I needed to play along until I could find an opening.
“Why?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay level. “Why do you want to ruin George Brooks?”
“Why?” The giant laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Same reason as you, boy. He ruined me. My career. My absolute shot at the NFL draft. With that audio, I can reverse the game on him. No NFL scout will touch that golden boy with a ten-foot pole. Just hand over the original audio file and watch the magic happen.”
“Sounds like a solid plan,” I said, shrugging my shoulders as calmly as possible. “But I don’t have the audio anymore. It could have traced back to my system, so I completely destroyed it. Sorry.”
I started to walk away, but the giant’s hand clamped down around my upper arm. I winced, a sharp gasp escaping my lips at his terrifying, unyielding grip. He could snap my bone in a single motion.
“You know who the fuck I am, boy?” his voice dropped into a dark, guttural threat. “The name is Pavel. And I’m not just the brute you see on the television screen. I can smell when someone is lying to my face, Santiago. And I fucking hate liars.”
His grip twisted, wrenching my arm toward my shoulder blade.
“Wait, wait!” My breath felt completely ragged, tears of panic pricking my eyes. “The audio is useless anyway! The university board disqualified it as an AI deepfake, so I deleted the drive!”
“You are lying to me again,” Pavel snarled, his fingers digging into my muscle like iron talons.
He yanked my arm back. I shut my eyes tight, bracing for the snap of bone, when Marcus spoke from the curb. A cruel smirk spread across his face.
“Hey, Pavel... maybe we don’t even need the audio file,” Marcus whispered. His eyes traveled slowly down my trembling frame. “Maybe we only need him.”
––––––––
Santiago
GEORGE’S HEAVY HANDS were surprisingly gentle as he laid me face-down onto the dark sheets of the berth.
I hissed sharply through my clenched teeth when the cool air of the cabin hit my striped ass and thighs. The overlapping welts from the riding crop and the rattan cane from last night felt severely raised and angry, pulsing aggressively with every single beat of my heart. I buried my face deep into the pillow, utterly embarrassed by how vulnerable I felt like this; completely naked, marked, and still leaking slightly from our previous intimacy.
“Easy,” George murmured, his voice a low, soothing vibration in the quiet room. “Just gonna take care of you, Sig.”
I heard the plastic cap of the medical ointment click open. A moment later, his massive, warm fingers began spreading the cooling gel over my inflamed skin with slow, careful strokes. The gel soothed the burning heat almost instantly, but his touch was what really undid me, firm enough to massage the tension out of the muscle, yet gentle enough that it didn't cause me further pain. He worked methodically across every welt, every bruise, treating my body like something precious he didn’t want to break further.
Tears burned fiercely behind my eyelids. I shouldn’t have come here tonight, I thought frantically. Not after what had happened on the street after I left the coffee shop. Not after what I was being forced to do.
Pavel and Marcus had cornered me in the dark. Pavel’s iron grip had nearly shattered my bone, threatening to break both my arms and legs if I didn’t help him reverse the game on George. And like a coward, I had begged. I had agreed to do exactly what they wanted: to give them the ammunition to ruin George Brooks for good.
“You’re going to feel this for a few days,” George said quietly, a touch of dominant pride in his rough voice. “Every time you sit down in those fancy pre-law suits, you’ll remember exactly how brave you were last night.”
