shitless.
Fuck, that look did something to Xavier, something having a lover bound had never done. But not the same dark, sadistic thrill of getting that other man—the one Dario had brought him—under his boot the year before, either.
Xavier put the bags on the work table, then went to where Carson was slumped against the beam he was tethered to. Squatting on his haunches, Xavier peered into his big, blue, fear-filled eyes.
“You’ve been making some bad choices. Haven’t you?”
Carson just stared at him in mute terror, and a sickening, muddy rage welled up in Xavier’s chest. The year before, with the man Dario had brought him, his rage had been pure. It had felt the way he imagined a violent high on PCP and Ecstasy would: an overwhelming sense of strength and energy, tinged at the edges with a dark, brutal eroticism.
But this rage he felt, looking down at Carson’s pathetic fear, was dirty. Nauseating. Vaguely familiar, like watching the neighbor kid slowly crushing a fat slug under his shoe when he was in third grade. He wished it was Max slumped at his feet, looking afraid for his life. Or Brian, even. Why did Carson have to be a piece of shit, too?
“ Right now,” Xavier said, his voice cold and sharp, “you have one chance—only one, trust me—to make a smart choice, for a change.”
Blue eyes clear and focused and bright with panic.
“I know you’re going to want to lie to me. To negotiate. To plead. To talk about cops and jail. But the only thing I want to hear out of your mouth is why you’re here at my house. No made up stories about needing a place to stay. The real reason. Who sent you. Why they sent you. What they told you to do. If you do that, I’ll think about letting you out of those restraints. If you don’t do that…” Xavier grinned. Some part of him wanted Carson to be stupid. To give him a reason to torture him. “…I’m going to leave you tied up. And I’m going to take my sweet time convincing you to tell me everything I want to know.”
The way his eyes lit up, like Carson’s alarm at coming out of his faint bound to a post had suddenly ignited an exponential chain reaction, for a second Xavier thought he was going to spill everything then and there. But Carson just sat there, staring. Trembling. Panting. Mute.
Fine.
Xavier fished Carson’s phone out of his jeans pocket and took it to the work table.
“This isn’t legal,” Carson said so softly Xavier barely heard him.
Grinning, Xavier turned. Carson’s hopeless look almost pricked the bubble of anticipation swelling up in Xavier’s chest.
Back to the phone. Not password locked. He was almost disappointed to miss the challenge of making Carson tell him. A few texts from someone with a cat for a profile picture. Carson’s mom, maybe. A text from Brian at the club just telling him his shift hours. Not on for two more days. Well, that was helpful. But nothing incriminating. No solid leads to follow. Not in his texts. Not in his emails. And there weren’t any voice messages. A few photos. His tax records. So, he’d been going through his files, too. But no sent emails or messages with the photos. Lucky. So, they still didn’t have his real name. His real address.
He unzipped the backpack and dumped its contents onto the work table. Clothes. Tooth brush. Razor. Nothing in the camera bag but a camera, lenses, spare batteries, some wipes, SD cards, some filters.
When Xavier picked up his camera, Carson blanched. Xavier didn’t suppress his grin at the ridiculous fact that the guy was more worried about his fucking camera than he was for his own safety. At the idea that he didn’t seem to think Xavier was actually capable of hurting him. If he had any idea what he was capable of, he wouldn’t give a fuck about what vandalism might befall his expensive gadget.
“ Be careful,” Carson pleaded, but with a sharp note, as if he were chastising a careless buddy who was being reckless.
Xavier popped the cap
Fuck, that look did something to Xavier, something having a lover bound had never done. But not the same dark, sadistic thrill of getting that other man—the one Dario had brought him—under his boot the year before, either.
Xavier put the bags on the work table, then went to where Carson was slumped against the beam he was tethered to. Squatting on his haunches, Xavier peered into his big, blue, fear-filled eyes.
“You’ve been making some bad choices. Haven’t you?”
Carson just stared at him in mute terror, and a sickening, muddy rage welled up in Xavier’s chest. The year before, with the man Dario had brought him, his rage had been pure. It had felt the way he imagined a violent high on PCP and Ecstasy would: an overwhelming sense of strength and energy, tinged at the edges with a dark, brutal eroticism.
But this rage he felt, looking down at Carson’s pathetic fear, was dirty. Nauseating. Vaguely familiar, like watching the neighbor kid slowly crushing a fat slug under his shoe when he was in third grade. He wished it was Max slumped at his feet, looking afraid for his life. Or Brian, even. Why did Carson have to be a piece of shit, too?
“ Right now,” Xavier said, his voice cold and sharp, “you have one chance—only one, trust me—to make a smart choice, for a change.”
Blue eyes clear and focused and bright with panic.
“I know you’re going to want to lie to me. To negotiate. To plead. To talk about cops and jail. But the only thing I want to hear out of your mouth is why you’re here at my house. No made up stories about needing a place to stay. The real reason. Who sent you. Why they sent you. What they told you to do. If you do that, I’ll think about letting you out of those restraints. If you don’t do that…” Xavier grinned. Some part of him wanted Carson to be stupid. To give him a reason to torture him. “…I’m going to leave you tied up. And I’m going to take my sweet time convincing you to tell me everything I want to know.”
The way his eyes lit up, like Carson’s alarm at coming out of his faint bound to a post had suddenly ignited an exponential chain reaction, for a second Xavier thought he was going to spill everything then and there. But Carson just sat there, staring. Trembling. Panting. Mute.
Fine.
Xavier fished Carson’s phone out of his jeans pocket and took it to the work table.
“This isn’t legal,” Carson said so softly Xavier barely heard him.
Grinning, Xavier turned. Carson’s hopeless look almost pricked the bubble of anticipation swelling up in Xavier’s chest.
Back to the phone. Not password locked. He was almost disappointed to miss the challenge of making Carson tell him. A few texts from someone with a cat for a profile picture. Carson’s mom, maybe. A text from Brian at the club just telling him his shift hours. Not on for two more days. Well, that was helpful. But nothing incriminating. No solid leads to follow. Not in his texts. Not in his emails. And there weren’t any voice messages. A few photos. His tax records. So, he’d been going through his files, too. But no sent emails or messages with the photos. Lucky. So, they still didn’t have his real name. His real address.
He unzipped the backpack and dumped its contents onto the work table. Clothes. Tooth brush. Razor. Nothing in the camera bag but a camera, lenses, spare batteries, some wipes, SD cards, some filters.
When Xavier picked up his camera, Carson blanched. Xavier didn’t suppress his grin at the ridiculous fact that the guy was more worried about his fucking camera than he was for his own safety. At the idea that he didn’t seem to think Xavier was actually capable of hurting him. If he had any idea what he was capable of, he wouldn’t give a fuck about what vandalism might befall his expensive gadget.
“ Be careful,” Carson pleaded, but with a sharp note, as if he were chastising a careless buddy who was being reckless.
Xavier popped the cap
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