His face tightens in panic, but he obeys. He pulls out of Caleb, both of their dicks already slackening, and slowly rises to his feet, hands trembling as he laces them behind his head like I ordered.
Caleb tries to stay composed as he pulls up to a sitting position, but I see the flicker in his eyes—fear, raw and barely contained.
“What do you want from us?” he asks, his voice level but not steady.
I don’t answer. Instead, I toss the delivery box at his chest. The dull thud echoes too loudly in the heavy silence.
“Open it. Take out what’s inside.”
He catches the box clumsily, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he opens it. When his hand reaches in and pulls out the rope, I see his throat move with a hard swallow.
Without looking away from them, I step backward, gun still aimed square at Josh’s center mass. My hand finds the wooden chair beside the living room wall. I drag it forward, the legs scraping against the floor like a scream.
“Sit your ass down, Josh.”
He flinches, stumbles backward, then drops onto the chair like gravity yanked him down. His lips are quivering now, eyes glassy, hands clenched.
“Tie him up,” I tell Caleb. “Make it fast. I’m not feeling patient tonight.”
Caleb hesitates only for a second. Then, with tight movements, he kneels behind Josh and begins wrapping the rope around his chest and arms. I use that opportunity to turn up the volume on whatever is playing on the speaker to the highest level. Josh starts to whimper softly, a high-pitched, pathetic sound that grates on my nerves. Caleb finishes the knots exactly how I want them. Tight and secure.
When he’s done, he stands. There’s sweat shining on his forehead now, his chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.
“What now?” he asks, teeth clenched. There’s defiance under the fear now, the fight coming back into him.
I let the silence stretch, just to watch him squirm.
Then, slowly, I lift the visor of my helmet, letting my eyes lock onto his. Cold. Unblinking.
My voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.
“Heard you’re a fighter.”
Caleb stiffens, his breath hitching.
I take a step forward, my gun aimed square at his face. Close enough to see the tremble in his lashes. The twitch in his left eye. Fear, barely masked by pride.
“So,” I murmur, tilting my head, “how good are you at that?”
He swallows thickly, but holds my gaze. His jaw locks. His chest rises with some shred of defiance he manages to scavenge from whatever ego he has left.
“Very,” he says, voice low, edged with something sharp. A challenge. Or a bluff.
I smile at him, slow and razor-thin. The kind that never touches the eyes.
Then I unarm the gun in one quick, practiced motion and toss it across the room with a loud clatter.
“Good,” I say softly. “Then show me.”
He blinks. “What do yo—”
I don’t wait for him to finish.
My fist connects with his nose in a brutal snap, the impact sending him stumbling back. He groans, clutching his face, blood gushing through his fingers.
He glares at me, stunned. Disbelieving.
I just cock my head again, watching him like a lion watching a wounded animal crawl.
