I’d built him up in my head over the past few hours. Specifically, as someone who could potentially steal Oliver away. Looking at him now, it was laughable that I’d ever thought that.
He looked disheveled and scared.
Weak.
A man like that could never satisfy our pet. He worked at a pizza joint, for god’s sake, so he didn’t even have a way to provide for Ollie. And honestly, if he tried to take him by force like we had, Oliver would be able to fight his way out. He knew enough tricks from living with us, watching us work. He was no match against us, but that was a different ball game.
I couldn’t believe this was the man who had dared to put his hand on Oliver’s waist.
Pathetic.
Hudson and I dragged him into the room, his sneakers scraping against the concrete. He struggled once, only for a few measly seconds, before Hudson tightened his grip and slammed him down into the metal chair bolted to the floor.
As Hudson cuffed each of his limbs to the chair, my eyes sought out Ollie.
And there he was—sweaty and soaked, with a little bit of glitter still defiantly clinging to his skin. The collar sat snug around his throat, and our marks bloomed like bruised petals across his body.
His eyes looked dazed, no doubt reflecting the emptiness inside his head.
Sam followed my line of sight.
And then he saw Oliver.
His face drained of what little color he had left.
“W-what the fuck—” he choked out.
Hudson rolled his eyes, roughly jerking the man’s ankle to where it needed to be, then cuffing it to the chair leg. “Language, Samuel,” he admonished mildly.
Sam thrashed harder now. “This is insane! I didn’t do anything!”
I stepped forward slowly, making sure he could see my face clearly.
“You bought our husband a drink,” I said evenly.
His confusion was genuine. “I didn’t know he was married!”
“That,” I replied, “is not the point.”
Oliver made a muffled sound.
Sam’s gaze flicked back to him again, horror deepening as he took in the machine, the restraints, and the obvious state Oliver was in.
“What are you doing to him?” he whispered.
Hudson chuckled, “Correcting his behavior.”
I crouched in front of Sam, so that we were eye level. “You touched something that belongs to us,” I said quietly.
Sam shook his head violently. “I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t—he didn’t say—”
“He didn’t say what?” I asked.
“That he was married!”
I let the silence stretch.
Because that was the part that burned.
