Chapter 4

TATE

THE LOCK CLICKED, and my entire body tensed before my brain caught up. I’d gotten used to the silence now—too used to it. The kind of quiet that made you forget what breathing was supposed to feel like.

I thought it was him. Enzo. Coming back to finish what he started or maybe to tear a piece off. My heart clawed up my throat.

But it wasn’t.

It was the other one.

Eli.

He walked in like it was nothing, holding a paper bag and wearing the same smug look he had the last time. His curls were a mess, green streaks standing out like he wanted people to notice him. He didn’t look like someone who should’ve had access to a place like this, much less me.

He dropped the bag near the bed, crouching without saying a word. His eyes ran over me like he was checking inventory, like I was a thing.

I stayed still. My body ached, especially my leg from where I’d tried to break the cuffs. I’d stopped trying to shift around it two days ago.

“I’m sure you haven’t had real food in a while,” he said. His voice was casual, like we were just two guys in a dorm room and not someone chained to a bed and one who walked around like it was normal.

I didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him.

He reached for my face, slowly, but it still made every muscle in me lock up. His fingers brushed the edge of my glasses. That time, I flinched.

His smile twitched. “You’re jumpy.”

Still, I said nothing.

After a few seconds of him waiting for a response and getting none, he stood up, grabbed the bag again, and walked toward the door.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered, not even looking at me and the door shut behind him, and I stared at the ceiling, trying not to scream.

But before he left, he looked at me.

Not like someone who felt guilty. Not like someone who wanted to help.

Like someone who wanted something.

And fuck if that didn’t work well for me.

—

He came back the next day. Same time. Just the sound of the door unlocking and that familiar rhythm of his footsteps crossing the floor like this was routine for him.

I didn’t look up. My head hurt too much, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The paper bag hit the mattress near my thigh, and then he sat down again, too close like before, legs turned toward me.

“You sleep at all?” he asked, like he actually gave a shit.

I let out a breath and wiped my tongue across my dry lips. “What do you think?”

He dug into the bag and pulled out a container. When he opened it, the smell hit me hard. Warm. Spiced. Real. My stomach twisted painfully.

He held it up a little. “You want it or not?”

I didn’t answer.

“You’re stubborn,” he said with a small laugh, setting the food on the nightstand. “But I guess you already know that.”

I kept my eyes on the wall.

“I’m Eli, by the way,” he added after a beat.

I glanced at him then. Slowly, flat. “Cool.”

He smiled like he liked that.

“You always this charming?” he asked, leaning back on his hands like he had all the time in the world.

“No,” I said, voice flat. “Usually worse.”

He laughed again, softer this time, like he was trying to keep things light. Like he didn’t see the fucking chain wrapped tight around my ankle or the raw skin underneath it.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

“Yeah? What were you expecting?” I muttered eyes pinned on him as he tilted his head back.

“I don’t know. Crying. Screaming. Maybe begging.” He said with a laugh like it was a joke.

I stared at him long enough for the silence to get uncomfortable.

“Would that do it for you?” I asked and his breath hitched but didn’t answer.

Just watched me with that look and God, I could feel it now. I could feel I was right and I knew what he wanted.

Not help. Not guilt. Not even a twisted kind of power.

He wanted to fuck me.

The way his eyes dropped too often to my mouth. The way he sat closer each time. The way he kept coming back alone.

And that was something I could work with.

So I gave him a look—not soft, not inviting, just enough to keep him hooked. Then I turned my head again. Enough to play to hard to get game and keep him wanting. Keep him coming.

He stayed a little longer. Didn’t touch me. Didn’t say much else and when he finally stood, he hesitated at the door.

“You’ll eat when I’m gone?” he said but it was more of a question.

I didn’t deny it.

Because I would.

—

He came back again the next night but this time there was no food. No bag. Just him, slipping in like he wasn’t supposed to be there. I was already awake, lying still with my leg aching and my body half numb. I didn’t speak. Not right away.

He sat down on the edge of the bed again—closer this time. His thigh brushed mine and didn’t move. The air felt heavier than before. His eyes were darker too. Like he wasn’t here to talk.

“You’re not gonna ask why I keep coming back?” he said quietly, like he wanted to start something.

“No.”

“Why not?”

I turned my head toward him, slow and careful. “Because I already know.”

He held my gaze, lips twitching into something that wanted to be a smile as he inched closer. “You think I want to fuck you.”

I moved closer too and whispered. “Don’t need to think. You’re obvious.”

He didn’t deny it. Just let the silence stretch, eyes dipping again—first to my mouth, then lower. My shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin above my waistband. He noticed. I made sure he did.

“You haven’t even touched me,” I said, voice rough enough to make him feel like I want this. “Not really.”

His hand moved then. Slow. Light. His fingers skimmed the edge of my jaw, then down my neck. My pulse jumped, and I hated that he could probably feel it.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to ask,” he murmured, eyes moving from my neck back to my face.

I let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. Not anything close. “That’s not how this works.”

His thumb grazed my throat, and for a second, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Hunger. Nerves. Both.

I shifted, letting the cuff drag loudly across the bedframe. A way of reminding him. A way of pulling him in to the real issue here.

“You keep coming in here alone,” I said, keeping my tone steady, quiet. “No one watches. No one checks. You’re either cocky as hell… or just stupid.”

He didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head, giving me that grin again. “Why? You think you can hurt me?”

“If I wanted to, you’d be dead already.”

He looked like he liked that answer. Looked at me like he wanted to laugh at it.

And that’s when I did it.

I reached for his hand, not fast, not needy. Just calm. Like I wasn’t terrified inside. Like my wrist wasn’t trembling. I gripped his fingers tight enough to hold them still.

“Help me,” I said. Not loud. Not begging. Just there, solid in the space between us even though my heart was hammering in my chest.

Eli froze, eyes flicking down to where our hands met.

“You could,” I added. “Just a key… or something to break the metal with. Leave the door cracked. No one would know.”

He didn’t move. But he didn’t pull away either.

“I’m scared, Eli,” I dragged, my brows pulling tight, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of what would happen to me here and I know you can do something for me.”

That last line hit something. He looked at me differently now. Like I was giving him a chance to be the one in control.

And that was the hook.

He stayed for a few seconds more. Said nothing. Then he slid his hand out of mine slowly and my heart dropped.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered.

Then he stood.

And just before he left, he looked back at me. Not with pity. Not even with guilt disguised as want.

Just want.

And I made sure he saw the same thing in my face.

Even if it was fake.

—

It was late when I heard the lock again.

My eyes snapped open before the door even moved. The room was mostly dark, just that strip of light under the door that never really went away. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just waited.

Eli slipped inside like a shadow. He shut the door behind him slow, careful, then crossed the room without a word. There was no food this time, no stupid grin. Just him.

He sat down beside me again, even closer now—his hip touching mine. He didn’t bother pretending this was about anything else.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he murmured.

I didn’t answer. Just let the silence work.

His fingers brushed my wrist first, lingering over the bruised skin. Then they slid higher. My body stiffened, but I didn’t pull away.

“I know you don’t trust me,” he said, voice low.

“No.”

“But I’m here.”

“Not good enough.”

He exhaled through his nose. His hand moved higher, up my forearm, slow, like he was waiting for me to stop him. I didn’t.

Not because I wanted it.

Because I needed him hooked.

“You keep saying no,” he said. “But you never move.” He added and I turned my face toward him just enough that our eyes met.

He smiled.

Then he kissed me.

It was soft at first—testing—but when I didn’t pull back, it deepened fast. His mouth hungry, hands moving to my jaw, his body pressing against mine. My brain screamed. Every instinct fought to shove him off. But I kissed him back. Let him think it meant something.

Because I needed him.

His straddled me. One of his hands slipped under my shirt, the other pulling at my hair as he grinned against me. He groaned into the kiss like he couldn’t get enough.

And then—

The door slammed open.

Eli flinched hard, yanking back with a curse, but not scared—more pissed off, like he’d been disturbed from something important. His eyes narrowed at Enzo like the man was some goddamn interruption while I froze, cold panic locking every muscle.

Enzo stood in the doorway.

Black suit. No tie. Shirt open at the throat, shadows cutting hard across the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just stared—first at Eli, then at me, then at the space between us like he could already see the sin written in it.

His voice was a low snarl. “Get the fuck off him.”

Not a shout. Not loud. But that quiet, razor-thin edge that sliced deeper than a scream ever could.

Eli froze like a goddamn idiot. Blinked once. Then turned, confused, like maybe he didn’t just have his hand up my shirt. Like maybe I was supposed to be there for him.

“I wasn’t—” he started, stepping back.

Enzo’s foot hit the floor hard. A single, deliberate step.

“You weren’t?” His words cracked through the room like glass breaking. “I go away for one fucking week. One. And I come back to find you trying to fuck my prisoner like a goddamn street whore?”

Eli flinched. Like the words slapped harder than a fist would’ve.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My chest pulled tight. My legs deadweight. I knew that voice, knew that cold, brutal rhythm in it. This wasn’t just anger.

This was anger laced with betrayal.

And it wasn’t aimed at me.

“Wait—” Eli tried again, voice climbing higher, desperate. “He kissed me—”

Enzo’s laugh was dry. Hollow. The kind of sound you heard right before something went to hell.

“You gonna stand there and pretend you didn’t want it? That this isn’t exactly what you do? Every fucking time?”

I saw it then. The way Enzo’s eyes cut straight through Eli and didn’t stop there. Not just rage.

My gaze swung between them.

The resemblance was there now that I looked—hidden under different hair, different posture, but it was there in the shape of the jaw, in the way they both wore their moods like armor.

“You’re brothers?” I said before I could stop it.

Enzo’s head snapped toward me, and I knew I fucked up the second his eyes met mine.

He didn’t even look at Eli when he spoke.

“You didn’t tell him?” His tone was quiet now. Cold as frostbite. “Cute.”

Then he turned his whole body to Eli.

“Out.”

Eli didn’t budge.

Enzo didn’t blink.

“Now, Eli.” He said and then it came. That sound again. That low, guttural growl that didn’t belong in a man’s throat.

Eli’s breath caught. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to say more but knew better. He gave me one last look—guilt? Regret? No. Just lust, still glowing in the back of his eyes.

Then he left.

The door slammed shut. Final. Like a fucking coffin lid.

And Enzo moved.

Three strides and he was on me, grabbing my arm and yanking me up like I weighed nothing. The cuff bit into raw skin, metal clanging loud against the frame as pain shot through me.

I choked on a cry, but he didn’t care.

“I was going to wait,” he said, each word pulled tight between clenched teeth. “Let you rot in here a little longer. Let the silence work you over.”

His fingers curled around my jaw, hard enough to leave prints. His face was close now, eyes scanning mine like he was already carving out what piece he’d take.

“But it looks like a part of you’s going home tonight.”

My body started to shake. Just a little. Enough to make my breath come fast and shallow. My heart slammed against my ribs. My eyes burned.

So I did what I always did.

I lied.

I smirked, letting it bleed out slow. Weak, crooked, sharp enough to force the confidence I didn’t feel out.

My voice dropped low as I tilted my chin, eyes meeting his without flinching and I smiled.

“You jealous your brother got the first taste?”