Orders In The Dark

Chapter 2: Orders in the Dark

The hotel room air sat thick around us now. Callan still had his thumb pressed against my chin keeping my head tilted up. My knees dug into that cheap carpet and my shirt lay crumpled on the floor like evidence I could never hide. His phone kept buzzing on the nightstand. Short angry vibrations that cut through everything.

I tried to pull back but his grip held steady. “What syndicate? Callan what the hell are you talking about?”

He let go of my chin slow. Stepped back just enough so I could breathe again. His eyes stayed on me the whole time like he was measuring every twitch. “Get up Brooks. Put your shirt back on. We are not doing this here anymore.”

I pushed to my feet on legs that did not want to cooperate. My fingers fumbled with the buttons. One went through the wrong hole and I had to start over. “You can’t just drop that and walk away. Syndicate? They know about the video? How?”

Callan picked up his phone and silenced it with one thumb. He did not look at the screen again right away. Instead he watched me struggle with my shirt. “The app is not some private little secret between lonely players. It is run by people who collect everything. Every clip. Every message. They use it for leverage. Betting pools. Control. You sent that tonight and they flagged it immediately because it came from a rookie on a shutout night. High profile.”

I finally got the last button right and yanked my tie back around my neck. It felt too tight. “You knew this the whole time? You have been talking to me for weeks as Sir and you never once mentioned that people are watching?”

He crossed his arms. The loose tie around his own neck made him look half undone but his voice stayed rock steady. “I knew. I have known for years. That is why I told you to obey tonight. Because refusing gets ugly faster than you think.”

I rubbed my face hard with both hands. My skin still burned where his thumb had been. Part of me wanted to shove him out the door and pretend none of this happened. The bigger part kept replaying the way he said my name like he already owned it. “So what now? We just go meet these people? In the middle of the night after my first game?”

Callan moved to the door and checked the peephole before he opened it a crack. The hallway light sliced in sharp across the carpet. “Not them directly. Not yet. They sent a message through the app. Private channel. We have ten minutes to get downstairs to the service elevator. No one sees us together. Keep your head down and your mouth shut unless I say otherwise.”

I grabbed my jacket off the chair. My hands still shook a little but I stuffed them in my pockets quick. “You are really doing this. Blackmailing me and now dragging me into some gambling shit on the same night.”

He held the door open just wide enough for me to slip through. His voice dropped low as I passed him. “It is not blackmail if you already wanted it Brooks. You begged for it. Remember that when you start hating me.”

The hallway felt endless. Carpet muffled our steps but every creak of the ice machine or distant laugh from another room made my shoulders hunch tighter. Callan walked half a step behind me like he was herding me. We took the stairs instead of the main elevator. Two flights down and my thighs already burned from the game.

At the bottom he steered me left toward the service area. A plain metal door with a keycard slot. He swiped something from his wallet and it clicked green. Inside smelled like bleach and old takeout. Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

“Stay close,” he said. No please. Just the order.

I followed him down the narrow corridor. Pipes ran along the ceiling dripping condensation in one spot. My dress shoes squeaked once on the wet tile and I winced. “How long have you been using the app Callan? Be straight with me.”

He did not slow down. “Longer than you have been legal to play pro. After my injury I needed control somewhere the league could not touch. The app gave me that. Until it started taking more than it gave.”

We reached another door. This one opened into a small windowless room with two metal chairs and a cheap table. A single lamp hung from the ceiling casting hard shadows. No windows. No cameras I could see but that did not mean anything.

Callan shut the door behind us and locked it. The click echoed. He pulled out one chair and pointed. “Sit.”

I sat. The metal felt cold through my slacks. “You still have not told me what they want.”

He took the chair across from me. Leaned forward with his elbows on the table. For the first time his guard slipped just a fraction. I saw tiredness around his eyes. The kind that comes from carrying secrets too long. “They want confirmation the video is real. They want to know if the rookie goalie is already compromised. And they want me to keep you in line because a distracted goalie loses games. Lost games mean lost bets.”

My mouth went dry again. I licked my lips without thinking. “Compromised. That is what they call it? I sent one video because the pressure was eating me alive and now I am compromised?”

Callan reached across the table and caught my wrist before I could pull away. His grip was firm but not bruising. “Listen to me Brooks. You are not the first. You will not be the last. But you are the first one I have had to handle personally. That changes things.”

I stared at his hand on my wrist. His fingers were rough from years of fighting on the ice. Calluses. Old scars. “Handle me. Like I am a problem to solve.”

“Like you are mine to protect from them.” He let go but his eyes stayed locked on mine. “I created the profile you have been talking to. I saw you in training camp. The way you carried yourself. The anxiety you tried to hide behind that cocky grin. I made Sir exactly what you needed because I needed it too.”

The words hit like a slap shot to the chest. I leaned back in the chair so hard it scraped the floor. “You groomed me? Before I even made the team? What the fuck Callan.”

He did not flinch. “I watched. I waited. I never forced the first message. You reached out. You kept coming back. Every time you called me Sir it was your choice until tonight.”

I wanted to argue. Tell him he was wrong. But the memory of those late night messages flooded in. The relief when he told me exactly what to do. How to breathe. How to let go. “So the blackmail tonight. Was that your choice or theirs?”

“Mine.” His voice got quieter. Rougher. “Because the second that video hit their servers they started asking questions. I claimed you first. Told them you were already under control. That buys us time.”

A soft knock came at the door. Three quick taps then two slower ones.

Callan stood up fast. “Do not speak unless they ask you something direct. Keep your answers short. And Brooks?”

I looked up at him. My captain. My Sir. The man who just flipped my entire world upside down in one hour.

He leaned down close enough that his breath brushed my ear. “Whatever happens in here you still answer to me first. Understand?”

I nodded once. My throat felt too tight for words.

The door opened.

A man stepped in. Mid forties maybe. Expensive suit that did not match the dingy room. Sharp cheekbones and colder eyes. He carried a slim tablet under one arm. Behind him a woman followed. Younger. Dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She held a small black device that looked like a signal jammer.

The man smiled without warmth. “Captain Lachlan. Rookie Rhys. Glad you could join us on such short notice.”

Callan stayed standing. Arms loose at his sides like he was ready for a fight on the ice. “Merrick said you wanted confirmation. Here we are.”

The man tilted his head. “Merrick? No. We do not use names here. Call me Handler for tonight. This is my associate.”

The woman set the jammer on the table and activated it. A low hum filled the room. She looked me over slow. “The video was quite detailed Brooks. Very enthusiastic for a first NHL night. Did the shutout make you bold or just desperate?”

I kept my mouth shut like Callan said. My hands stayed flat on my thighs.

Handler tapped his tablet. “Captain you assured us the rookie would comply. We need proof of that compliance before we move forward with the season betting lines.”

Callan stepped between me and the table. “He already started. In his room. You interrupted.”

The woman smiled a little. “Then continue. We watch. We record for our files. Simple.”

My stomach twisted hard. I looked at Callan. Waiting for him to shut this down. To tell them no.

Instead he turned to me. Voice low and steady like we were back in the hotel room. “Stand up Brooks. Face the table.”

I stood. Legs unsteady. The room felt smaller now with four of us in it.

Callan moved behind me. Close enough that his chest brushed my back. “Hands on the table. Don’t move them.”

I placed my palms flat on the cold metal. My reflection stared back warped in the surface. “Callan…”

“Sir,” he corrected quietly. Loud enough for them to hear. “You call me Sir when we do this.”

The Handler leaned against the wall watching. The woman pointed her device at us like it was filming.

Callan’s hand settled on the back of my neck. Not squeezing. Just holding. Warm. Heavy. “Tell them you understand the arrangement.”

I swallowed. My voice came out rough. “I understand. I obey Sir for the season or the video gets released.”

Handler nodded once. “Good. Now show us something small. Enough to prove control. Captain you know what we need.”

Callan’s fingers tightened just a fraction on my neck. “Lose the jacket again Brooks. Slow. Like you did upstairs.”

My fingers moved to the buttons even though my mind screamed to stop. The fabric slid off my shoulders and hit the chair. I stood there in my dress shirt feeling exposed under the cheap light.

The woman hummed approval. “Very nice. Keep going Captain. Make him say it.”

Callan leaned in until his mouth was right by my ear again. His voice dropped so only I could hear at first. “You are doing good rookie. Breathe. This is just the beginning.”

Then louder for them. “Tell me what you need right now Brooks.”

I closed my eyes for a second. The pressure in my chest mixed with something hotter lower down. Shame. Want. Fear. All tangled. “I need you to tell me what to do Sir. Take the weight.”

Callan made that low sound again. Approval. Possession. “Good boy. Shirt next. Unbutton it but leave it on.”

My hands worked the buttons one by one. Slower this time because they were watching. Each one felt like giving away another piece of myself. The shirt hung open when I finished. Cool air hit my skin.

Handler checked his tablet. “Excellent. The physiological response is clear on the feed. Heart rate elevated. Arousal markers present. The drugs will sync nicely once we start the regimen.”

Drugs? My head snapped up. “What drugs?”

Callan’s hand slid from my neck to my shoulder. Squeezed once. Warning. “Not now Brooks.”

The woman stepped closer. She reached out and traced one finger lightly down my sternum. Not sexual exactly. Clinical. “Experimental. Keeps players compliant. Heightens the bond between dominant and submissive pairs. You two will feel each other on the ice. Heartbeat. Arousal. Pain. It makes the games more entertaining for our clients.”

I jerked back from her touch. My shoulder hit Callan’s chest. “I did not sign up for that.”

Handler laughed once. Short and dry. “You signed up the moment you hit send on that video rookie. Welcome to the real league.”

Callan pulled me back against him. Protective or possessive I could not tell. Maybe both. “He will take the first dose after the next home game. I will administer it myself. That keeps it controlled.”

The woman nodded and stepped back. “Acceptable. One more demonstration before we leave. Captain make him kneel and thank you for protecting him tonight.”

I turned my head to look at Callan. My eyes begged him to stop this. To get us out.

He met my gaze steady. Something flickered there. Regret maybe. Or hunger. “On your knees Brooks. Say it.”

My legs folded. The concrete floor bit through my slacks. I looked up at him from the ground. “Thank you Sir. For protecting me tonight.”

Callan reached down and brushed my hair back from my forehead. Gentle in front of them. Terrifying because it felt real. “You are welcome rookie. Now stand up. We are done here.”

Handler straightened his suit. “For tonight. We will be in touch. Keep the rookie quiet and performing. Playoffs mean bigger payouts. Fail us and the videos go public. All of them.”

The woman picked up the jammer. They both left without another word. The door clicked shut behind them.

The room went quiet except for the hum of the overhead light.

I stayed on my knees for a second longer. Chest heaving. Mind spinning. “Callan. Sir. What the fuck did I just agree to?”

He pulled me up by my arm. Gentle but firm. His hands lingered on my shoulders as he buttoned my shirt for me. “You agreed to survive the season. With me.”

I grabbed his wrist before he could step away. “The drugs. The watching. My dad. You said something about my dad earlier in the messages. Is he part of this?”

Callan froze. His eyes went dark again. “Not tonight Brooks. We talk about that when we are alone. Really alone.”

He finished buttoning me up and handed me my jacket. His fingers brushed mine longer than necessary.

We left the service room the same way we came. Quiet hallways. Stairs. Back to my floor.

At my door he stopped me before I could open it. Pushed me gently against the wall. One hand braced beside my head. “Inside. Now. We finish what we started before they interrupted.”

My breath caught. “The syndicate just left. They could be watching still.”

“Let them watch.” His voice dropped into that Sir tone again. Low. Commanding. “You knelt for them. Now you kneel for me. Properly.”

I opened the door with shaking fingers.

Callan followed me in and locked it behind us.

The room felt different now. Smaller. Charged.

He pointed at the spot in front of the bed. “Knees Brooks. Mouth open. And this time no phone buzzing to save you.”

I dropped again. The carpet softer than the concrete downstairs but my heart pounded harder.

Callan stood over me. Slowly unbuckling his belt. “You are going to show me exactly how grateful you are. And tomorrow at practice you are going to look me in the eye like nothing happened. Understand?”

I nodded. Lips already parting.

“Yes Sir.”

He stepped closer.

Right then a text lit up my phone on the nightstand. The screen flashed bright in the dark room.

From an unknown number.

“We see everything rookie. Welcome to the family. Tell your father we said hello.”

Callan saw it too. His hand stilled on his belt.

His eyes met mine. Harder now. Sharper.

“Looks like daddy dearest already knows you are playing both sides.”

My blood ran cold.