Stronger Dose

Chapter 7: Stronger Dose

The encrypted phone burned a hole in my pocket the entire ride back to the hotel. Callan drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally reaching over to rest on my thigh like he needed the physical reminder that I was still there. The link between us hummed low and steady, carrying his tension and my exhaustion in equal measure.

We slipped into his room without anyone seeing. The second the door locked, Callan turned and pulled me against him, mouth claiming mine in a kiss that felt more desperate than dominant. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“Talk to me,” he said, voice rough. “Every word your father said. Don’t leave anything out.”

I swallowed and told him everything. The way my father had looked at me like I was a disappointing investment. The demand for reports. The threat about the videos being edited to make it look like Callan forced me. The syndicate’s plan to turn us into their profitable gay power couple.

Callan listened without interrupting, but I felt every spike in his emotions through the link. Anger. Protectiveness. And that same crack of fear he tried so hard to hide.

When I finished, he let out a long breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s playing both sides. Using you to control me, and me to control you. Classic.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees. “What do we do with the phone? If I don’t send reports, he’ll know something’s wrong.”

Callan paced once, then stopped in front of me. “We feed him half-truths. Enough to keep him satisfied but nothing that actually hurts us. You tell him I’m getting more possessive. That the link is making me sloppy on the ice. Plant seeds that make me look vulnerable. He’ll like that.”

I looked up at him. “And the truth? That you’re starting to care? That I’m starting to want this even when I hate it?”

His eyes darkened. He stepped between my legs and caught my chin, tilting my face up. “That part stays between us. No one else gets it. Not your father. Not the syndicate. Not even Tate and Beck if they start asking questions.”

The link flared warmer at his words. I hated how much I liked the possessiveness in his voice. “Yes Sir.”

He leaned down and kissed me again, slower this time, like he was trying to seal the promise. When he pulled away, his voice dropped into that commanding tone I was starting to crave. “Strip. Shower. Then bed. The stronger dose comes tomorrow morning. I want you rested before it hits.”

I obeyed without argument. The hot water helped wash away some of the warehouse smell, but it couldn’t touch the knot in my stomach. When I came out, Callan was already in bed wearing only sweatpants. He lifted the covers and I slid in beside him. He pulled me close, my back to his chest, one arm heavy across my waist.

“Sleep, Brooks,” he murmured against my hair. “I’ve got you tonight.”

I wanted to believe him. But the encrypted phone sat on the nightstand like a loaded gun, and my father’s last message kept replaying in my head.

Morning practice felt different. The team was buzzing about the upcoming game, but I could barely focus. Tate kept shooting me looks across the locker room. Beck watched everything with that quiet, knowing stare. Merrick tossed me extra tape for my stick and told me to hydrate twice.

Maren caught me before I hit the ice. “You look like you didn’t sleep again. Shoulder still good?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just first-week nerves.”

She didn’t believe me, but she let it go with a gentle squeeze on my arm. “Remember what I said. My door’s always open.”

On the ice, the link was sharper than ever. Every time Callan moved, I felt it. When he took a hard check during drills, phantom pain bloomed in my own ribs. When he shouted corrections, my glove hand twitched like I was the one giving orders. It made me deadly in net, but it also made me feel like I was losing pieces of myself to him.

During a water break, Tate skated up and bumped my shoulder. “You and the captain keep doing that thing where you move at the same time. It’s creepy as hell, rookie. You sure everything’s okay?”

I forced a grin. “He’s just riding me hard so I don’t embarrass the team.”

Tate’s chipped tooth flashed, but his eyes stayed serious. “Riding you. Right. If ‘riding’ starts meaning something else, you come talk to me or Beck. We’ve seen captains break rookies before. Don’t let it happen to you.”

Before I could answer, Callan skated over, voice low and calm. “Back to drills, Rhys. We’re not done.”

Tate gave him a long look but skated away.

Callan leaned in close enough that only I could hear. “You feel okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “The link’s just… loud today.”

His hand brushed my lower back for half a second. “Hold it together. Dose is coming after morning skate.”

The stronger dose arrived in Merrick’s office disguised as a “recovery injection.” Callan administered it himself while I sat on the table, sleeve rolled up. The needle went in smooth, but the burn that followed was vicious. Fire spread up my arm and into my chest, making the link roar to life.

“Fuck,” I hissed, gripping the edge of the table. “It’s worse this time.”

Callan’s hand rubbed slow circles on my back. “Breathe through it. The sync is deepening. You’ll feel more of me. I’ll feel more of you. Pain, pleasure, everything.”

I leaned forward, forehead against his shoulder as the fire settled into a heavy, pulsing warmth. The link felt wider now. Deeper. Like our heartbeats were braided together instead of just echoing.

When the worst of it passed, Callan helped me stand. “Easy. Take it slow today.”

Afternoon was media with Elodie. She had us sit side by side for a quick interview segment. Callan played the perfect captain calm, supportive, intense. I tried to match his energy with the cocky rookie smile I used to hide behind.

“You two have great chemistry on and off the ice,” Elodie said with a knowing smile. “Fans are calling it the Lachlan-Rhys effect.”

Callan’s hand rested on the back of my chair, fingers brushing my shoulder where the camera couldn’t see. “Rhys has talent. I’m making sure he uses it right.”

I felt the double meaning through the link and had to fight not to blush.

After media, Callan pulled me into an empty equipment room. The moment the door closed, he crowded me against the wall, mouth on my neck.

“How do you feel?” he asked between kisses.

“Too much,” I admitted. “I can feel your heartbeat all the time now. And when you touch me… it’s like it doubles.”

His hand slid under my shirt, palm flat against my stomach. “Good. That’s what they want. But we use it. Tonight after curfew, my room. I’m going to test how deep this link really goes.”

I nodded, already breathing faster. “Yes Sir.”

The rest of the day blurred. Evening skate. Light dinner with the team. Tate kept trying to pull me into conversation, asking questions I dodged. Beck watched everything without saying much. The suspicion in the air felt thicker than before.

By the time curfew hit, I was vibrating with anticipation and nerves. I slipped down the hall to Callan’s room and knocked softly.

He opened the door wearing only sweatpants, chest bare, scars standing out under the low light. The second I stepped inside, he locked the door and pushed me against it, kissing me hard.

“Clothes off,” he ordered against my mouth. “Then on the bed. On your back.”

I stripped fast, the new dose making my skin hypersensitive. Every brush of fabric sent sparks through me. When I lay down, Callan crawled over me, knees bracketing my hips.

“Look at me,” he said.

I did. His eyes were dark, intense, that crack of humanity showing again.

“Tell me what you feel right now,” he demanded.

“Everything,” I breathed. “Your want. Your worry. How much you hate my father. How badly you want to keep me. It’s all mixing together and I can’t tell what’s mine anymore.”

He made a low sound and leaned down, mouth trailing along my collarbone. “That’s the point of the stronger dose. They want us so tangled we can’t separate. But we’re going to use it against them.”

His hand wrapped around me, slow and firm. The link exploded with pleasure, doubling, tripling the sensation until I arched off the bed with a broken moan.

“Quiet,” he warned, but his voice was rough with his own need. “Tate’s next door. You don’t want him hearing what his rookie sounds like when he’s falling apart for his captain.”

I bit my lip hard, trying to stay silent as he worked me with steady strokes. Every touch echoed back through the link until I was shaking.

“Callan…” I gasped. “Sir… please.”

He kissed me again, swallowing the sounds I couldn’t hold back. The link sang bright and hot between us, pleasure feeding pleasure until I couldn’t think straight.

When I finally came, it hit like a slap shot to the chest. My whole body tensed, pleasure crashing through both of us at once. Callan followed right after, groaning low into my neck as the link pulled him under with me.

We lay tangled afterward, breathing hard. The new dose made the aftershocks last longer. Every small shift of his body sent little sparks through me.

Callan brushed damp hair off my forehead, unusually gentle. “You did good tonight. Took it all.”

I turned my face into his palm. “It feels like I’m disappearing into you. Like there’s less of me every day.”

His eyes softened for a moment. That human crack widening. “You’re not disappearing. You’re just not carrying everything alone anymore. That’s what scares you, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The link gave him the truth anyway.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Not the encrypted one. The regular one.

He reached over and checked it, then went still.

“What is it?” I asked.

Callan sat up, expression hardening. “It’s from an unknown number. Video attachment. Says ‘preview of what happens if you interfere again.’”

He opened it.

The video started playing. It was me. On my knees in the basement room that first night. The Handler and the woman watching. My father’s voice faintly audible in the background giving instructions. The angle made it look worse than it was. More forced. More damaging.

Callan’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white. Through the link I felt his rage spike sharp and hot.

“They’re threatening to leak this version,” he said quietly. “The one that makes it look like I’m assaulting you instead of you choosing it.”

My stomach dropped. “My father did this.”

“Yeah.” Callan deleted the video and tossed the phone aside. He looked down at me, eyes burning. “He’s coming after both of us now. Trying to drive us apart by making me the villain.”

I sat up and touched his arm. “Then we don’t let him. We stay together. We play their game smarter.”

Callan caught my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles in a rare soft gesture. “You’re braver than you think, rookie.”

We lay back down, bodies pressed close. The link wrapped around us like a live wire, carrying comfort and fear and something deeper neither of us wanted to name yet.

But sleep didn’t come easy.

Around three in the morning, the encrypted phone buzzed.

I reached for it with a shaking hand and opened the message.

It was from my father.

First report due tomorrow morning. Tell me what Lachlan fears most. Be specific. Or the edited video goes live at noon.

I showed Callan the message.

He read it once, then pulled me tighter against his chest, voice low and dangerous in the dark.

“Tomorrow we start writing our own script. You tell him I’m afraid of losing the pension. That I’m getting too attached and it’s making me weak. Feed him exactly what he wants to hear.”

I nodded against his skin. “And the truth?”

“The truth stays here,” he whispered, hand stroking down my spine. “Between you and me. Where it belongs.”

The link pulsed warmly between us, steady and sure.

But as I lay there listening to Callan’s heartbeat sync with mine, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were running out of time.

My father was moving pieces we couldn’t see yet.

And the stronger dose was only the beginning.

Tomorrow I would have to lie to the man who raised me while the man holding me became more important than I ever planned.

The game had stopped being about survival.

It was starting to feel like something worth burning everything down for.