Watched Surrender

Chapter 4: Watched Surrender

Callan held the phone in one hand while his other stayed buried in my hair. The screen lit his face with that cold blue glow. Handler’s voice crackled through the speaker before the video even connected fully. “Captain. Rookie. We decided a live demonstration would be more efficient than waiting for tomorrow’s dose. Show us the rookie understands his place.”

I stayed on my knees. Carpet pressing into my skin again. My hands still hovered at Callan’s waistband where I had been reaching. The sweatpants hung low on his hips. Scars catching the lamplight. My mouth felt too dry to speak.

Callan’s fingers tightened just enough to tilt my head back. He looked down at me not at the phone. “You heard them Brooks. Keep going. Slow. And talk while you do it.”

I swallowed hard. Fingers hooking into the fabric. “Yes Sir.” The words came out shaky but they came. I tugged the waistband down inch by inch. He was already half hard. The sight made something low in my stomach twist tight. Shame and that sick pull fighting each other.

Handler’s voice cut in again. “Good start. Make him describe what he is feeling. We like details for the files.”

Callan did not look away from me. “Tell them rookie. What is going through your head right now while you are on your knees for your captain.”

I pulled the sweatpants the rest of the way down. He stepped out of them without breaking eye contact. “I feel exposed Sir. Like everyone can see how much I want this even though I know it is wrong. The syndicate watching. My dad somehow knowing. And still my body is reacting before my brain can catch up.”

The woman’s voice joined in from the background. Clinical. Calm. “Physiological response is strong. Elevated heart rate already syncing with the captain’s. The bond is forming nicely even without the first dose.”

Callan’s hand guided my head forward. Not forcing yet. Just directing. “Open your mouth Brooks. Show them how grateful you are for the protection I am giving you.”

My lips parted. I took him in slow. The weight on my tongue felt heavy. Real. No screen between us anymore. I kept my eyes up on his face because he had not told me to look away. The phone stayed pointed down so they could see everything.

Handler hummed approval. “Deeper rookie. Captain do not be gentle on the first live session. We need to see true submission before we approve the season line.”

Callan’s hips moved once. Shallow. Testing. “You heard him. Take more. And do not stop talking even if it is hard.”

I pulled back just enough to speak around him. Voice muffled. Messy. “It feels like I am giving up everything Sir. My career. My pride. That shutout last night means nothing if this gets out. But when you tell me what to do the noise in my head gets quiet. I hate how much I need that.”

The woman spoke again. “Excellent. Emotional vulnerability noted. Increase the pace captain. We want to see if the rookie can maintain control while overwhelmed.”

Callan’s grip shifted. Both hands now. He started moving with purpose. Not brutal yet but steady. Deep enough that my eyes watered. “Good boy. Keep looking at me. They are just background. This is still between us.”

I tried. Gagged once when he hit the back of my throat. Pulled off coughing. “Sorry Sir. It is a lot. The watching makes it worse. Like I am performing for strangers while trying to prove something to you.”

He wiped my bottom lip with his thumb. Gentle for half a second. Then pushed back in. “You are proving it. Every time you choose to obey instead of running. Tell them what you would do if the camera was not there.”

I sucked harder. Hollowed my cheeks like the videos I had sent him before. Words came out broken between strokes. “If it was just us I would beg you to use me harder Sir. To make the anxiety disappear completely. To own the part of me that my father tried to beat into perfection.”

Handler chuckled low. “The father mention is interesting. We will explore that later. For now captain finish in his mouth. Make it count. We need clear submission markers for the betting pool.”

Callan’s breathing changed. Rougher. His hands held my head steady. “You heard the order Brooks. Take it all. Swallow when I tell you.”

I nodded as much as I could. Focused on breathing through my nose. On the way his thighs tensed under my palms. On keeping my eyes open even when tears slipped out.

He came with a low groan. Hot. Overwhelming. I swallowed fast. Tried not to choke. The taste stayed heavy on my tongue.

Callan pulled out slow. Thumb brushing my swollen lips again. “Good. Very good rookie.”

The woman’s voice returned. “Session recorded. Compliance confirmed. First dose will be delivered to the captain’s room tomorrow morning. Administer it before morning skate. Side effects include heightened sensitivity and emotional sync. Expect the link to start affecting gameplay within forty eight hours.”

Handler added. “One more thing before we disconnect. Rookie tell your captain exactly why you will not tell anyone about this. Not Tate. Not Beck. Not even the pretty physiotherapist.”

I stayed on my knees. Chest heaving. Voice raw. “Because if I talk the videos go public Sir. My career ends. My father finds out officially instead of through whatever channels he already has. And I lose the only person who has ever made the pressure stop even for a minute.”

Callan crouched down in front of me. Phone still in his hand but angled away now. His free hand cupped my jaw. “They are gone in ten seconds. But I am not. Understand?”

The call ended with a soft click.

The room went quiet except for my breathing.

Callan set the phone on the dresser. Then he pulled me up and onto the bed in one smooth motion. Not rough this time. He sat against the headboard and dragged me between his legs. My back to his chest. Arms wrapped around me from behind. Still naked. Still warm from the shower we never finished earlier.

“You did well Brooks,” he murmured against my ear. “Better than most would on night two.”

I leaned into him even though part of me wanted to pull away. “They made it feel dirty. Like I am just content for their bets. But when it is only you… it feels different. Scarier because it feels real.”

His hand stroked down my chest slow. Not demanding anything more tonight. Just touching. “It is real. The syndicate thinks they own the leash. I am holding it with them. That is the only way to keep you safe until we figure out the rest.”

I turned my head enough to see his face. “The drugs tomorrow. What if they make me lose focus in net? One bad game and I am sent back to the minors. Or worse.”

Callan’s fingers traced one of my ribs. Light. Almost careful. “The sync works both ways. If you feel me on the ice I will feel you too. We use that. Turn their weapon into ours. But you cannot fight it Brooks. You submit to the link the same way you submit to me.”

I closed my eyes. The weight of his arms felt too good. Too steady. “My dad. That text. He really runs part of it does not he? The app. The exploitation. All of it.”

He went still behind me. Then sighed. “Not tonight. Tomorrow after the dose we talk. Really talk. For now you sleep here. I will set an alarm so you can slip back to your room before Tate wakes up.”

I nodded against his shoulder. Exhaustion crashed in hard. The game. The blackmail. The basement. The live call. It all piled up until my body gave out.

Sleep came fast but not clean. Dreams mixed the roar of the crowd with the click of the Handler’s tablet. My father’s voice yelling about legends while Callan whispered orders in my ear.

Morning hit with the alarm buzzing soft. Callan shook me awake gently. “Up rookie. Shower quick. Separate. I will meet you at morning skate like nothing happened.”

I dressed in yesterday’s clothes. Wrinkled. Suspicious if anyone looked too close. At the door he caught my wrist. “One thing before you go.”

He leaned in and kissed me. Not the rough claiming kind. Something slower. Deeper. Like he was sealing a promise. When he pulled back his eyes looked almost soft. “You are not alone in this Brooks. Even when it feels like it.”

I slipped out into the empty hallway. Heart still racing from the kiss.

Tate was already up when I got back to our room. He tossed me a protein bar. “Late night film again? You look like shit rookie.”

I caught the bar. Forced a grin. “Something like that. Ready for skate?”

He watched me a second too long. “Yeah. Just remember what I said. We protect our own. If the captain is pushing too hard you tell me.”

Practice started normal enough. Warm ups. Drills. But halfway through I felt it. A strange pull in my chest. Like an echo of someone else’s heartbeat. Callan skated past the net during a shooting drill. Our eyes met for half a second.

My glove hand twitched at the exact moment his shoulder flexed from an old scar twinge. The link. Already starting even before the dose.

Beck noticed. “You good Rhys? Looked like you flinched.”

I shook it off. “Fine. Just tight from yesterday.”

In the locker room after Merrick handed Callan a small black case. Discreet. “Dose for the rookie. Doctor’s orders for recovery protocol. Administer private.”

Callan took it without expression. “Got it.”

Tate raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Later in Callan’s room again. Door locked. Curtains drawn.

He opened the case. A small syringe and vial. Clear liquid. “Arm or thigh Brooks. Your choice. It will burn for a minute then settle.”

I rolled up my sleeve. Sat on the edge of the bed. “Do it Sir.”

The needle went in smooth. Fire spread up my arm almost immediately. I hissed through my teeth. “Fuck that hurts.”

Callan rubbed the spot after. “Breathe through it. The sync will kick in stronger now. You will feel me. I will feel you. During games. During this.”

The burn faded into a strange warmth. My heartbeat felt louder. Then another rhythm layered underneath it. Steady. Stronger. Callan’s.

He pressed his palm to my chest. “There. Feel that? That is us now. Linked.”

I covered his hand with mine. The dual pulse made my head spin. “It feels like I am not alone in my body anymore. Scary. But also… relieving.”

His other hand came up to my neck. Pulled me in until our foreheads touched. “Tonight after the evening session we go deeper. No audience. Just you learning exactly what submission means under the link.”

We left for the rest of the day’s schedule. Separate again.

But during evening skate the sync hit harder. Every time Callan checked a forward I felt the impact echo in my own ribs. When he shouted an order across the ice my throat tightened like I was the one speaking.

Tate skated up during a water break. “You are moving different today Brooks. Like you are anticipating every play before it happens. Captain been feeding you secret tips?”

I shrugged. Water bottle halfway to my mouth. “Just studying film like he said.”

Beck glided past slow. Quiet voice. “Film does not explain the way you two keep syncing up out here. Be careful kid. League eats secrets for breakfast.”

Maren called me over after practice. “Shoulder check. You are favoring it more than yesterday.”

I sat on the table in the training room. Her hands probed gentle but firm. “It is fine Maren. Really.”

She gave me that knowing look. Compassionate but sharp. “Mental load is as heavy as physical in this league Brooks. If you need to talk beyond the shoulder I am here. No judgment.”

Elodie poked her head in. “Media wants more rookie content. You and the captain again tomorrow. Chemistry looks good on camera.”

I nodded. Smiled the cocky grin I used to hide behind. “Happy to.”

But inside the link hummed warmer. Callan’s presence sitting steady in my chest like an anchor I never asked for.

Back in my room alone for twenty minutes before curfew I felt the pull again. Stronger. A low thrum of want that was not entirely mine.

My phone buzzed. Callan.

My room. Ten minutes. Bring the obedience.

I deleted the message fast.

Tate walked in right after. “Heading to bed early? Or more captain notes?”

I grabbed my hoodie. “Notes. I will be back soon.”

He did not buy it. “Sure. Just don’t let him break you before playoffs rookie. We need that glove hand.”

I slipped down the hall again. Knocked once.

Callan opened the door shirtless. Sweatpants again. The link flared the second I stepped inside. His arousal hit me like a wave. Mine answered instantly.

He locked the door. Pointed to the floor. “Knees. Clothes off. We start the real training tonight. The link means you feel everything I feel. Pain. Pleasure. Control. Loss of it. Tonight you learn how to surrender completely while the drugs watch us from inside your veins.”

I stripped. Dropped to my knees. The dual heartbeat pounded louder now.

“Yes Sir. I am ready.”

Callan stepped close. Hand back in my hair.

But before he could give the next order his phone lit up on the bed. Another video call.

Handler again.

And this time the preview showed my father’s face in the background. Cold. Familiar. Watching.

Callan’s grip tightened.

“They brought him in for this one. Your move rookie. Obey me or face him live.”

My blood turned to ice even as the link burned hot with Callan’s steady want.

I looked up at him. Voice barely a whisper.

“What do I do Sir?”