I AM YOURS TO PLAY

Chapter 1: Pier 12 Shadows

ETHAN’S POV

I crouched behind a rusted crate at Pier 12, the Chicago night air biting at my knuckles, my Glock heavy in my hand. Two years undercover with the FBI, and I was this close to taking down Lucian “The Reaper” Moretti, Chicago’s most ruthless mafia kingpin. I’d risen to his right-hand man as “Evan,” a name that felt like a second skin now, but every moment near him was a tightrope walk over a pit of snakes. 

My breath hitched, not from the cold, but from the memory of my foster father’s fists—those beatings at 17 for being gay, the head injury that stole chunks of my past, leaving me with gaps I couldn’t fill. I shook it off. I had to focus. Tonight, I’d get intel on this arms deal to end Lucian, but the way his gray eyes lingered on me lately made my chest tighten in ways I couldn’t afford.  

“Evan, supplier’s here. Move,” Lucian’s voice cut through the darkness, low and sharp, like a blade against stone. 

He stood a few yards away, broad shoulders outlined by the pier’s flickering lights, his dark hair catching the glow. I nodded, shoving down the heat creeping up my neck. He was a monster—drugs, arms, extortion, murders—but I’d seen him spare a debtor’s kid last week, his voice softening for a split second, and it messed with me. I hated how I noticed his hands, strong and scarred, or the way his lips curled when he gave orders. I hated that I wanted him.

I crept forward, signaling Lucian’s crew—five hard-eyed men with guns slung low. The supplier’s black SUV rolled up, headlights off, and a wiry man stepped out, his face shadowed under a cap. “You’re late,” I snapped, stepping into the open, my crew fanning out. 

My voice held steady, but my foster mother’s words from yesterday clawed at me: “ Marry Sarah, Ethan. Be normal.” Her pleas and cries of wanting a happy and peaceful family as if me being gay was the reason why our family was broken in the first place. I pushed it down. I couldn’t let them break me—not now.

“Traffic,” the supplier said, his tone clipped, a smirk tugging his lips. “Guns are in the back. Let’s move.”

I motioned for two of Lucian’s men to check the crates, my eyes scanning the pier. Something felt off—the air too still, the shadows too deep. My handler’s text from earlier burned in my pocket: “Intel now, Caldwell. Don’t screw this up.” 

Ryan, my number one rival at the Resident Agency, had already planted fake evidence tying me to the Salazar Syndicate, Lucian’s rivals, trying to frame me as a traitor. If I didn’t get this intel, I’d be out, and Ryan would win. I couldn’t let that happen—not after everything I’d sacrificed. 

A crate creaked open, revealing rifles, sleek and deadly. I nodded, but then a glint caught my eye—a scope’s reflection from the warehouse roof. My stomach dropped. “Ambush!” I shouted, diving for cover as gunfire erupted. 

Bullets pinged off the crates, splintering wood, and one of Lucian’s men dropped, blood spraying. Salazar’s crew—they’d found us. I returned fire, my Glock kicking in my hand, but a bullet grazed my arm, searing hot. I cursed, pressing against the crate, my heart hammering. 

I couldn’t die here—not before I proved myself, not before I escaped Sarah, Ryan, my foster father’s disgust. I’d survived worse than this, hadn’t I? But the fear clawed up my throat, raw and choking, the same fear I felt at 17, bleeding on a hospital bed, disowned for who I was.

“Evan, move your ass!” Lucian roared, his voice yanking me back. 

He was behind a steel drum, firing with deadly precision, his face a mask of cold furry. But then he glanced at me, his gray eyes locking on mine, and for a split second, I saw something—concern? It threw me, made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t name. He trusted me, or at least he thought he did, and that trust was a knife twisting in my gut. I was here to betray him, to end him, but why did that feel so wrong?

I rolled out, firing at a Salazar thug on the roof, my shot catching him in the chest. He fell with a scream, but another took his place, bullets raining down. We were pinned. “We need to flank them!” I shouted, my voice hoarse. Lucian nodded, gesturing to his remaining men, but then a grenade arced through the air, landing near us with a dull thunks

“Shit!” I lunged, tackling Lucian behind a stack of crates just as the grenade exploded, the blast shaking the pier, heat searing my back. 

We hit the ground hard, his body under mine, his breath hot on my neck. For a moment, we were too close—his scent, leather and smoke, filling my lungs, his hand gripping my arm like I was his lifeline. 

“You good?” he growled, his voice rough, but his eyes searched mine, intense, unguarded. 

“Yeah,” I lied, my voice cracking, my arm burning from the graze. 

I pulled back, my heart racing—not from the explosion, but from him. I couldn’t feel this. I couldn’t want him. He was the enemy, the man I had to destroy, but lying there, his trust in me so clear, I felt like the monster.  

We scrambled up, returning fire, and I spotted an opening—a narrow alley between warehouses. “There!” I shouted, pointing. Lucian nodded, and we moved, back-to-back, our shots covering each other. His trust in me was a weight I couldn’t shake, each step heavier than the last. I’d seen what he did to traitors, he carved them up, left them for the rats, but he trusted me, and that made my betrayal so much worse.

We reached the alley, Lucian’s men trailing, two of them wounded. The gunfire slowed, Salazar’s crew retreating, but I knew they’d be back. I leaned against the wall, catching my breath, my arm throbbing, blood soaking my sleeve. Lucian turned to me, his face hard but his eyes soft, a contradiction that made my stomach twist. 

“You saved my ass back there, Evan,” he said, his voice low, a rare warmth in it. He stepped closer, his hand brushing my jaw, his thumb grazing my skin. “I knew I could count on you.”

I froze, my throat tight, his tough sending heat through me I couldn’t ignore. “Just doing my job, boss,” I managed, my voice barely steady, but inside, I was unraveling. I felt the shame, the fear and the guilt of wanting Lucian, of betraying him in the future. I pulled away, turning to check my gun, hiding the tremor in my hands.

Lucian watched me, his gaze heavy, and I knew he saw more than I wanted. “We’re not done here,” he said, his tone shifting back to steel. “Salazar’s playing hard, they might hit back tonight.” He turned to his men, barking orders, but I felt his eyes on me still, a silent question I couldn’t answer.

My burner phone buzzed—my handler again. I slipped into the shadows, glancing at the message: “Shipment details, now. Don’t fail.” 

I swallowed, my gut churning. I had to send the intel, had to end this, but as I looked at Lucian, his broad back at me, trusting me to have this, I felt the weight of my deception like a noose. 

I was an FBI agent, here to take him down, but every moment with him made me question who I was betraying more—Lucian, or myself.