Chapter 8: Seduction In The Shadows
LUCIAN’S POV I strode into the underground chamber, my polished shoes striking the concrete floor with purpose, the sound echoing off the damp walls. Ethan stood before me, his wrists chained to the ceiling, his legs bound to bolts on the floor, his body stretched taut in a position that screamed vulnerability. His hazel eyes locked onto mine, wide with fear, his light brown hair matted with sweat, his chest rising and falling with shadow breaths. I paused a few feet away, my gray eyes raking over him, taking in every detail—the blood crusted on his lip, the bruises darkening his cheek, the defiance flickering beneath his terror. I wanted to kill him so badly, to end him for the betrayal that landed me in prison for a year, but I couldn’t. Not when I knew he was the boy who saved me years ago, the one whose kindness I’d clung to through years of darkness. Not when I loved him, an obsession that consumed me over the two years he spent by my side, pretending to be Evan, my right-hand man. And not when the memory of our night at The Black Fang—his body writhing beneath me, his moans echoing in my ears—fueled my desires to claim him again, to make him mine forever. I folded my arms, my voice low, dripping with the icy arrogance that defined me. “Why are you so stubborn, Ethan? Why don’t you ever listen to what I say?” I tilted my head, my gaze piercing, my tone demanding an answer. Ethan swallowed hard, his voice trembling, his words sharp with desperation. “Please, Lucian, just let me go. There’s no way I’ll fall in love with you—no matter how much time you give—” His rejection sliced through me, a sharp pang in my chest, but I buried it deep, refusing to let it show. His words hurt, a rejection I couldn’t stomach, but I wouldn’t let him see the vulnerability he stirred in me. I stepped closer, my smirk cold, my voice laced with mockery. “And why do you think that, Agent Ethan? Why wouldn’t you fall in love with me?” I stopped inches from him, my breath warm against his face, my gray eyes searching his, daring him to speak. He glared at me, his hazel eyes flashing with defiance, his voice firm despite his fear. “I’m an FBI agent, Lucian. An FBI agent has nothing to do with a criminal—a mafia criminal like you.” His words carried the weight of his duty, his identity, but I saw the shame beneath them, the part of himself he tried to hide. I laughed, the sound low and dangerous, my arrogance unshaken. “That’s the best part, Ethan. You’re an FBI agent, and I’m a mafia kingpin—a perfect union, don’t you think?” I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, my voice a seductive growl. “We’re made for each other, you and I.” I pulled back, my smirk widening as I watched his face flush, his body betraying the desire he fought so hard to suppress. I turned away, snapping my fingers toward the door, my voice commanding. “Bring the food.” One of the men at the door entered, placing a tray of gourmet dishes on the steel table—roasted lamb, creamy mashed potatoes, a glass of red wine, the aroma filling the chamber with a rich, savory scent. I dismissed the guard with a nod, then picked up the tray, carrying it to Ethan, my movements deliberate, my intent clear. He hadn’t eaten since his capture, and I planned to use that hunger to break through his defenses, to tempt him with every tool I had. I set the tray on a small stool beside him, picking up a piece of lamb, the meat tender and glistening, and held it to his lips, my voice low and teasing. “Taste it, Ethan. You must be starving.” My fingers brushed his lips, the touch deliberate, my gray eyes locked on his, daring him to resist. He recoiled, his head jerking back, his hazel eyes flashing with anger, but a flush crept up his neck, his body betraying him. I leaned closer, my breath hot against his skin, my hand trailing down, his chest, my fingers brushing over his nipple through his shirt, drawing a sharp gasp from him. “You remember how I fucked you, don’t you?” I whispered, my voice a filthy purr, my lips grazing his jaw. “The way you moaned for me, the way your tight ass clenched around my dick, the way you begged me to fuck you harder.” I nipped at his lower lip, my teeth sinking into the soft flesh, pulling a low moan from him, his body tensing against the chains. I pulled back, licking my lips, my gaze darkening with lust as I watched him struggle, his resolve crumbling under my assault. I picked up another piece of lamb, my fingers slick with the juices, and pressed it to his lips again, my voice a low growl. “Open your mouth, Ethan. Let me feed you.” He hesitated, his eyes darting between the food and my face, his chest heaving, but hunger won out, and he parted his lips, letting me slide the meat inside. I watched him chew, my hand sliding down his torso, my fingers brushing the waistband of his trousers, my touch possessive. “Good boy,” I murmured, my voice thick with desire, my own dick hardening in my pants as I tugged at his belt, unbuckling it with a swift motion, my fingers dipping inside to graze the outline of his dick through his boxers. “Mmnh—please…” Ethan moaned, the sound raw and reluctant, his lips jerking forward, his body reacting despite his resistance. I smirked, my hand sliding lower, my fingers wrapping around his length through the fabric, stroking him slowly, teasingly. “You’re already hard for me, Ethan,” I growled, my voice rough, my touch firm as I leaned in, my lips capturing his in a brutal kiss. My tongue plunged into his mouth, tasting the lamb, tasting him, and I groaned, the sound vibrating between us as I pressed my body against his, my own erection pressing against his thigh. “Fuck—ohh—” he moaned again, louder, his body trembling, his lips parting wider as he surrendered to the kiss, his resolve melting under the heat of my touch. I pulled back, my hand still stroking him, my fingers tightening around his dick, drawing another moan from him, his head falling back against the chains. “You want this, Ethan,” I whispered, my voice dripping with lust, my lips trailing down his neck, sucking a mark into the skin of his throat. “You fucking want my dick inside you again, don’t you?” I growled, my hand slipping inside his boxers, my fingers brushing against the bare skin of his dick, the heat of it hard and leaking making me groan. I tugged his trousers down, the fabric pooling around his thighs, exposing him to the cool air of the chamber, his dick twitching under my gaze. “Ahh—shit…” Ethan’s moans turned ragged, his body trembling, his desire evident, but then he snapped back, his voice hoarse, his anger flaring. “Stop it, Lucian! I’ll never have anything to do with a criminal again—never!” He shoved against me, his bound hands straining against the chains, his defiance reignited, his rejection a fresh wound. I stepped back, my smirk cold, my gray eyes narrowing, my voice laced with icy menace. “You just increased your time in these chambers, Ethan.” I turned, my shoes clicking against the floor as I walked out, leaving him trembling in the chains, his trousers still down, his dick still hard, his body still aching with the desire I’d ignited, my own need for him burning hotter than ever.Chapter 107: A New Dawn ETHAN’S POV The office smelled of cedar and old books, a scent that grounded me as I leaned forward in my chair, elbows on my knees, watching the boy across from me. His name was Caleb, sixteen, with a mop of dark curls and eyes that darted like a cornered animal’s. His knuckles were bruised, his lip split, and the way he hunched in the chair screamed of a kid who’d learned to make himself small. I knew that posture too well—had worn it myself for years, back when my foster parents’ house was a cage and every word from their mouths was a lash. “Caleb,” I said, keeping my voice low, steady, “you don’t have to shrink. Not here. This is your safe space.” He glanced up, mistrust flickering in his eyes. His father had caught him kissing a boy behind the school gym, and the fallout had been brutal. A belt, a fist, a litany of slurs that carved deeper than the bruises. I listened as he spilled it all, his voice cracking, his hands twisting the hem of his hoodie. E
Chapter 106: Free At LastLUCIAN’S POVThe prison yard buzzed with activity, the Miami sun scorching the concrete, the air thick with sweat and dust. I stood at the center, my jumpsuit loose, my arms crossed, my eyes scanning the line of inmates hauling crates for the weekly supply delivery. As the Reaper, I carried weight here—not through fear, but respect. Two years had carved me into a leader among the men, not a tyrant. I’d broken up fights, shared my rations, taught the younger ones to keep their heads down and survive. The wardens nodded my way, their eyes wary but warm, my presence a steady hand in this chaos. “Move it, Leonard!” I barked, my voice sharp, my hand gesturing to a lanky kid fumbling with a crate. “Stack it right, or we’re all eating dirt for dinner.” He nodded, his hands quickening, the others falling in line, their chatter low, their respect clear. I paced, my boots crunching gravel, my heart steady but heavy, my thoughts on Ethan—my butterfly, waiting beyond t
Chapter 105: Hang In There ETHAN’S POVThe Miami field office buzzed with the hum of phones and keyboards, the air sharp with tension and stale coffee, my desk cluttered with case files I no longer cared about. A year had passed since Lucian’s sentencing—two years of minor syndicate charges, a chance at parole in months if we appealed, but he wanted to serve it out, my stubborn Reaper. I leaned back in my chair, my eyes on the window, Miami’s skyline glittering, my heart heavy with a truth I’d carried for months: the FBI didn’t deserve me. Even they knew the truth, their guilt gnawing at them despite the weird promotion they gave me. Hayes, Ryan, the corrupt bastards who framed Lucian and left me for dead—they were gone, executed for their betrayal, their deaths a cold justice I’d witnessed, their blood on the floor a reminder of the agency’s failure. Yet, the badge on my hip felt like a chain, my purpose eroded by their lies. The door creaked, my foster mother’s voice grating, he
Chapter 104: Exile’s ReturnMARCO’S POVThe Miami sun blazed through the condo’s floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across the hardwood, the air heavy with the scent of whiskey and regret. I stood outside Ethan’s door, my knuckles hovering, my heart pounding, my guilt a weight I couldn’t shake. Lucian was in jail, serving two years for minor syndicate charges, his freedom a faint hope with a possible appeal. Ethan was back, alive, a miracle that shattered my world in a good and sad way. I’d lost everything—my best friend, my brother, the man I’d loved in secret, all because I was envious of his love story with Ethan Caldwell. I’d betrayed them, let jealousy twist me, and now I had nothing left but apologies and a one-way ticket out of this city.I knocked, my breath shallow, my boots scuffing the floor. The door creaked open, Ethan turning from the window, shirtless, his skin taut over lean muscle, his bandages stark against his torso, his eyes sharp despite the pain et
Chapter 103: Court Of TruthLUCIAN’S POVThe courtroom’s fluorescent lights buzzed, casting harsh shadows on the polished wood benches, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and tension. My orange jumpsuit chafed, my cuffs bit into my wrists, my body slumped in the defendant’s chair, my heart a hollow ruin. A month of hearings had drained me—each session dragging, each adjournment a delay to the inevitable. The prosecutor piled lies on lies: I didn’t just kill Ethan, they said, I had my men hide his body to cover it up. Drug trafficking, human trafficking, the murders of those women in D.C., the train heist—all of Viktor Salazar’s and Director Hayes’ sins, pinned on me to bury their corruption. I didn’t care. Ethan was gone, his blood was still on my hands, because his sacrifice was my failure. I just wanted the verdict, the cell or maybe the chair—anything to end this charade and join him in the dark.The courtroom buzzed, reporters scribbling, spectators whispering, my enfo
Chapter 102: Survivor’s FightETHAN’S POVThe hospital room was a sterile prison, the air thick with antiseptic, the monitors’ beeps a relentless pulse, my body a battleground of pain—my abdomen wrapped in bandages, my left arm locked in a sling, my head a fog of fractured shadows. I lay propped against the pillows, my eyes heavy, my heart pounding with an ache I couldn’t name, a voice echoing in my skull—Butterfly, don’t leave me—a man’s face flickering, dark eyes sharp, jaw carved, his touch a ghost I couldn’t grasp. The TV flickered on the wall, its light harsh, the news anchor’s voice slicing through the haze like a blade. “Lucian Moretti appeared in court today for his third hearing, steadfast in his guilty plea for the murder of FBI agent Ethan Caldwell, alongside charges of drug trafficking, human trafficking, and money laundering…”My breath stopped, my eyes snapping to the screen, Lucian’s face filling it—ragged, hollow, his orange jumpsuit stark, his cuffs glinting under fl