Chapter 6

The hours dragged inside the sunlit prison.

Dave spent most of the morning alternating between furious pacing — as much as the chain allowed — and staring out the tall windows at the glittering sprawl of Kings City below. The view was breathtaking: endless glass towers catching the light, distant traffic moving like rivers of metal, and the faint shimmer of the river that cut through the heart of the city. From up here, everything looked beautiful and unreachable.

He tested the chain again and again. The cuff sat snug around his ankle, not tight enough to bruise but firm enough to remind him constantly of his captivity.

The other end was bolted securely to the heavy wooden bed frame. Even with the slack Ryan had mentioned, Dave could reach the luxurious en-suite bathroom, the desk, and a small seating area near the windows, but nothing more. No door handle. No escape.

By early afternoon, exhaustion and the heavy meal had caught up with him. He lay back on the enormous bed, staring at the high ceiling with its subtle decorative moulding. His mind raced in circles.

Ryan Blood.

The name alone sent a chill through him now that he had time to think. He had heard whispers even back in his small hometown — rumours of a man who ruled Kings City’s underworld with an iron fist wrapped in tailored suits. A CEO by day, a ghost by night.

Someone whose enemies simply disappeared.

And now that man had decided Dave belonged to him.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. It opened before he could respond. The same woman from earlier — Lila — entered, followed by an older woman in a crisp white coat carrying a medical bag.

“Dr Kane is here for your check-up,” Lila said neutrally, setting a fresh glass of water on the bedside table. Her eyes flicked to the chain but revealed nothing.

Dr Nadia Kane offered a small, professional smile as she approached the bed. She looked to be in her early forties, with calm grey eyes and dark hair streaked with silver. “Hello, Dave. I’m Dr Kane. I treated your injuries from last night. How are you feeling today?”

Dave sat up slowly, pulling the blanket over his lap like a shield. “Like a prisoner,” he answered bitterly.

Dr Kane didn’t flinch. She had clearly heard worse in this house. “Physically, then?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Sore. But better than yesterday.”

She nodded and began her examination with efficient gentleness — checking the fading bruises on his arms and torso, the small cuts from the robbery, and his overall vitals. Her touch was clinical and kind, a stark contrast to the heavy dominance that filled the room whenever Ryan was present.

“You’re healing well,” she said after a few minutes.

“No signs of infection. The sedative Mr Blood used was mild and short-acting. You’ll have no lasting effects.”

Dave’s jaw tightened at the casual mention of the drug. “He had no right.”

Dr Kane met his eyes steadily. “In this house, Mr Blood tends to believe he has every right when it comes to protecting what he wants.” She paused, lowering her voice slightly. “But you are young and healthy. If you need anything — pain relief, something to help you sleep, or even just someone to talk to — ask for me directly.”

Lila, who had been standing quietly by the door, gave a subtle nod as if confirming the offer was genuine.

Before Dave could press for more information, the door opened again. Ryan stepped inside, his presence instantly shifting the atmosphere. He had changed into a fresh black shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of smooth, tanned skin and the edge of what looked like a tattoo on his collarbone. He looked refreshed, powerful, and far too composed for someone who had just kidnapped a teenager.

“Doctor,” Ryan greeted with a nod. “Report?”

Dr Kane straightened. “He’s stable. Minor contusions and dehydration from yesterday, but nothing serious. I recommend light meals, rest, and monitoring for the next few days.”

Ryan’s gaze slid to Dave, dark and assessing. “Good. You may go.”

Both women left without another word, the door clicking shut behind them. The lock turned once more.

Ryan crossed the room and took the chair beside the bed again, settling in as if this were a perfectly normal afternoon visit. He studied Dave for a long moment, the silence stretching until it felt heavy.

“You look better already,” Ryan said finally, his voice low. “The colour is returning to your face.”

Dave glared at him. “Maybe because I’m not sleeping on concrete anymore.”

A faint smile touched Ryan’s lips. “Exactly. Comfort suits you.”

Dave hated how the compliment — simple as it was — made warmth bloom in his chest. He pushed it down ruthlessly. “Comfort doesn’t make this right.

You can’t just decide someone belongs to you and lock them up.”

Ryan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes never left Dave’s. “In my world, I can. And I have. Many times. But never like this.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Never because I looked at someone and felt the ground shift beneath me.”

Dave’s breath caught. The honesty in Ryan’s tone was disarming. It made the older man seem almost human beneath the cold exterior. Almost.

“I don’t want this,” Dave whispered, though part of him wondered if that was still entirely true.

Ryan reached out slowly and brushed his knuckles lightly along Dave’s jaw, the touch feather-soft yet impossibly commanding. “You will. In time. Your body already understands what your mind is fighting.”

Dave jerked away, but the chain limited his movement. His skin tingled where Ryan had touched him, a traitorous warmth spreading downward. “Stop touching me like that.”

“Like what?” Ryan asked, his voice dropping into that velvet register that made Dave’s stomach tighten.

“Like you’re something precious? Something worth keeping safe from the wolves outside these walls?”

Dave swallowed hard. Memories of the alley flashed through his mind — the rough hands, the stolen bag, the laughter of the men who had taken everything. Compared to that, Ryan’s touch felt dangerously gentle. Seductive, even.

Ryan stood and walked to the large wardrobe against the far wall. He opened it, revealing rows of expensive clothing in dark and neutral tones — soft shirts, tailored pants, even silk robes. “These are for you. Your old clothes were disposed of. They smelled of the street and fear.”

Dave’s eyes widened. “You threw away my things?”

“They were rags,” Ryan said without apology. “You deserve better now.” He selected a simple black button-down shirt and a pair of soft grey sweatpants, then laid them neatly on the foot of the bed. “Change when you’re ready. The chain allows enough movement.”

He returned to the chair, watching expectantly.

Dave hesitated, then realised refusing would only give Ryan more power. With as much dignity as he could muster, he reached for the clothes and slipped into the bathroom, dragging the chain behind him. It rattled with every step — a humiliating soundtrack.

When he emerged a few minutes later, the new clothes felt impossibly soft against his skin. They fit perfectly, as if tailored for him. Ryan’s eyes darkened with obvious approval as he took in the sight.

“Much better,” Ryan murmured. “You look like you belong here.”

Dave crossed his arms, trying to ignore how the compliment made his pulse quicken. “I don’t.”

Ryan rose and moved closer, stopping just short of the bed. The air between them felt charged, thick with unspoken tension. “Dinner will be served in here tonight. We will talk more then. About rules. About expectations.” His gaze dropped briefly to Dave’s lips before returning to his eyes. “And about how you will begin to accept what is inevitable.”

Dave’s mouth went dry. “I won’t accept being your prisoner.”

Ryan’s smile was slow and dangerous. “We’ll see, little one. By the end of this week, you may find the chains feel less like prison bars… and more like an embrace you don’t want to escape.”

He turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Rest until then. Fight if you must — it only makes the surrender sweeter when it comes.”

The door closed. The lock clicked.

Dave sank back onto the bed, heart racing, body flushed with a confusing mix of anger and unwanted heat. He touched his jaw where Ryan’s knuckles had brushed him, the ghost of the touch still lingering.

Outside the windows, the sun began its slow descent toward evening, painting Kings City in hues of gold and crimson. Inside the mansion, Dave felt the walls of his new world closing in — luxurious, terrifying, and strangely magnetic.

He didn’t know how long he could keep fighting.

But one thing was becoming terrifyingly clear: Ryan Blood had no intention of letting him go.

And part of Dave was no longer entirely sure he wanted him to.