Chapter 3

First Night, First Choice

The air shifted just after another midnight.

It always did—subtle at first. The whir of the car wash went silent, the doors sealed, and the fluorescent lights overhead gave way to yellow, dull and buzzing like flies in a coffin.

That was the cue.

The end of business hours.

The beginning of something else.

Rico stood at the wash bay, he was rinsing out a sponge, his hands were slick with soap. He could feel it in his bones—the shift. The way the place breathed differently after dark.

The way even the walls seemed to listen. He glanced up at the security camera perching above the garage door. Still red and still blinking.

Still watching.

Across the lot, Marco wiped his hands on a towel and returned the pressure hose to its hook. No one spoke, they didn’t have to. The silence says enough.

“Go shower. He doesn’t pick dirty.” Jaylen said passing by Rico with a glancy.

“He’s choosing tonight?” Rico raised an eyebrow.

Jaylen’s eyes didn’t blink. “Always does. Every night. You’ve just been lucky.”

Rico scoffed but the weight in Jaylen’s voice stilled him.

“Don’t linger,” Jaylen warned, then disappeared into the staff hallway.

Downstairs Locker Room – 12:14 A.M.

The showers hissed behind a curtain. Rico scrubbed the grit off his body quickly, his muscles sore from a full day’s work. His mind raced with everything he’d heard over the last week. The house rules. The rituals. The power plays. The whispers of what happened after the intercom buzzed.

He hadn’t been called again since the first time. Not even a glance from The Boss in passing.

Rico didn’t know if he was being punished, avoided, or studied.

Maybe all three.

He finished showering, dried off, and pulled on a black tank top. He left his hair wet, defiantly untamed. If the Boss wanted polished, he could find it in the others.

If he wanted real—he already knew where to look.

Upstairs – Surveillance Room

The Boss sat in the high-backed chair, he was watching five camera feeds on the monitor wall. One of each boy. All moving through the routine like obedient wolves returning to their den.

Except Rico.

He was slower.

Lazier with his towel.

Less afraid.

More… stubborn.

The Boss's fingers was tapping the edge of his glass. He liked order and obedience. He liked men who knew their place. But this one? Rico didn’t know it—or worse, pretended not to.

He hovered his finger over the switch to the intercom then paused.

Then moved it… one space to the left.

“Marco,” he said into the mic, voice velvet and smoke, “Upstairs. Now.”

Boys’ Sleeping Quarters – 12:26 A.M.

The intercom buzzed with a low hum, followed by the smooth voice that made every stomach in the room clench.

“Marco. Upstairs. Now.”

The silence that followed was enough to bleed.

Marco froze, he had just been climbing into bed—shirtless, sweat still damp on his chest. He didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t sigh and didn’t complain.

He just stood.

Pulled on a thin robe and walked out.

Rico sat up on his bunk, watching him go.

Jaylen didn’t move, but his eyes slid to Rico. “You’re not off the hook,” he said. “He’s just waiting.”

“For what?”

“For when you stop smirking.”

Rico laid back down, his eyes on the ceiling. But that night, sleep didn’t come easily.

Upstairs – Private Room

Marco stood in the center of the room, back straight, face blank. The Boss circled him, inspecting him like a wine bottle he wasn’t sure was vintage enough to uncork.

“Do you fear me, Marco?” The Boss asked.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m already yours.”

The Boss smiled. “And what do you think of Rico?”

“He’s dangerous.”

“Because he doesn’t play the game?”

“Because he thinks it’s not real.”

The Boss stepped closer, close enough for Marco to smell the tobacco and leather on his breath.

“But it is real, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

That night, The Boss didn’t touch Marco much. Not like usual. He simply had him kneel. Watch and listen.

He said only two words before dismissing him.

“He’s next.”

The Next Morning

Rico was already up before the rest, his towel was over his shoulder, cleaning the floor outside the office. No one had assigned him the task. He just needed to do something—anything to drown out the weight pressing down on his chest.

Footsteps coming behind him.

“Morning sunshine,” Jaylen said, handing him a wrapped sandwich. “From the canteen. Eat it before Ty gets jealous.”

Rico took it without a word.

Jaylen sat beside him, leaning on the wall. “You know what he asked Marco last night?”

“No.”

“He asked about you.”

Rico paused mid-bite. “So?”

“So that means you’re in his head.”

“I’ve been there.”

“You haven’t seen the inside yet.”

Rico ate in silence for a while, then asked, “How does he decide?”

“Sometimes it’s how you move, sometimes it’s your scent and sometimes… it’s your silence.”

“I don’t give him anything.”

“That’s what makes you so loud.”

“Word is,” Jaylen added, “he’s picking again tonight.”

Rico didn’t react. But his stomach tightened.

That Night – 12:07 A.M.

The intercom remained silent.

Rico lay on his bunk, pretending to sleep, his heart pounding.

The red dot on the camera across the room glowed.

“Don’t call me.” He whispered to himself

Then louder, just enough for the shadows to hear: “I dare you.”

Upstairs – Surveillance Room

The Boss leaned forward, his elbows on his desk, his eyes locked on Rico’s sleeping form. Or rather, his pretense of it. The rise and fall of his chest was too controlled and too theatrical.

He wants me to pick him, the Boss thought.

But he also wants to win.

That made the game delicious.

He picked up the receiver, pressed the intercom, and this time, didn’t hesitate.

“Rico. Upstairs. Now.”

Downstairs – Boys’ Quarters

Rico sat up immediately. His heart already thudding, but he let the moment stretch.

The others didn’t look at him.

Not even Jaylen.

He swung his legs off the bunk, stood, and grabbed a black shirt off the hanger. No robe, no cologne and no effort.

If The Boss wanted him, he’d get him raw.

Upstairs – Private Room

The door opened.

Rico entered.

No fear.

Just fire.

The Boss sat in the chair, his legs crossed, drink in hand. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m not a pet.”

“No,” The Boss said, standing. “You’re a storm pretending to be a drizzle.”

“So what’s tonight? Power play? Strip tease? Or are we skipping the theatrics?”

“No games,” he said. “Tonight, you’ll stand there and answer a few questions.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

Rico nodded slowly.

“Where are you from?” The Boss asked.

“Nowhere that matters.”

“Parents?”

“Dead. Or might as well be.”

“Crimes?”

“Only the kind that left bruises on someone else.”

The Boss tilted his head. “And why did you come here?”

Rico didn’t hesitate. “Because the streets were colder than your eyes.”

Silence.

The Boss approached him, circling again.

“Why haven’t you run yet?”

“Because I wanted to see what the devil looked like in daylight.”

“And now that you’ve seen him?”

“I think the devil bleeds like the rest of us.”

Something in the Boss’s jaw ticked.

He stepped back.

Then—without a word—he unlocked the door.

“You can go.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

Rico didn’t move.

“I thought you said when you call, we show up and obey.”

“I did.”

“So why am I still breathing?”

“Because something about you hasn’t decided whether to burn me down… or join me on the throne.”

“And you want to find out?”

“I will find out.”

“Good luck.”

Then he turned and walked out, his head high.

The Boss didn’t stop him, but as the door closed, he whispered to the empty room.

“You’ve already started the fire, Rico. Whether you know it or not.”