9. Chapter Nine
Bautista clenched his fists, leaning on the balustrade of the balcony overlooking his compound.
The deadline was fast approaching, yet he had heard nothing from that arrogant bastard, Hamilton West. He had thought that the ransom demands—the money owed plus some extra for disrespect—would make the old man squirm but that he’d have no choice except to pay up. It seemed the stubborn fool wouldn’t budge so easily.
Well, if that was how he wanted to play, Bautista would be happy enough to oblige him.
His son is the one who will pay, in the end.
A smile curved his lips at the thought of tormenting Rylan. That was a consolation and a welcome distraction. With a determined stride, Bautista left his study and ventured out to find his captive.
“Where’s my pet?” he asked one of his men guarding the front door. The man conferred with his companion, who had seen Rylan headed out of the house some time ago.
There was nowhere Rylan could run to. The compound was perfectly secure. If he tried to escape he would be shot, maybe killed. Bautista wasn’t concerned about Rylan getting away, so he sauntered out into the sprawling gardens of Casa del Rey.
They had been a gift for his wife, a decade ago. He hadn’t kept them out of sentiment—after her disgrace he’d had the plants she’d chosen ripped out and replaced with roses. Flowers with thorns, beautiful and dangerous. Now they hardly reminded him of her at all.
As he walked through the lush greenery, Bautista spotted Rylan sitting under a large tree. The young man appeared to be sketching something on a piece of paper, unaware he was being watched.
“What is that you have?” Bautista called out, causing Rylan to jump in surprise. The pencil fell from Rylan’s slender fingers as he scrambled to his feet. “Give it to me,” Bautista demanded. Rylan’s gaze flickered between the paper in his hand and the powerful man looming over him. Reluctantly, Rylan handed the paper over, his face reddening.
Bautista took the paper, barely glancing at the drawing of a human figure before focusing back on Rylan’s nervous expression. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.
Rylan hesitated, his eyes darting around as if searching for some kind of escape. When he spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear. “I found it. The paper and pencil were just lying about.”
Bautista raised an eyebrow, recognizing his daughter’s habit of leaving her things scattered around the house. “So you stole from my daughter,” he said, teasing.
“No,” Rylan protested, his strange, lavender eyes wide with fear.
A wicked smile crossed Bautista’s face as he took in Rylan’s fear-stricken expression. “No? But you just said you found them lying about, and yet here they are in your possession,” Bautista countered, his voice dripping with derision.
Rylan swallowed hard, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. “I didn’t mean to steal them. I just...wanted to draw something,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
Bautista stepped closer, causing Rylan to lean back against the tree trunk. He could see the pulse throbbing in Rylan’s throat, could almost smell the fear radiating from him. “Well, since you’ve taken what doesn’t belong to you, I think it’s only fair that you pay a price for your actions,” Bautista said, his voice low and threatening.
Rylan’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating with fear and something else—something that curled in Bautista’s gut. “What do you want from me?” he asked shakily.
“Whatever it is,” Bautista murmured, reaching out to forcefully grip Rylan’s chin, tilting his face up to meet his gaze, “you’ll give it to me. Won’t you?”
Bautista crowded him against the tree, pressing his muscular chest to Rylan’s slender one. He could feel Rylan’s heartbeat quicken, saw his pupils dilate.
“Tell me, Rylan,” Bautista whispered into his ear, his breath hot and heavy against Rylan’s skin. “Tell me the truth. Don’t try to deny it. Your body betrays you.” He let one hand slide down Rylan’s side, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Confess your perverted thoughts.”
He could see Rylan struggling to maintain his composure, unable to fully suppress his reactions.
“Please,” he choked out, his voice wrecked. “Don’t make me say it.”
Bautista smirked, enjoying Rylan’s weakness. His fingers traced a slow, torturous path from Rylan’s hip up to the quivering muscles of his belly. He watched as Rylan’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with ragged gasps. Bautista leaned in close, his lips brushing Rylan’s ear as he whispered, “It’s not your secret to keep, little prince.”
“Screw you,” Rylan spat, but the words held no conviction.
Bautista chuckled, delighting in the way Rylan’s defiance only highlighted his helplessness. “Oh, no. No, that’s not what you want. Admit it.” His hand slipped lower to graze the inside of Rylan’s thigh. Rylan jerked, his soft moan betraying him even as he tried to remain strong.
“I won’t,” he bit out, gritting his teeth as Bautista teased him, rubbing tantalizing circles on his inner thigh.
“Tell me, little prince,” Bautista insisted, his voice like dark honey. “Why do your secret desires not belong to you?”
It was clear how Rylan wavered. He wanted to give in. It was inevitable. And when he said the words aloud, they would be true.
“Because I belong to you,” he whispered, the words soaked in surrender.
Bautista breathed out with satisfaction. But Rylan wasn’t finished. He shook under Bautista’s hand.
“Please,” he sobbed, “please touch me.”
“Of course that’s what you want,” Bautista laughed cruelly, his fingers tightening around Rylan’s thigh before abruptly releasing him. He stepped back, leaving Rylan standing alone against the tree, exposed and vulnerable. With one last smug grin, Bautista crushed the drawing in his hand and tossed it carelessly in Rylan’s direction. It struck the young man in the chest, but he made no move to catch it.
Bautista turned and walked back towards the house, his satisfaction palpable. The warm afternoon air felt charged with the intensity of Rylan’s submission. He could still hear the echo of the boy’s desperate begging. He smirked, knowing that Rylan would beg for more, wouldn’t be able to help himself.
“Jefe,“ Carlos called out. He sounded tense, looked more so as he jogged up the footpath to meet Bautista. His eyes burned with disapproval, though he hid it beneath a mask of indifference.
Bautista frowned. “What is it?”
“The boy. West,” Carlos began, shifting his weight uneasily, “I’m concerned about your...relationship with him.”
“Are you now?” Bautista’s dark eyes narrowed, studying his old friend’s furrowed brow and clenched jaw. It was obvious Carlos had been watching in the garden, but he was too disgusted to come right out and say it.
“Sí,“ Carlos admitted, his voice low and gravelly. “Your interest in him is concerning. And his father won’t like it when he finds out how you’re treating him.”
“Fuck his father,” Bautista snapped, his patience wearing thin. “He knew what he was getting into when he tried to fuck me over.”
“Regardless,” Carlos persisted. “The men will talk. They will think things you don’t want them to think.”
He didn’t come right out and say it, but it hung in the air between them: they will think you less of a man. They will think you weak. They will not follow someone like that, someone who can be distracted by a pretty boy.
“If any one of my men has a problem with me, let him come and say it to my face,” Bautista said coldly. “I’ll slit his throat myself. The crocodiles,” he added with bitter venom, “are always hungry.”
Carlos gritted his teeth, clearly holding back further objections. Bautista did not enjoy the man’s discomfort. Carlos was a friend. That Carlos should caution him now ought to give him pause.
“Listen,” Bautista said evenly, clasping Carlos’s shoulders and squeezing them. “You’re here to protect Casa del Rey and Carmelita. That’s your job, above everything else. Don’t worry about what I’m doing. It’s not your concern.”
Carlos held Bautista’s gaze for a moment before finally nodding. “As you say, jefe. But I hope you remember that there are consequences for everything we do.”
Had it been anyone else, Bautista would have put them so firmly in their place that they’d never think to step out of it again. Instead he shook his head and walked into the house. Carlos would never understand the compulsion he was under, the need to crush Rylan underfoot. His simple heart could not encompass the dark things Bautista wanted from Rylan. But that was his loss.
Now that Rylan had finally broken down and begged for him, Bautista knew that the game had truly begun.