Chapter 19 Julian #2
Kai doesn’t throw me off or shove me back, and he doesn’t even flinch when I slam into him like a feral animal with my fists knotted in his collar and my heartbeat screaming in my ears.
No—of course not.
He just exhales once, bored and amused and inevitable, before pinning me to the wall like this whole thing is a game he already knows the ending to.
His hand lands heavy on my chest and flattens me against the cold metal outside his container, my spine slamming into it hard enough that my head knocks back slightly.
But he doesn’t let me move—not forward, not sideways, not down.
One forearm braces across my collarbones like a fuck-you seatbelt, holding me there with zero effort, while his other hand catches my flailing wrist and slams it up against the wall over my head.
I growl and snarl, jerking against him like a rabid thing caught in a trap, but it doesn’t matter how hard I fight because I’m completely pinned and he knows it.
And he just stares at me like I’m not even a threat, like I’m not even a person anymore, just some twitching piece of data under a microscope for his quiet amusement.
Then he leans in slowly, closing the distance inch by inch until his breath ghosts across my mouth, and in that soft, clinical voice I hate more than anything he murmurs, “Say please.”
The word hits me like a needle sliding straight into my bloodstream, hot and humiliating and sharp enough to make my vision spark with white.
I freeze before I can stop myself, my lips parting as my breath stutters, and of course he sees it because Kai misses nothing, the corner of his mouth twitching with the faintest ghost of a smirk as he tilts his head slightly, like a patient tutor dealing with a violent dog.
“Come on,” he murmurs quietly. “You made it this far. If you want me to do something, say it.”
My pride screams inside my skull while my dick betrays me with a twitch and my throat burns like I swallowed broken glass.
“Fuck you,” I breathe.
But it doesn’t land the way I want it to, because it comes out thin and weak and he knows it.
Kai presses his forearm a little harder into my chest—not enough to bruise, just enough to remind me exactly who’s controlling the situation—as his voice drops lower, calmer, more deliberate.
“Say please, Julian,” he repeats softly. “And maybe I’ll do something to shut that pretty mouth up before you spiral yourself into real damage.”
My heart is pounding so hard it fills my ears, making it impossible to think straight while every nerve in my body screams at once—because Rafe isn’t here, because the empty space he left behind is echoing inside my ribs, because my skin feels like it’s on fire and I can’t stop twitching under Kai’s grip like some desperate, traitorous part of me actually wants this.
“Please.” It leaves me before I can stop it. It’s not strong. It’s not brave. It’s not sexy or defiant or anything I wanted it to be. It slips out of my mouth like a leak in the dam, soft and desperate, and Kai fucking hears it.
The second the word leaves my lips, his smirk returns, blooming across his face like a sin. “There we go,” he murmurs.
And then he moves.
One second I’m pinned to the wall, and the next he grabs my shirt, yanks me off the metal like I weigh nothing, and drags me inside the container with the cold efficiency of a man wheeling a corpse into a morgue.
I try to stumble forward and catch my footing, but he’s already lifting me onto the metal exam table and pushing me flat onto my back, his hands firm, controlled, his expression unreadable.
“Wait—what the hell are you—” I start, half laughing and half panicking, but the moment the first leather restraint buckles around my right wrist something cold drops straight through my stomach.
“Kai,” I hiss. “What the fuck—?”
He doesn’t answer.
My left wrist gets strapped down next, then my right ankle, then my left, the leather tightening until the restraints bite snug against bone, and before I can even process it there’s another strap crossing over my chest, locking my torso to the table. He straps my entire body down.
“Kai—” I start again, my voice sharp now as I yank against the restraints, but they don’t move even a fraction, and my pulse spikes as panic blooms bright behind my eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”
He still doesn’t answer, not until every strap is secure and I’m completely immobilized. Then he circles the table slowly, deliberately, like he’s inspecting a specimen, before stopping at the head near my face and trailing his fingers down my forearm in a touch so light it almost feels accidental.
And that’s when he finally speaks. “Do you know what Rafe does to people who hurt the ones he cares about, pretty boy?” His voice is almost tender, like he’s asking a bedtime question, like we’re discussing morality over tea instead of the fact that I’m tied to his fucking table.
I bare my teeth at him. “Kills them?”
Kai’s eyes glitter. “Mmm…” he hums softly, dragging a single nail down the length of my arm until my breath catches and my skin prickles under the touch. “If only that were all.”
My chest tightens.
He leans closer, mouth near my ear, breath warm and maddening. “Rafe doesn't kill. He dismantles. He takes you apart so slowly you don’t know which scream was the first. And if he thinks someone took something from his, he’ll make sure they never remember how it felt to be whole.”
My stomach flips. My thighs flex against the restraints, but I’m not going anywhere. “You think this is punishment?” I hiss.
He smiles faintly. “No, Julian. This is protection.”
Kai moves like a shadow with a purpose—smooth, deliberate, every motion clean and economical as he turns his back to me and walks to the steel counter.
I can’t lift my head very far with the restraints locking my shoulders down, but I can still track him from the corner of my eye as he opens a locked drawer and pulls out a vial filled with clear, viscous fluid.
It doesn’t look like the milky sedatives he sometimes uses, and it isn’t yellow like most of the uppers I’ve begged for.
This is something else.
Something I don’t recognize.
He draws the liquid into a syringe without saying a word, flicks the air bubble free with two practiced taps, and then turns back toward me with the quiet calm of a man preparing a body for autopsy.
My pulse kicks up instantly. "What’s that?" I rasp, throat dry. My voice cracks. Not from fear, exactly. Just… something lower than that. I know it’s not what I want. I know it’s not drugs. I’ve begged enough to recognize the rhythm when it’s off.
And Kai didn’t restrain me just to give me drugs.
No.
This is something else.
He doesn’t answer at first.
He just walks back to my side, smooth and silent in those soft-soled shoes, every movement controlled, deliberate, inevitable. Then his hand curls gently around my jaw, his thumb tilting my chin upward until my throat is fully exposed.
“We’re going to play a little game,” he murmurs, his tone almost amused—almost sweet.
His fingers brush my throat once.
“Since you want it to hurt so bad.”
And before I can fight him, before I can ask another question, before I can even pull in a full breath—
He slides the needle into my neck.
It burns instantly, a sharp, cold precision that slices straight into my bloodstream.
“Fuck—!” I hiss, jerking hard against the straps. “What the fuck did you—”
He steps back calmly and tosses the empty syringe into the tray like he just watered a plant.
“Relax,” he says.
The word makes me twitch again, because nothing about this feels relaxing.
I blink hard as something starts spreading through my body—not a high, not a sedative, but a strange electrical tingling that crawls under my skin like someone just plugged me into a wall and whispered confess.
“Kai—” I growl, but even as I say it my tongue feels hot, my chest too tight, my thoughts too loud.
He walks slowly to the foot of the table and then up along the side, his fingers dragging lightly across the restraints—not touching me, just the leather, just reminding me they’re there.
“Let’s see what you’re really afraid of, shall we?” he says softly.
And my mouth—my traitorous fucking mouth—already wants to open. Already wants to tell him.
Oh fuck.
Kai’s questions start soft—gentle even—like he’s lulling me into some fucked-up sense of safety the way a snake might hum a lullaby while coiling around your ribs. “Favorite color?”
The answer slips out before I can stop it—“Steel grey.” Fuck. Rafe’s eyes.
“Full name?”
“Julian Andrew Reaver.”
“Birthday?”
“May 2nd.” And I’m snarling while I answer, because I feel it now, that chemical truth boiling under my skin, dragging honesty out of my throat like a hook. I twist against the restraints, but they don’t move—they were never meant to—and my jaw aches from clenching.
Kai watches me the way someone watches a time bomb they already know how to dismantle, calm and patient and entirely too certain about the outcome. Then he slips the question in. “Who hurt you?”
It hits like a blade straight through my ribs, and I jerk so violently the entire medical table screeches across the floor while every muscle in my body contracts at once.
My teeth snap together hard enough that I taste blood, and I try—try—to hold it in, to bite down on the truth, to stay silent and strong and unreachable.
But the drug doesn’t care.
It wants everything.
It wants the marrow.
And my mouth betrays me.
“Nathan Grant!”
The name rips out of me like a scream.
Silence slams into the room afterward, heavy and absolute, and Kai’s eyebrows rise just slightly—the smallest reaction, barely a fraction of movement—but it’s more than enough to tell me everything.
He didn’t know.
Nobody knows.
Nobody except Rafe.
And now Kai does.
“Oh fuck,” I choke, breath hitching, humiliation and terror slicing through my chest.