SUN #8
"You wanna torture me?" I croak out. "Fine. Do it. Do your worst, you sadistic bastard. But don’t drag it out. Kill me already, because I sure as hell don’t want to breathe in the same space as you."
Anzo doesn’t even blink.
"That wouldn’t be nearly as fun," he says, flashing that empty fucking smile. "Not as fun as breaking you."
Then comes the next wave.
It rips through me like a lightning bolt, this time worse than before.
I feel my muscles seize up again, jaw clenched so tight my teeth grind.
There’s a metallic taste in my mouth. Blood. I must’ve bitten my tongue.
And then—
Darkness again.
***
When I open my eyes, I’m back in my room.
To my surprise, someone’s changed my pissed-in clothes. I’m wearing something that looks like it came straight out of a BDSM catalog: black straps, leather thigh guards that stop mid-leg, held up by garter-like clips. But my ass and crotch are exposed.
Wait, no. They’re not exposed. My dick and balls are locked in something small and metal. A fucking chastity cage.
I sit up in a panic and try to tear it off, but all I manage to do is scream in pain. There’s no way I’m squeezing this thing past my balls.
"What kind of sick fuck…" I groan, looking down at my chest. There’s a vest made of straps across it too, crossing my pecs and clipped together with tiny buckles.
"Fuck my miserable life," I mutter, instantly regretting what I said at dinner.
And I was supposed to act submissive ! I made myself an inner promise. That was the whole plan. But of course, I mouthed off again .
I get up, but I stagger. My head’s buzzing, and my whole body feels like I just spent the entire day at the gym. Every muscle aches.
"Fuck, am I even gonna survive this?" I mutter under my breath. But to my own surprise, there’s a strange sense of acceptance in me. I brewed this shit myself, and now I’m drinking it. And if it ends in tragedy, that’s on me.
Ironically, I don’t even blame Anzo. That’d be like walking into a lion’s den and being surprised when it bites.
So I walk to the window. It’s dark outside, except for the soft glow of elegant garden lanterns lighting up the fortress courtyard. They’re shaped like perfect orbs. The central garden is perfectly kept, designed with a level of precision that borders on obsession.
I get lost in the view for a second. I’ve always liked beautiful gardens. My dad was more practical. Everything in our yard had to be useful, not just decorative. If it didn’t grow fruit or herbs, it didn’t belong.
But me? I’ve always loved art for the sake of art. Beauty for the sake of it. I didn’t care about function, just aesthetics. Clean lines, modern designs, unexpected textures. This garden? Yeah, someone with my taste is behind it.
So I stare at it for a while, letting my mind go blank. Because what the hell else can I do?
When I hear footsteps, I don’t even flinch.
I turn to the door. It opens, and that dog Matteo walks in.
"You’re coming with me," he mutters, his eyes dropping to my crotch for a second before darting back up.
I can tell he’s not the one who dressed me. Now I’m curious who did, as I follow him silently. No point arguing with one of Anzo’s goons.
But this time, we don’t go to the dining room.
We head downstairs, beneath ground level. Wide stairs lead us to some kind of basement. I swallow hard as we move through a dim hallway. My heart’s pounding way too fast, and I feel like I might pass out. Matteo surely hears it. He casts me a glance.
What the hell’s waiting for me at the end of this?
Matteo stops and types a code into the wall panel. The door opens soundlessly.
We step into a room with black-painted walls. The lights are a mix of red and purple. In the center, there’s a table that looks kind of like a pool table, covered in soft fabric.
Next to it, there’s a black dresser or cabinet.
But the walls? Totally bare. No whips, no handcuffs, no gag balls. Nothing I expected to find here.
Just a row of hooks hanging from the ceiling.
That’s not all.
In the corner, kneeling on the wall-to-wall carpeted floor, is a small figure. Summer.
He’s dressed kind of like me, except he’s wearing a black thong instead of a dick cage.
He doesn’t lift his head, just like before, in the dining room.
Matteo gestures to the floor beside him.
"On your knees. Wait here," he says through clenched teeth, and I can guess why. Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Smells like pre-cum. Obviously he’s not immune to the sight of two nearly naked pretty boys.
Now I’m alone with Summer. In this fucked-up, nearly empty room.
Glancing at the omega, I ask myself what the hell I’m supposed to do.
Everything I could say feels so fucking stupid.
"Got any escape plans?"
"Man, this sucks, huh?"
"How’d you end up here?"
"Hey, wanna be besties? Trauma bonding is a real thing!"
Yeah. No.
Nothing makes sense. Except…
"What happens now?" I manage to whisper.
Because that’s the only thing I really want to know.
Summer doesn’t even flinch. He stays perfectly still.
The wall-to-wall carpet is thick, but it’s not soft. My knees are already screaming. But I fight through it and just sit there, not really thinking. Just trying to survive the pain, the discomfort, the dizzying panic that’s creeping in.
And despair. I’ve never really felt it before. Not since Dogger left me. Was it a privileged life?
But I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to be weak or helpless, like I have no control over my life.
Control is everything to me. My independence is the core of who I am, and that’s exactly what Anzo’s trying to destroy. But I won’t let him. I can’t let him take everything. If he does, there’ll be nothing left of me.
The walls must be soundproof, because I barely hear the footsteps. The door opens, and in walks that fucking bastard, Anzo. Just seeing him makes my skin crawl.
When he spots us kneeling in the corner, his expression shifts slightly. Like a predator spotting two animals quietly lined up for slaughter.
That’s when I notice the lone chair on the far side of the table.
He pulls it out and sits, his face unreadable as he watches us.
I refuse to look away. I know what’s coming. Another electric shock, maybe. But I don’t care.
"You know what, Anzo?" I spit. "If it weren’t for this fucking collar, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me. Even with that mechanical arm. You pathetic little beta, I’d squash you like a bug."
No shock.
He just smirks.
"That’s exactly why you’re wearing the collar, pet. I’m well aware that despite being eighteen, you’re still an alpha," he says, voice almost admiring. "A formidable force hides in your perfect, vivacious body."
As he says it, I can practically feel bugs swarming over my skin. His gaze sweeps across my chest and abs. There’s a hunger in it and a hint of jealousy.
"When I saw you, I knew. I finally found the Sun for the fortress of that name. You belong here, my beautiful, very own rose alpha."
He emphasizes the word ‘alpha’ in a weird way, like he’s tasting it in his mouth. Like a piece of delicious meat.
"You surely know it’s way more satisfying to break a tiger than a doe," he adds in a low voice.
"If you think you’re ever going to break me, you’re delusional," I mutter, mostly because I feel the need to be a contrarian about everything he says. But in reality, he’s probably halfway there. I’m already kinda crushed.
Anzo sends me another smirk.
"Give me time, pet. I’m just getting started."
Then his voice hardens.
"On the table."
"You’ll have to shock me again to make that happen," I shoot back, even though just the thought of it makes my stomach turn. But fuck it. I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
A second later, I regret it.
My body seizes under a short but brutal jolt of electricity.
"Don’t tempt me, Sun. I like the invitation."
Damn, I can’t even curse him back. My teeth are clenched, and my muscles are twitching.
Anzo steps closer.
He leans in and grabs the straps on my back with his cybernetic hand. Apparently, they serve a specific purpose. Then he yanks me upward…
But then I hear a strange sound. Mechanical. Like pistons grinding or servos overloading.
Anzo’s expression shifts, just a flicker of pain. His back stiffens.
Is that thing anchored in his shoulder socket? Or does it go straight into his spine?
Whatever it is, the connection between machine and flesh clearly hurts. Anzo is eight inches shorter than me. With his frame, also significantly smaller, my mass has to… weigh on him.
I bark out a spiteful laugh.
"I’m six-five and weigh almost two hundred pounds. And you, little weak beta, you’re gonna try and lift me?"
Anzo’s face tightens slightly, then he yanks me harder, pushing through pain, and slams me down onto the table.
My head’s still spinning, just enough for him to snap the cuffs onto my wrists and tie my legs to the table legs.
There’s no escaping it now. I curse under my breath. I know this is it.
I hear a drawer slam open. Anzo pulls something out. I guess I was stupid to think that just because the toys weren’t hanging on the walls, they weren’t here at all. Of course they are. In the damn dresser, waiting for ‘fun’.
He grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. Something sharp and choking sprays directly up my nose. I cough hard, try to suck in another breath, but he repeats it, and everything starts twirling worse than before.
I recognize the stuff. I’d smelled it once or twice back when I was still with Diego, before Martin. But this feels way stronger.
My head goes floaty. The surroundings begin to feel… distant. Suddenly, I don’t care what’s about to happen. The colors of the room shift, getting too vivid, oversaturated, almost cartoonish. Then they start bleeding into each other like a dream or a drug trip.
I feel Anzo rummaging through the dresser, then pulling out something extra. Something cold and slick presses against my ass. The lubed tip of a dildo.