22. Im a good boy.
Chapter twenty-two
I'm a good boy...
Nick
T he room spun, the elegant furnishings blurring into a slurry of pain and fear.
A sharp, throbbing ache pulsed in his left middle finger—or what was left of it.
The tip had been cut off at the knuckle, the wound still raw and seeping.
His seventh failed attempt to escape. He’d gone somewhere strange in his head during the amputation, a place where the pain couldn’t reach him.
Nick’s sobs muffled against fabric, rough and chafing against his mouth. Gianmarco’s eyes, usually so cold and calculating, held a strange intensity as he removed the gag with a gentle touch.
“Where did you go just then, kitten?”Gianmarco asked, his voice laced with curiosity and a dark undercurrent that made Nick’s stomach churn.
Nick’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the question. Hehadno answers, only the echoing screams of his own pain and the distant realization that he failed again. Gianmarco’s face transformed, a look of delight and hunger spreading across his features.
“We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again,”Gianmarco said softly, his fingers trailing over Nick’s cheek, leaving a chill in their wake.
“Nick? What’s wrong? Hey, what’s—”
Caleb?
A wave of dizziness crashed through Nick, and he stumbled, his balance off. Gianmarco steadied him with a firm hand, his touch gentle but unyielding.
“Let’s try something different this time, kitten,”Gianmarco murmured, his voice a low purr.“I want to hear you say my name. You’ve never done that, have you?”
“P-please,”he stammered, his voice cracking.“I-I’ll be good. I’ll cut off the rest of my finger. Just please don’t—”
Gianmarco leaned in, his breath cool against Nick’s ear.“Say it, kitten. Say my name.”
Nick’s lips trembled as he tried to force the words out.“G-Gianmarco,”he whispered, the name tasting like bile in his mouth.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across Gianmarco’s face.“Good boy,”he murmured, his fingers tightening on Nick’s shoulder.
“What did you do to him?”
No…Caleb, you can’t be here, not now.
His vision blurred and suddenly hewasstumbling back, his hand throbbing, the knuckles on his fists sore, his pants caught around his ankles. In Gianmarco’s room…
No.
Gianmarco touched his jaw, a smile spreading across his features. Not his angry smile—it was delight.
“Caleb, stay with your brother. I need to speak with Luka privately.”
I want to be back with Luka. Luka is safe.
Then the world blurred as Nick crashed into a dresser, pain exploding through his ribs. Before he could recover, Gianmarcowason him, flipping him onto his stomach, knee pressing into the small of his back.
He gripped Nick’s hair, yanking his head back at a painful angle.“I wonder what will sound better, when you scream my name or moan it.”
“Nick, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry about everything. Please come back,”Caleb’s hushed whisper echoed.
I’m trying.
“Stay with me, kitten,”Gianmarco huffed into his ear, his weight pressed against Nick’s body, his hand pressed so hard against Nick’s skull hewassure it would shatter.
He meant to say no, but pain ripped through him as Gianmarco began his calculated destruction. He couldn’t breathe. Hewasgoing to die from this. He hoped he would die from this.
“Nick? Nick?”Oh no, he sounds scared.
I need to get out of here.
“Stay with me,”Gianmarco commanded, fingers digging into Nick’s ribs, his pace changing.“Say my name again, kitten.”
“He’s not breathing,”Caleb’s voice cracked.“Luka, what do I do? He’s not breathing!”
The flooring beneath him shifted, the texture hard, cheap linoleum. He could hear feet moving. But theywereso far.
Hewason something soft. Too soft. The bed. Nick sobbed, unable to form words.
“Such a good boy,”Gianmarco panted against his neck.
He reached for something on the nightstand—the familiar leather case containing his carving tools. Nickwastoo broken to resist as Gianmarco selected a thin, sharp blade.
Music drifted into his consciousness as Gianmarco continued to speak, drowning out vile words Nickwassure he remembered.
I know that tune.
The first cutwasshallow, precise—the letter ‘G’ appearing in a thin line of red across Nick’s inner forearm.
“Repeat after me,”Gianmarco instructed softly.“I’m a good boy.”
Nick’s lips moved without thought, his voice hollow and distant.“I’m a good boy.”
The music got louder. And something else.
“Again,”Gianmarco commanded, carving the letter ‘O’.
Whistling?
“I’m a good boy,”Nick whispered, tears falling onto the fresh cuts.
Someone is whistling Jupiter.
The melody wrapped around him like a lifeline, pulling him up through layers of memory and pain. The whistling grew clearer, more insistent, cutting through Gianmarco’s voice like light through darkness.
That’s real. That’s happening now.
The marble floor beneath him wavered, becoming uncertain. Gianmarco’s face blurred at the edges, his voice fading.
Luka. Luka is whistling.
A sharp gasp tore from Nick’s throat, his lungs burning as air rushed back in. Fragments of memory and reality bled together.
Marble. Linoleum. Expensive silk. Cheap fabric.
His vision swam, unable to focus on any one thing. Wherewashe? Whenwashe? The scentswerewrong—too clean, missing the copper tang of blood and expensive cologne.
But the words spilled out anyway, conditioning overriding conscious thought.
“I’m a good boy.”
The phrase hung in stale air that didn’t smell like Gianmarco’s penthouse. Nick blinked hard, trying to force his vision to clear. Slowly, shapes began to resolve around him.
Cheap paneling. A small window. The smell of dust and old coffee.
Not Chicago. Not the penthouse.
The whistling stopped, but the melody still echoed in his mind, grounding him piece by piece. Nick became aware of arms that held him without restraint. He could move if he wanted to. The realization sent a shudder through his frame.
“Safe,”a damaged voice whispered against his ear.
Luka’s facewasa mess—red-rimmed eyes, bloody tear tracks staining his pale cheeks, nose running. But his expression held only gentleness, only patience.
Heat flooded his face, shame crawling up his neck as full awareness returned. The wetness on his cheeks. The shaking in his limbs. The way hecollapsed, the things he said.
Nick let the last of his resistance drain away, his rigid posture collapsing as he sagged fully into Luka’s embrace. The vampire’s arms tightened immediately, grounding him in the here and now. Nick’s hand came up, gripping Luka’s shirt with desperate fingers.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
The submissive tried to creep back in, whispering that he needed permission to speak, to move, to exist. Nick shoved it down, focusing instead on Luka’s strong arms around him.
Movement in his peripheral vision made his heart stutter. Nick turned his head—
Caleb knelt beside them both, his scarred face crumpled with anguish. Without hesitation, Caleb threw his arms around both Nick and Luka, pulling them into a fierce, desperate embrace.
“I’m so sorry Nick, I’m so sorry,”Caleb sobbed against his shoulder, the words muffled but clear.
Nick didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. The stubborn strength of the hunterwasn’tthere to keep his emotions in check, the fragments of his shattered selfweren’tthere to try and make things right, so he just did the only thing that he could.
He cried.