Chapter 6 - Damian #2
I narrow my eyes, lean closer, let my voice cut low and cold.
“Aren’t you the one who came here looking for it?”
His breath hitches. His grin falters, reforms, wider, sharper, reckless to the bone. He knows exactly what I mean. He’s the one who walked over. He’s the one who opened his mouth. He’s the one who begged for this.
He came to me.
And he’s not running.
His grin’s too wide, reckless fire spilling out of him. He’s still waiting, still pushing, still daring me to snap the leash he tied around his own throat.
I let the silence burn a second longer, then cut it clean.
“Go back to the boys before I forget my manners, pup.”
The word lands heavy. His grin snaps into a scoff, lips curling, pride flashing hot under all those bruises.
“I’m not a pup.”
I hum, eyes pinning him where he stands. My head tilts, hair falling forward, mouth curling at the scar.
“Prove it.”
The rooftop is chaos—Cole chanting curses at the skyline, Shane trying to balance beer cans into a pentagram, Mats pretending he’s too good for all of it. But between us? It’s silent. Taut. The air stretching, his breath catching, my restraint pulled thin.
He came to me. He asked for this. And now I’ve thrown it back into his hands.
His grin trembles, reckless but not unsteady. His voice cracks around it, but he still asks, soft, hungry—
“How?”
The word hangs between us, swallowed by the chaos on the roof.
The boys are loud—Cole’s chanting something obscene into the night, Tyler’s being dragged into another round of shots he doesn’t want—but none of it matters.
All I hear is him. All I see is Mercer standing too close, looking up at me like he’s begging for orders.
So I give him one.
“If I told you to get me a hat trick,” I ask, “would you? Even if it’s difficult?”
“Yes, sir.”
No hesitation.
My lip curls faintly. “If I told you to skate through Haverton’s defense until you collapsed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I told you to bleed for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Each answer comes faster, instinctual. He doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t even think. The leash is already tied too tight.
I let the silence stretch, then tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “If I told you to let me kiss you right now, would you?”
His breath catches—but his answer doesn’t.
“Yes, sir.”
No pause. No stumble. The word rips out of him raw, desperate, shameless.
Heat curls low in my chest. He doesn’t see what he’s giving me—every yes, every surrender, every piece of himself handed over without realizing the cost.
So I press harder.
“If I told you to get on your knees for me?”
“Yes, sir.” His voice shakes, cheeks flushed, but it’s still instant.
“If I told you to let me wreck you?”
His face flames red, eyes wide, chest heaving—but the answer doesn’t change. “Yes, sir.”
Every word brands him deeper. Every question knots the leash tighter.
And Elias Mercer—cocky, reckless, feral—keeps saying yes.
His face is blazing red now, cheeks flushed, curls sticking to his forehead, chest heaving like every yes costs him air. But he doesn’t stop. He hasn’t faltered once.
So I lean closer.
The rooftop chaos fades—Cole yelling curses, Shane balancing beer cans, Mats pretending he’s not watching. It’s just him and me. My mouth dips low, close enough that my breath stirs the hair at his temple.
One last question. Filthier. Crueler. The kind that would split him open if he answered wrong.
“If I told you to let me bend you over right here, where every single one of them could see what you’re good for…”
He jerks, whole body stiffening, breath catching like I just punched the air out of him. For a second—one fragile second—I think he might break, might stumble, might finally choke on that reckless mouth of his.
Then he swallows, eyes burning, lips parted—
“Yes, sir.”
The word is quiet. Shaky. Softer. But it’s still instant. Still absolute. Still obedient.
My jaw tightens. My chest burns. He doesn’t even know what he’s given me—how far down the leash he’s crawled. He’s not drunk enough to blame it on the booze. He knows exactly what he just said.
And God help him—so do I.
My restraint snaps one notch looser.
I lift my hand, slow, deliberate, and press two fingers under his chin. His breath hitches, eyes flying wide, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just stares up at me, waiting.
I tilt his head back, force him to hold my gaze.
“Good boy.”
The words cut low, curling into him like a brand.
His whole body shudders. A flush creeps down his throat, blooming hot across his chest. His mouth parts, no reckless words to cover the wreckage. Just silence. Silence and obedience, carved out of him clean.
I let it hang there for a beat longer, my fingers steady under his chin, the leash pulled tight. Then I release him, slow, deliberate, stepping back into the shadows of the rooftop chaos.
He stays frozen.
Cole’s still howling, Mats is leaning smug against the rail, Shane’s trying to hex the city skyline. Elias doesn’t move. Doesn’t follow. Just burns in place, vibrating with everything I’ve carved into him.
Cole shoves a drink into my line of sight like he’s offering tribute. I take it without hesitation, tip it back, and drain it in one pull. The whiskey burns down my throat, sharp and clean, nothing compared to the heat already crawling under my skin.
I lower the glass, glance at Cole. “Don’t let Mercer drink anymore tonight.”
Cole blinks, then grins wide. “Yes, Cap.”
That’s all. No questions. No pushback. Just obedience.
I set the cup down, cut through the noise, and leave the roof. The party rages on behind me, their voices echoing through the stairwell, laughter rolling over the night.
I don’t look back.
The door to my hotel room shuts behind me with a heavy click. Silence presses close, thick and still, a stark contrast to the chaos above.
I sit at the edge of the bed, peel the tape off my knuckles, and stare at the faint trace of his eyes in my head.
Elias Mercer.
Rookie. Pup. Reckless bastard.