Chapter 3 Jace
Jace
A week and a half had passed.
Every day, I came and stood watch outside Elior’s hospital room. Every day, I tried to talk to him. Some days were better than others.
Today hadn’t been one of them.
“When can I get him out of here?” I asked as I stood in the hall, watching him through the window, refusing to take my eyes off him.
I’d only been able to talk to him for maybe ten minutes before Patel and a security officer had forced me out of the room.
Arguing in the hallway, I had watched as a nurse had gone in after me to administer another dose of whatever psych med they’d been giving Elior.
Patel stood beside me. “Who says you’ll be taking him anywhere?”
I tore my eyes from the window and looked at Patel.
“What do you mean, who says?” I demanded. “He doesn’t have anyone else, and he’s not in custody, as far as I’m aware.”
Patel crossed his arms, posture rigid in that infuriatingly calm way of his. “You know what I mean. I’m not the only one who sees how fucked up this is.” He gestured between Elior and me.
I let out a humorless laugh. “Really?”
Patel frowned. “Do you really not see how this could be seen as a coercive relationship?”
I stepped closer, voice dropping. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, so why don’t you back off?”
“Or what?” Patel asked quietly. “You’ll hit me? Yell? That won’t change the facts, Agbayani.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, nails biting into my scalp. “What facts, Patel?” I hissed out his name.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced in the room again, at Elior lying curled on his side, IV in his arm.
“The ethics committee is involved. Internal Affairs is involved. Behavioral is involved. People noticed him calling you Daddy at the raid.” My teeth clenched.
“It’s obvious to all of us that he’s grown dependent on you, even if he’s currently trying to ignore you.
” He looked at me pointedly, a flair of disgust in his gaze. “You know what you did.”
I turned away, pacing a few steps down the hall before spinning back. “So what, you’re going to stick him with some stranger? A social worker he’s terrified of?” My voice cracked despite my effort to keep it steady. “If he really is dependent on me, what’s taking me away from him going to do?”
“I know,” Patel said. “Which is why no one’s made a decision yet.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
I stopped pacing, hands clenched at my sides. “Am I being pulled from the case?”
Patel hesitated just long enough to answer the question without words.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Should’ve known from how the debrief went. Fuck. Just because the kid likes me?
Patel looked at me like I was crazy. “You told him that he’s yours and you’re never leaving him—literally right in front of me.
You called him ‘baby’, for God’s sake. You said you love him.
You’re fucking high if you don’t see how that breaks conduct.
” He sighed, rubbing at his brow like he was fighting a migraine.
“They’re debating whether you should be allowed any contact with him at all—at least until he’s stabilized.
Some—no, a lot—of people think you’re too close to the situation. ”
I stared at him for a long second. “Too close,” I repeated flatly. “Because?”
Patel held my gaze, unimpressed. “Because you keep treating him like he belongs to you.”
Because he does, I wanted to roar.
I forced a breath through my nose, counted it out the way, and calmed my expression.
“He’s nineteen,” I said evenly. “He was raised in an isolated, abusive religious compound. He was physically assaulted by his dad twice while I was undercover. I comforted him, so, of course, he latched on to the first consistent source of safety he’s ever known.
That doesn’t make me a predator—it makes me a stabilizing factor. ”
Patel’s eyes narrowed. “I never called you a predator.”
I almost smiled. “You were thinking it.”
“To be honest with you, everyone is thinking it.”
I shrugged. “If they want information from him, they’re going to need me. Predator or not.”
“You’re so fucking full of yourself.”
“Listen to me,” I went on, quieter, steadier.
“He doesn’t understand jail. Or the FBI.
Or investigations. He understands safety and punishment.
That’s it. If you take me away from him, he will interpret that as punishment—as abandonment.
” I let just enough edge into my voice to sound earnest. “You’ll break him. I’m sure psych will agree with me.”
Patel searched my face, like he was looking for a lie. He wouldn’t find one.
“Higher-ups are meeting again tonight,” he said. “Until then, your contact is provisional.”
I nodded once. “Understood.”
He studied me for another second, then shook his head. “Christ, Jace. You really don’t see how dangerous this is, do you?”
I did.
Just not in the way he meant.
“I see exactly how dangerous it is,” I replied.
Patel turned and walked down the hall, footsteps fading.
I stayed where I was.
Through the glass, Elior shifted in his sleep, a faint, restless sound leaving his throat.
My hand lifted before I thought better of it, resting against the window.
Mine, I thought calmly.
I stood there for a while, palm flat against the cool glass, feeling the faint vibration of the hospital’s ever-present hum through it.
Elior’s eyelids fluttered, his lips parting in a soft, needy whimper that twisted something deep in my gut. He was searching for me, even doped up on whatever cocktail they were pumping into his veins.
Good boy. That’s right. Feel me even when I’m not there.
Patel’s warning echoed in my head, but it was just noise. Ethics committee? Internal Affairs? They could poke and prod all they wanted. They didn’t understand.
Elior wouldn’t be leaving here with anyone but me.
Even if he’d been a bit resistant lately.
My gaze dropped to the IV line snaking into his arm, the steady drip of meds keeping him pliant and docile.
If it weren’t for those damn cameras that I knew were watching, I’d push through that door right now.
I’d lock it behind me, yank the curtains shut, and climb onto that bed.
Press my body over his until he woke up gasping under me.
I’d start slow, just to tease him out of that haze.
Trail my fingers down his neck, over the pulse jumping there, then lower, shoving up that thin hospital gown.
Expose his pretty pale skin to the air, watch his little pink cock twitch and harden as I wrap my hand around it, my thumb circling the head until precum slicks my palm.
He’d arch into it, moaning my name—Daddy—his hips bucking like he couldn’t help himself.
But I wouldn’t let him come yet. No, I’d pin his wrists above his head with one hand, the other sliding between his thighs.
Spread him open, fingers probing that tight little hole, pushing in dry at first to make him whine and squirm.
Then I’d lube up and fuck him open with two fingers, then three, scissoring them until he was loose and begging, tears streaking down his cheeks.
I’d flip him onto his stomach, ass up, face buried in the pillow.
Pull his hips back and slam my cock inside him in one thrust, burying in deep where he couldn’t escape me.
Pound into him hard, relentlessly, each snap of my hips marking him as mine.
Feel his walls clench around me, milking my shaft as I growl promises for the future in his ear.
Our future.
I’d make him come like that, untouched, spilling onto the sheets while I filled him up, hot cum flooding his ass until it leaked out around me. Then I’d hold him close after, petting his hair, whispering how good he was, how he’d never leave me—because he wouldn’t.
Not ever.
The thought had my cock straining against my pants, throbbing with the need to do it now.
But the cameras… fuck. I glanced up, spotting the lens staring back.
Not yet. Soon, though. I’d get him out of here, away from prying eyes, and then I’d be able to do whatever I wanted with my precious possession.
Elior stirred again, his hand twitching toward the empty space beside him. I pressed my palm harder against the glass, willing him to feel it.
“I’m here, baby,” I murmured. “I’ll get you out of here.”
I just needed to get him to trust me enough first.
* * *
The next week was rough, to say the least—I was being kept away from Elior for all but twenty minutes a day, dependent on whether or not he agreed to see me.
And during that small time allotment, I was always being monitored—no closed doors, no whispers, no lingering hands.
Every interaction between us was carefully logged, then dissected.
To be fair, I understood why.
Their concerns were valid.
That didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
And it definitely didn’t help that each time I passed Elior’s room, fucking Patel was there. Sitting in the chair I should’ve been in, speaking to him softly, adjusting the lights, bringing him water.
I told myself it was fine.
I told myself it didn’t matter.
I told myself that Patel was temporary.
But every time I saw Elior turn his head toward the door when Patel entered—every time I saw relief soften his face—I felt something hot and ugly coil tight in my chest.
In a way, I was grateful for Patel—in a very, very, very small way.
After all, he was helping to take care of Elior in my involuntary absence. Even as jealous as I was, I didn’t want Elior to be miserable.
That being said, he wasn’t exactly not miserable, even with Patel diligently doting on him. And when the interviews and evaluations started, it only got worse.
First, there was the psychologist. He stayed for hours at a time. I’d see Elior afterward sometimes, his eyes glassy, exhausted in a way sleep didn’t fix.