Chapter 5
FIVE
MIGUEL
The night smells like wet leaves and smoke from the bonfire my stepdad built in the front yard, mingling with cider and pumpkin spice that drifts through open windows of the house. Music pounds from inside, but I don’t hear it.
I hear him.
Caleb.
He slips out the back door, quiet and careful, thinking he’s clever. That’s fine. He can run—but he can’t hide.
Not from me.
In a change of clothes, a black hoodie and some basketball shorts, he takes off.
I lean against the shadow of the porch, mask still on.
The cool night air bites at my skin, but I barely notice.
All I notice is him. The slight rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his steps falter over the uneven ground.
His chest is already heaving from his panic, and his scent—sage, eucalyptus, and cedar—wraps around me like a drug I can’t quit.
It’s clean and crisp, and I can’t get enough of it.
He glances over his shoulder. I don’t move. I let him see the empty dark, the way the woods swallow him, and the way the night stretches long and silent.
And then I step forward.
He bolts.
Heart hammering, legs pumping, arms swinging slightly as he sprints past the old swing set, past overgrown shrubs. I follow. Silent. Patient. As calm as a predator on the hunt. Every step I take makes him twitch, glance back, and panic more.
“Run, little brother,” I whisper, voice low, curling through the night. “Come on. Make me earn it.”
He stumbles over the roots of a gnarled tree at the edge of the yard. I laugh softly behind the mask, a sound that doesn’t carry far. “Careful, pretty boy. Don’t trip too soon. I like watching you struggle.”
Primal hunger coils tight in my gut. The chase, all this tension, the fear coursing through him—every gasp, tremor, every glance over his shoulder—is mine to savor.
I let him gain a few steps, just enough to think he’s out of reach. He’s desperate, fast, scrambling over roots and fallen branches. He really should have considered running track in college. The moonlight barely reaches him; the darkness swallows him whole, but I know exactly where he is.
A branch snaps. He jerks. I grin beneath the mask. “That’s it. That little flinch? That’s the sound of remembering who owns you.”
He twists, looking back. His chest rises fast, sweat plastering hair to his forehead. Shorts riding up. I can smell him—warm, nervous, alive—and I tighten my grip on the desire coiling in my stomach.
“Faster,” I breathe, low and rough, letting my voice scrape across the shadows. “I know you can. Make me work for it. It’s not worth it if the prey is so easily caught. Make me earn every thrust I give you.”
He stumbles again, almost tripping over another root. His hands scrape against bark as he regains balance. He is perfection in every single way. Every flinch, every misstep makes me harder. The primal side of me hungers for it, for him, for the thrill of the hunt.
I could never get this feeling with anyone else.
Closing the distance, letting my shadow fall across him just long enough for him to feel it. I brush his shoulder with mine, just a touch, enough to make him stumble again, breath hitching.
“Careful,” I murmur. Lifting the mask and letting my teeth catch the shell of his ear. “I’m right here. Right behind you. Every shaky step. Every gasp of air. Every tremble—you can’t get away from me that easily, little brother.”
He darts left, weaving through trees, thinking he can lose me. But I let him go, just for a second, letting anticipation coil tighter in both of us. The thrill of almost catching him, hearing his frantic panting, and feeling his fear and desire makes every nerve in me hum.
“Miguel, we don’t need to do this.” He shouts through the trees. He glances back, eyes wide, lips parted, and I see it: the mix of panic and want.
He hates it.
He wants it.
Both at once.
“Run faster, little brother,” I whisper, voice rough, almost a growl. “Make me chase you harder. I want to hear your heartbeat in your throat and feel the tremor in your legs. That’s mine. Every single second of this struggle is mine.”
Dirt and leaves kick up under his sneakers. He twists his torso, looking over his shoulder, and I close the gap, fingers brushing his back as I chase. He gasps. I can hear the tremble in it.
“Don’t even think about stopping,” I pant, voice low and dangerous and out of breath. “I’ll ruin you if you do, Caleb. Right here. Right now. I’ll fuck you into the dirt. But I don’t want to do that… not yet.”
He glances back, chest heaving, his crystal blue eyes wild. The fear is beautiful. The desperation is addictive. Every step he takes, every flinch, every stumble makes my blood hum. I can feel him trembling under my gaze, even from behind.
We burst into a small clearing, moonlight cutting through the trees.
Branches scratch our arms and legs, leaves sticking to sweaty skin.
I let him think he’s gaining ground. Let him believe he’s outpacing me.
I can almost see the relief in his wide eyes before he catches the glint of my mask in the shadows.
I was the track star, while he was the basketball god.
Caleb will never outrun me.
I step forward. Silent. Ghosting through the dark. Caleb freezes, breath rattling in his chest, muscles taut.
“You’re fast,” I murmur, voice low and teasing, “but not fast enough. You’ll never outrun me, pretty boy.”
I brush past him, chest grazing his back, fingers catching his arm just long enough for him to gasp.
Heart pounding, his breath shallow, he nearly collapses to the ground.
Stepping back and letting him move again, teasing, stretching the tension between us for a little longer, letting the predator-prey dance play out in slow motion.
“Feel that?” I whisper, leaning close so he can feel the heat of my body brush his. “That little spike of fear? That’s yours. All yours. And I’m taking it. Every last drop.”
Leaves slap against his legs as he tries and fails to run away. He stumbles, recovers, and stumbles again. Every gasp, every shaky inhale, and every glance over his shoulder makes me want him more.
Makes me ache for him.
Has me grinning beneath the mask.
He’s tired.
I close the distance again, pressing just a little more, letting him stumble, letting him feel me. “Fuck you, Miggy.” He swears softly, a sharp, breathless sound. The fear.
His want.
It’s intoxicating and I want to be drunk on it forever.
“You think you can escape?” I whisper, slow and dangerous. “You’re a trembling mess, little brother. Panting and out of breath. You want me, and you know it. I can feel it. Every weak little shiver when I’m near you. That’s mine. Give in to it, Caleb.”
He stumbles hard over a root, twisting slightly, hands clawing at the dirt. I step up behind him, letting my chest brush his back. I lean over him. “Next time you run, I won’t let you slip,” I whisper, letting my voice scrape over his neck. “I take care of my things, pretty boy. You belong to me.”
He spins, nearly tripping again, eyes wide. I step back, letting him get a few frantic steps, giving him hope.
We enter a darker part of the woods, and I’d say we’re very near the creek now.
Trees crowd closer, leaves brushing our skin.
Darkness surrounds us and he thinks he’s lost me.
I let him think that. This must be doing a number on his anxiety and for a second, I feel guilty.
Let him gain a momentary sense of safety. Then a twig snaps behind him.
He jerks. Every muscle tenses.
“Little brother,” I tut, stepping out from the shadows. Hands on his shoulders for a brief, teasing second. “You can run,” I murmur, low and dangerous, “but you’ll never get away.”
He shivers under my touch. “Please, Miggy. I’m tired.”
“Run.” I pull away deliberately, letting him sprint again, letting the chase drag on, prolonging the anticipation. Every moment I let him think he’s safe makes the next approach even more thrilling.
Finally, the woods thin. The edge of the property is ahead; he doesn’t realize it but we’ve run one big circle and we’re back near the house.
He’s panting, chest heaving, hair plastered with sweat, shorts damp, and legs shaking.
I linger in the shadows, letting him believe he’s survived. Let him feel the false safety.
I step forward silently, the mask just a glimmer in the moonlight. “Run,” I whisper, “but remember… next time, little brother… I won’t let you get away. If you run from me again, I’ll ruin you right here in the dirt like the tease you are.”
And I retreat, shadows swallowing me as I watch him vanish toward the yard, chest rising and falling like the beat of a drum.
He’ll run again because all Caleb wants is for me to chase him. To force him to submit to me.
To make him mine.