“Word has it you gave Aiden Taylor-Chapman enough heroin to kill an elephant.”

Bobby had been picked up over Angelo’s shoulder, put into the back of a car and driven a long way. Hard to tell how far exactly, but by his reckoning he wasn’t in the city anymore. The road had gone smooth, like they were on the freeway, and then it had become rougher, not off road, but less well sealed road. The sort of road that led to things like forests. Places to dispose a body.

Bobby had prepared himself to look into a shallow pine-needle infested hole in the dirt, but Angelo had been true to his word. He didn’t have death in mind. Not yet, anyway.

When the hood came off again, Bobby found himself in a very well decorated room without a single window. A large bed dominated the space, an old colonial four poster.

After pulling the hood off Bobby’s head, Angelo went and reclined on the bed, his shirt partially open revealing a hard muscled chest. He’d discarded his shoes and he had a tumbler of Scotch or something in his hand. Bobby was left on the floor a few feet away, his hands shackled to an iron ring in the floor. There were more of those rings around the room, and on the bed. This was a room belonging to a well organized sicko.

The restraints left him sitting in a weird position, his bared caned ass pressed against a mercifully soft carpet pile. How many of Vitali’s men had seen him with his ass hanging out? Enough, Bobby guessed. Fuck. The stories were going to circulate now.

“Bobby?” Those full lips quirked and a dark brow rose in his direction.

“Hm?” Bobby looked at Angelo, almost having forgotten what they were talking about. Oh right. The question about Aiden. “Yeah? He’s a junkie.”

Angelo smirked to himself and took a sip of his drink before replying.

“Another rule of business, kid. Don’t kill off known heirs to massive fortunes. The old man won’t be around forever. When he passes, Aiden will be worth billions. And then you have a billionaire in your pocket.”

“He wasn’t worth it.”

“No?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Angelo tapped his finger thoughtfully against the glass.

“You know, there’s been talk of you looking for the rich boy for a while. Nobody seems to know why.”

“That’s between me and him.”

Angelo cocked his head and spoke in those frustratingly paternal tones. “You don’t get to have secrets from me, Bobby.”

Bobby took a deep breath and stood, or rather, sat, his ground. “You’re going to have to drag that one out of me, Angelo.”

Angelo’s lips spread in a shark like smile. “You know I will.”

Bobby pressed his lips closed. Yeah, Angelo could draw it out of him, but he was going to hold on to that secret for as long as he could. What had happened between him and little rich boy Aiden Taylor-Chapman would go with him to the grave if he had anything to do with it.

“I’ll let you keep your little secret for now,” Angelo said. “When I next ask for it, you’ll give it.”

He spoke with total certainty. Bobby felt a little chill, believing him.

“What am I going to have to do to get out of here?”

Angelo sat up, his shirt falling open a little more to reveal a well-defined six pack. “You’re going to have to convince me that you’re not going to be a problem.”

Bobby bit his lower lip.

“You could have avoided this,” Angelo said, running a hand through his silver touched hair. “But you wanted it hard, didn’t you.”

“I wasn’t going to be bullied out of my business.”

“No,” Angelo said with one of those dark brooding smiles. “You weren’t, were you. You’re going to live to regret that, Bobby.”

He stood up and walked around behind Bobby. Bobby felt the shackles which had been used to clip his wrists to the ring loosen and then open. He still had his wrists tied behind him, and he still had his ankles tied together too.

“Get up.”

Bobby stood slowly and with difficulty, his legs and arms cramped. He almost lost his balance, but Angelo prodded him up back upright before he could take a tumble.

Angelo was very tall. Well over six foot. Bobby wasn’t short, but Angelo dwarfed him.

The man pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket and flipped it open, the beautiful blade catching the light as it spun in his fingers.

“You want to be free, Bobby?”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“You’re going to have to submit.”

Submit? Fuck that. Bobby hadn’t gotten anywhere by submitting to anyone or anything. His life had been marked by struggling against every force trying to keep him down. Being born poor had taught him that submission was the absolute most dangerous thing anyone could do. He had zero intention of submitting to Angelo. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend short term. Whatever it took to get out of this man’s clutches.

Angelo lifted the blade up so it was between their faces, the sharp double edge reflecting a malicious gleam. Bobby felt his pulse quicken. Was this a threat? Fuck. He couldn’t do anything with his feet and hands tied. Angelo could slit his throat and that would be the end of it. He had to remind himself that Angelo didn’t want to kill him. He did want to mindfuck him though.

“Can you submit, Bobby?”

“Yes,” Bobby lied through his teeth.

Angelo let out a soft laugh and reached out, running the tips of his fingers over Bobby’s scalp. The brief touch felt nice until those strong fingers clenched into a fist and then the knife was at his throat, the point of it just below his chin.

“Don’t ever lie to me, boy.”

Bobby stayed still as he could as cold steel pressed against his skin.

“Can you submit, Bobby?”

“No.”

“A truthful answer, even though it’s wrong,” Angelo purred. “That’s all I’m asking for. Honesty. You’ll be wrong about so many things, but I don’t ever want you to tell me what you think I want to hear, understand?”

“Yes.” Bobby gritted the words out. He was being held like a chicken about to be slaughtered. What choice was there?

“Good.” Angelo lowered the blade slowly away from Bobby’s neck. Instead of cutting his throat, it sliced through the ropes at Bobby’s hands. In an instant, they were free. Now. Now was his chance.

Bobby clenched his fist and swung.

Angelo laughed, the blade spinning as he closed it and put it away in his pocket with one hand, catching Bobby’s fist with the other. It was as if Bobby was moving in slow motion compared to him, almost as if he was punching in a dream.

“Silly little boy,” he said, dragging Bobby over to the bed. “Should have waited until your feet were free. Then you would have been able to muster some kind of power.”

Bobby took a face full of duvet as Angelo critiqued his escape attempt.

“Timing, Bobby. It’s everything,” be said, his hand sweeping through the air to find Bobby’s cane welted ass. The pain of a palm slapping the marks was not to be underestimated. Bobby couldn’t help but scream out as that earlier hell fire was reignited in the most painful of ways.

“You’re going to hate me,” Angelo said evenly, as if the idea didn’t bother him at all. “I don’t care about that. I’m not going to ask for your affection, or for your loyalty. I’m not going to ask for anything but your submission. And Bobby, punching me is not submissive, is it?”

“No!” Bobby yelled the word.

Angelo worked his ass over, laying hard slap after hard slap over his caned ass until Bobby was on the brink of tears. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take the pain. It was that he couldn’t stand the sheer frustration. He should be able to take Angelo on. The man was twice his age! He should be faster, and far more dangerous. But he wasn’t.