â ïž CONTENT WARNING:
This story contains explicit gay sexual content, infidelity, taboo family dynamics, and dark themes. Reader discretion is advised.
Previously: CH. 1 | CH. 2 | CH. 3 | CH. 4 | CH. 5 | CH. 6 | CH. 7 | CH. 8 | CH. 9 | CH. 10 | CH. 11 | CH. 12
Chapter Thirteen
The elevator ride back from Sub-Level 7 felt like a slow ascent from the guts of hell. I couldnât get back to the surface level fast enough. My stomach churned with every floor I gained, the image of those hollow-eyed locals burned into the back of my eyelidsâstrapped down like animals, murmuring in a daze, with tubes snaking from their veins as if they were nothing more than test subjects. That vial of Compound L, and the cologne bottle sitting right next to itâHeraldâs signature scent, that mix of bourbon and cedarâhad been weaponized into a tool that could strip someone of their very will. Every breath I took felt thick and tainted, like I was inhaling his toxic control with every lungful.
My hands shook so god damn much as I shoved my phone into my pocket, the anonymous text screaming at me in the silence of my mind: Theyâre controlling you.
Fuck, they werenât kidding.
The elevator dinged with a cheerful clinical tone, the doors sliding open to reveal the chrome-and-glass excess of the East Tower lobby. I forced my face into a mask of blank indifference, my steps measured and robotic as I rejoined the polished flow of Neo-Edenâs eliteâshadowy figures in tailored suits, prattling on about mergers and tech I couldnât begin to understand. I had to get back to the penthouse, back to the lionsâ den where Herald, Victor, and Leroy waited, and pretend I hadnât just peered into the sick underbelly of this twisted paradise.
My skin crawled at the thought of facing Herald again, of smelling that scent on him and knowing, truly knowing, what it might be doing to my own brain.
The monorail ride back was nothing but a feverish blur, my mind spinning until I felt dizzy. Who sent that text? How did they know exactly where to point me? And if Herald was the one behind thisâfuck, if he was dosing me or Leroy with that chemical shitâhow long had this puppet show been going on? Was last night even my own choice, or was I just a doll dancing on nanobot strings?
The thought made me want to puke right there on the clean floor, but I swallowed the bile down, gripping the metal rail until my knuckles were white as porcelain.
My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird when I got to the penthouse suite. The space felt eerily empty, the morning light still pouring through the windows in deceptive golden stripes, but the silence felt like a snare.
I could still smell the ghost of last nightâthe sweat, the sex, the heavy bourbonâclinging to the air, a reminder of everything I was now forced to question.
My eyes darted to the bathroom, to where Iâd seen Heraldâs cologne sitting on the marble counterâI moved fast, nearly tripping over the tangled silk sheets on the bed, and snatched it up.
It was definitely the same bottle, with those same deep brown accents and same texture. I twisted the cap off, and the scent hit me like a physical punch, thick and suffocatingly familiar.
My stomach dropped into my shoes.
Was this it? Was this Compound L?
âLooking for something, Charlie?â Heraldâs voice sliced through the quiet like a razor, and I damn near dropped the glass bottle on the tiled floor, spinning around to see him leaning against the frame of the doorway. He had his arms crossed, that predatory smirk firmly in place, pinning me to the spot. His shirt was still unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to show off those corded forearms, and his midnight-blue eyes seemed to read right through me.
I forced a shaky laugh, holding up the cologne like it was just a curiosity. âJust checking out your taste, man. Smells expensive. What is this, some kind of custom blend?â
His gaze flicked to the bottle, then back to me, narrowing just enough to make my pulse spike. He stepped closer. âYou donât look like youâre just ⊠checking out my taste ⊠You look like youâve got something on your mind. You didnât just âlie downâ during brunch, did you?â His tone was low, dangerous, each word a probe digging for cracks.
My mouth went dry, panic clawing at my chest, but I held his stare, scrambling for a way out.
I couldnât let him push, couldnât let him smell the truth on me. Not yet. I needed to buy time.
Setting the bottle down with a clink, I stepped toward him, closing the gap, my voice dropping to a rough whisper. âI was here, Herald. Just ⊠needed a break from the noise. But now that youâre here, maybe I can think of something better to do than talk.â
His brow arched, suspicion still flickering in his eyes, but I didnât give him a chance to press.
I dropped to my knees, my hands reaching for his belt, fingers working the buckle with a speed born of desperation.
His breath caught as I tugged the leather free and popped the button on his pants.
âCharlie, what the fuck are youââ he started, but I cut him off, yanking his zipper down and pulling his cock free. He was already half-hard, thick and heavy in my hand, and I didnât hesitate, wrapping my lips around the tip and sucking eagerly.
His words turned into a low groan and his hand gripped the back of my head.
âShit,â he muttered, his voice rough now, suspicion giving way to heat as I took him deeper, my tongue flattening against the underside, working him with a kind of focus I didnât know I had. I hollowed my cheeks, bobbing my head, letting the wet heat of my mouth do the talking.
His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling just enough to sting, and I groaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk forward. I gagged at the sudden protrusion in my throat, but welcomed the stretch.
