The Sadistic Sculptor

The private room reeked of tension, the kind that could set fire to oxygen. Dim lighting bathed the space in shadow, where Jeremy sat at the head of the table, a predatory calm cloaking his massive frame. His fingers traced the edges of the gun, each movement deliberate, calculated. Across from him, Landon King lounged in his chair, deceptively composed, though his dark eyes sparked with defiance and curiosity.

The revolver glinted under the dim light as Jeremy’s fingers spun it on the table. The weapon seemed alive, its presence amplifying the unspoken challenge in the room.

“Are you just going to sit there and fondle it, Volkov?” Landon broke the silence, his voice cutting and smooth. “Or do you have a point to make?”

Jeremy smirked, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. He stopped spinning the gun, his gaze locking on Landon’s. "Patience isn’t your virtue, is it, King?"

"Not when I’m being entertained by mediocrity." Landon’s words dripped with mockery, though his posture remained as unshakable as stone.

Jeremy chuckled, a deep sound that echoed in the small room. He opened the gun’s cylinder, sliding a single bullet into the chamber. “Then let’s make it interesting.”

Landon’s gaze didn’t waver, even as Jeremy spun the chamber, the mechanical click echoing like a countdown.

“This isn’t just Russian roulette,” Jeremy said, leaning forward. “We’re going to play truth or trigger.”

Landon raised an eyebrow. “Truth or trigger? Sounds like a game for children.”

Jeremy’s smirk widened. “Oh, it’s a game for monsters. Answer a question truthfully, or I pull the trigger. Lie, and I’ll know. Refuse to answer…” He clicked the gun shut and placed it on the table, sliding it toward Landon. “And I’ll pull the trigger anyway.”

Landon let out a short laugh, leaning forward to pick up the gun. The weight of it settled in his palm as though it belonged there. “And what do you get out of this, Volkov? Validation? A hard-on? Or just the satisfaction of trying to scare me?”

Jeremy tilted his head, his smirk softening into something darker, more intimate. “I get what I want, as always. And what I want right now is to strip you bare—piece by piece. Let’s see what’s under that pretty mask of yours.”

Landon’s lips quirked, a challenge dancing in his eyes. “Fine. Who starts?”

“I do.” Jeremy leaned back, his gaze steady as he delivered the first blow. “Why do you hide behind that charm, Landon? What are you so afraid of?”

Landon’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning in full force. “Afraid? That’s a strong word. I prefer ‘selective about my vulnerabilities.’”

Jeremy’s hand shot out, gripping Landon’s wrist as he guided the gun toward Landon’s chest. His voice dropped an octave, low and commanding. “Answer. Truthfully.”

Landon swallowed hard, his pulse fluttering against the barrel pressed to his ribs. “Fine,” he said, his voice quieter but steady. “I’m afraid of being seen for what I really am—weak, worthless, replaceable.”

Jeremy’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered with something unspoken. He released Landon’s wrist, gesturing for him to take his turn.

“Your turn, Volkov,” Landon said, spinning the cylinder before sliding the gun across the table. “Why do you hold everyone at arm’s length? What are you hiding behind that cold exterior?”

Jeremy didn’t hesitate. He picked up the gun and held it to his own temple, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Maybe I just don’t care about anyone.”

“Bullshit,” Landon snapped, leaning forward. “Pull the trigger if you’re lying.”

The corner of Jeremy’s mouth twitched. He exhaled slowly, lowering the gun. “Because caring means weakness. And weakness gets people killed.”

Landon’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment before sharpening again. He picked up the gun, spinning it once more. “Who was your first love, Jeremy? And don’t you dare lie.”

Jeremy’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “You’re treading dangerous ground, King.”

“Truth or trigger,” Landon reminded him, his tone infuriatingly calm.

Jeremy’s hand clenched into a fist on the table. “Her name was Alina,” he said finally, the words like gravel. “She died because of me.”

The air thickened as silence stretched between them. Landon didn’t push, didn’t gloat. He simply nodded, as though acknowledging the weight of Jeremy’s confession.

Jeremy snatched the gun, the abrupt movement making Landon’s pulse spike. He stood, circling the table until he was behind Landon’s chair. He leaned down, the cold barrel of the gun trailing along Landon’s jawline.

“Your turn,” Jeremy murmured, his voice a rough caress. “What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve ever had about me?”

Landon’s breath hitched, the sensation of the gun against his skin sending a shiver down his spine. He tilted his head slightly, meeting Jeremy’s gaze with bold defiance. “Fucking you until you break.”

The gun pressed harder against his jaw, and Jeremy’s breathing turned heavier. “Careful, Landon. You might get exactly what you wish for.”

Landon’s smirk widened, his own breathing uneven. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

The tension snapped like a taut wire. Jeremy grabbed Landon by the collar, yanking him out of the chair and slamming him against the table. The gun clattered to the side as Jeremy pinned Landon down, his larger frame looming over him.

“You want me to break?” Jeremy hissed, his voice a dangerous growl. “Then you’d better be ready to shatter, too.”

Landon opened his mouth to retort, but the words were swallowed by Jeremy’s brutal kiss. It wasn’t gentle; it was a collision of teeth and tongues, a clash of dominance neither was willing to yield.

The gun was back in Jeremy’s hand, cold metal trailing down Landon’s throat, over his chest, before dipping lower. Landon gasped, the mix of fear and arousal intoxicating as Jeremy’s control consumed him.

“You want to play games, Landon?” Jeremy murmured, his voice low and lethal. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

Landon’s response was a breathless laugh, his eyes blazing. “All the way.”

And Jeremy made sure he did.

He didn’t waste a second. His mouth descended on Landon’s again, bruising and relentless, their teeth clashing as tongues tangled in a war of control. Landon moaned into the kiss, his fingers clawing at Jeremy’s shirt, desperate for contact, for anything to anchor him.

But Jeremy wasn’t giving him that satisfaction. No, Jeremy was in control, and he intended to keep it that way.

He pulled back abruptly, leaving Landon gasping for air, his lips swollen and slick. Jeremy’s cold, dark eyes drank in the sight of Landon sprawled on the table, disheveled and desperate, and a smug smirk tugged at his lips.

“Look at you,” Jeremy murmured, his voice dripping with disdain and desire. “You’re supposed to be the composed one, the King with all the answers. But now? You’re nothing but a needy mess.”

Landon’s chest heaved, his eyes blazing with defiance even as his body betrayed him. “If you think I’m going to beg, Volkov, you don’t know me at all.”

Jeremy chuckled darkly, his gloved hand sliding down Landon’s chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Oh, you’ll beg,” he said, his tone a dangerous promise. “And you’ll love every second of it.”

Without warning, Jeremy grabbed the hem of Landon’s shirt and yanked it over his head, tossing it aside. Landon’s lean, sculpted torso was now on full display, his pale skin flushed and his muscles taut. Jeremy’s eyes roved over him, a predator savoring its prey.

“You’re beautiful, King,” Jeremy said, almost mockingly, as his fingers trailed down Landon’s chest to the waistband of his pants. “Let’s see how much more you can take.”

Landon’s breath hitched as Jeremy’s hands worked the button and zipper with practiced ease, peeling the fabric away to leave him bare. The cool air of the room kissed his heated skin, and he fought the instinct to cover himself, to hide from Jeremy’s penetrating gaze.

But Jeremy wouldn’t allow it.

“Hands on the table,” Jeremy ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

Landon hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with his need. Then, slowly, he placed his palms flat on the table, spreading his fingers wide as if daring Jeremy to push him further.

“Good boy,” Jeremy murmured, the words a mix of praise and mockery.

Jeremy remained fully clothed, the dark fabric of his suit pristine and imposing against Landon’s naked vulnerability. The contrast wasn’t lost on either of them, and Jeremy seemed to revel in the power imbalance.

He picked up the gun again, the cold metal gleaming ominously in the dim light. He trailed it down Landon’s body, starting at his neck, over his collarbone, down the center of his chest, until it rested just above his navel.

Landon shivered, his body taut as a bowstring. “Is this how you get off, Jeremy? Holding a gun while you pretend to be in control?”

Jeremy’s smirk turned cruel as he pressed the barrel of the gun against Landon’s hip, the metal cool against his burning skin. “I don’t pretend, Landon,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I am in control.”

He flipped Landon onto his stomach with ease, pressing him against the cold wood of the table. Jeremy’s gloved hand gripped the back of Landon’s neck, holding him in place as the gun traced along the curve of his spine.

“You want me to fuck you, King?” Jeremy hissed, leaning close so his breath ghosted over Landon’s ear. “Say it.”

Landon growled, turning his head to glare at Jeremy. “Fuck me, Volkov. Or are you all talk?”

Jeremy didn’t need to be told twice.

The gun was still in his hand, the barrel sliding down until it pressed between Landon’s thighs. Landon gasped, his body instinctively tensing before he relaxed, giving in to the sensation of cold steel against his most sensitive skin.

Jeremy’s other hand gripped Landon’s hip, pulling him back slightly as he maneuvered the gun with precision and intent. “You like this, don’t you?” Jeremy taunted, his voice a dark caress. “The thrill, the danger. You’re just as fucked up as I am.”

Landon bit his lip, refusing to give Jeremy the satisfaction of an answer. But his body betrayed him, the flush spreading across his skin, the way he arched into every touch, every press of the gun.

Jeremy’s smirk widened as he pressed the gun further, the cold metal sending shocks of sensation through Landon’s body. His movements were deliberate, unrelenting, as he pushed Landon to the brink of sanity.

“Beg,” Jeremy growled, his grip on Landon’s hip tightening.

“Fuck you,” Landon spat, though his voice was ragged, his resolve cracking.

Jeremy leaned down, his teeth grazing Landon’s shoulder before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. Landon cried out, his hands gripping the edges of the table.

“Beg,” Jeremy demanded again, his voice a harsh whisper against Landon’s ear.

Landon finally broke, the words tumbling out in a breathless gasp. “Please… fuck me, Jeremy.”

Satisfied, Jeremy removed the gun, tossing it onto the table with a loud clatter. His hand replaced it, stroking and teasing until Landon was a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him.

When Jeremy finally took him, it was with a ferocity that bordered on cruel, every movement claiming and consuming. Landon matched him thrust for thrust, their moans and curses filling the room as they pushed each other to the edge and beyond.

When it was over, Landon collapsed onto the table, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Jeremy stood behind him, still fully clothed, his gaze dark and unreadable as he watched Landon’s spent form.

“You’re mine now, King,” Jeremy murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t forget that.”

Landon turned his head, his lips curving into a faint, defiant smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

The distant hum of the party faded as Nikolai and Brandon stepped out onto the sprawling lawn. The night was serene, the sky an expanse of stars shimmering against the velvet darkness. A cool breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint echoes of music from the mansion behind them.

Brandon walked a few steps ahead, his hands tucked into his pockets. His pale blue shirt was slightly rumpled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked over his shoulder, his dark blue eyes soft when they met Nikolai’s.

“You didn’t have to follow me, you know,” Brandon said, his voice quiet.

Nikolai smirked, his long strides quickly closing the distance between them. “Where else would I be? Besides, the party was dull without you.”

Brandon huffed a small laugh, turning his gaze skyward. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am.” Nikolai’s tone was playful, but his eyes carried a tenderness he reserved only for Brandon.

The two stood in comfortable silence, the stars casting a soft glow over them. Brandon crossed his arms, glancing at Nikolai from the corner of his eye. “Do you ever get tired of chasing me out of these things?”

Nikolai stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Never.”

Brandon rolled his eyes but didn’t move as Nikolai reached for his hand, threading their fingers together with ease.

“I have an idea,” Nikolai said, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Brandon raised a brow. “Should I be worried?”

Nikolai tugged him gently, pulling him into an open space where the grass was soft beneath their feet. “Dance with me.”

Brandon blinked, caught off guard. “Dance?”

“Yes, Lotus Flower. Dance,” Nikolai replied, his tone teasing but warm. “It’s not as dangerous as you’re making it sound.”

Brandon hesitated, his gaze flickering between Nikolai and the mansion. “There’s no music.”

“There’s always music,” Nikolai said, drawing him closer.

And then, softly, Nikolai began to hum. The low, soothing melody wrapped around them like a warm blanket, grounding Brandon as Nikolai placed a hand on his waist and entwined their fingers.

Brandon let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, resting his free hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re so beautiful,” Nikolai countered, his blue eyes locking onto Brandon’s.

Brandon’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away. Their steps were unhurried, swaying gently to Nikolai’s tune. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them beneath the vast, starlit sky.

“You’re good at this,” Brandon murmured after a while.

Nikolai’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “I have the best partner.”

They danced in silence, the connection between them speaking louder than words. Brandon’s head eventually came to rest against Nikolai’s shoulder, and Nikolai tightened his hold, his thumb brushing small circles against Brandon’s side.

“You’re safe with me,” Nikolai whispered, his voice barely audible above the breeze.

“I know,” Brandon replied, his voice equally soft.

For a moment, everything felt perfect. The stars bore witness as they moved together, their hearts beating in quiet harmony.

The room was bathed in soft, golden afternoon light that spilled through the wide windows of Glyndon’s art studio. It illuminated the scattered sketches, half-finished canvases, and jars of paint brushes that filled the space. In the center of it all sat Glyndon, cross-legged on the floor with a sketchbook in her lap. Her honey-colored hair was tied back, and her brows furrowed in concentration as she moved her pencil across the page.

Mia sat nearby on the worn leather couch, her pale blue eyes scanning the room with curiosity. Her presence was silent but grounding, her usual quiet demeanor offering a comforting counterbalance to Glyndon’s focused intensity.

“Okay,” Glyndon said finally, setting her pencil down and holding up the page. She bit her lip, hesitant. “What do you think?”

Mia leaned forward, her gaze falling on the drawing. It was a sketch of her—soft, intricate, and brimming with emotion. Glyndon had captured the curve of her lips, the sharpness of her jaw, and the way her eyes seemed to hold an entire galaxy of unspoken words.

Mia’s lips parted slightly, her expression unreadable. Then, she reached out, her hand brushing the edge of the paper with a kind of reverence. She looked at Glyndon, her eyes shining with something unspoken, before she signed, Beautiful.

Glyndon flushed, ducking her head. “It’s just a sketch. Nothing fancy.”

Mia grabbed Glyndon’s wrist gently, stopping her from deflecting. She shook her head and pointed at the drawing again, her expression insistent. It’s more than that.

Glyndon’s throat tightened. She always struggled with confidence, especially when it came to her art. But Mia’s unwavering support felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice soft.

Mia gave her a small, encouraging smile, then leaned back against the couch. She pulled out her phone, snapping a quick picture of the sketch before Glyndon could stop her.

“What are you doing?” Glyndon asked, panic creeping into her voice.

Mia grinned mischievously and turned the phone to show Glyndon the post she was crafting. “Look what my insanely talented girlfriend made. Isn’t she amazing?”

“Mia!” Glyndon groaned, reaching for the phone, but Mia held it out of reach, her laughter silent but bright in her eyes.

The post went up, and within minutes, Glyndon’s phone buzzed with notifications. Comments poured in, full of praise and admiration.

You're really good, Mia signed, her expression proud as she watched Glyndon’s flustered reaction.

“Stop it,” Glyndon muttered, though her lips twitched in a reluctant smile.

Over the next few weeks, their routine became a dance of quiet encouragement and unspoken understanding. Glyndon drew Mia again and again, each sketch a reflection of the person who had slowly become Her Anchor, Her Muse. Mia, in turn, began showing the sketches to others, proudly carrying Glyndon’s work with her wherever she went.

One day, as they sat together in the studio, Mia pulled Glyndon into a rare embrace. Her arms were strong and steady, and when Glyndon leaned into her, she felt like she was finally standing on solid ground.

“You don’t have to say anything, Mia,” Glyndon whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve already said everything I needed to hear.”

Mia pulled back slightly, her hands moving with purpose. And you’ve shown me I’m enough, just like this.

Glyndon smiled, her heart swelling with warmth. “Always.”

They weren’t perfect, and the road ahead was still uncertain. But together, they were learning to quiet their fears, one sketch, one moment, and one unspoken word at a time.

The low, rumbling growl of Mia’s motorcycle echoed through the quiet night of the town, as she slowed down, turning her head slightly to glance at Glyndon, who sat behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

“Enjoying the ride, Princess?” Mia teased over her shoulder, her blue eyes glinting with amusement in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t call me that,” Glyndon grumbled, though the wind tugged a laugh from her lips. She tightened her hold, her cheek brushing against Mia’s shoulder. “And yes, surprisingly, I am.”

Mia smirked, revving the engine slightly. “Told you this would be fun. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Debatable,” Glyndon replied, though her relaxed posture betrayed her words.

The road stretched ahead, a winding ribbon of asphalt cutting through a scenic blend of bright lights and tall buildings. Mia picked up speed, weaving expertly through the empty streets. Glyndon felt her heartbeat sync with the rhythm of the bike, the rush of adrenaline blending with the rare sense of freedom she always found with Mia.

Just as they rounded a street, the roar of another set of engines reached them. Mia slowed slightly, tilting her head. “What the hell—?”

A sleek black bike zoomed past them, the familiar figures of Nikolai and Brandon astride it. Nikolai was at the handlebars, his expression focused yet relaxed, while Brandon leaned tightly against him, both arms around his waist. The sight of Nikolai’s amused smirk was enough to make Mia groan.

“Of course it’s them,” she muttered, earning a laugh from Glyndon.

Brandon glanced back, raising a hand in a brief wave. Nikolai gave a lazy nod, his sharp gaze lingering on Mia and Glyndon for a moment before they sped off, the deep purr of their engine fading into the distance.

“Think we’re the only ones out here?” Glyndon asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

Before Mia could respond, another sound of a bike roared up behind them. Jeremy and Landon came into view, the powerful machine kicking up a light spray of gravel. Landon, clad in a black leather, that was obviously Jeremy’s, shot the two girls with an amused smirk, he glanced up ahead over Jeremy’s shoulder, watching as Sokolov’s bike got farther away from them.

“Do try to keep up, Volkov!” Landon called over his shoulder, his voice full of challenge.

Jeremy’s lips curved into a rare grin as he revved his bike, the sound vibrating in the air. “You talk too much,” he shot back, accelerating effortlessly to catch up to the retreating bike in the distance.

Mia rolled her eyes as the two raced past, their intensity palpable even from a distance. “They’re going to kill each other one day. Or worse, someone else.”

Glyndon shook her head, unable to stifle her laughter. “At least they look like they’re having fun.”

The sound of yet another engine reached them, and this time, Maya and Cecily pulled into view, their helmets glinting in the moonlight. Maya rode at a safer pace, gesturing animatedly as she shouted something to Cecily, who nodded against her shoulder with a soft smile.

Maya’s eyes lit up when she saw Mia and Glyndon, and she slowed her bike momentarily. “Hey, losers! Nice night for a ride!”

“Clearly, it’s a family outing,” Mia replied dryly, earning a playful shove from Glyndon.

Cecily gave a small wave, her silver hair escaping slightly from under her helmet. “Be careful,” she called, her voice tinged with gentle concern before Maya hit the throttle again, leading them back onto the open road.

Mia glanced at Glyndon, her smirk returning. “Ready to leave them all in the dust?”

Glyndon tightened her grip on Mia’s waist, her laughter bubbling over. “Do your worst.”

Mia revved the engine, the powerful rumble vibrating beneath them as they surged forward, the thrill of speed and the open road carrying them far beyond the chaos of their siblings and their partners.

The soft glow of morning filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the luxurious suite. Killian stirred first, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheek as he slowly opened his eyes. The ache in his muscles brought a sharp awareness, and his lips twitched with a mixture of annoyance and satisfaction.

Eli lay beside him, propped on one elbow, his stormy gray eyes already watching him with quiet intensity. A smirk curved his lips as he traced a finger down Killian’s spine, lingering over the faint red marks decorating his skin.

"Good morning," Eli drawled, his voice smooth and low. "How’s my husband feeling?"

Killian grunted, his face half-buried in the pillow. “Like someone decided to treat me like a punching bag.” He shot Eli a pointed glare, though the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

Eli’s smirk widened as he leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to Killian’s shoulder. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.” His hand trailed lower, teasingly skimming the curve of Killian’s hip.

Killian groaned, both at the touch and the smug tone in Eli’s voice. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you married me,” Eli quipped, nipping lightly at Killian’s shoulder. His fingers found their way to Killian’s waist, tugging him closer as his lips moved down his back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Killian shivered under the attention, his usual sharpness dulled by the lingering haze of pleasure and Eli’s unrelenting teasing. “Don’t get too proud of yourself,” he muttered, his voice betraying a hint of breathlessness.

Eli chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent. “Too late.” He shifted so he could hover over Killian, brushing stray strands of dark hair away from his face. “You’re stunning like this, you know.”

Killian rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away, his fingers reaching up to curl around the back of Eli’s neck. “If you keep talking, I’ll kick you out of bed.”

Eli leaned down, his lips brushing against Killian’s in a slow, lingering kiss. “You’d miss me too much.”

Killian responded to the kiss, his grip tightening as he pulled Eli closer, their bodies tangling once again in the early morning light.

“You’re lucky I do,” Killian muttered against Eli’s lips, his sharp edges softened in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“And I plan to remind you of that every morning,” Eli murmured before reclaiming Killian’s lips, the day beginning just as it had ended—with them lost in each other.

The dimly lit room reeked of damp concrete and stale air. Brandon King sat in the middle of it, his wrists bound behind him with coarse rope that dug into his skin. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling as he tried to keep panic at bay. Across from him, his captor—the man who had been following him for weeks—paced back and forth, muttering incoherently.

“You’re so perfect,” the man murmured, his wild eyes darting toward Brandon. “Helping people, smiling at everyone like they matter. But they don’t. Only I matter. You’ll see that soon enough.”

Brandon swallowed hard, his mind racing. He’d dealt with all kinds of people during his charity work, but he had never imagined one of them would take things this far. His only solace was knowing Nikolai would realize something was wrong soon.

Where are you, Niko?

Nikolai Sokolov was in the middle of a Bratva negotiation when the call came. His head bodyguard hesitated as he handed Nikolai the phone, his normally impassive face betraying concern.

“Speak,” Nikolai barked, his tone sharp and impatient.

The voice on the other end was frantic. “Brandon—he’s missing. Someone took him.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Nikolai’s vision tunneled, the room fading into the background. “Where?” His voice was low, dangerous—a calm before the storm.

“We don’t know yet. He was last seen at the charity center, but his car was found abandoned miles away.”

Nikolai ended the call without another word, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He turned to his men, his expression a mask of icy determination. “Cancel everything. We’re going back. Now.”

Nikolai arrived in Brighton Island hours later, his private jet touching down as the sun dipped below the horizon. His presence alone sent waves of unease through the city’s underworld; the Punisher was back, and his wrath was imminent.

Using every connection, favor, and threat in his arsenal, Nikolai pieced together fragments of information. It didn’t take long to track down the man responsible—a small-time criminal with a penchant for obsession and a history of stalking.

When Nikolai found the location—a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of town—he didn’t hesitate. His bulk easily blended into the shadows, his men flanking him as they cleared the building room by room.

The sound of boots on concrete snapped Brandon out of his dazed state. His captor froze, his head snapping toward the door as it burst open with a deafening crack.

Nikolai strode in, his imposing frame radiating raw, unrelenting fury. His icy blue eyes locked on Brandon, softening for a fraction of a second before hardening again as they shifted to the man holding him captive.

“Let him go,” Nikolai growled, his voice low and deadly.

The man’s hand trembled as he pulled a knife, pressing it to Brandon’s neck. “Stay back! I’ll—I’ll kill him!”

Nikolai’s lips curled into a cold, predatory smile. “You won’t even get the chance.”

In a blur of motion, Nikolai closed the distance between them. The knife clattered to the floor as the man screamed, Nikolai’s hand twisting his arm at an unnatural angle. The captor crumpled to the ground, his cries echoing in the empty room as Nikolai loomed over him.

“You dared to touch what’s mine,” Nikolai hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “Now, you’ll pay the price.”

Brandon blinked as Nikolai’s hands freed him, the rough rope falling away. The moment he was untied, Nikolai pulled him into a fierce embrace, his arms wrapping around him protectively.

“Lotus Flower,” Nikolai murmured, his voice tense. “I’ve got you.”

Brandon clung to him, burying his face in Nikolai’s chest as relief and exhaustion washed over him. “You found me,” he whispered.

“I always will,” Nikolai replied, pressing a kiss to the top of Brandon’s head.

Behind them, Nikolai’s men dragged the unconscious captor away. Nikolai will deal with the man later; his only focus was on his Lotus Flower.

As they left the warehouse, Nikolai tightened his hold on Brandon, his gaze cold and unyielding as he stared into the distance. No one would ever touch his Lotus Flower again—not if they valued their life.

The underground biker race roared to life under a sky cloaked in moonlight and smoke. Engines growled, neon lights flickered, and the crowd buzzed with excitement. The illegal track sprawled out in twists and turns, with a hefty prize awaiting the winner—enough to impress any lover.  

Jeremy Volkov stood by his sleek black motorcycle, his arm slung casually around Landon King’s waist. Landon, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, that’s undoubtedly, one of Jeremy’s, glanced around with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.  

“This is…different,” Landon remarked, his voice light with teasing.  

Jeremy smirked, his gray eyes locking onto him. “Only the best for you, Кукла (Doll).”  

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the track, Nikolai Sokolov leaned against his bike, towering over Brandon King, who crossed his arms, feigning disinterest.  

“This better be worth it,” Brandon said, side-eyeing Nikolai.  

“You’ll see,” Nikolai replied, his voice smooth and laced with mischief. “I plan to win something for you, Lotus Flower.”  

The twins, unbeknownst to each other, stood at opposite ends of the chaotic venue, each utterly oblivious to the presence of the other.  

---

The starting signal blasted through the air, and the bikes shot forward, a blur of speed and adrenaline. Jeremy and Nikolai dominated the pack, their engines roaring as they cut through the competition.  

Landon stood near the edge of the track, his heart racing as he watched Jeremy maneuver with ruthless precision. Beside him, Jeremy’s little sister, Annika, chuckled.  

“Jeremy’s pulling out all the stops,” Annika cheered, elbowing Landon.  

Landon rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the twitch of his lips. “He better.”  

On the opposite side, Brandon watched Nikolai weave through the competitors, his jaw clenched despite the thrill coursing through him. Maya leaned over with a smirk.  

“Niko’s going to win, you know,” she said confidently.  

“He better not embarrass me,” Brandon muttered, though his lips twitched with amusement.  

---

As the race neared its end, the crowd surged forward, cheering wildly. Jeremy and Nikolai were neck and neck, their bikes screaming down the final stretch. With a daring move, Jeremy crossed the finish line a hair’s breadth ahead of Nikolai.  

Landon cheered, his hands clapping as Jeremy dismounted and strode toward him. His grin was wide, cocky, and entirely victorious.  

“Looks like I’m the best, after all,” Jeremy said, pulling Landon into his arms.  

On the other side, Nikolai parked his bike and approached Brandon with a wolfish grin.  

“I’ll admit, I let him win,” Nikolai said, his voice dripping with mock humility.  

Brandon snorted, crossing his arms. “Sure you did.”  

As the crowd shifted, the pairs began to gravitate toward the prize podium. It was then, amidst the chaos, that the twins spotted each other.  

“Landon?” Brandon’s voice cut through the noise, sharp with confusion.  

Landon froze, his eyes snapping to his brother. “Brandon? What the hell are you doing here?”  

The realization hit them like a lightning strike. Landon’s gaze flicked from Brandon to Nikolai, his jaw dropping.  

“You’re dating him?” Landon asked, pointing an accusatory finger at Nikolai.  

Brandon’s eyes widened as he looked between Landon and Jeremy. “And you’re with him?”  

Jeremy and Nikolai exchanged amused glances, their expressions utterly unapologetic.  

“You knew about this?” Landon demanded, turning to Jeremy.  

“Of course,” Jeremy said, his smirk widening. “Best friends don’t keep secrets.”  

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Brandon asked, glaring at Nikolai.  

“Where’s the fun in that?” Nikolai said with a shrug, his hand slipping around Brandon’s waist.  

The twins exchanged a mix of disbelief and exasperation before turning back to their partners.  

“This doesn’t mean we’re okay with it,” Landon said, though his protest lacked conviction.  

Brandon sighed, shaking his head. “We’re going to need a long conversation after this.”  

Jeremy leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “How about we save that for later? Right now, you owe me a kiss for that win.”  

Nikolai mirrored the sentiment, pulling Brandon closer. “And you owe me for making you look good out here.”  

Despite their indignation, the twins couldn’t help but soften under their partners’ touch.

Landon King prided himself on control—over his art, his life, and most of all, his emotions. But Jeremy Volkov made that damn near impossible. Every calculated glance, every stolen moment, every smirk aimed his way chipped at Landon's carefully constructed walls.  

Now, standing in the dimly lit corner of a lavish gallery where they’d been dancing around each other for weeks, Landon knew the game was coming to an end. Jeremy’s piercing gray eyes held him captive, daring him to deny the inevitable.  

“I’m done waiting,” Jeremy murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers racing down Landon’s spine. The larger man’s presence loomed, intoxicating, as he stepped closer, invading Landon’s space with a predatory grace that left no room for escape.  

“Waiting for what?” Landon shot back, his tone as defiant as ever, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him.  

Jeremy’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, but his gaze was anything but amused. It burned with intent, a promise of what was to come. “For you to stop running from me, Кукла. (Doll)”  

Landon barely had time to process the words before Jeremy’s hand wrapped around his wrist, firm but not harsh. A silent command, one Landon’s body obeyed before his mind could catch up.  

---

The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air. Landon watched Jeremy’s profile in the dim light of passing streetlamps, his heart thudding in his chest. There was no mistaking the determination etched into the sharp lines of Jeremy’s face.  

When the car stopped in front of a private estate, Landon’s curiosity peaked, but he held his tongue. Jeremy led him inside, his grip unwavering as they moved through sleek, modern hallways until they reached an expansive bedroom dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows. The city skyline glittered in the distance, but Landon barely noticed it.  

“What is this?” Landon asked, finally finding his voice.  

Jeremy turned, his intense gaze pinning him in place. “This is where you stop pretending you don’t want this.”  

Before Landon could respond, Jeremy closed the distance between them. His hands cupped Landon’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone with a tenderness that contradicted the storm brewing in his eyes.  

“Tell me to stop,” Jeremy said, his voice rough, barely controlled.  

Landon’s lips parted, but no words came out. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting.  

“I thought so,” Jeremy murmured before capturing Landon’s lips in a searing kiss.  

---

Heat bloomed between them, igniting every nerve in Landon’s body as Jeremy claimed his mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Landon’s hands found their way to Jeremy’s broad shoulders, clutching at him as if he were the only thing keeping him grounded.  

The kiss deepened, all-consuming, until Jeremy pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together. His breath was hot against Landon’s lips, his voice a gravelly whisper. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”  

Landon’s chest tightened at the raw vulnerability in Jeremy’s words, but before he could respond, Jeremy’s lips were on him again, tracing a fiery path along his jaw and down his neck.  

“Jeremy…” Landon’s voice was breathless, his resolve crumbling with every touch.  

“Say my name again,” Jeremy demanded, his hands roaming over Landon’s body, mapping every curve and hollow as if committing him to memory.  

“Jeremy,” Landon repeated, his voice breaking on a gasp as Jeremy’s teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his collarbone.  

Clothes disappeared in a frenzy of movement, leaving them bare and exposed in every sense of the word. Jeremy’s hands and lips were everywhere—devouring, worshipping, possessing—until Landon felt like he might combust from the sheer intensity of it all.  

When Jeremy finally guided him to the bed, his movements slowed, a stark contrast to the earlier urgency. He hovered over Landon, his gaze softening a little, as he took in the flushed skin, the swollen lips, the darkened blue eyes.  

“You’re mine, Landon,” Jeremy said, his voice steady, resolute. “Say it.”  

Landon’s breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate. “I’m yours.”  

The words seemed to unlock something in Jeremy. He kissed Landon again, this time with a reverence that left Landon trembling beneath him.  

What followed was a night of unrestrained passion, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony, each touch and caress speaking the words neither had dared to say before.  

As the first light of dawn filtered through the windows, Landon lay tangled in the sheets, his body deliciously sore and his heart dangerously full. Jeremy’s arm was draped possessively over his waist, his face relaxed in sleep.  

For the first time in a long time, Landon felt at peace. And as he drifted off, he knew there was no going back.

The tension at Royal Elite University reached its zenith as Jeremy Volkov stormed through the lush campus grounds. His icy blue eyes, typically calm with calculated malice, now burned with urgency. The Heathens trailed behind him, their murmured questions drowned out by his singular focus.

"Jeremy, what the hell is going on?" Nikolai's deep voice boomed. He had kept pace, his towering frame a shadow at Jeremy's side. 

"I don’t have time to explain," Jeremy snapped without slowing. "Landon’s hurt."

That statement silenced the group momentarily, confusion and disbelief flitting through their features. 

"Landon King?" Gareth asked, disbelief heavy in his tone. "Why would you care?"

Jeremy stopped abruptly, his fists clenching as he turned to glare at the group. "I said I don’t have time for this." 

Without waiting, he resumed his march. Nikolai fell in step beside him, his brows furrowed as he pieced together the unusual behavior. Jeremy Volkov didn’t do panic—yet here he was, tearing through their campus like the devil himself was chasing him.

---

Inside a small art studio tucked away from the main buildings, Landon King sat on the floor, his back against the wall. Blood quickly seeped from a gash on his arm, the result of an encounter with a sharp-edged sculpture. His head lolled to the side, exhaustion weighing heavy on him. 

All he wanted was to close his eyes for a bit—but the noise outside the studio suggested that peace was a distant dream.

The door slammed open, and Jeremy’s imposing figure filled the doorway. His gaze immediately zeroed in on Landon, his chest heaving from the effort of his sprint.

Landon’s lips curled into a faint smirk. "You’re making a scene, Darling."

Jeremy didn’t respond. He crouched beside Landon, inspecting the wound with a rare gentleness that only Landon gets to see. "Why the hell didn’t you call me sooner, Кукла (Doll)?"

"I can handle a little scratch," Landon muttered, though his pallor said otherwise. His head tilted back, revealing the dark circles under his eyes.

Jeremy gritted his teeth, his jaw ticking. "You’re an idiot." 

"You’re predictable." Landon’s voice was soft, teasing. "I knew you’d come."

Before Jeremy could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. Nikolai appeared, followed by both the Heathens and the Elites, who heard the commotion. The room suddenly felt smaller as the two groups collided—tension crackling in the air like a live wire.

"What is this?" Nikolai’s voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "Jeremy? King?"

The silence stretched. Jeremy’s posture shifted, instinctively protective as he positioned himself between Landon and the crowd. 

Glyndon King pushed her way to the front, her eyes darting between her injured brother and the Russian. "Landon, what’s going on?"

"Nothing, for you to worry about, Glyn." Landon said tiredly, but the effort of speech seemed too much. He slumped further against the wall.

Jeremy growled under his breath, his icy façade cracking. "Back off. He needs rest."

"Since when do you care about him?" Creighton’s voice cut through the noise. The Elites bristled, their suspicion clear.

Jeremy straightened, his gaze sweeping over the room with calculated precision. "This is none of your business."

"He's our business," Glyndon snapped, stepping forward. "You don’t get to waltz in here and claim otherwise."

"Enough!" Nikolai’s voice was a whip crack in the room. His expression was unreadable, though his attention lingered on Landon. "Jeremy, what are you hiding?"

The weight of the room's stares settled on Jeremy, but his focus remained on Landon. "He’s mine. That’s all you need to know."

Exclamations rippled through the room, and chaos erupted. Voices overlapped as accusations and demands for explanations filled the air. The Elites were outraged; the Heathens were stunned. 

But through it all, Jeremy stayed rooted to Landon’s side, his hand hovering protectively over the injured man’s shoulder.

"Let them talk," Jeremy said softly, his tone low enough for only Landon to hear. "You’re staying with me, Моя кукла. (My Doll)" 

Landon’s tired gaze met his, and despite the commotion around them, a faint smile tugged at his lips. "I wasn’t planning on going anywhere." 

The noise faded into the background as the two men exchanged a look that spoke volumes. For now, the world outside could wait.