Page 17 of Coach’s Son (Twin Cities #2)

Drew

Charlie’s too bloody easy to wind up. All it takes is a bit of petrol in the can, a spark on the line, and then you pull the strings.

The more you wind, the messier it gets—like a weed whacker tearing through a graveyard at full tilt.

You don’t know what you’ll shred next. Maybe it’s just grass, maybe it’s plastic flowers left behind by some grieving widow, maybe you nick the edge of a gravestone and leave a scar that can’t be buffed out.

A permanent reminder that somebody fucked up.

That’s the thrill of it. The anticipation.

Knowing that every time I spin him tighter, I’m dragging him closer to breaking.

Eventually he’ll crack, and when he does, I’ll be chewing my popcorn watching him scream in agony as Austin chooses me over him.

He’ll become a ghost of himself for a bit, but then he’ll get over it. He always does.

He’ll thank me one day, even if he can’t see it now.

I suppose I may as well finish my Bloody Mary before heading out.

There’s only one cardinal sin I won’t commit, and that’s leaving a drink unfinished.

Alcohol’s the sweet release—a second dimension where the noise in my head turns into order.

Where I can plot, scheme, and enjoy the thrill of it all without the sober itch gnawing at me.

Charlie? He’s always been dramatic. What’s he going to do when he stumbles across Austin on his knees, lips stretched around my prick, finally choosing the sexier brother?

Beg Austin to stop? Bloody pathetic. Sounds just about right for my baby brother—pleading while his golden world crumbles in front of him.

I’ll savour every second while he realises his place once again.

Silly, silly Austin. Did he really think he could scurry away from me—his King? I saw him sneak out the side garage door, in his posh beamer, I planted a tracker on all of those vehicles last weekend in case this scenario happened. A perfect insurance policy for this instance.

Wherever he runs, I’ll find him. Hell, if it comes to it, I’ll hunt him by scent. Those pouty lips won’t get far before I’ve got them gasping around my fingers.

Stepping out of the restaurant, I pull my phone from my pocket.

One glance at the screen and there he is.

Oi, Lover Boy’s already past Ely. Bold move, driving that far out in the middle of the storming darkness last night.

A long trek for someone who should learn a lesson.

Distance doesn’t save you from me. It only stretches the string I’ll use to pull you back.

He could fly halfway across the world, vanish into some forgotten bush village in Alaska, and it wouldn’t matter.

I’d still catch him within the week—maybe two, if I felt like taking the scenic route through Kenai and Denali.

A holiday for me, a nightmare for him. Because it’s not about speed. It’s about inevitability.

I want him terrified. I want him to feel the weight of my shadow no matter where he runs.

To realize that every mile he puts between us is just another mile I’ll enjoy erasing.

He can lie to himself all he wants, but deep down he knows the truth: I’m everything he’s running from—and the only thing he’ll ever run to.

Maybe I ought to make a stop, pick up a few new toys at my favourite shop, Velvet Restraint.

The thought makes me grin as I fire up the Rover, the engine rumbling like it knows the chase is on.

My luck is endless; Velvet Restraint is right on the way toward Ely.

As if the universe itself is bending to my will, clearing the path for what’s meant to be.

Call it fate. Call it destiny. Or whatever you like. Austin’s mine. Every turn of the road only proves it. He thinks he’s fleeing, but really he’s guiding me straight to him. Leading himself into my jaws like a lamb too na?ve to understand why the wolf is smiling.

Soon enough, those pouty lips will learn obedience. Soon enough, my little lamb will know the wolf was never chasing—he was waiting for cold lamby to return home, for the darkness guide him back to his master.

Pulling into the strip mall parking lot, I throw the SUV in park.

I walk in the store, the air is thick with leather, walls covered in temptation. My eyes wander, calculating, already picturing him in every piece. What to get… what will rattle him most?

Scarlet lingerie catches my eye—delicate lace meant for softness, not a lad like him. Perfect. I’ll make him wear it, watch the shock bloom across his pretty face as he realizes there’s no escape but surrender. He’ll pull it on for me, trembling, and still look devastatingly mine.

Then the ropes. A full set in black velvet, soft enough to caress, strong enough to restrain. One for each limb. And of course, a matching gag—something to silence those protests, to turn every muffled groan into music only I get to hear.

That’ll do, for now. Enough to strip him of Charlie’s golden facade, enough to remind him who he belongs to. He’ll thank me with his whimpers, squirming and grateful for every inch of generosity I grant him.

But my Lover Boy won’t understand until it’s too late that the gift isn’t the velvet binding his wrists or the silk brushing his skin. The true gift is me.

It’s the privilege of being chosen. The privilege of kneeling beneath my gaze, of receiving the blessed sacrament I’ll bestow upon him. To taste me, to swallow what no one else will ever be offered, to let my seed root itself inside him until it burns away all petty thoughts of escape.

Because in the end, only I can be his salvation.

I am the current running through him, the electrical impulse that commands his heart.

It beats when I allow it, stutters when I will it, and one day—if I choose—it will stop altogether.

His life is already wired into mine, tethered by something deeper than blood or bone.

He doesn’t see it yet, but soon he will. Every gasp he takes, every thrum of his pulse, every shiver racing his spine—it all answers to me.