Page 95 of The Idol

Now, Elior’s soft, sleepy snuffles filled the room, his body lax against mine.

I needed him to be reliant on me in all ways before the fast-approaching raid.

I kissed his temple, cock twitching at the thought. Soon, I’d own him completely—no more Father, just us.

It was tempting to fill Elior in about what was about to come. I was worried about how he’d react the day of, scared that he’d panic and somehow end up hurting himself. Telling him about the raid, explaining to him what it meant for him and for us—it would take away at least a little of that panic. But I couldn’t. And I hated that I couldn’t.

But I knew that my sweet boy wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from his father. He might’ve started to doubt Malachi’s teachings, but he still loved him—a fact I wasn’t too happy about.

I understood it, though. Elior had been yearning for his dad’s approval and affection for nineteen years. That wouldn’t just disappear after getting good dick a few times.

I’d spoken with Patel a few hours ago, handing over some audio recordings I’d risked my ass for—sermons where Malachi’s voice went from grandiose to deranged, a punishment session where the bastard had barely bothered to hide the pleasure he took in hurting someone. All of it captured on my phone, tucked under my robe, praying no one noticed.

Patel had gone quiet as he listened to them.

Then he’d said, voice rough,“This is it. With these, plus the missing persons connection and his mental deterioration, we’ll have enough. We’re drafting the affidavit tonight. Tentative timeline for the raid is forty-eight hours.”

Forty-eight hours.

Two days before everything erupted.

Two days before Elior’s entire world burned down.

Two days before I’d have to steal him from the wreckage and convince him he was better off with me.

My arms tightened around him instinctively as he breathed puffs of warm air onto my chest. He shifted in his sleep, burrowing closer.

The way Patel had ended our call was an ever-present concern, sometimes even clouding my excitement about getting Elior out of here.

“If Ransom’s escalating punishments like you describe, the kid might not survive much longer in there. We’re pushing this through fast. Man’s a ticking time bomb at this point. Everyone wants to get in there before we end up with another Jonestown incident. We’ll get you out before that can happen.”

I glanced down at Elior, at the peaceful lines of his face, at the faint marks on his neck from where I’d held him earlier, guiding him, coaxing him, grounding him. Every time I touched him, I made sure the pleasure hit deep—bone-deep—so it would be me he thought of when things got dark.

I brushed my fingers through his hair, letting my thumb sweep behind his ear until he sighed in his sleep. God, he was beautiful like this—unburdened, trusting, open.

My boy.

Mine.

But the clock was ticking. And I hated the thought of how terrified he might be when the raid hit—agents swarming, shouting, armed, the compound erupting into panic.

He’d cling to the nearest familiar anchor.

If that anchor wasn’t me… I couldn’t let that happen.

I needed him to think of me as safety.

As truth.

Ashome.

“Just a little longer,” I murmured against his hair. “Then I’ll get you out.”

He made a soft noise, like he heard me even in sleep, and tucked his toes between my ankles. I smiled despite the knot in my chest.

Forty-eight hours.

Two days until everything changed.