Chapter Text
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Silence fell in waves around Vander through the entrance to the canteen and up the higher levels of the open-air prison. With the hoards of jeering bastards giving him a widening berth, the air felt cooler, cleaner, even as the stench of extracted minerals and despair could never leave this gutted place. The hell of Runeterra.
At his feet, one battered man tried to reach for a helping hand from one of the onlookers. None came forward. The other, on his back staring up at Vander through the slits of his swelling eyes, tried to hurl another curse but only choked on more blood. There were seven in total. This time. Seven goons in the prison’s white and black stripes who, like many before them, had looked at Vander as if he and they weren’t the same stuck creatures in this pit. Not fighting for food or water. No, food was there if you worked for it and water trickled down the mouth of the pit continually. This display of violence was strictly for power and pride. Power in a place where they had none and pride that Vander had long since stopped caring about.
And now seven men were brutalized, lying in the soot and dirt of this prison with no hope at all of getting up to work in the mines come morning, let alone crawl back to their cells tonight.
Vander shook his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes, his own striped shirt tied around his waist, his t-shirt spotted with blood that would stain. He looked up at the crowds before asking his current challengers, “Are you lot done yet?” His hands were painted with their blood, numb from pounding their faces and cracking up their ribs.
No response. “Anyone else want to compare dick sizes,” his voice boomed, rising up the mouth of the pit, “or have I made my point, gentlemen?”
Again, no response. Vander stepped over the man, helping himself to the food haul that had dropped off the metal pan the man had used to hit Vander with when this whole thing started. Bread, some jerky, and a pack of cigarettes he pocketed. No one said a word. He picked up his own ration before making his way back to his cell.
But it wasn’t over. Maybe for the night, maybe even this week, but there was always a brand new day.
He’d only been stuck in this pit for two months now. Vander might still fall for the occasional surprise, but in these two months, he’s shed the last layers of things like naivety and trust that he’d brought with him from the outside, just like he’d shed the last possible remnants of his boyhood. He’s not the biggest man here, but certainly well within the top five. Early on, he’d assumed that would count for something. It didn’t. They still challenged him.
Now, why were all these men here? These killers, vicious criminals, monsters? To dig aimlessly underground in pursuit of Piltover’s fortunes, or to fight for their entertainment on the lowest level, in their ‘arena.’ Nothing more or they’ll put you down. Nothing less or the prison itself will eat you up and spit you out.
Vander’s seen men crushed by cave-ins, suffocating, or their bodies shattered by explosions. And he’s seen those cage fights. Leaning against the fences, looking down on two desperate men tear each other apart as Pilties bid and jeer over them. Some survive. Most die. And others would rather throw themselves off the top decks of the prison to their deaths than face that arena.
Why, then, these men wanted to waste what little pockets of peace and freedom they had to themselves to squabble and posture, Vander couldn’t say. Most of the men who’ve challenged him haven’t been young men, but Vander will be damned before he spends the next ten, twenty, thirty years of his life joining them in these pointless hunting pursuits. Eventually there would be more newbies for them to sniff around. Old grudges to settle, gangs to build and destroy. Eventually, he knew they would grow tired of getting their asses beat by some newbie nobody like him and leave Vander alone.
Until then, he’d enjoy his smokes, get a good night’s sleep in before the work bell sounded in the morning, and steal a bath if the rain picked up any. He hung his pail up on the rope lining the edge of the walkway overhead alongside his cell neighbors’.
Some had their mining jackets and prison uniforms strung up as well, hoping for the rain coming in from the open mouth of the pit to wash away some of their labor and stains.
When the rain did pick up, it followed Vander into his dreams, mixing with his memories like mud. It was bittersweet, how such a natural thing like rain could both wash away so much of the dirt and grime of the pit and yet drown Vander in his misery all the same, every time.
He was soaking wet under the downpour and the dim glow of lights outside of the Last Drop. It had already been a grueling day on the docks and the night wasn’t looking much better. It was foolish, he knew, getting plastered drunk at one bar just to stumble home to work at his family’s bar, but his folks would never let him drink this much of their own booze on the clock.
If only he’d just gone straight home to them. Instead he found himself deep in yet another drunken brawl with some rowdy patrons he’d had to toss out, catching the eyes of the enforcers on patrol. Perhaps he had actually hit one of them. Perhaps they’d seen some threat Vander hadn’t and had drawn their guns for that reason, but he’d never know now. All he knew was that his sister would have never come bursting through the doors… in her pretty gold and green dress and matching necklace with her violet hair braided with ribbons… and into that mess had he been where he was supposed to be, not out being a drunken menace clashing with trigger-happy enforcers who’d startled at the sound of her…
He was still drifting in and out of a light sleep when he first sensed that he was no longer alone in his cell. This cell whose pair of keys he’d fought hard for and guarded with his life for this very reason, so why—how—was someone else here?
It was dark when he cracked his eye open a sliver, his brow furrowing when he saw no one standing at the cell door but it was still slightly ajar.
Until the mattress by his feet dipped. He swung his leg, bringing his attacker down by surprise only to be as equally surprised when the person continued to roll themself right out of his grasp and onto the floor.
In the darkness with only the lamps from the outside corridor and the moon to lighten the shadows, Vander wasn’t sure who or what he was seeing. He’d felt a thin body in tight clothes for a split second and had nearly caught a fistful of too long hair before it had slipped through his fingers… Were there women in this prison somewhere? What possible reason could one be trying to kill him now?
He had no time for questions. His attacker was nearly to the door, a blade glinting in their hand. This was also new. So far no one had been bold enough to try to outright murder him. So close to the cell door, he could make out a face and form. A slim, sinewy body, petite, and a pretty face. Definitely pretty. Slipped loose from its knot, their hair was mused by the scuffle, but the voice was far too low for any woman.
“Easy, big boy,” that voice purred, with a deep richness and roughness that reminded him of a swig of whiskey after a long shift back home, but a little pitched with fear, still holding the blade out to stop Vander from charging. That voice sounded a little too rich, too expensive, to belong to anybody from the undercity but only undercity criminals were brought here. “I swear they never told me you would be this big or this fast. Otherwise, I would not be here.”
Vander echoed his panting, but wasn’t the slightest bit amused by any of this. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh, no need for alarm,” the man assured, putting the knife away in his boot. He waved his hand. “I don’t think they intended for you to be hurt at all, but rather anticipated that you would snap my neck and they would be done with me. Apologies. I will just see myself out.”
Vander launched forward, reaching over the frozen man’s head to catch the door before he could slip through. This close, he towered over him. This had to be a dream. He was obscured by the shadows, and by his dark hair covering some of his face, but those cheekbones, that high-arched and sharp nose, and those pouting lips, better suited for a brothel, not a prison… they were cut, healing from a couple mean hits that were too old to be Vander’s. He looked up at Vander with round puppy dog eyes that also had fading bruises from nasty hits, but underneath, Vander could see what he looked like when his face wasn’t a punching bag. In what world would a banged up twink be sent to come kill him and how the hell did he get down here at all?
In the low light, Vander could barely see the faded stripes under the patches on the trousers clinging to his slender legs. His t-shirt also looked to be a size too small, but the unbuttoned striped shirt over it was so oversized, the sleeves had to be rolled up. None of this made sense. None of this could be real.
The man took a breath and rolled his eyes, his voice softening in a way Vander didn’t like as he leaned his lithe, little weight against Vander’s side. “Tell me what I can do. Unlike being a hired killer, I am quite talented at making things like this up to men like you.”
Vander snorted, feeling his face flush. Definitely this was some kind of dream. Possibly from bad cigarettes. He stepped back to let the man pass. “You can get the hell out and make sure to tell whoever sent you to come in person next time.”
“Perfect.” He smiled with a wink, slipping through the gap. “Enjoy your evening.”
Vander meant to glare back at him, but the man was gone. “This fucking place.”
He searched for his smokes.
And searched more.
Emptied his pockets and shook out his pillow, even his boots before realizing, “That thieving little bitch.”
Silco only made it as far as he needed to be out of the lamplight before he collapsed as quietly as he could against the wall next to the cell. He held his breath, ready to run the second the man realized that his door was still unlocked, but as the minutes ticked by, no lumbering giant came barreling after him. He brushed his hair back, relieved.
For once.
He eased up the wall, a smoke from his newly acquired pack tucked between his lips ready for his lighter.
He made his trek deeper into the prison, sporting a new limp. That man had nearly cracked his ankle when he had tripped him down. But he was astounded that he had made it out in one piece with all four—well… three—limbs still intact. His left shoulder and the residual limb of his lost arm were screaming at him in pain under his torn sleeve for being smashed into a wall, but for once having a stump had saved his ass. That man had been expecting to grab him on that bed when they had rolled but with one arm already free and no other elbow to catch, Silco had slipped right out of his grasp… Just like the reward for this favor had slipped right out of Silco’s grasp the moment his survival instinct had kicked in and he bailed.
He was not a killer. But he had not been much of a miner either prior to getting his arm ripped off and yet he had managed, so… how hard could it be? Well, when your target is three, maybe four times your size and has hands big enough to crush you accidentally? When you stand eye level to their armpit? When that giant is a lighter sleeper than even Silco himself was? Impossible.
Too bad for Silco that he had been the last person in the plan to learn these critical, life altering points.
There had to be a better way. He did have to laugh at himself. In the five years he had been here, this was the… second dumbest thing he’d gotten himself caught in, which was saying a lot, considering how often Silco found himself caught in such predicaments.
He stubbed out the last of his cigarette under his boot and waited until the final stragglers and enforcers deserted the canteen. There were growing little outbreaks of clashes recently. The enforcers were trying to maintain an order and control they had never had. This prison ran on the threat of starvation and damn good exterior locks meaning that the only way out for prisoners was up. That was all. There were no curfews, no legitimate searches, not even control over the cell keys. It was every man for himself down here with a bunch of enforcers peacocking about whenever things got too rowdy for their liking, when most men here would never put up a fuss if they were just given their ration slip at the end of each work shift and left alone.
Silco leaned against the wall, watching the raindrops cling to the fencing, and waited a little longer until the cold got the best of him. He nodded his goodnights to the drunken men who had chosen to sleep outside the canteen rather than brave the way back to their cells before sneaking through the double doors to the old, rundown kitchen. He tiptoed through the storage room in the dark, using his lighter to maneuver past the boxes and cans scattering the floor.
And then he was home. He tripped his meticulously placed locks and restrung his traps behind him, tangling one with his right hand and pulling the other tighter with his teeth until he could close the door to the closet behind him and light the lantern he kept hidden inside. It had been several days since Silco had been here, unable to afford the luxury of such a space when he had favors to repay. Favors that had not panned out for him in so long he had been desperate for this one to work.
He shouldered into his mining coat to fight the chill. As much as he hated everything to do with those mines, his mouth always rebelled into something of a smile, putting it back on. He would always be warm on his right side and cold from the inescapable draft on his left, but he still gingerly eased his stump into what remained of the sleeve, just like his shirt. Oh, if only he had thought to take them off before…
There had been stability in those caves. Terror and a constant risk of death, but this whole prison carried terror and a constant risk of death. At least having honest work down there meant having a steadier stream of rations, even if they were small. No need for so many favors then.
He pulled out his little bedroll and plopped down to massage and inspect his ankle. Nothing else he could do about it. It might slow him down for a few days, but lucky for him he was low on rations and would need to go back out tomorrow morning to find some so resting was out of the question.
From under the shelving, he retrieved the tin box hiding his journal and the tools and the prosthetic he was trying to build along with the parts he had collected over the years. Some things were more just odd trinkets than potential components, but none of it mattered without the pieces necessary to connect what would become his elbow, wrist, and knuckles. He had searched, he had stolen, he had traded, and then some, but nothing had turned up until this morning.
Silco had been washing away another night’s bad ending when he had spotted him: One of his old, unfortunate acquaintances wearing a necklace of cogs and those missing potentials under his bushy beard and Silco knew he needed them.
And he had had them… until he got caught stealing them. And who steals from a gang when he’d already escaped being caught stealing from them before?
Only someone foolish and desperate and Silco loathed to claim either one of those descriptors, but alas. Here he was, agreeing to kill a man he did not know for a group of men he hated to give him bolts and gears he could not get on his own with his access to the mines permanently blocked.
He couldn’t recall what he had stolen from them the first time around, but imagined it had to be something valuable enough that they would set him up to get killed tonight. Or they were just fucking with him and knew he would come crawling back to them tomorrow empty handed. Desperate.
He eyed the tin. Unless he planned to trade something in this box and risk it being something he had already taken from them, he had nothing to trade. And with his last favors not panning out, he was too banged up to offer anything else. Not that they would not take it, he just could not bring himself back to that so soon. For food, maybe, but for metal parts… He just needed patience…
And good timing.
He pulled the bracelet out of his trouser pocket. It looked so much bigger in his hand than it had on that man’s thick wrist. It was made with two cords of leather with a round, golden pendant and green stone in its center. How that man had not been robbed of it before tonight, Silco had only one idea. He had escaped tonight with a bruised ankle, but tomorrow… Tomorrow that man would know for sure it was missing and have a good idea who took it and would be looking for Silco.
He sat back against the metal shelving, studying his stump. Was it worth it? Adding one more angry man to a list that stretched from one side of the pit to the other?
If he timed it right it could be. He would have to be scarce or hiding behind the gang he sold it to whenever that man was off his shift. It was doable. Most of the men here were forced to labor in the mines on shifts well over twelve hours each, everyday. That would give him plenty of time to rest and relax between hiding, and then after the bracelet was out of his hands and the trade completed, so long as he was not killed for it, he would move forward as he always did. Onto the next phase.
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Vander’s collar was blinking an angry red at him for missing the last two shifts, but he didn’t care.
He wasn’t going. What were they going to do to him for not showing up? Lock him up? Take his rations? Beat him? To hell with the mines and enforcers. He was going to find that thieving little bastard however many days it took and break his neck, and after, they could make Vander work however long they wanted—he was going to get his sister’s necklace back.
It was a risk wearing it, he knew, but it was all he had of her. Bags and boxes were raided and taken everyday. Enforcers could show up at any minute to tear a cell to pieces just for the hell of it in this unregulated zoo and confiscate whatever they wished while you were stuck in a mine, so what safer place was there than on his own person?
In two months, he’d had no trouble holding onto it. Then two nights ago, he gets a visitor in his cell and it's missing. He should have been able to figure it out faster. Had he even been there to hurt Vander at all or was stealing the whole point?
Didn’t matter. Vander found him on his third go around.
He’d barged into the canteen and shouldered through the clusters of men gambling, eating, and doing other activities Vander would have been surprised to see happening in front of enforcers when he’d first gotten here, but it was normal now. He’d found the punk squished between two fools he’d already fought weeks ago. His hair was pulled back again, a miner’s jacket far too big to be his own draped over his narrow shoulders. And one of Vander’s fucking cigarettes in his fucking hand!
The second their eyes met, the absolute horror on that twink’s face said enough to Vander: He was dead and he knew it.
And now the thief was running.
Silco had fucked up. This was the dumbest thing he had ever gotten himself caught in. Worse than trying to kill this man two nights ago, worse even than getting his arm ripped off.
The deal had fallen through. The gangster was not interested in trading jewelry with Silco. Not when Silco had a perfectly fine pair of legs the man wanted to get between instead. It was a sign Silco wished he had not ignored. So he’d tried peddling the bracelet elsewhere in the hopes he could trade it for something that the gang would actually want that did not involve Silco needing a bath after.
A jar of shine could be hard to come by and he had found one, fresh from the source, and the man with cogs and screws loved shine. Maybe he was close to sealing the deal this time. The brewer had him draped in his mining coat with a heavy hand squeezing his thigh under the table sliding ever closer to his lap so it was obvious he was still expected to sleep with someone tonight, but unlike the prior proposition, there was a second jar of shine on the table for this sleepover…
Now? He would never know.
“Somebody must’ve kicked that Vander kid’s hornet’s nest to shit. He looks ready to kill somebody.”
“Hm?” Silco tilted his head, looking in the same direction. “Who’s Vander?” he asked, intrigued by the force of nature that walked into the canteen. Young, like him—finally—with jaw length chestnut brown hair, the broadest shoulders he had ever seen, the biggest hands he had ever seen, the thickest everything, a body built from the rock around them, and taller than every man here. Silco tried to feel a little pity for the man being forced into a uniform that was only just grazing the line of being comfortably big enough, but… Every stitch clung to every bit of bulk he had. And worse: He was handsome. All prominent, strong features and day’s old stubble…
And then it hit him like a ton of bricks that he had seen this man before.
No longer shrouded in the shadows of a dark cell, but this well-lit canteen, Silco recognized the man by his anger alone as it was pointed like a gun right at him.
He’d nearly swallowed his cigarette when the man charged forward, his intentions clear.
He elbowed the brewer off, sending him crashing into one of his goons who knocked one of the shine jars to the floor, shattering it.
“Damn it, Silco!”
And now Silco was running.
It only enraged Vander further. Like a snake through tall grass or a mouse through a crack in the baseboard, that little shit could slip through clusters of men and tables with ease. The only way Vander could keep up was from the angry protests that echoed after the man as he slipped through them, stepping over their dice games, knocking their food out of their hands, or blocking their hidden bribes. They were only made all the more upset by Vander barreling through them like a runaway carriage through an antiques shop, hot on the thief’s heels.
But several others were also chasing him. “Silco, you’re gonna pay for that fucking shine!”
Near the kitchen, they got to him first. As Vander cleared the distance, he saw the fastest man catch this Silco by a fistful of his tied up hair only to scream and recoil with a bloody hand. Silco was blocked by the next man, ducked under his arm, and was caught by another.
His neck was held so tight by the thug, he was barely on his tiptoes, flashing angry, narrowed eyes down to the ugly face leering up at him.
“Do you have any idea how long it’s gonna take you to work off what you just cost me,” the man asked him, his breath a thing of torture if Silco’s grimace was any tell.
“An accident, I assure you,” he answered, his eyes catching on Vander’s and quickly looking right past him.
“I hear you have a lot of those.” He took his jacket back, yanking it off Silco’s shoulders.
Vander slowed, shocked to see that the kid only had one arm. His left was a heavily bandaged stump peeking from a torn shirt sleeve with stripes and loose threads stained a faint rusty brown. The whole left side of his clothes, in fact, was stained in what had to be years’ old attempts to wash out that blood. No one seemed the least bit phased by this. Least of all, Silco.
Silco shrugged his other shoulder. “I didn’t smash the jar.”
The brewer sized him up. “Then who’s paying for it?”
The kid nodded in Vander’s direction with a simple, “Him,” before slipping out of the man’s grasp the second the thugs looked Vander’s way. That little weaselly piece of shit.
Silco’s heart was going to beat itself to pieces by the time he finally got some distance between himself, the brewers, and Vander, finally losing them.
He ducked low, sticking close to the wall, hellbent on getting out of the canteen.
There was only one sensible thing to do at this point. Drop the bracelet back in Vander’s cell, hide from him forever, and sweeten himself up for the brewer for however long it would take to pay off the shine and just… cut his losses. Be patient. He could and would figure something else out in time. He would just continue to collect other things and lay low. Live. Simple… Not complicated.
He skidded to a halt at the sight of enforcers and hooked a left down the opposite corridor, relieved to find it more deserted. Only to hit yet another brick wall when he turned a second corner. He sighed, “Honestly.”
The three gangsters smiled, blocking his path. The middle man, Rico, giggled, stroking his beard as three others joined them. They leaned against the walls and fencing. “You know Sil, I think I’ve changed my mind. I think I will take that necklace off your hands. It seems to be more valuable than I’d first thought.”
“Oh?” Fuck. “Is that so?”
“If Vander’s willing to lose his shit over it? It absolutely is. I hear he’s been sniffing down your trail like a hound after a bleeding rabbit—Oh no, no, no,” he teased, seeing Silco’s eyes fall to the necklace of cogs and screws. He tucked it away under his buttoned-up stripes. “This isn’t a trade. I just think it’ll be funny to see him flatten you then go looking through your pockets only to find nothing there.”
“Ah. I see.” Silco frowned, forcing his jaw to unclench.
Rico was shorter but used his bulk to press Silco against the wall, his brow arching. He extended his clawed hand. “Give it to me.”
Silco rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back, checking that the little razor sharp piece of flint was still hidden in his knot. “Well, gentlemen, your timing is off, I’m afraid. I don’t have it. Sorry for that.”
The gangster caught his jaw, trapping him. “How about we check for ourselves?”
Silco sneered and kicked, struggling with them as they pinned his arm to reach into his clothes as they searched it felt everywhere but his pockets.
He had his knee in someone’s groin and his teeth in someone’s hand when he heard the first thud against the stone as a new shadow rose up to cover them all.
Vander rounded the corner swinging.
If not for the fencing lining the railings that circled the pit, several of the men would have been tossed over the side to their deaths to the empty arena below. They crashed against the fence and metal bars, one rising to jump on Vander’s back, the other scrambling to run the hell away for once.
He didn’t know any of these men or why they, like so many, were after Silco. All he knew was that they were in his way and refused to leave without a fight.
After having made quick work of the brewers, he was ready for it. Didn’t even bother to block a single blow thrown his way. He grabbed their fists and twisted, snapping wrists, he kicked the next one square in the gut, stomping him when he brandished a chain.
The ringleader also fled. Smart man.
When Vander spun around, Silco was backed into the corner with the last of the gang facing Vander and blocking his path of escape.
Vander made quick work of the goon, then grabbed Silco’s shirt with bloodied hands, hiking him up against the wall. His eyes glanced over a crude, little tattoo of the word ‘slut’ in thick, black ink under Silco’s stomach, but he ignored it.
Silco held up the necklace to him, his eyes wide, hand trembling. No fight in him. Just a set of sea green eyes staring up at him through a lock of wavy, black hair, silent.
Vander growled, snatching it from him. A thousand different emotions suddenly erupted out of him. He punched the wall beside Silco’s head. He felt Silco flinch and grab the hand still gripping his shirt, but not to free himself. He held on to it as if it wasn’t attached to the same man fighting every urge within not to pummel him out of his misery.
Vander let him go, turning to leave. He was certain that enforcers had to be on their way for all the commotion, but he was stunned by the man’s reaction.
“Wh-what?”
Vander stopped. He spun on him again, charging back. “Is that not enough? You want more?!”
Silco was staring from him to the men on the ground, his lips parted, stunned. Slowly he shook his head before seeming to come back to himself. He shook his head quickly. “No,” he answered, his voice quiet. He tucked his hair behind his ear. “I… I just appreciate…” His gaze lowered to Vander’s collar, his brow furrowing. He touched his own before pointing, his expression falling blank. “You are… You’re blinking.”
It was Vander’s turn to roll his eyes. He snorted. “Just count your lucky stars and don’t ever come near—”
“How long has that been blinking?”
“What?”
“Your collar. It’s blinking.”
Vander huffed, stepping closer. He knew he should walk away. He knew Silco wouldn’t stand a chance if he lost it on him and gave him what he really deserved rather than hitting the wall, but he was slipping. This kid simply did not know when to stop talking. “Yeah. It is blinking. It’s been blinking like that for hours now. Pretty sure it’s for the work I’ve been missing looking for you all this time. So, thanks for that.”
Silco’s eyes widened. He stepped closer, brazenly reaching to touch Vander’s collar. “Oh no… oh no… oh no… This has been blinking for… that long? And you haven’t…? Vander, is it?” he asked, his fingers in his hair again. He grimaced. “I am truly sorry.”
Vander narrowed his eyes. He clenched his fists, leaning one against the bricks near Silco’s head. He braced himself. “And why would you be sorry now?”
“Because… Janna, this has gotten so out of hand,” the man muttered to himself, gripping his hair. “That is a summons—”
“For?”
“For the,” he paused as they both stepped back out onto the spiraling platform and looked to the sound of the enforcers stomping towards them. He sighed, beginning to rifle through his clothes for something. “Whenever we mess up, like if we hit an enforcer or refuse to work, they put your collar number into the raffle for the arena to fight. You are supposed to only have twelve hours to report to the enforcers before they come looking for you, but I assume, since you have not exactly been stationary since your deadline lapsed, this is… not good.”
“You think?” He regretted punching the wall. He knew of the arena, knew of the fights, but had never bothered to watch more than a few seconds of the matches in passing through the crowds. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought this man was pretty. No, Silco had the most punchable face Vander had ever seen, particularly that nose of his. He understood now why the man’s face had been bruised. Others knew what Vander seemed to be learning the hard way.
“The matches are every ten days, always at midnight and that is… very close, I’m assuming.” Silco peered behind Vander at the approaching enforcers. “You don’t have to kill your opponent, but understand, if they are trying to kill you, it certainly will not count against you if you have to. Winning means more than just getting to live, but it also means your chances of being called again for the next fight are practically guaranteed. The point is to put on a show for the Pilties that own this place, to entertain them, by pitting two men against each other like dogs and there are not very many rules beyond that. Most tend to sneak in weapons, so be on the lookout for that as well.”
“Why are you telling me this? What the hell does it matter now? You’ve already screwed me!”
“This is a prison, sweetheart. I scratch your back, because you refrained from breaking mine. Here.” He produced a makeshift knife from his boot and hid it inside Vander’s waistband out of view of the enforcers only to make a show of pulling the tie from his hair to put the little rock he’d been hiding there into Vander’s boot. He was pushed back by the first enforcer to reach them.
“Really, Silco?” The redhead glared from Silco to Vander and shook his head, digging in Vander’s boot to toss the rock out. “You know you go in the hole for aiding and abetting a runner.”
Vander bristled, crowding the guard. “A runner?”
Silco minutely shook his head at Vander, glancing at the knife that was still hidden. “Getting a collar page isn’t ever fun to deal with alone, Allestor. I was only trying to help him cope.”
“What the fuck would you know about the cage fights?”
“More than you, I would imagine.”
Vander was meant to be roughed up. He could tell by the grunt the enforcer made trying to get Vander’s hands behind his back to cuff him and the shove that was meant to put him against the wall. For the redhead’s sake Vander walked himself over to it, glaring at Silco over his shoulder as the enforcer struggled to confiscate the necklace that he still had clutched in his fist. “No scratching your back, Silco. Believe me, when I catch you again…”
“Whoa, big guy,” another enforcer teased, “that sounds like a threat. Save it for the fight tonight.” His brow rose in mock surprise. He was smug, eyeing the scene. “Silco, Silco, Silco,” he griped, circling them both, “why is it that every time we find men beating each other half to death, you’re somehow always in the middle of it?”
“Oh come now, Marcus,” Silco teased, with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes as he still looked at Vander, his brow furrowed. “You of all people know the answer to that.”
The enforcer Marcus gave Silco a murderous glare, but his ears were curiously pink. He glanced at the other guard. “Toss him in the hole and babysit him until the fight’s over so he doesn’t go ‘missing’ again.” He frowned, watching Vander glare daggers at Silco too. His brow arched.
“Interesting.” He sized up Vander, having to look up to meet his eyes. He didn’t seem to like that, but he kept his anger pinned on Silco, recovering his smugness. “Don’t worry, Sil, you’ll see your boyfriend soon enough… If he lives, we’ll make sure you two get to celebrate together. How’s that sound, Vander?” But his smile dropped with a rather strained throat-clearing the moment Vander turned that glare on him.
Vander was near panting now, his fists ready to break through the cuffs and throttle them all. He stepped to Marcus, looming over the man. “Just get on with it.”
+
Vander had never been to this level of the pit. The whole prison had been dug out of the rock of emptied mines, branching through tunnels in all directions, save for one. And in the pit’s center, with rain and runoff a constant flow under the grated floor, the massive stage rose, caged in on all sides and overhead with wide bars. Great for locking the fighters in and for keeping the view unobscured from any direction.
Even above from the spiral of platforms and fenced in corridors, the prisoners peered down as far as the fences allowed, giddy for the show.
What shocked Vander the most was the arena itself. What he’d assumed would be rows and rows of bleachers or benches, only a cluster of a few dozen chairs were scattered on each side of the cage. It was a relatively small, private space. The ceiling was low, the area too dark for Vander to see more than the hem of gowns or their heavily polished shoes from the limited reach of the stage’s lights.
He didn’t recognize his opponent, but he’d heard enough about him working in the mines. He wielded gauntlets like Vander in the caves. The sizable Vastaya stood nearly a head taller covered in purple scales with jaws like a shark’s.
The announcer was already rambling to the Pilties, walking along outside the cage, comfortably far from reach of both men as he insulted them for laughs but still garnered applause for the fan favorite and boos for Vander, the ‘fresh meat.’
Vander’s hands were freed. They were both quickly bandaged by a little blonde about as skinny as Silco but shorter and much older in age. If Silco had had some cuts and bruises on him, this man was a walking zombie for how beat to hell he was, swimming in his stripes and rolled up sleeves. He glared as his hands shook, wrapping the bandages.
It made him wonder if men like this ended up in this cage too against a beast like the one salivating across from him. Most likely not. His hands were too soft, even for the mines. Had to work in the kitchens or something. He felt sorry for this man nonetheless, nodding his thanks to his hunched back as he scurried off, locking the cage door behind him.
The first bell rang, bringing Vander out of his wandering thoughts.
When the beast charged with a roar and swung at him, he almost didn’t have the will to avoid it.
Almost. Was his sister’s necklace gone after everything he’d done to get it back these past two days? Sadly, yes. What else was worth it? He was here in this pit for life. She was dead and he would never see her again. What was the point?
He ducked and hit the Vastaya in his back, sending him forward as the crowd above rattled the fences, misting them with the droplets of rain that had been clinging to the wiring.
The point was that the person responsible for everything that had happened to Vander in the last two days, the reason why he was here and his one single family heirloom was gone, was still breathing.
Vander wondered for a moment as the beast got its bearings what the ‘hole’ was and if Silco could see him from there.
The Vastaya charged faster this time, knocking Vander back against the cage, his fists sending blow after blow into Vander’s stomach. He had to sink lower to get his arms wrapped around the beast’s waist to lift and tackle him. He rolled, trying to put space between them to catch a breath. Only, his opponent was charging for him again.
He was sent crashing into the cage a second time with the wind knocked out of him. He sank to the floor as the Vastaya boasted around the cage, soaking in the applause. It lit a fire of rage under Vander’s ass that had him rising, panting for breath, back to his feet.
Silco could not believe his luck. He had been dragged to the hole, a broom closet of a cell on the enforcers’ upper level with a metal bench spanning the wall across from the cell door, and that was it. No cuff to keep him on the bench and no gag in his mouth to stop him from tormenting the guard the second the other enforcers left to watch the match.
He sat, observing the man sitting on the other side of the door yawning, bored out of his mind, the poor thing. Perfect.
Silco stretched like a cat and moaned, long and full of implication. He played with his hair as the guard glanced over. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Say another word and you get the gag.”
“Ugh.” Silco pouted. “That gag always makes my cunt so fucking wet. It’s annoying, I hate it.”
“What?”
Too easy.
“Hm? Oh, Marcus didn’t tell you? It’s not exactly a punishment to rough me up and bind me to this chair. I just…”
“No, not that, what did you say about—”
Silco sighed, sinking lower, his legs spreading. His eyes innocently drifted to the ceiling, giving the guard ample opportunity to stare. “Oh, it’s happening already. I’m getting wet and I just washed these shorts,” he complained, pouting. “You bruised my wrist… It hurt.”
“It’s… it’s supposed to,” said in a voice so graveled for one trying his best to stay so put together. The guard crossed his arms, glaring, but his interest was piqued. One foot already stuck in Silco’s quicksand.
“I liked it.” After a pause, Silco squirmed on the bench and those eyes were right back on him. He bit his lip, tilting his head. His wild hair did the rest. “Want to see it?”
The guard swallowed. “See what?—No. Stop talking.”
Silco laughed, low and gentle, careful of any fragile egos in the room with them. “Will I get in more trouble if I don’t listen to you? You’ve already put me in timeout.” He ran his hand up the worn stripes and frayed patches along his thigh. “Who do I see about getting new clothes? I’ve had these trousers for so long, just look at how tight they are.” He played with the top button, waiting. “I’ve had to reattach these buttons so many times, I can’t even remember…” Waiting. “Too tight… I need to breathe.”
Waiting…
For that swallow and glance down from Silco’s face to his lap. He popped the button open, moving down to the next and those eyes followed.
Vander spit more blood, certain he’d lost a tooth at some point, but this was nowhere near finished.
There were no distracted thoughts pulling away his focus now. When the bell rang, he had to grab the stool he’d just been sitting on to block the chain the Vastaya was swinging at him. Silco had been truthful about one thing. There were no clear rules about weapons. When the beast had pulled that chain from around his neck and started using it like a whip, none of the enforcers batted an eye.
Instead, the shadowed audience was buzzing with excitement with Vander’s and the beast’s blood splattering near their expensive shoes. Their cigar smoke clouded the air like fog, adding to the bitter taste of copper in Vander’s mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was raining overhead or if he was soaking with sweat.
The chain caught on the stool, ripping it from Vander’s hands. Fine. He braced himself, lifting his arm for the chain to wrap around his wrist for him to catch it. He pulled the beast off balance and careening towards Vander’s boot.
The ground shook when the Vastaya collapsed.
The applause surprised Vander. Mostly because he was swaying on his feet, exhausted. He took a moment to look up at the crowds and down at the exuberant shadows seated around the stage. The beast growled behind him, also looking around them. He clawed his way to his feet, roaring in a rage to see the crowd turn on him.
Those eyes zeroed in on Vander with a new drive. This wasn’t a game for the Vastaya any longer. He wasn’t playing with a toy, he had been truly challenged and his winning streak was in jeopardy.
Vander’s heart sank, his energy zapped. They weren’t going to call an end to this until one or both of them were getting dragged offstage in a bodybag.
By the time Silco had his trousers loose around his thighs, the guard was standing against the cell door, gripping the bars and his baton.
Silco was idly petting his little hooded cock, watching the rope of slick stick to his finger over and over, playing with it. “You don’t have to be shy…?”
“Steven.”
“Steven,” Silco purred, dipping his hand lower for more slick to play with. “I know working here, it’s not everyday you get to see one of these… and with the work loads Marcus gives you all, when do you ever have time to play even when you’re off?” He nodded with him, oh so full of sympathy for the poor, poor man.
But he received no answer. That wouldn’t do.
Silco licked his fingers and stood, pulling up his pants enough to walk to the cell door, leaving nothing but the bars between them. His hair fell forward like closing curtains as he looked down, watching his hand trace the bulge in the guard’s pants, holding back a laugh of triumph when the guard reached through the bars to tuck his hair behind his ears to see his face like a true romantic.
“That’s one hell of a tattoo.”
Silco’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tight, but he forced as sweet of a smile as he could. “Think so?”
Steven nodded, brushing his knuckles over that sickening, humiliating, little four-letter word. “It suits you. You’re so slutty—”
“Steven.”
“Hm?”
“We can play whatever you want,” Silco whispered, smiling like a siren as he guided the guard’s hand lower. “Go on.” His eyes fluttered closed with the most put on sigh he could muster, ignoring the nagging repulsion of unwashed Piltie hands anywhere near his sex, but he had a mission.
And it had absolutely nothing at all to do with grey eyes or chestnut brown hair curling in sweat, or how flushed Vander’s face was in the throes of rage, or the shape of his lips even when snarling down at him, or the rough baritone of his voice…
No. Strictly… self-preservation. Vander was going to win, after all. Men like that simply were not built to lose. “I just need one small, insignificant, little favor from you, Steven.”
“I-I can’t let you out.”
“Oh, of course not. I don’t want you getting into trouble over me.”
“What is it then?” The guard looked ready to give Silco the world.
Silco hummed, giving him a genuine smile.
Vander was losing. He struggled as best as he could but couldn’t find the right purchase to wrestle his way out from under the Vastaya’s headlock.
He could feel himself slipping, his vision fading in and out as he fought for air. With the beast’s weight on his back, there was nowhere for him to go but sideways, his hip lighting up in pain as he rolled onto something hard.
Silco. He growled with the effort to roll any further, just to give himself enough room to reach into his waistband for the knife Silco had hidden there.
It was… an odd contraption. The Vastaya tried to grab for it as Vander held it at arm’s length, trying to figure out the spring mechanism. The beast choked harder, hellbent on just snapping Vander’s neck if he couldn’t reach the knife when its blade of a sharpened kitchen knife sprang up from the handle.
Vander stabbed blindly, hearing the Vastaya screech in pain before he was freed enough to catch the Vastaya’s arm and pin him. He couldn’t take any chances. He couldn’t risk another round.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed the blade into the beast’s neck, slicing it open.
He pushed him away, crawling on his back to get air and to get away from the dying man. Vander almost couldn’t believe that he was alive. He stared down at the bloody knife in his palm before the uproar around him registered.
Some were celebrating, others were fighting, flipping over their betting tables and cigars, shouting about rigged games and rematches.
Shouting specifically at the lead enforcer, Marcus. The man was staring at Vander from the edge of the lit space, surrounded by pompous elites waving money around. His expression was impossible to read. Vander didn’t know the man from a hole in the wall. Maybe he’d met him when he’d first gotten here, he couldn’t remember. Certainly nothing that would elicit what Vander could only interpret as suspicion and anger towards him. He didn’t look like a man who’d just lost any sum of money, but perhaps one who simply had fully expected Vander to lose.
When he left the arguing guests to enter the cage, Marcus only spared a glance of inconvenience at the dead Vastaya before signaling to his guards to retrieve the body.
He knelt down in front of Vander, snatching the knife from his limp hand with a handkerchief, examining it. “Where did you get this?”
Vander had to spit more blood on the floor to speak. “Don’t know. Maybe I made it myself.”
Marcus sighed like a bull. “Never mind. I look forward to seeing you die in the next match.”
“Now why would I go and do a silly thing like that?”
Marcus dangled the knife in front of him again, his brow arched. “You think I don’t know who’s capable of making something like this? Don’t let him talk his way out of it by making you deals like this, because he will. Then you will be right back where you started with him only with much lighter pockets and heavier debts.”
“I just got my head knocked around for who knows how long, so you’ll have to run that by me again. Explain it to me like I’m a toddler.”
“Funny, but you’ll see. That bitch Silco has more problems than a cat has lives, and those problems will become your problems—if they haven’t already—if you don’t put him in his place and keep him there.”
+
Vander hissed, groaning as the cold water hit his back. He stood in the middle of his cell, using his undershirt as a rag to wash away his and the beast’s blood. It ran down his legs in rivets and into the grated drain in the floor when he dumped the rest of the bucket over his head. It wasn’t enough. He knew he still needed a good scrub, but it was all the water he had for now.
As he squeezed the last drops of water out of his shirt to towel his hair, there was a small commotion out on the walkway that he chose to ignore until it presented itself right at his cell door.
He was honestly surprised to find that there were in fact perks to winning his match.
“Compliments of your new ‘patrons,’” Marcus explained, dumping a crate of blankets, foods, and medical supplies near his cot when he and several enforcers barged in. Two of his guards hauled in a fresh pail of water. “And no, you aren’t obligated to share any of this with your cellmate.”
Vander had to limp himself to his cot, not bothering to cover his nakedness as his hurts finally began to catch up with him. “I don’t have one.”
Marcus whistled like he was summoning a dog. Silco was led around the corner, gagged and handcuffed to a guard. Of course. His hair was still down and his clothes looked a little less put together.
Vander shook his head. “And who is he supposed to be the compliments of?”
“Me,” Marcus proclaimed, smirking at Silco. “Since you two got along so well earlier, and from what I’ve heard from quite a few of the prisoners, you’ve been dying to get to know him better for some time. My treat. You’re welcome.”
Silco glared a hole into the side of Marcus’s head, his fist balled in his cuff. He took one look in Vander’s direction, saw him naked, and whatever color he had to his pale skin vanished entirely. He anchored his stare at the ground.
Vander sighed. “And what, pray tell, am I supposed to do with him?”
“Whatever the hell you want. Hell, have him clean your toilet, he’s yours—on the condition that you just keep yourself out of trouble beyond this cell and that you’re ready to fight once your next match comes around. You’ve got some important people curious to see if you’re a one note or if you’ve got more good fights in you. You get a few days off from the mines after every match to recover, but only just that,” he teased, “so… don’t overexert yourself breaking in this dirty, little thing. Take your time. I insist.”
The guards laughed together, some ribbing each other like teen virgins hearing their most sexless friend make a raunchy joke for the first time.
Vander smiled with them, nodding. “What if I’d rather bend one of you blokes over instead, hm? The blueberry to your left’s got an awful lot more meat on him. He’d satisfy me just fine. Blondie behind him with the beard looks like a screamer. I like that too.”
The guards fell silent, but Silco was quietly laughing behind his gag, his right shoulder shaking, pleasantly entertained.
“Looks like you’ve got a mouth on you,” Marcus said, flatly. “Something in common with your new friend.”
Once the gag was unbuckled and the cuff removed, Silco narrowed his eyes on Marcus with a devious glint and head tilt as he wiped his chin. He asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Could you tell us specifically what you know about my mouth, officer?”
Marcus snapped, raising his fist, but he stopped himself from punching Silco. Only to have to stop himself from backhanding Silco a moment later when the fool smiled in the face of the enforcer’s already paper thin restraint. The enforcer turned back to Vander, attempting to mask the calming breaths he took as he approached him. “You’re here for murder, correct?”
“I am.”
“Good.” He crossed the short space to the accompanying cot. He hand cranked the pulley for the cot’s chains, rolling the bed up until it was flush with the wall. He locked it closed. “We’ll send someone to clean up for you in the morning if you need it.”
“That’s… considerate.”
Silco snorted, unable to look more bored by Marcus’s spectacle. “It’s harassment. All of this is.”
Marcus ignored him, smiling at Vander as if they didn’t also hate each other as he and the enforcers left, locking the cell behind them.
Vander had to laugh to himself, completely unable to grasp why or how his night had taken this turn.
And Silco had the fucking nerve to light one of the cigarettes Vander was sure he’d stolen from him.
He got to his feet, groaning as his muscles protested.
From his spot leaning against the furthest corner, sea green eyes flicked up from the floor, watching Vander come closer. Silco released the breath of smoke in a sigh. “I have something for you.” He tucked the cigarette between his lips to free his hand. He pulled Vander’s necklace out of his boot, unable to hide the little tremor in his hand.
That stopped Vander in his tracks. “How the hell did you…?”
Silco only shrugged his right shoulder again, his eyes pointedly looking anywhere other than at Vander. “There is no greater joy in my life currently than upsetting that man. I asked his guard for a favor. He will not be too pleased with his guard or me, but… I will handle that.”
“Sounds like you two have a history.”
He pouted as he exhaled a cloud of smoke through his nose, making that prominent feature stand out all the more on his upturned face. His brow furrowed. “Something like that,” he muttered, relaxing a little.
“Hm.” Vander nodded with him, securing the necklace around his wrist again, finally feeling like the world wasn’t spinning quite as out of control anymore. But he still needed one more thing to make everything even itself out.
His hands were throbbing like they hadn’t in a long time, but after everything he’d had to fight for in the last twenty-four hours, wrapping his fist around Silco’s throat was a comfort. He pressed Silco’s back to the wall, curious to see how the snake would try to wiggle his way out this time.
Only this time, when Silco reached for Vander’s wrist, his rather sharp nails dug into Vander’s skin. His eyes narrowed, teeth bared like a cute, little shark’s when Vander took his cigarette back before Silco had a chance to jab it into Vander’s skin. “I take it that you’re still upset.”
Vander took a long puff, savoring the smoke before he crushed it out on the wall beside the man’s head. “A little.” He pressed his fist lightly to Silco’s stomach, knowing it was mean but he felt mean. He wanted to gauge what a hook might do to the man and winced at their size difference. His fist covered more than enough to make one hit very bad news and they both knew it. He felt Silco start to panic in little puffs of quickening breath on Vander’s hand and how his stomach quivered just the slightest bit, trying to escape the press of that other hand.
Silco's expression softened. He sighed as he looked Vander over, swallowing. “Fine.” His fingers caressed over the angry red divots his nails had left. “Allow me to make it up to you so that we might start fresh.”
“You think you’re gonna bat your lashes at me and I’m gonna just… let everything slide?”
“I think,” Silco shrugged as best he could under Vander’s hands, “it’s worked well enough so far, wouldn’t you say?” His hair slid through his fingers as he teased, his smile… private and wicked, and imperfect with chipped front teeth that were oddly endearing. Disarming.
Vander gritted his teeth, squeezing Silco’s neck harder in answer.
It took everything in Silco to swallow past the tightness in his throat and the painful press of his metal collar against his clavicle, but he eased his hand over Vander’s. He nearly lost his nerve over how small his own hand felt as it covered little more than Vander’s knuckles.
Not like a child’s small, but like he was another creature entirely set apart from the titan Vander was. Like a nymph. Hell, even a bird, with bones just as hollow and weightless… brittle in this man’s grasp.
Silco pushed on, nonetheless. “I don’t mind, you know.”
He dropped his eyes, making his intention known even as he internally panicked for a moment at the size of Vander’s cock. “There is a reason I was brought to you, but why does it have to be for more violence when you have already exhausted yourself?” He petted the fist still pressed against his abdomen. “You have proven that you are worth taking care of. Let me take care of you… Clear your head a bit and then we can talk this out,” he soothed.
He didn’t even have to pretend this time. Bruised and battered as it was, Vander’s rugged, muscular body and handsome face were still making his sex impossibly wet. He wanted him in his mouth. When he flicked his gaze back up, that sneer had relaxed, but that brow was still furrowed, that hand still squeezing.
“I don’t mind,” he said softer, carefully caressing the back of Vander’s hand, feeling the blood scabbed on his knuckles. He wet his lips. That softened the brow.
Taking a step forward loosened those hands just enough for Silco to slowly slip free, and for a moment, those calloused fingertips had caught on his jaw and his ears. His hair had slipped through Vander’s fingers, sending a tingle down his spine.
He sank to his knees, only letting his gaze drift from Vander’s uneasy eyes to the man’s hands, ready to bolt the instant either one of them shifted. He kissed a line from Vander’s navel down into the forest of unruly washed curls, hesitating when those hands balled into fists, but they never moved.
He panted out a little silent laugh. Spaying a wild bear had to be easier than this, surely. He had been told that this man had just ripped another man, even bigger than Vander himself, to shreds and here Silco was, with a stone wall at his back, no exit, guiding Vander’s heavy, stiffening cock to touch his lips, his eyes still stuck on those bloody hands. He kissed his crown, sparing a glance at a length he could almost wrap his hand around, but Vander moved suddenly.
He flinched as Vander braced his elbow against the wall overhead, his head in his hand. He had his other hand cupping Silco’s jaw, but not at all threatening. He could see Vander’s face, but could not read his expression with his bulk blocking most of the light. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.
Silco could feel the tremble in his hand. Emboldened, he reached for Vander’s cock again, ready to work, only that hand would not let him move and Vander would not take a step forward to close the gap, his eyes still closed.
“Vander,” Silco called up to him gently, waiting for his eyes to open again. “I don’t mind. In fact… I might want to.” He arched his brow as Vander’s own at last released their furrow in favor of something more… uncertain, but not uninterested. Once again, Vander’s hold relaxed enough for Silco to move. He lifted Vander’s cock, kissing a line up the underside to the sound of Vander’s stuttering breaths. “Would you still deny me this if I asked for it?”
The thumb grazing his lips was an interesting response, but one Silco knew well. He released a heavy breath, wondering for a moment where and when he had been holding it in, but thought little of it. He let his mind wander instead as Vander’s cock filled his mouth.
His eyes watered almost instantly. The weight on his tongue and the press at the back of his throat was overwhelming, but Vander’s taste was not unpleasant at all. He moaned, pleased when it made Vander’s breath catch. He could feel the man’s cock twitch and jerk as he pulled back to lap at his slit and the precome beading there.
Vander’s hands tickled as they threaded through his hair, startling him enough to spare him a glance. The man still had his head pressed to the stone, but his brow was furrowed again, his lip caught between his teeth, finally letting himself enjoy it.
Silco could only close his eyes and brace himself for the inevitable shift. All the anger Vander had been carrying would transfer to those hands caught in his hair and Silco would be trapped, forced to take as much as hard as Vander felt he deserved. It would spiral from there, surely, into more bruises and torn clothes in need of patching up in the morning… but it was either that or a beating he knew he could not handle.
Except, when Vander’s hands caught his hair, it was to pull Silco back, like a leash stopping him from taking more down his throat. When he gagged, Vander pulled him off a little further. Confused, Silco tried to meet his eyes but they were squeezed shut. Was the man close to coming already?
Silco reached for his balls, but that only elicited a moan, loosening Vander’s grip. His hips moved in the smallest, shallowest thrusts, not running away from release at all. Silco gradually sucked harder, bobbing his head faster. Again, Vander welcomed it, but when Silco gagged, those hands eased him back, his thumbs caressing Silco’s jaw.
He pushed those hands away, freeing his mouth, his cheeks flushed red. He had to blink to force his expression to look normal when Vander cracked his eyes open at him in question.
In the lowest rumble, the man asked, “Am I too rough on you?”
Silco fought back a glare, forcing a smile, as he had to remind himself that the heavy slick he felt sliding past his folds into his underwear was a normal reaction and a good one, strategically. “Of course not—No, no,” he teased, placing Vander’s hand on his throat and the other on the back of his head for emphasis when the man tried to pet him again. “Stop holding back. I won’t break.”
He had to pull Vander forward by his leg and press his own hand over Vander’s to get the man moving when he swallowed him down, unable to fathom why he was goading the man again. It was obvious he would break. If Vander listened to him, that hand at the back of Silco’s head would suffocate him, and yet when he gagged, Vander just eased him back again.
When he looked up, Vander’s face was turned skyward, his mouth open in bliss. His hold shifted back to petting Silco’s jaw and cheeks with his thumbs, but his fingers laced behind Silco’s head.
Completely in control. All the power in those hands was still right there, still capable of turning this any way Vander wanted… and yet what he wanted clearly was to be careful with him.
Silco moaned in frustration at how good it felt, squirming and uncomfortable in his soaked underwear until his orgasm caught him by surprise. He realized he had his hand twisted in the bottom of his shirt. It was the only thing that had stopped him from reaching into his pants.
He could admit it, this was hot. Vander was… a very attractive, powerful man.
He could work with that.
This was a mistake. Vander knew. Silco had won. The moment he’d let him talk, it had been downhill from there. And that cocky little shit knew he was good, knew Vander would fold. He wasn’t just pretty, he was sexy, his eyes, his pout, the annoying way he played with his hair—the very fact that his hair was so long and curled the way it did—and the way he was sprawled on his knees, moaning and bobbing on Vander’s cock, gripping his t-shirt, his nipples hard under the worn fabric.
And his voice when he’d told Vander, “I won’t break.”
It was so tempting to simply lose control and let his lust take over. Vander couldn’t even recall how long it had been since he’d done anything other than fight with another man. He was starving for this. And he was pretty sure he and Silco were around the same age, but Silco wasn’t heavier than a sneeze and was about as wide as Vander’s thigh. Still, he was sure Silco knew his own limits and was trying to push past them. If Vander did get rough, was Silco telling him that he could take it? Maybe… Hell, he’d probably tattooed ‘slut’ on himself.
Vander was exhausted, he was hurting, he was starving having missed nearly every meal these last two days. He hated fighting. It was what got him locked up here in the first place and now he was expected to fight again, all thanks to Silco. All he should do was drag this curse of a man over to his cot and pound him through it, into the floor. Wear him down and teach him not to stir so many pots and cause so much trouble.
But he was exhausted and he was hurting and every minute of every day was filled to the brim with roughness and aggression and trouble. If this was for Vander and what he wanted? What he wanted was a moment to drift away into something soft and gentle that didn’t remind him of this hell of a place or of the senseless violence that had brought him here.
And the heavy-lidded eyes that gazed up at him from under wet lashes, waves of black, and the soft moans caught between the stretch of even softer pink lips and Vander’s spit-soaked cock? It was all a vision and pleasure that gave him just what he needed to release his knots of tension and enough of his stress down Silco’s throat as he came, slow and easy.
His cock slipped free, its tether of spit cut short as Silco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It took Vander a moment to catch his breath, his stare caught in Silco’s gaze. His pupils were blown, his chin wet, and his cheeks flushed. Lips a little puffed. But there was caution in Silco’s hard brow and stiffening shoulders. He was hunching ever so slightly as if he expected Vander to still pummel him right where he knelt on the ground.
Vander rummaged through the crate for the medical supplies, tossing one of the rolls of gauze at Silco to catch before he brought the rest to his cot. He pointed his chin at the space beside him, calling Silco over. “Talk.”
Silco arched his brow, slow to rise and come forward. “Have I convinced you that we got off on the wrong foot?”
Vander winced as he began to rub salve into his bruises. “Hell no. You stole from me. You set me up.”
Silco tilted his head. “Unintentionally.”
Vander watched him tuck one end of the gauze between his thigh and calf so he could unroll it with his hand over the areas Vander covered with bandages. “Unintentionally stole?”
“No.” Silco expertly cut the gauze with his teeth and tied it off, moving on the next. “I had no idea you would be dumb enough to risk your life for a piece of jewelry, but then again, I ended up doing the same, so… Is it your wife’s? Would she really be that upset if you lost it? It’s not like she would know.”
Vander glared, his jaw tight. “My sister’s.”
Silco grimaced. “She would have been better off keeping it with her than letting it go to a place like this—”
“She’s dead. She was murdered.”
Silco let his shock and regret show for only a blip of a second before tucking it back in. “Oh. I see. Well, my apologies for your loss. If I had known it was that important to you, then—”
“Then what? You wouldn’t have robbed me—a total stranger whom you’d just failed to kill—had you known that I wanted to keep my possessions?” Vander had to look at him sideways, wondering just how deranged this man was.
Silco huffed with impatience. “Very well.” He shook his hair back from his shoulders, his chin upturned to bare his neck. “Choke me again. Strangle me to death. It’s awfully intimate, but do what you must.”
“Now, hang on—”
“No? Water under the bridge, then,” Silco declared, leaning down to cut the gauze on Vander’s thigh with his teeth and tie it before the man could speak, though his gaze was momentarily distracted, lost in Vander’s naked lap. “It’s even big when it’s soft,” he murmured. “Ridiculous.”
His aches wouldn’t let Vander move very fast to get up and grimace his way into his nightshirt, but covering up seemed to help Silco refocus.
Silco lounged on Vander’s bed with a steadying breath, making himself comfortable. “Seeing as how we are roommates, I would be willing to strike up a simple give and take with you in exchange for your… ‘influence,’ let’s call it.”
“Influence?” Try as he might, Vander couldn’t stop his mind from racing back to their sex, realizing that they had in fact just had sex and if he wanted to, it could happen again. Worse perhaps, he wanted it to happen again. Right now. Silco was already on his bed, offering it. If his mouth had been heaven, he could only imagine what else… He shook his head, his turn to lose focus. “I… I don’t have any influence.”
“Sweetheart, Dregor, that Vastaya you fought? He was undefeated seven times. You showed up and defeated him. Permanently. After already fighting two gangs and wrangling me in after two days? When Marcus had been looking for me for months in his own prison? You will have influence, and it will inspire less fists near my face. That is all I need—Well…” he grimaced, “also, if you could break that lock and lower the cot back down for me? I could pick it myself, but they confiscated my pins. Help me and you can have… honestly for the trouble I’ve caused you?” He frowned at the floor. “Whatever you want. I don’t mind.”
“I understand.” Vander nodded, making up his mind. He made quick work of the lock, straining even more muscles, but he’d deal with that. He tossed one of the blankets and pillows onto the cot and pointed his chin at it. “Over here.”
Silco, again, was slow to rise and walk over, his mask of confidence cracking momentarily, but he sat on his new cot without a word. He started to unlace his boots, but paused when Vander walked away. Vander wasn’t too surprised by Silco’s confusion, but Vander had made his intention clear. He had his wants, but he needed nothing but peace from this man as he eased back onto his own cot with a sigh.
He glanced over. “If I wake up and you’re standing on my bed like last time, I’m breaking your legs.”
Silco blinked.
He sat up. “Listen, kid—”
Silco recoiled. “Kid? I am quite sure I am older than you.”
“Whatever the case,” he stressed, “it’s obvious you’ve got… ‘issues’ that I can only assume drive most, if not all, of the bad decisions you make. You’re in trouble, yeah?”
Silco looked ready to argue, but he stopped himself, eyeing the door. He waved his hand flippantly. “Here and there.”
Vander figured that was as good of an answer as he’d get. He sighed in frustration, though not at Silco. He just wished his skin didn’t blush so easily thinking about that damned mouth of his. “What you—we… It was good—It…” He tried again. “If you need someone looking out for you, you don’t have to do that with me. I’m not demanding it, is what I’m getting at.”
Silco eyed him with suspicion. “I told you, I don’t mind.”
“I do. I mind.”
Silco narrowed his eyes, but he was otherwise guarded, unreadable. “That’s awfully sweet of you. But, you have what I… might need, and I have what you want. It’s a trade. That’s all.”
“Silco, I’m not going to force you.”
“Consider it a thank you, then.”
“Fine. It’s a deal, but I have rules. Do not go around starting fights just because you think I’ll fight them for you. I won’t. Any fires you start from here on out are your problem.”
“Promise.”
Vander lied back down. “And if I catch you trying to steal my smokes, or anything for that matter, whatever the hell this is between us, is done. Understand?”
“Loud and clear… Goodnight.”
Vander closed his eyes, not the least bit surprised when he heard Silco move.
He cracked his eyes open. “Leaving already?”
Silco was standing at the door. He wrapped his arm around his chest, sighing in frustration. “They padlocked us in? What if the pit floods?”
“Then I guess we drown—Don’t look at me. They did that for you to stay put, is my only guess. Care to explain why the head of the enforcers has your name at the top of his shit list?”
No response.
“Where you tryna run off to this late, anyways?”
Silco bristled, saying nothing. He wrapped himself up in the blanket and curled up on his cot with his boots still on, eyeing the cell door as if he could force it open with his mind.
Vander drifted, watching him and wondering all the more. What was Silco hiding and why the hell was he getting involved?
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