Chapter 8 Breach - 8

• Chapter Eight: Stay Broken
• ⸻
• 12:01 P.M.
• Cain didn’t flinch when the knock came.
• He was already by the door—gun in hand, knife at his ankle, Glock tucked at the base of his spine.
• The safehouse wasn’t on any map. Not satellite, not private ledger, not even in Vincente’s own network.
• Whoever had the balls to show up here knew what they were doing.
• Cain opened the door.
• Nothing.
• Just a single black box on the concrete, sealed with blood-red wax.
• No name. No return address.
• Just a sticker on the top with one word in block capitals:
• STAY BROKEN.
• Cain’s stomach coiled like a spring.
• He took it inside.
• Opened it slow.
• And inside— A copy of the sex video, printed and paused at Saxon’s face mid-orgasm, a single, bloody bullet casing and a slip of paper with Saxon’s real name—Elias Angelo Dantes—written in looping cursive.
• And then slashed through in thick, black ink.
• Like a death notice.
• Cain’s grip crushed the edge of the casing.
• His vision went white.
• Saxon stepped out from the hallway, shirt halfway on, lips still bruised from last night’s bite marks.
• He took one look at Cain’s face and froze.
• “What is it?”
• Cain didn’t speak.
• He just held the paper out.
• Saxon took it.
• Read it once.
• Then again.
• His face went blank.
• “You told me no one knew,” he whispered.
• “They shouldn’t have,” Cain said tightly. “Your name was buried years ago. Erased from every federal, medical, and state archive. Only two people ever had access.”
• Saxon looked up. “You and—”
• Cain finished it. “Vincente.”
• ⸻
• 12:25 P.M.
• The car Cain stole from the second safehouse hit 140 down the abandoned country road.
• Saxon sat in the passenger seat, seatbelt tight, watching Cain with a look that was half-horrified, half-turned-on.
• He’d seen this version of Cain only once.
• After Saxon had nearly been kidnapped by a rival syndicate at nineteen.
• That version of Cain had left six men dead in a river, a knife in his thigh, and a message carved into the torso of their leader.
• Now? He was worse.
• Cold.
• Quiet.
• Completely, dangerously still.
• “What are you going to do?” Saxon asked.
• Cain’s voice didn’t rise. “I’m going to start a fire.”
• ⸻
• 01:02 P.M.
• Vincente’s Private Lounge | Club Bleed | Downtown
• Cain didn’t walk through the back door.
• He kicked it open.
• Two guards jumped up—one went for his weapon, the other tried to shout.
• Cain dropped them both in three seconds. No kill shots. Just bones broken, windpipes crushed.
• He stepped through the smoke-filled lounge like a ghost, past velvet couches and cigar ash, his gun raised as he moved straight for the man lounging in the corner—
• Damon, Vincente’s favored pet. Pretty, vain, cruel.
• Damon smiled when he saw him. “You’re early. We expected you tonight—”
• Cain fired.
• The bullet nicked Damon’s thigh—on purpose—blood blossoming instantly.
• Damon screamed.
• Cain was across the room in three strides, slamming him against the wall, gun under his jaw.
• “Where is he?” Cain growled.
• “I don’t know—I swear—”
• Cain twisted Damon’s arm until it cracked.
• “Try again.”
• Damon sobbed. “Vincente said you’d break first. He said Saxon would ruin you!”
• Cain pressed the muzzle deeper. “He’s right.”
• Then he whispered, “But broken men have nothing left to lose.”
• And with that, he smashed the butt of the gun into Damon’s temple and walked out like a storm in human form.
• ⸻
• 02:10 P.M.
• Back at the safehouse
• Cain stepped inside, bloody knuckles, busted lip, shirt torn at the collar.
• Saxon was waiting.
• Sitting on the bed.
• Holding a second note.
• He held it up.
• ‘Time’s almost up, Elias. You don’t belong to him. You belong to me.’
• Cain blinked once.
• “Where did this come from?”
• Saxon’s throat worked. “It was in the shower. Hidden behind the mirror.”
• Cain’s blood ran cold.
• They were inside.
• Already inside.
• He crossed the room in two steps and grabbed Saxon’s face in his hands.
• “Listen to me,” he said, voice low and sharp. “You do not belong to anyone else. You are mine.”
• Saxon’s jaw clenched. “And if I’m not? If I’m too broken now? Too exposed?”
• Cain kissed him.
• Hard.
• Deep.
• Ferocious.
• Then he shoved Saxon back onto the bed and ripped his shirt open.
• “I’ll break you myself,” Cain growled. “But I’ll put every piece back where it belongs. With me.”
• ⸻
• 02:16 P.M.
• Cain didn’t waste time.
• He spread Saxon’s legs wide, kissed down his chest, his stomach, then licked a stripe up the inside of his thigh.
• “You want to forget them?” Cain rasped.
• Saxon nodded.
• Cain unbuckled his pants.
• “Then let me remind you who the fuck you belong to.”
• He took Saxon’s cock into his mouth with no warning, no pause, sucking him down to the base so fast Saxon gasped, legs twitching.
• Cain held his hips down—devoured him, licked like a man starved, kissed the head, tongue under the shaft, fingers pressing into Saxon’s throat while he moaned.
• Saxon bucked, nearly sobbing. “Cain—fuck—I can’t—I’m—”
• Cain didn’t stop.
• He kept sucking until Saxon came hard, shaking, moaning Cain’s name like it was a goddamn sacrament.
• Cain swallowed every drop.
• Then leaned up, licked his lips, and whispered, “You taste absolutely delicious.”
• Saxon grabbed his face.
• Kissed him so hard they both bruised on their lips.
• Cain undressed fast—threw his clothes to the floor, climbed over Saxon, shoved into him without a second thought.
• And the way Saxon arched?
• The way he took him?
• Desperate. Raw. Like he was begging for more pain.
• Cain obliged.
• He fucked him into the mattress, bit his neck, clawed his hips, came inside him once, kept going, and made Saxon come again with just the rhythm of his cock and the burn of their need.
• Afterward, they lay in a heap of sweat and spit and bleeding trust.
• Saxon didn’t speak.
• Cain whispered, “They can come for us. Let them. I’ve already died once. But I won’t lose you again.”
• Saxon exhaled.
• And kissed him softly.
• ⸻
• 04:10 P.M.
• Unknown Location
• Don Vincente watched the grainy feed.
• Cain on top. Saxon writhing.
• His smile was slow.
• “You’re almost ready,” he murmured.
• Rena stepped into the room.
• “They’ve set fire to your club.”
• “I know.”
• “You don’t care?”
• Vincente grinned. “I want Cain angry. I want him obsessed.”
• He touched the screen.
• “And when he’s ready to kill the world for Saxon—I’ll take him.”