by Loki Renard
“He’s a fucking agent!” Bobby exclaimed, putting his glass down sharply. “This is ridiculous. He shouldn’t be at the table with us. He should be in a shallow grave.”
Angelo gave one of his sighs of disappointment. “You know what’s more useful than an agent, Bobby?”
“What?”
“A double agent. Mark can be of great use to us. We can have a man inside the agency. Someone looking out for us.”
Mark stared, the food becoming heavy in his stomach. Angelo was talking about him betraying his country and his oath
“No,” Mark said, his voice raw with fear at the thought of arousing Angelo’s ire, but stronger than he thought it would be. “I won’t do that.”
“Of course you will, “Angelo smirked. “I don’t intend to give you any choice. I need an agency man, and you’re perfect.”
“No,” Mark repeated.
“Let me hurt him,” Bobby insisted.
“Absolutely not,” Angelo replied with a patient smile. “He just needs a little encouragement.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Vitali. I can’t do that.”
“No? You’d rather die here, painfully, a long way from anyone you know?”
“If I have to.”
“For what reason?”
“I’m not going to betray my colleagues…”
“Yes,” Angelo said. “Let’s talk about those colleagues of yours. The ones who sent you in without backup. The ones who failed to see armed men approaching, or to intervene if they did see. Do you know what you were, Mark?”
“What?”
“Bait.” The word fell from Angelo’s lips. “You were meant to die in that room. I’m sure of it.”
“No,” Mark shook his head. “I was just there to get close to you and observe…”
“I’ve spent the last twenty four hours canvassing all the crime families I know. Not a single one of them has claimed that hit. Strange, no? Almost like it wasn’t a genuine assault. Almost as if it was simply designed to give them a body they could use against me.”
“No,” Mark said. “They wouldn’t do that. The agency doesn’t sacrifice agents for convictions.”
Bobby started laughing with genuine amusement. “Oh we have to take him to a party. He’s adorable. The agency doesn’t sacrifice agents? A dead agent is one of the best ways to guarantee a conviction. Judges and juries get all twisted up about them, and whoever gets blamed for it goes down.”
Mark pressed his lips together. He didn’t believe them. They were lying to him. Trying to manipulate him. He wasn’t going to let them twist his mind. He was not going to flip.
Angelo wiped his hands on a serviette and sat back, his tone cordial and pleasant. “Think about it, Mark. They haven’t come for you. I’ve had you all of twenty four hours and no armed men have swung through the windows. No police have knocked on my door. They don’t know where you are, and they don’t care.”
Mark shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure they’re looking.”
“They’re not.” Angelo said simply. “They’re waiting for you to show up dead.”
“And how long is that going to be if I don’t cooperate?”
“I’m not going to kill you, Mark.”
“I will,” Bobby interjected.
“No, you won’t.” Angelo reached out and ran his fingers over Mark’s jawline. “He’s not going to get out of this that easily.”
Mark felt a chill zip down his spine, spreading ice through his body as he froze before this perfect predator. Angelo’s expression and touch were affectionate, but Mark knew damn well that there was no affection here, not in the way there would be with a normal person. Angelo was not a typical man. Love and pain were bound up together in the core of his being so tightly that they were basically the same thing. None of the usual descriptions of criminals like him applied. Dark. Twisted. Black hearted. He was none of those things, and yet he was all of them. Somehow, Angelo contained the very worst traits of man without being tainted by them. He made them beautiful and alluring.
Mark had long ago allied himself with the good guys of the world, but now he was coming face to face with the seductive power of a real devil - and he wasn’t sure he could resist.
“You’re too pretty to kill,” Angelo declared. “And you’re going to be mine. Just like Bobby.”
“All due respect, sir…”
“You’re going to do as I say,” Angelo purred softly, tapping Mark’s cheek lightly. “You’re going to do everything I ask, and you’re going to do it eagerly.”
Mark really couldn’t have agreed less. He wasn’t going to belong to Angelo. He wasn’t going to betray the agency, or his country. None of these things were going to happen, no matter how sure Angelo was.
“And what am I going to have to do to leave here? You say I have to convince you, but how do I do that?”
“I’ll know when you’ve given me your loyalty,” Angelo said with a wolfish smile. “I’ll know because you’ll have given yourself to me.”
Mark’s jaw dropped.
Bobby let out a cold laugh while Angelo simply smiled with that predatory grin. If Mark had understood him correctly, he had to let Angelo fuck him in order to get out.
“Give myself to you?”
“Sexually.” Angelo clarified without shame.
“You mean you’re going to…”
“Fuck you? Yes. The moment I saw you I wanted to have you. Now I have a good reason to.”
Mark took a sip of wine and glanced over at Bobby. The younger man did not seem any more pleased by the revelation than Mark did.
“I really think you should just let me go,” he said. “I can cut a deal. I can get you a reduced sentence…”
Angelo let out a laugh. “No,” he said. “That would be playing the game by your rules, and I always play by mine. You will give your body to me, Agent Locke, and I will satisfy myself with your loyalty before you leave this place.”
“But…” Mark didn’t even know what to say. The entire proposition was just so ludicrous. “Sex doesn’t equal loyalty.”
“It does when I’m done with a man.” Angelo cast a significant look over at Bobby.
“A magic penis is not going to keep you out of jail, Mr Vitali.”
“There’s no magic to what I do,” Angelo purred softly, seeming unoffended by Mark’s flippant remark. “When I claim a man, he stays claimed.”
Mark really didn’t know what to say to Angelo. The demand for sex didn’t shock him as much as the bizarre reasoning did. But this was a man who traded in dark favors, who used sex as a weapon. Mark was well aware he would do well not to underestimate Angelo Vitali.
“You’re not ready yet, I know,” Angelo said, waving his hand. “When the time comes, you will beg me for it. Until then, enjoy your dessert.”
Dinner ended in silence and tiramisu. Then Mark fled to bed.
12
“Spread your ass, Agent.”
Angelo stood over Mark, rubbing lubricant over his cock, his face a mask of merciless desire.
Mark wanted to refuse, but his hands went almost mechanically to his ass. He did as he was told because there was no such thing as choice anymore. There was only desire. Angelo’s desire - and his own. Mark’s dick was rock hard beneath his belly, dripping precum.
It was a dream. He knew it wasn’t real. He clung to it though. He stayed in that place where the dark and dominant Angelo Vitali was poised to push his thick cock deep inside his ass. Some part of him wanted it, the ultimate debasement. He’d never been on the bottom before, but that didn’t matter. He was craving the dark, and it was coming to him more swiftly than he could handle.
“I said hold your ass open.”
Mark’s trembling fingers pulled his cheeks apart.
“Wider.” Another relentless command.
He was stuck there, his cheeks spread, his tight virgin hole on display.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Angelo declared, his voice so beautiful Mark could barely
stand it. “And you’re going to be mine, forever. There will be no others after me.”
“No…” Mark whimpered. “No…”
It didn’t matter what he said. He was going to be taken. He could feel it in the very core of him. There was no escaping Angelo Vitali, not even in his dreams. Except the dream was fading now and as much as he tried to get back to it, just that last little bit remained, that sense of being open and vulnerable and so damn eager for the worst thing that could ever happen to him.
He woke to a note by his bed, and half a pill with it. Angelo hadn’t forgotten. It was almost sweet, but Mark knew Angelo wasn’t sweet. He was calculating.
Mark’s erection was painfully hard beneath the sheets. He put his good hand to his cock and began working to relieve the tension. Being around the Vitali men wasn’t safe while horny. As he worked himself toward release, he closed his eyes and let his mind fill with thoughts. The first was Bobby on his knees, sucking his cock. In the fantasy it lasted longer than it had in real life. In the fantasy, Bobby was naked and he was eager.
It hit Mark suddenly that what he was fantasizing about was being Angelo. Having the kind of power over other men that Angelo did. Mark drew his knees up and stroked himself to a hard climax imagining himself to have the sort of sway which bought men to their knees, dreaming of idealized power, unceasing domination. It was a rush which left him panting against the sweaty sheets.
With one of his needs temporarily sated, Mark got up, ready to start the day. What did that even mean for a captive of the house of Vitali? He figured it probably meant the same as anywhere else, a trip to the bathroom.
The wound in his arm was already starting to heal. He knew that because it was itching and sore. He unwound the bandage and looked at it in the mirror. A couple of tight stitches held his flesh closed. It looked good though, nice and clean. No sign of infection.
As he looked at what he knew would be a perpetual scar in his bicep, Angelo’s words from the previous evening came back. Who shot him? Was it friendly fire? Was it on purpose? No. He had to push that thought out of his head. Angelo was trying to make him doubt so that it would be easier to manipulate him. The profile had been very clear that Angelo Vitali was a man who operated on mental, not physical control.
Mark threw the pill Angelo had left him down his throat and chased it with some water. Okay. His head was a bit clearer now. He could think.
Suddenly, the utter ludicrousness of the situation slammed into him.
What the hell was he doing? He was allegedly being held captive, but there were no chains, no ropes. The windows were barred, but most of the doors weren’t even locked, and he’d just had the most comfortable night’s sleep of his life. These were hardly the experiences of a captive.
He wasn’t Angelo’s prisoner. He was a prisoner of his own treacherous mind.
It was time to take a stand.
Angelo Vitali was just a man. It was easy to be awed by him, but so far he hadn’t actually done anything all that terrible. Mark was beginning to believe that the legends surrounding Angelo were inflated. He wasn’t a monster. He was just a very handsome, charismatic man who knew how to manipulate other men.
Mark got dressed in borrowed clothes, squared his shoulders, and decided to leave. Not escape. Just leave. When he tried the door of his room, he found that it was open. They weren’t bothering to lock him in. They just expected him to hang around until he let Angelo fuck him. That was the level of arrogance he was dealing with. Well, he’d soon show them what he was made of.
He made his way downstairs and found Angelo standing at the bottom of the staircase, almost as if he’d been waiting. A little unexpected, but not of any great concern. Descending from on high, Mark focused on Angelo’s imperfections. The slight crookedness of his ears, the bits of his hair that were more salt than pepper. The pointyness of his elbows. Anything to minimize the impact of the man.
“Hello, boy,” Angelo greeted him.
“Goodbye, Angelo.”
“Hmmm?” Angelo quirked a brow.
“I’m leaving.”
“Oh really?” Angelo’s lips spread in a dark smile. “How fascinating.”
A little chill made its way down Mark’s spine, but he ignored it. He couldn’t give in to fear. That was what Angelo traded on. He was Mr Mindfuck. A player of games. But nobody could win every game all the time.
Mark put on his most confident facade as he closed the distance between himself and Angelo, drawing ever closer to the impeccably dressed model of Sicilian handsomeness.
“I would love to know what you’re thinking,” Angelo added as they came face to face with one another.
“You want to know what I think? I think I can just walk out of here and you’re not going to do a thing because you know that detaining an FBI agent against his will is a federal crime. And you know where that ends up? Pound you in the ass prison.”
With that, Mark started striding toward the front door. Confidence. That was all this would take. With any luck, they’d open the gates for him.
“Come back here, Mark,” Angelo said, his voice quite calm. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Stop me, and I’ll get the judge to add five years,” Mark said over his shoulder.
“Mark, one more step and you’re going to be a very sorry boy, I promise you.”
Mark strode on regardless.
WHAP!
Something long and thin and impossibly hard connected with the back of his knees. Mark crumpled mid-stride and collapsed to the ground with a scream as pain shot through his nervous system. He looked up with wide, pained eyes to see Angelo stood over him, an extendable baton in his hand.
“What the hell!” Mark tried to get up, but Angelo pushed the tip of the baton against Mark’s neck and shook his head.
“Stay right there and don’t get cocky, agent,” Angelo purred. “I can make this as painful as it needs to be. Bobby!”
Bobby emerged from somewhere nearby. He didn’t seem surprised to see Mark writhing on the floor. Neither of these men seemed to be surprised by anything ever. Mark was starting to think the world could explode and Bobby and Angelo would be left behind, looking generally unimpressed.
“Get the chair, Bobby. I think our favorite agent needs a trip downstairs.”
‘The chair’ turned out to be a tall backed wheelchair, which Bobby retrieved from some unseen corner of the house. Mark laid there regretting his choices until Bobby and Angelo picked him and put him into it, ignoring his protestations and stammered attempts at apologies.
He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up. The realization of just how badly he’d fucked up grew as he was wheeled around the foyer and into an elevator he hadn’t known existed.
They went down.
The moment they emerged into a dimly lit basement, Mark tried to get up. Angelo pushed him back down in the chair with a growl.
“Shut up and stay.”
“But…”
“Shut up, or I will gag that pretty mouth,” Angelo said before turning to Bobby. “Get him in position and get him naked.”
Bobby wheeled Mark a few dozen feet further into the semi-darkness then pulled the chair to a halt and walked around to face Mark.
“I knew you’d fuck up sooner or later,” he sneered as he pulled out a knife and slid the gleaming blade down Mark’s shirt, cutting the buttons off in one smooth stroke. The shirt fell open and the knife continued its path downward, through the waistband of his pants and underwear. The material fell away, neatly sliced from his body with impressive skill and what didn’t fall was soon yanked off by Bobby, who showed no interest in tenderness at all. In minutes, Mark was entirely naked and trapped between an evil rock and a malevolent hard place.
Angelo had been waiting patiently for him to be prepared. Once he was satisfied that Mark was properly naked, he began to lecture.
“I don’t tolerate disobedience or arrogance,” Angelo informed him. “You’re mine, Mark. You have no life outsi
de these walls. To the world, you are good as dead. It doesn’t matter what I do to you, understand? You’re debris to be destroyed.”
Gone was the genteel host who shared generous portions of tiramisu. In his place was a cold devil. Angelo’s face was as beautiful as it had ever been, cast in the cool electric light which swung above their heads. He was a perfect tormentor and even as Mark came to fear him, he felt another emotion creeping through his blood, emerging from the very marrow of him. Admiration.
“Don’t hurt me.”
The plea came from his lips without his bidding. It was natural to beg a devil for mercy, and his lips spoke their prayer of their own accord.
“Do as you are told, and it will hurt less.”
That was probably all that passed for mercy where Angelo was concerned.
“You need to learn, Mark. My kindness is not weakness. Bobby, hook him up.”
Bobby grinned and got to work.
As Mark’s eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw that he was in a… well… you could have called it a dungeon if you had a low bar for dungeons. More like a workshop. Lots of metal things, lots of chests containing god knows what. Work benches.
Mark watched as the younger man picked up a thick rubber band marked with metal points. A long lead extended from it, sort of like a mouse cord or something for a computer. He didn’t understand it at all until Bobby slid it over his flaccid cock, pushing it down the shaft until it snugged up against his body. A cock ring of some kind?
Bobby took a plug, similarly dark and marked with metal on the base and smiled more broadly than Mark had ever seen him smile before.
“This is going inside you,” Bobby said. “Spread your legs and lay back.”
Suddenly, Bobby wasn’t the submissive he had been yesterday. Suddenly he was just as powerful as Angelo, drawing power from the master. Mark’s impulse to refuse was significantly tempered by Angelo’s dark stare. He had no doubt that to refuse this would be to make matters much, much worse for himself.
Mark weighed his total lack of options, then spread his thighs.
“Good boy.” Angelo’s approval floated to Mark from the darkness as the plug pressed against his sphincter. Bobby twisted it a few times, spreading lube across Mark’s tight bud, and then it slid inside him, filling him almost three inches deep. It wasn’t physically large. Mark had played with larger on his own, but the humiliation of being plugged as a punishment by a criminal he should have been putting behind bars was almost more than he could take. A hot flush consumed his face, and little tingles ran all the way through his body, starting at his toes and moving all the way to the roots of his hair. He was sticky with sweat as his traitorous rear clutched at the plug, holding the object of torment inside him.
