Page 1 of Enzo
ONE
Roman
He leftme on my knees.
I didn’t even feel the cold at first—I was numb. My body and mind was locked into an endless cycle of pain and submission. Hope had been stripped from me, torn away, until all that remained was the emptiness inside my chest. I used to believe I could survive anything, but here, in this place, I knew better. Survival was a cruel joke, a whisper I barely remembered. Maybe it would be easier if I just… stopped.
Not yet.
Not until I was sure there was nothing left to fight for.
The rough concrete bit into my skin through my torn jeans, the damp chill of the basement seeping into my bones. My arms ached, bound tight behind me, wrists raw from the coarse rope holding me captive. The chains on either side rattled when I moved, a cruel reminder of my place, my punishment.
Beyond the locked door, I could hear muffled laughter. It was distant, careless. The kind of laughter that belonged to men who had choices, who weren’t caged in the dark like an animal. I swallowed, my throat dry, my ribs throbbing where his boots had found their mark. The coppery tang of blood sat thick on my tongue, mixing with the taste of failure.
John had been drinking. He was always drinking.
Stealing. Making me hide the evidence. Drinking.
Hurting me.
That first time, when he’d found me, I thought maybe—just maybe—it would be different. He’d fed me, given me water, promised me safety. That was the hook. The lie. Safety didn’t exist in his world, only control. Only what he decided I was worth. And he decided I wasn’t worth much at all.
Every day was the same. The cycle. The routine.
A hand in my hair, dragging me from sleep. Words slurred; orders given. I was a thing. A possession. Something to be kept. He’d whisper it like a promise,“Your brain belongs to me now, Roman.”
I lost track of how long it had been. The days blurred together and became years. No windows. No way to mark time beyond his moods, beyond the weight of his fists or the sharp crack of a belt when I failed him, and the bite of the cage on my penis, locked, and the key thrown away right in front of me.
“They want you locked up, I don’t want to see that pathetic thing. I’m not fucking queer and you don’t get to feel anything as long as you keep your mouth shut.”
The cage twisted with hair and blood and cut my skin whentheywrenched on it.
“They don’t know what you can do! You remember boy, you don’t tell them shit!”
Tonight, it had been more numbers to remember, statistics to work out, letters to memorize. Then, a visit from the two who join in, who use me, who hurt me, who laugh.
I was too exhausted to get them right, my mind sluggish, my body trembling from lack of food. I’d tried. I always tried. But trying wasn’t enough. Mistakes had consequences.
Now, I knelt in the dark, the air thick with mildew and the acrid scent of old sweat. The cold steel of the collar at my throat was a constant, pressing weight. A mark.Hismark.
I used to have a name. A life.
Iusedto be Roman Lowe.
I wasn’t always this pathetic thing. I used to matter. But John had taken every part of me away, crushing everything good until I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be whole.
Piece by piece, he’d destroyed me until all that was left was what he’d made of me.
And if I stayed here much longer, I wouldn’t survive.
He told me they were coming tomorrow—the people he answered to—and I knew this was my last chance because when they realized what he’d done with their money, and then he realized I’d hidden money that money out of everyone’s reach…
I’m dead.
I had a plan. It wasn’t much—a desperate, last-ditch gamble born of sheer panic. I was at the edge, teetering between hope and surrender. I’d decided I wouldn’t let him keep me if I couldn’t break free. I’d make him kill me first. I’d rather die than let John and hisfriendswin. Every time he forced the drugs down my throat, I learned how to half swallow, gag after he’d gone, how to spit them out when he wasn’t looking, how to scrape them into the fibers of the rug or let them dissolve in the drain, and then to stash them in my secret place. The more I resisted, the clearer my mind became. The haze he tried to keep me under was lifting, but with that clarity came a sharper, more unbearable desperation to escape.
Escape or die.
