The fog in my mind began to clear, not because the drugs were wearing off but because something deeper than chemistry was responding. My pulse shifted from fear to anticipation. My skin prickled with an awareness that had nothing to do with the compounds in my bloodstream.
Ezra.
My cock stirred against my zipper before my conscious mind fully processed what I was hearing. Every cell in my body turned toward that sound.
This was my person. My choice. My dark sanctuary coming to reclaim what belonged to him.
"Julian." I paused, letting the name hang in the air. "You’ve made a fundamental error."
He looked up from preparing the injection. "What's that, beautiful?"
"You assumed I was Ezra's student." I tested the ropes, feeling them give slightly. "I was never Ezra’s student. I’mhis."
I surged up from the chair, ripping my arms free. Julian whirled toward me at the same moment the door to his workshop swung open. Too slow. I caught his arm as he tried to jam the needle into me and smashed my face into his. It was sloppy, but it was enough. Julian stumbled backwards, crashing into his shelves of solutions and organs, sending the jars cascading to the floor. He screamed as the glass cut into him, letting the solution sting.
When Julian tried to push himself up from the floor, he promptly found Ezra’s heel on his neck. “I would stay down there if I were you.”
Julian gritted his teeth and turned to me, frantic. "You think he loves you? He doesn’t. This is trauma bonding. Do you really think he’ll just let you go when he’s done with you?"
"That’s what you got wrong,” I said, fighting to free my legs. “He's not my captor. He's my sanctuary. And he didn’t just choose me. We chose each other."
Julian's face cycled through confusion, hurt, rage, desperation. The fantasy he'd built, where I was some broken boy unworthy of Ezra’s attention, crumbled before his eyes.
"You're both insane," he whispered.
"No," I corrected, moving closer. "We're artists. And you're about to become our collaborative masterpiece."
I reached for a bone saw from his collection, testing its weight with my maimed hand. The tool felt good in my grip, my missing finger joint changing the angle but improving leverage.
Julian scrambled backward, not caring that he was crawling through glass and whatever preservation solution he used. "Wait. We can make a deal. Real partnership this time. I'll teach you my methods; you teach me yours. We can work together, the three of us."
"Too late for partnerships." Ezra moved to flank him from the other side. "You touched what belongs to me. Threatened whatwe've built together. There are consequences for that kind of presumption."
Julian's back hit the concrete wall, then scrambled to his feet. He tried to bolt up the stairs. Ezra's blade caught his Achilles tendon as soon as he passed the second step, dropping him with a scream. I caught his right ankle, the bone saw's serrated edge sliding between tendon and bone.
Julian collapsed, legs useless, crawling on ruined hands.
"Get him on the table," Ezra said, gesturing toward the nearest medical surface. "Strip him down. I want access to everything."
Julian tried to resist, but his severed tendons gave him no grip. We hauled him onto the stainless steel surface, his blood leaving streaks across the metal.
I began cutting away his expensive clothes while Ezra secured restraints around his wrists and remaining good ankle. Julian's designer suit fell away in tatters, revealing pale skin already mottled with bruises from our earlier violence.
"Much better," Ezra murmured, running his hands over Julian's exposed torso. "Now we can work properly."
I selected a scalpel from Julian's instruments, testing its weight in my maimed hand. The tool felt natural despite my missing joint, as if made for this purpose. Clarity descended over me, a sense of artistic certainty I'd only experienced once before—the night I'd destroyed the face of Christ in my triptych.
"I know exactly what to do with him, Daddy. He wants to be part of our work so badly. Let's make him our canvas."
Julian's eyes widened in terror as understanding dawned. "Wait—please—"
"Remember my thesis piece?" I asked Ezra, my voice calm and focused. "The one that first caught your attention. The one where I destroyed the face of Christ to reveal the void beneath divinity."
Ezra's smile was slow and appreciative. "Perfect symmetry."
I placed the blade against Julian's forehead, finding the hairline. "He's spent years watching us, studying us, believing he understood what we do. But he never truly saw." The first incision was shallow, precise, just breaking the skin. Julian screamed. "So we'll take away his ability to see. We'll take his face, just as I took the face of divinity."
"No, please," Julian begged, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. "I just wanted to learn from you."
