Beneath the Shadow of Sin – Chapter 8: The Outsider’s Game – by Aarav Anthem

Beneath the Shadow of Sin – Chapter 8: The Outsider’s Game – by Aarav Anthem

Ethan’s nerves were raw as Marcus’s truck pulled into an unmarked warehouse on the city’s edge, the gravel crunching under the tires. The building loomed, its rusted metal walls blending into the night, a far cry from the forest’s primal chaos or the cabin’s intimate betrayal. Marcus hadn’t said much on the drive, only that they were meeting someone important, someone who’d “open Ethan’s eyes.” The weight of his father’s hand on his thigh, a constant claim, kept Ethan silent, his mind churning with Sarah’s cryptic warning and the curse’s tightening grip.

Inside, the warehouse was cold, the air heavy with the scent of oil and leather. Jack was already there, leaning against a concrete pillar, his shaved head catching the dim light from overhead bulbs. He grinned at Ethan, his eyes glinting with familiar hunger. “Ready for round two, kid?” he said, his voice echoing in the vast space. Ethan’s stomach twisted, but he forced himself to nod, his body conditioned to obey.

Marcus led him through a steel door into a smaller room, its walls lined with chains and hooks, a padded table at the center under a harsh spotlight. Ethan’s pulse spiked, the setup screaming control, precision, a stark contrast to the forest’s wild abandon. A man stood in the shadows, tall and broad, his presence commanding even before he stepped into the light. He was older, perhaps fifty, with close-cropped blond hair and ice-blue eyes that seemed to pierce Ethan’s soul. His leather vest and pants hugged a muscular frame, his movements deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey.

“This is Bjorn,” Marcus said, his voice tinged with respect, a rarity. “He’s been with us a long time. Knows the pact better than anyone.” He clapped Ethan’s shoulder, pushing him forward. “Show him what you’re made of, kid.”

Bjorn’s gaze raked over Ethan, clinical but intense. “So, this is the new heir,” he said, his voice deep, accented—Scandinavian, maybe, echoing the journal’s German roots. “Strip, boy. Let me see you.” His tone left no room for argument, and Ethan’s hands moved, shedding his jacket, shirt, and jeans, the cold air biting his skin. Bjorn circled him, his boots clicking on the concrete, his hand brushing Ethan’s shoulder, his hip, testing his response.

“Responsive,” Bjorn murmured, stopping in front of Ethan. “Good. The pact demands strength, submission. You’ll need both tonight.” He gestured to the table, and Ethan climbed onto it, the padding cool against his back. Marcus and Jack watched from the sidelines, Marcus’s eyes dark with anticipation, Jack’s grin sharp and eager.

Bjorn’s hands were methodical, securing Ethan’s wrists and ankles with leather cuffs, the restraints tight but not painful. “This is about control,” Bjorn said, his voice steady. “Yours, mine, the pact’s.” He picked up a flogger from a nearby rack, its leather tails swishing as he tested its weight. Ethan’s breath hitched, fear and anticipation warring in his chest.

The first strike was light, a sting across Ethan’s chest that made him gasp. Bjorn’s movements were precise, each lash building in intensity, painting Ethan’s skin with heat. “Breathe,” Bjorn commanded, and Ethan obeyed, his body arching into the pain, the line between hurt and pleasure blurring. Marcus’s voice cut through, low and approving. “Look at him, taking it like a champ.”

Bjorn set the flogger aside, his hands roaming Ethan’s body, soothing the welts with a gentleness that unnerved him. “You’re strong,” Bjorn said, his fingers trailing down Ethan’s abdomen, brushing his hardening cock. “But strength means surrender, too.” He unzipped his pants, revealing a cock as imposing as the man himself—long, thick, veined. Ethan’s mouth went dry, his body tensing as Bjorn climbed onto the table, straddling his chest.

“Open,” Bjorn said, and Ethan’s lips parted, taking the head into his mouth. The taste was sharp, musky, and Bjorn’s hand guided him, slow but firm, pushing deeper. Ethan’s throat relaxed, his eyes watering as Bjorn set a steady rhythm, his groans low and guttural. Marcus stepped closer, his own jeans open, stroking himself as he watched. “Fuck, kid,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re made for this.”

Jack joined, his hands freeing Ethan’s ankles, spreading his thighs. “My turn,” he growled, slicking himself with lube from a bottle on the rack. Ethan tensed as Jack entered him, the intrusion sudden, rough, but Bjorn’s cock in his mouth kept him grounded, the dual sensations overwhelming. Jack’s thrusts were relentless, his hands bruising Ethan’s hips, and Ethan moaned, the vibration making Bjorn thrust deeper.

Marcus leaned in, his hand wrapping around Ethan’s cock, stroking in time with Jack’s movements. “Come for us, Ethan,” he said, his voice a command. Ethan’s body obeyed, his orgasm crashing through him, his cum spilling over Marcus’s hand. Bjorn groaned, pulling out to paint Ethan’s face with his release, the warmth shocking against his skin. Jack followed, his thrusts faltering as he came deep inside, his growl echoing in the room.

They untied Ethan, his body trembling, his skin marked by welts and cum. Bjorn handed him a towel, his expression softening slightly. “You did well,” he said, pulling a wad of cash from his vest and tossing it to Marcus. “He’s worth it. Bring him back.”

Marcus pocketed the money, smirking. “Told you he’s special.” He helped Ethan dress, his touch possessive, and Ethan’s mind reeled at the transaction, his body now a commodity. The cash complicated everything—shame, pride, and a sick sense of value twisted together. He followed Marcus and Jack out, the warehouse fading behind them, but Bjorn’s blue eyes lingered in his mind, a new thread in the curse’s web.

In the truck, Marcus was quiet, his hand back on Ethan’s thigh. “You’re making us proud,” he said finally, his voice low. “And making us money. That’s power, kid.” Ethan stared out the window, the city lights blurring, Sarah’s warning echoing—you’re in deeper than you think. The money burned in his thoughts, a tangible proof of his descent, yet the curse’s pull was stronger, tying him to Marcus, to Bjorn, to a game he couldn’t quit.

Back home, Marcus pulled Ethan close, his lips brushing his ear. “You’re still mine first,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to cup Ethan’s ass. “Don’t let Bjorn fool you.” He let go, heading to his room, and Ethan stood in the dark hallway, his body aching, his heart torn between rebellion and surrender. The curse was a chain, and every link—Marcus, Richard, Jack, now Bjorn—drew him tighter into its embrace.

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