Chapter 2

The apartment was too quiet.

Erik stared at the ceiling, eyes gritty with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept so much as drifted in and out of shallow half-dreams where his mother’s voice still rang out — broken gasps, ragged cries, the wet slap of flesh on flesh. Even with headphones on, he hadn’t been able to shut it out. The sounds bled into his skull, vivid and inescapable.

By the time dawn seeped through the blinds, his body ached with fatigue. He pushed himself upright, the bed sheets twisted around his legs. His chest felt hollow, as if something had been scooped out in the night and left empty.

The smell lingered too. Not in his room, but faint in the air that carried through the hall: sweat, sex, the musk of another man. He rubbed his face with both hands, groaning. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to face her.

But his stomach churned, restless, so he **** himself up. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he padded down the hall.

That’s when he noticed.

Her door.

It was ajar, just enough for a crack of dim light to bleed into the hall. Normally, it was locked after Jax spent the night. Always locked. Untouchable. A barrier.

Erik froze, heart hammering.

The memory of last night surged back — her muffled screams, the guttural groan of Jax’s pleasure. His chest tightened, his skin prickling with heat and shame. He should turn around. Respect her privacy. Pretend he hadn’t noticed.

But his feet carried him closer. One slow step. Then another.

The door creaked softly as he eased it wider.

The smell hit him first. Heavier here, thick with sweat and sex, raw and animal. His throat closed up. He almost backed away.

Then his eyes adjusted, and he saw her.

Eva lay sprawled across the bed, her hair a tangled black halo across the pillow. Her skin glistened faintly, pale shoulders marked by handprints, bruises blooming along her thighs. The sheets were twisted beneath her, damp patches dark against the fabric. Her legs were parted slightly, and in the soft light he saw it — the sheen between them, the faint trace of Jax’s seed still clinging, leaking.

Erik’s breath caught.

She looked so fragile like that, **** in a way he had never seen. His mother, the woman who had raised him, who held herself so carefully, always in control — undone, used, discarded.

Something cracked inside him.

He wanted to cover her, to shield her from the world, from men like Jax. To protect her the way she had always protected him. The urge to step forward and pull the blanket over her body nearly dragged him inside.

But his eyes lingered.

On the red imprint of fingers across her hips. On the faint tremor of her chest as she breathed. On the wet shine between her thighs that told the story of the night he had only heard.

Heat pooled low in his belly, sickening, undeniable. His cock stirred in his pants, and he wanted to vomit.

God, stop. Don’t look. Don’t think it.

But he couldn’t stop. His gaze moved against his will, tracing the curve of her breast where the sheet slipped, the bite mark darkening at her collarbone, the bruises like brands claiming her.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, a faint whimper escaping her lips. His heart lurched. She sounded so small, so pained. He clenched his fists, nails digging crescents into his palms.

Part of him wanted to storm into Jax’s world, fists swinging, consequences be damned. To demand how anyone could do this to her. To tear him apart.

But another part — darker, shameful — whispered something else. That he wished it was his hand print on her skin. His mouth leaving those marks. His seed spilling inside her.

The thought scorched him. He stumbled back from the door, chest heaving, face burning with shame.

The crack of light narrowed as he pushed the door back into place. He leaned against the wall, dragging air into his lungs, trembling.

She was his mother. His mother. And yet the image of her lying there, wrecked and beautiful, branded itself into his mind. He knew he would never be able to unsee it.

The silence of the apartment pressed in. He **** himself to move, his legs stiff, carrying him toward the kitchen. Maybe coffee. Maybe something mundane, something normal, to drown the storm in his head.

But even as he poured water into the machine, the image replayed — her parted thighs, the marks of Jax’s hands, the wet glisten of her cunt.

He gripped the counter, knuckles white, sick with himself.

He loved her. He hated Jax. And he hated the part of himself that wanted what Jax had.

---

For a long moment Erik just stood in the hall, palms damp, chest hammering. He could’ve left it there. Closed the door, pretended he hadn’t seen. Let her keep her dignity, let himself keep what little sanity he had left.

But the image wouldn’t leave him: her body naked, exposed, branded by Jax’s hands. The red finger marks on her hips glared in his mind like wounds.

His jaw clenched. He couldn’t let her stay like that. Not even if she never knew. Not even if it meant breaking another boundary.

He eased the door open again, moving as quietly as he could. The room felt suffocating up close, the air heavy with sex and sweat. His stomach twisted, but he **** himself forward.

She lay sprawled on her side now, one arm bent under her head, the sheet tangled around her calves. Her hair clung damp to her temple, lips parted in shallow sleep. A faint moan slipped out, so soft he almost thought he imagined it.

His throat tightened.

The sheet was within reach, bunched near the foot of the bed. He stepped closer, heart pounding, and grasped it. The fabric was damp in places, tacky with drying sweat. He tried not to think about what else stained it.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted it over her. The cloth slid across her body, grazing the curve of her hip, falling into place across her breasts. For a second he froze, the brush of fabric making her stir. Her legs twitched, her brow furrowed.

He held his breath.

But she didn’t wake. Her breathing evened out again, lips parting as a sigh escaped.

Erik exhaled shakily, lowering the sheet the rest of the way until it draped her in modesty. It felt like the smallest of victories, covering her nakedness, shielding her from invisible eyes.

But it didn’t erase what he’d seen. The bruises were still there under the thin cloth. The smell lingered. The image of her thighs slick with another man’s seed burned behind his eyelids.

His gaze lingered one second too long. He could see the rise of her chest under the sheet, the faint outline of her nipple pressing against the fabric. His cock twitched traitorously, a pulse of heat flooding him before he tore his eyes away.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, barely audible.

He backed out of the room, careful to pull the door shut without a sound. Once in the hall, he leaned against the wall, pressing his palms hard into his face.

He’d done the right thing. Covered her. Protected her dignity. But it didn’t feel like enough. It felt filthy, like he had trespassed somewhere sacred.

Shaking, he stumbled into the kitchen. The quiet buzz of the fridge was the only sound. Normalcy. Ordinary life. He clung to it like a lifeline.

He poured cereal into a bowl, the clatter of flakes too loud in the silence. He sloshed milk on the counter as his hand trembled. He grabbed a spoon and shoveled the first bite into his mouth, crunching mechanically, the taste like cardboard.

It didn’t help. Every bite turned to ash.

He tried coffee next, filling the machine with clumsy hands. Water splashed over the edge, pooling on the counter. He swore under his breath, mopping it with a towel, movements jerky, frantic.

No matter what he did, the memory wouldn’t leave him. His mother’s body bent under the weight of Jax’s hands. The bruises. The leaking seed.

He gripped the counter edge, bowing his head. His reflection warped in the dark window over the sink, hollow-eyed, guilty.

Was this what Jax wanted? Leaving the door ajar, letting him see? The thought crawled down his spine like ice. Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe Jax wanted him to look, to burn the sight into his mind. Maybe this was another layer of torment, turning him into a voyeur against his will.

The spoon clattered into the bowl. He pushed the food away, nausea churning.

In his chest, rage and shame fought for space. Rage at Jax for doing this to her. Shame for the part of him that hadn’t looked away.

He pressed his palms flat on the counter, breathing hard. His mother’s muffled cries echoed again in his skull, blending with the vision of her lying broken on the sheets.

And beneath it all, the truth he couldn’t escape: he had been hard while watching her.

---

The day stretched heavy and stagnant, each tick of the clock an accusation.

Erik had cleaned the counter twice, washed the same cup three times, sat staring at the muted news feed on his phone without absorbing a word. Anything to keep from thinking. Anything to keep from replaying the images burned into him.

It was almost noon when he heard movement down the hall. Floorboards creaked. A soft groan, muffled by a hand or pillow. The click of the bathroom door.

He stiffened, eyes glued to the tabletop.

The shower started, a hiss of water filling the apartment. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to imagine her beneath it — steam curling off her skin, her hair plastered dark against her shoulders, her thighs still marked, still sore. His cock stirred traitorously, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek until the urge subsided into pain.

When the water shut off, silence pressed in again. A few minutes later, Eva padded into the kitchen, damp-haired, dressed in soft sweats and a loose tee. To anyone else she might’ve looked like any tired mother after a late night. But Erik saw the stiffness in her walk, the way she avoided meeting his eyes.

“Morning,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Morning,” he echoed, though it was nearly noon.

She busied herself with the kettle, hands moving too quickly, like motion alone could mask discomfort. The faint scent of soap clung to her, clean but edged with something heavier she hadn’t been able to wash away.

Erik stared at the cereal bowl in front of him, his spoon tracing circles in the milk. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. A thousand things pressed to the tip of it—Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Why do you stay with him?—but none of them made it past his lips.

“You… sleep okay?” she asked finally, her tone casual but tight.

He barked a humorless laugh. “Not really.”

Her hand paused on the kettle handle. For a heartbeat she looked like she might ask more, but then she only nodded. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Silence stretched. The air between them buzzed with everything unsaid, words too dangerous to voice.

Eva filled a mug and took a sip, staring at the steam. Her mind was elsewhere—on Jax, on her son, on the fragile mask she had to keep in place. She could still feel Jax’s fingerprints in her skin, the ache between her legs, the echo of his laugh. And she could feel Erik’s eyes, even when he pretended to stare at his bowl.

She cleared her throat. “I should run some errands later. Pick up a few things.”

Erik looked up, startled by the abrupt change of subject. “I can go for you.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than she meant. She **** a smile to soften it. “I’ll go. You’ve got schoolwork, right?”

He frowned, suspicion tugging at the edge of his expression. “Yeah, but—”

“I won’t be long,” she said, cutting him off, rinsing her cup too quickly.

Erik watched her dry her hands on a dish towel, movements precise, deliberate. She never let him do the errands anymore when it mattered. Always finding reasons to go herself. Always guarding something.

He wanted to ask. Wanted to demand she tell him where she went, what she bought. But the words stuck in his throat.

Instead, he just nodded. “Okay.”

Her smile flickered, fragile. She reached out, brushing her fingers against his shoulder as she passed. The touch was fleeting, almost apologetic. Then she disappeared into her room to change.

Erik sat frozen at the table, staring at the place her hand had touched.

---

The apartment’s silence pressed on Erik like a weight. Eva’s absence gnawed at him; every second she was out, every errand she insisted on running herself, stretched into unease. He sat at the table with his laptop open, the screen glowing, but his eyes drifted again and again to the hallway — to the door she’d left through, to the one that had stood ajar this morning.

A knock broke his spiral.

Three raps, confident and clear.

He stiffened, chest tightening. No one came here. Not without reason. His first thought was Jax, and his stomach knotted.

Another knock, lighter, almost playful.

Erik moved slowly, peering through the peephole. Relief and confusion tangled in him. Not Jax.

A woman stood there — tall, poised, her honey-brown hair shining under the hallway light. She wore a blouse tucked into a short skirt with a high slit, the kind of outfit designed to catch eyes and hold them. She balanced a slim folder under her arm, one hand on her hip, her smile bright and self-assured.

Erik opened the door a crack. “Uh… yeah?”

“Hi,” she said warmly, her voice rich with easy confidence. “You must be Erik. I’m Cindy.”

The name didn’t click right away, though the face nagged at him. Then it hit — he’d seen her on late-night broadcasts, microphone in hand, standing in front of crime scenes and flashing lights. Always dressed just as striking, the kind of reporter who drew the camera as much as the story.

“You’re… from the news,” Erik said, awkwardly.

Her smile widened. “That’s me. But I promise I’m not here to put you on camera.”

Heat crept up his neck, unsure how to handle a woman like this suddenly at his door. “Uh… what are you doing here?”

“I came to see your mom.” She shifted the folder against her hip. The movement drew his eyes to the slit of her skirt before he yanked them away, cheeks burning. Her smile told him she’d noticed. “She and I go way back. Before you were around.”

“Really?” His brows drew together. “She’s… never mentioned you.”

“Not surprised.” Cindy’s tone softened, threaded with something almost nostalgic. “She didn’t talk about much of anything back then either. But yes, we crossed paths. She helped me once. I thought it was about time I dropped in and said hello.”

The vagueness itched at him, but her voice carried such warmth, such assurance, it disarmed him.

“She’s not home,” Erik said reluctantly.

“I figured,” Cindy said, unbothered. “Mind if I wait? I’d love to catch up when she’s back.”

Erik hesitated, then stepped aside. “Uh… sure.”

She glided in like she belonged, the scent of citrus and faint musk trailing after her. The apartment seemed smaller around her, her energy too large for its walls.

“Cozy,” she said approvingly, letting her eyes sweep the space before perching on the edge of the couch. She crossed her legs, the fabric of her skirt parting just enough to make Erik’s throat tighten.

He sat opposite, stiff on the armchair, trying not to stare.

“So,” Cindy said, resting her chin lightly on her hand, her elbow propped on her knee. “How’s life treating you?”

The question was so casual, so ordinary, it felt almost absurd in this apartment filled with tension and secrets. Erik stumbled for words. “Uh… fine. School, projects, that kind of thing.”

“Projects?” she teased, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Your mom always did say you were clever with your hands.”

His ears went hot. He wasn’t sure if she meant it the way it sounded, but the sparkle in her eye told him she enjoyed his discomfort either way.

“I… tinker,” he muttered.

“Well, I’ve always liked clever boys,” Cindy said airily, then shifted the subject before he could recover. “You really are like her, you know.”

“Like my mom?”

“Yes.” Cindy’s gaze softened, holding his. “There’s something in the eyes. That quiet sharpness. She carried it even back then. You’ve got the same thing.”

Erik swallowed hard. The way she spoke — half fond, half admiring — made him ache. His mom, the woman who acted like an ordinary single parent, had been something else in this woman’s past. Something bigger.

But Cindy didn’t explain further. Her smile brightened again, smooth and disarming. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to keep you. Don’t mind me — I’ll just wait until she’s back.”

Erik nodded, unsure what else to say. She leaned back against the couch, her skirt sliding just an inch higher as she crossed her legs again, her posture relaxed, assured.

He tried to focus on his laptop, but his eyes kept straying, guilt burning each time.

Cindy noticed. Of course she did. And her smirk told him she was enjoying every second of it.

---

Time stretched strangely with Cindy in the apartment. She carried her presence like a fragrance — warm, distracting, impossible to ignore. Where Eva’s silence filled the rooms like heavy smoke, Cindy’s brightness made everything feel lighter, yet more dangerous, like fire waiting for oxygen.

She crossed her legs again, skirt slipping as if on purpose, and leaned toward him with a grin. “So, Erik… what do you do for fun besides bury yourself in that laptop?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… I build things. Code, little machines. Just projects.”

Her brows arched, eyes glinting with amusement. “That sounds more than ‘just.’ Your mom used to say you’d take things apart as a kid just to see how they worked. Guess she was right.”

Erik flushed. “She talks about that?”

“Sometimes.” Cindy’s smile softened. “She was proud. Even back then, before… well.” She trailed off, as though she’d said too much, then waved it away. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is you’ve grown into it.”

His chest warmed despite himself. Compliments from her carried weight, like she knew how to aim them right where they would sting most sweetly.

“You ever think about doing something bigger with it?” Cindy asked, tilting her head. “That clever brain of yours could turn the world upside down if you wanted.”

Erik blinked. “I… don’t know. I mean, maybe. I just like figuring things out.”

“That’s how it starts,” she said with a knowing grin. “Boys who like to figure things out end up changing everything.”

The way she said boys made his ears burn. He wasn’t sure if she meant to diminish him or if it was her way of teasing — either way, it knotted something low in his gut.

Cindy leaned back, stretching languidly, her blouse tugging just enough to make Erik’s gaze flick before he caught himself. She noticed. Of course she noticed. And she rewarded his stolen glance with a sly smirk, as if to say, I saw that — and I don’t mind.

“You’re blushing,” she teased lightly.

“I’m not,” he muttered, though his face was on fire.

“Mm-hm.” She tapped a manicured finger against her cheek. “It’s cute.”

He wanted to disappear. No woman talked to him like this. Girls at school either ignored him or gave polite, shallow smiles. But Cindy’s attention was focused, heavy, like she was cataloging every twitch of his expression. It unsettled him, but it also pulled him in.

“So, what do you watch?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Shows. Movies. Games. I can’t imagine you just code all day.”

He shrugged, fumbling. “Old action stuff. Some crime thrillers. I like figuring out the twists.”

“Of course you do.” Her grin turned wicked. “Sharp mind, sharp eyes. Bet you notice things most people miss.”

His pulse quickened. For a second he thought of last night, the door left ajar, the sounds no son should hear. He shifted uncomfortably, muttering, “Sometimes.”

Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful, as though she was measuring him. Then she brightened again, chasing the shadows away. “Well, you’ll have to give me recommendations. I get so tired of sappy romance flicks.”

“You watch those?”

“Guilty,” she said with a laugh that curled low in her throat. “Sometimes you just want to see if the boy wins the girl in the end.”

Heat surged through him at the way she phrased it — boy, girl — and how her eyes flicked to him as she said it. Teasing. Always teasing.

The air between them stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken things. Cindy finally leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her blouse shifting to reveal a shadow of cleavage. She lowered her voice, conspiratorial.

“Don’t look so stiff. I’m not here to scare you, Erik. I just wanted to meet you. To see how she raised you.”

“Me?” he echoed, startled.

“Yes, you.” Her smile softened again, warm in a way that almost disarmed the tension. “She was always hard on herself, but one look at you tells me she did something right.”

The knot in his chest pulled tighter. He wanted to ask what Cindy meant — how exactly she knew Eva before he was born, why she spoke like she carried memories his mother had erased — but the words stuck.

Instead, he nodded awkwardly. “Thanks.”

Cindy rose gracefully from the couch, smoothing her skirt. She stepped closer, the faint scent of citrus and spice enveloping him. Erik froze as she bent, her lips brushing his cheek in a kiss so casual yet so intimate his heart nearly stopped.

“You are so shy, Erik. You shouldn't be.” she murmured, her breath warm at his ear.

And then she pulled back, smiling that bright, knowing smile, as though she hadn’t just scrambled every thought in his head.

Erik sat frozen as she moved to glance idly at the photos on the shelf, giving him a chance to breathe. His cheek burned where her lips had touched, his body a live wire of nerves and heat.

She hadn’t crossed the line. Not really. But the line had never felt so thin.

---

The rattle of keys at the lock broke the air.

Erik looked up from where he sat stiffly across from Cindy, his pulse spiking. A second later, the door swung open, and Eva stepped inside carrying two bulging grocery bags, shoulders hunched against the weight.

The second her eyes landed on Cindy, the bags didn’t seem heavy at all. Her smile was automatic, but icy — the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Cindy.” Eva’s tone cut the room in half.

Cindy rose smoothly from the couch, every movement graceful, her skirt shifting around the long line of her thighs. “Eva. I thought you’d never get back.”

The cheer in Cindy’s voice clashed with Eva’s steel. Erik felt it instantly — two currents colliding in the same narrow space.

Eva shut the door with her heel, gaze never leaving the other woman. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting an old friend,” Cindy said easily, that radiant smile unshaken. “And finally meeting your son.” She turned toward Erik, her expression softening to a fondness that made him shift uncomfortably. “You never said how handsome he turned out.”

Erik flushed, unsure where to look. His mother’s silence pressed on him like a hand at the back of his neck.

“Erik,” Eva said, her voice tight. “Take these to the kitchen.”

He jumped up, relief and dread mingling, and hurried to relieve her of the grocery bags. They were heavier than they looked, glass jars and boxed goods clattering faintly inside. He carried them to the counter, sneaking glances over his shoulder.

Cindy had stepped closer to Eva, smile still warm but gaze sharp beneath it. Eva’s posture was rigid, her arms folding across her chest, every line of her body broadcasting tension.

“You could have called,” Eva said.

“And missed the look on your face?” Cindy teased lightly. “Never.”

Eva’s smile thinned further, more a baring of teeth than anything else.

From the kitchen, Erik could hear every word, though he bent over the bags, pulling out items one by one with deliberate slowness. A loaf of bread. A carton of eggs. A box of pasta. His hands shook slightly as he worked, each rustle of paper loud in the taut silence.

He didn’t understand — not fully — but the frost between them was unmistakable. His mom rarely showed warmth, but she was rarely this cold either.

Cindy, by contrast, was all sunshine. Or at least, the practiced kind that dared someone to push back.

“You always were like this,” Cindy said softly. “Guarded. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t tell him about me.”

Erik’s hand froze around a jar of tomato sauce.

Eva’s reply was a whisper edged with steel. “Not here.”

There was a pause. Then Cindy’s chuckle, low and amused. “Still bossy.”

Erik risked a glance. His mom had moved closer, her hand gripping Cindy’s arm, steering her toward the hallway. Cindy let herself be led, but she didn’t look cowed. She glanced back at Erik as she walked, her smile playful, almost conspiratorial — as though they shared a secret Eva couldn’t touch.

Erik’s stomach knotted.

The two women disappeared down the hall, their voices dropping to low murmurs he couldn’t quite make out. He strained his ears, but the words blurred, sharp and hushed. The cadence was tense — Eva clipped, Cindy smooth, the clash of ice and silk.

He turned back to the groceries, stacking cans too carefully, his mind whirling. Who was Cindy to her? Why hadn’t Mom ever mentioned her?

A bottle slipped from his damp hand, thunking against the counter before he caught it. His heart hammered like he’d dropped something far more fragile.

From the hallway came the faintest sound — Eva’s sharper tone, Cindy’s lilting reply — then silence.

When Eva reappeared, her expression was composed, but the set of her jaw betrayed her. Cindy followed behind, smiling as though nothing were amiss, adjusting her skirt with a flick of her fingers.

The air was heavier than before, charged with something Erik couldn’t name.

Eva moved briskly past the counter, tucking stray groceries into cupboards without looking at him. Cindy leaned casually against the wall, watching them both like she had all the time in the world.

Erik stood rooted, his hands still damp with condensation from the milk carton, head buzzing with questions he didn’t dare ask.

---

“Not here,” Eva said, her voice a knife’s edge.

Cindy smiled faintly, unshaken. “Then let’s go where we can speak freely.”

Before Erik could blink, Eva had taken Cindy by the arm and guided her toward the master bedroom. The door shut behind them with a muffled click.

The apartment fell silent except for the faint rustle of the grocery bags still crowding the counter.

Erik stood there, pulse pounding. They’d left him out. Whatever history they shared, whatever secrets lingered between them, they had chosen to discuss it in private — behind closed doors, shutting him out.

He turned back to the bags, fingers moving automatically as he pulled items free. Bread. Cereal. Pasta. A carton of milk. But beneath the normal groceries, shoved into one of the plastic sacks, something else crinkled differently — lighter, smaller.

A pharmacy logo.

Erik froze.

His breath stilled. For a long time he simply stared at it, knuckles whitening around the thin plastic. He knew he shouldn’t. Knew that every line he crossed only dragged him deeper into filth he couldn’t wash off. But the bag felt alive in his hands, a whisper daring him.

Slowly, he peeled the receipt aside and reached inside.

The first thing his fingers closed around was a slim white box. His chest tightened as he drew it out.

Pregnancy Test. Digital, two-step accuracy, the kind with a blinking window that delivered a verdict impossible to misread.

The sight of it hollowed him out.

Images tore through his mind: Eva on her back, Jax pounding into her with raw ****, spilling inside her again and again. Her body shuddering, whimpering, begging. The thought of her carrying Jax’s child clawed through Erik, bile rising in his throat.

He set the test on the counter with shaking hands, gripping the edge for balance. His vision blurred.

He almost put the bag down right there. Almost. But his fingers were already reaching deeper.

They brushed another box. Larger. He pulled it free, and the breath punched out of him.

Condoms. Not ordinary ones.

The packaging was garish red and black, embossed with bold letters: “Monstrously Extra-Large”. At the corner, the flavor marked in playful cursive: Strawberry. A mocking sweetness, obscene against the dark imagery of the box.

Erik’s gaze snagged on the size indicator, the crude measurement promising girth and length that defied sense. His throat worked in a dry swallow. Eight inches was large. Ten was extra-large. These… these implied something beyond — a monstrous thirteen or more.

He flipped the box with trembling hands, scanning the grotesque marketing text.

“Ultra-thin latex for maximum male pleasure.”

“Engineered spikes along the shaft for enhanced pain-play stimulation.”

“Designed to push boundaries of endurance.”

He gagged on air.

The spikes were tiny, blunt enough to avoid breaking skin but meant to rasp and scrape, inflicting discomfort with every thrust. They were made for cruelty, for dominance, for the kind of sadism Jax wore like a second skin.

Erik’s stomach twisted violently. He pictured Jax sliding one over his monstrous cock, shoving inside Eva while she whimpered, her body stretched past sanity. He saw her face — torn between pain and pleasure, her cries muffled by the sheets.

His hands shook so badly the box nearly slipped. He shoved it back into the bag, chest heaving. Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter.

And then the betrayal of his own body.

His cock stiffened, hard and aching in his pants, throbbing with every obscene image his mind conjured. Rage and desire collided in him, unbearable, inescapable. He pressed his palm hard against his crotch, as though he could crush the arousal out of existence. A strangled sob escaped his throat.

He wanted to scream. To smash the box against the wall until nothing remained. To burn the test and pretend he’d never seen any of it. But he could only shove the pharmacy bag back under the groceries, burying it deep as though hiding a corpse.

He slumped against the counter, forehead pressed to the laminate, chest hitching with shallow breaths. His body trembled — with nausea, with fury, with shame at the shameful bulge between his legs.

From down the hall, voices carried faintly.

Cindy’s low, urgent tone. Eva’s sharp replies. He **** himself to listen, clinging to the sound as an anchor.

---

Cindy stood near the dresser, arms folded, her usual sunny smile gone. “The League is unraveling, Eva. You’ve seen the reports — heroines disappearing. Not just in Darklight, everywhere. And nobody knows why. We’re stretched thin. We’re losing people faster than we can recruit.”

Eva’s jaw clenched. “That isn’t my problem anymore.”

“You trained half of them,” Cindy shot back, her voice trembling with suppressed frustration. “You walked away, but the world didn’t stop. These girls are vanishing. We have no leads, no trail, no clue who’s behind it. You were always the one who could see patterns the rest of us missed. We need you.”

Eva’s eyes hardened. “No.”

Cindy stepped closer, her composure fraying, words spilling like a plea. “Please, Eva. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t ****. You think I like begging? You think I enjoy throwing myself on your mercy after all these years? But we’re drowning, and I—”

Eva’s hand shot up, cutting her off. Her voice was steel. “I told you I’m done. That life is over. I don’t care if the League burns to the ground. I won’t be dragged back.”

Silence pressed between them. Cindy’s jaw worked, as if swallowing words she dared not speak. Finally, she exhaled, bitter but resigned.

“Fine,” she said. “I see nothing’s changed.”

Eva’s glare sharpened. “Leave.”

For a moment, Cindy lingered, her eyes filled with something like sorrow. Then she straightened her skirt, smoothed her hair, and pasted on a smile — that bright, unbreakable mask she wore so well.

“As you wish,” she said lightly.

---

The bedroom door opened. Cindy emerged, radiant as ever, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of fatigue. Eva remained inside, shadowed, silent.

Cindy spotted Erik by the counter, his hands still trembling over the groceries. She glided over, her smile warm, unshaken.

“Looks like I’ve got to run,” she said breezily. “Breaking story, newsroom needs me. You know how it is.”

Her voice was easy, practiced, the lie so seamless it almost rang true.

She reached out and brushed his cheek again with her lips, her perfume sweet and sharp. “We’ll see each other soon, Erik.”

And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

The silence that followed was crushing.

---

The click of the front door echoed through the apartment, followed by silence so heavy it felt like a lid clamped over Erik’s chest. Cindy’s perfume lingered faintly in the air — citrus and warmth, a cruel reminder of her easy charm.

Eva emerged from the bedroom not long after, her face composed but her eyes sharp as glass. She moved to the counter, gathering stray items from the grocery haul Erik had half-finished. Her motions were precise, clipped, every jar and box stacked with unnecessary ****.

Erik stayed frozen in the chair, afraid to move.

The air was different now. Cindy had been sunshine, disarming and playful, but Eva carried a storm around her. Anger radiated from her in quiet, icy waves. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t glare outright — but her shoulders were rigid, her mouth a hard line, and every glance that flicked past Erik landed like a knife tip.

She knew.

He didn’t know how, but he felt it. She knew he had looked. That he had touched what wasn’t his. That he had trespassed.

His chest squeezed. He stared at the tabletop, pretending to study the grain in the wood. His palms pressed flat against his knees to keep from shaking.

Eva closed the last cupboard door with a snap. For a moment she just stood there, her back to him, her breath faintly audible. Then she said, without turning, “Finish what you were doing.”

Her voice was flat, empty of warmth.

“Yes, Mom,” he mumbled automatically.

The title sounded wrong in his mouth, like a word in a foreign language.

He busied himself with the remaining groceries, forcing cans into place, folding empty bags too neatly. His ears strained for the sound of her movements — the soft padding of her bare feet as she crossed the living room, the faint squeak of the couch as she sat, stiff-backed, remote in hand.

The news flickered on. Voices spoke of another missing woman, her photograph glowing on the screen, eyes bright and unaware in the way all the missing looked. Eva stared at it without expression, lips pressed tight.

Erik hovered in the kitchen doorway, watching her in secret, torn. He wanted to ask. To demand answers about Cindy, about the bag he’d buried back under the groceries. But her posture killed the words before they reached his tongue.

She radiated warning.

He slunk away to his room.

The apartment seemed louder once his door was shut — the muffled drone of the TV, the occasional creak of floorboards as Eva shifted, the faint tick of pipes in the walls. He lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, fists knotted in his sheets.

The images returned the instant his eyes closed.

The white box with its digital window, waiting to decide if Jax had planted his seed in her.

The garish red condoms, promising monstrous size, strawberry sweetness masking cruelty, spikes dragging against her body while Jax grinned.

Erik squeezed his eyes shut until stars danced in the dark. His stomach rolled, his cock stirred again against his will, shame boiling through him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

He turned on his side, curling into himself.

In the living room, the TV anchors droned on about missing women, their voices heavy with dread. And beneath it all, louder than the news, louder than his thoughts, he heard Jax’s laugh. Low, guttural, triumphant. The phantom sound filled his head until he wanted to claw it out.

He pressed his pillow over his face, smothering the sound, smothering the sob that tried to break loose.

When sleep finally came, it was shallow and restless. Every dream twisted into visions of Eva bent beneath Jax’s monstrous cock, her body stretched, her voice breaking. Erik woke again and again, gasping, sheets damp with sweat, guilt burning in his veins.

By morning, nothing had changed.

---

To be continued ........