Tortured Into Loving You

The office was silent except for the rhythmic clicking of Phalen Grey’s keyboard. Nine PM on a Friday night, and he was the only one left on the floor. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across his desk as he signed his team lead’s name to the top line of the proposal. His own name went on the bottom line, where it always did.

Phalen Grey wasn’t a somebody. He was a nobody—the kind of person his coworkers could walk past, walk over, disrespect, and degrade without consequence. No one had his back. No connections, no family money, no safety net. Just a scholarship kid who’d clawed his way to a business degree through sheer determination and a perfect GPA.

The scholarship itself had been strange. Phalen still didn’t remember applying to Tennenbaum University. One day the acceptance letter simply arrived, offering full tuition, room and board, passport, airfare—everything. The only catch? He could only study business, not art. But it was in a different country, an ocean away from his family, so he’d signed without hesitation.

His father, William Grey, had a talent for violence. He took out his rage at the world’s unfairness on Phalen’s body, often beating him unconscious while Patricia, his mother, watched in silence. His younger sister Penelope spun lies for entertainment, painting him as a degenerate just to watch their parents’ fury ignite.

Then there were the debts. Loan sharks, bookies, drug dealers—his father owed them all. Phalen had never figured out how someone borrowed money from a plug, but he’d stopped asking questions. The scholarship had been his escape hatch, and he’d taken it.

Now here he was, finishing other people’s work and taking none of the credit. He logged out of his computer and tucked the file into his briefcase for Jane on Monday morning. His plan for the night was simple: catch the last train home, but first stop at Noche for their amazing homemade queso.

Then he’d work on the commission piece he’d picked up Wednesday—a memorial cartoon of some guy’s black lab who’d just passed. The owner had sent thirty reference photos, each goofier than the last. The final one showed the chonky boi standing in the lower branches of an ancient live oak, looking down at his owner like it was perfectly normal to find a dog in a tree. That was the shot Phalen would immortalize, complete with wings and a halo.

He grabbed his briefcase and jogged down the stairs. The lift shut down at 5:30, after the last worker was supposed to have left. Phalen pushed through the building’s front door into the cool night air, already tasting the queso.

~

Across town, Alec Faith sat motionless at his desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The open dossier lay before him, and his aquamarine eyes traced the photograph paperclipped to the top right corner with predatory focus.

Phalen Grey. Grinning ear to ear at a dog park he frequented despite not owning a dog. His emerald eyes crinkled at the edges, hand frozen mid-motion running through his short, shaggy black hair. Faint red lines marked his collarbone where an enthusiastic dog had jumped on him, visible over the loose neck of his t-shirt.

Perfect.

“You said he’s on the move?” Alec asked, his voice measured despite the anticipation coiling in his chest.

He already knew the answer. He’d read this report a dozen times, memorized every detail. But he wanted to hear it confirmed one more time before he gave the order.

His gaze dropped to the surveillance summary:

AGENT: E. HALE

SUBJECT: PHALEN GREY

CLIENT:FAITH TECHNOLOGIES INC

MALE 33

HEIGHT 5′ *growth believed to have been stunted by malnutrition during adolescence

OCCUPATION: office drone, freelance artist

OBSERVATIONS: Mr. Grey doesn’t seem to have much of a life outside of work, Monday through Friday Mr. Grey works at Dynasty systems and technology DST. He is supposed to be on a 9-5 shift however he often stays over not leaving until 9pm or later sometimes using the downstairs janitor’s closet to take a quick two or three hour nap and change clothes before returning upstairs to clock in for a new day. On Saturday and Sunday Mr. Grey tends to either work on commissioned art projects or visit the dog park off 5th and Central. As far as social circles go, he doesn’t seem to fit into any of them, even at the dog park he doesn’t seem to interact with anyone directly just their dogs. He doesn’t seem to have any friends or acquaintances that would notice if he changed locations suddenly, and he has no family in the country. Despite being alone Mr. Grey seems to have an upbeat attitude and be a kind individual. Extended surveillance has shown that Mr. Grey is often abused both mentally and physically by coworkers and clientele alike.

FINDINGS: Mr. Grey seems to be a solid candidate for immediate ‘recruitment’, he fits all the requirements that were laid out by the client minus his orientation which is still unclear. Mr. Grey seems to be a submissive personality type based off of the observations I’ve made during the extended surveillance period.

Alec’s lips curved into a slow smile. Alone. Resilient. Kind despite everything.

Breakable.

“Pick him up,” he said quietly, closing the dossier with deliberate care. “Be gentle, but make sure he understands there’s no saying no to Faith Industries.”

He stood and walked to the window, gazing down at Tennenbaum City sparkling in the darkness below. His short cropped brown hair caught the recessed lighting as he turned back, decision made.

“I think I’ll meet him at the recruitment grounds myself.” His eyes gleamed with controlled excitement. “Can’t have him feeling lonely when he arrives, now can we?”

He strode toward the door, already imagining those green eyes looking up at him in confusion, then fear, then—eventually—something else entirely.

Point of view: Phalen

My steps quickened. I’d barely made it a block from the office when I noticed the black Town car cruising slowly behind me.

During the day, this wouldn’t raise my hackles. But at night? It screamed shady business. And I wanted nothing to do with it.

As I neared a turn, I caught sight of a narrow alley cutting between two high-rises. Too narrow for the Town car to follow, but wide enough for me to really open up and run without knocking into a raised ladder or trash bin.

I took a deep breath, turned, and darted into the alley. I waited just long enough to catch the glow of tail lights.

Yep. Definitely following me. Not just coincidentally rolling down 5th Ave at a little after 9 PM.

With a soft growl, I turned and tore off down the alley. I launched myself over a crate I hadn’t seen before, my feet hitting the ground in a roll. I winced as I came up—a parkour roll in a dark alley was probably not the best choice. As if the universe was agreeing, I felt a trickle of blood start from a wound on my shoulder. It felt suspiciously like it had a shard of glass in it.

I heard the pounding of feet behind me on the pavement. I pushed harder.

I didn’t notice the movement near the mouth of the alley until an arm reached out and caught me across the chest like a steel fucking bar. The world spun. His momentum carried us around, and suddenly arms wrapped around my chest and midsection like a constrictor.

“Lemme go you dirty fucker!” I screamed, thrashing in his hold.

I may only be five foot tall, but I’d spent my life being beaten by my father and any bully within spitting distance. I hadn’t survived this long without getting scrappy.

His hold tightened. He grunted. “Come on Kev, give ’im the jab already!”

I thrashed harder, trying to buck free. Renewed panic flooded through me at the mention of a ‘jab.’ Nothing good would come from some thug giving me an injection after chasing me through an alley.

Fingers roughly grabbed a handful of my hair, jerking my head to the side. A weaselly man appeared at the edge of my vision—Kev, I assumed. He sneered at me.

“The boss told us to be gentle with you. So if you want us to keep to that order, I suggest you stop fighting. Just let me give you a little pokesy so you can go nighty night. You’ll wake up at the boss’s recruitment grounds, ready for a new life.”

I paused while he spoke, keeping a wary eye on him. Catching my breath.

The moment he moved the needle, I lashed out. I jerked my body in the same direction he was pulling my head and kicked toward him with both legs. I was trying to land a solid hit on him or the big bear of a man currently trying to crush me into submission.

My foot connected with his knee.

A sickening pop.

He screamed, but he didn’t let go.

With a growl of frustration, I pulled my foot back, going for another kick. But he was quicker. With a swift motion, he sunk the needle into my neck. He pulled the plunger back just enough to make sure it wasn’t in an artery.

Then he compressed it.

The burn of whatever the fuck was in that syringe spread quickly. My limbs grew heavier. My eyelids grew heavier. Whatever chemical concoction they’d shot me up with was nullifying the adrenaline that seconds before had been coursing through my system.

With a final jerk, my body went limp.

A whine of frustration slid out of my throat. My eyelids and limbs were weighted down by the drug, but my mind was not.

I was fully aware of my surroundings.

“Alright Ben, come on. He ain’t gonna struggle anymore tonight.” Kev’s voice was laced with trepidation. “Let’s get ’im to the boss before he loses patience with us. I don’t wanna be at his mercy because we took too long to get him his prize.”

I felt the bear—Ben—lift me up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A chuckle shook his shoulders. “Hell Kev, he’s gonna be mad at Emette before he’s mad at us. He apparently missed the fact that the subject of the boss’s attention was a rabbit. And that he’d put up such a damn fight.”

Ben rumbled, adjusting me on his shoulder as they made their way back toward the black Town car.

My heart thundered in my chest.

Someone had been watching me. Or rather, was having me watched.

Why? Who?

My head lolled to the side as Ben shifted me down across his chest, almost holding me in a princess carry. He slid into the backseat of the Town car with Kev grumbling about having to drive back to ‘the boss’s recruitment grounds’ in the dead of night.

I lay there in the dark. Flashes of light. The shifting of my limp body over the lap of the bear holding me. It lulled me in and out of consciousness. Each time I woke, a new wave of fear rolled through me. I spent the time until I got rolled under again focusing on trying to move my toes in my shoe. No one would see that. As long as I didn’t accidentally jerk my leg around, it shouldn’t draw any attention.

After what felt like a decade—but was probably only about two or three hours based on my hunger and the fact that the sun still seemed to be down—the car rolled to a stop on a gravel road. We’d hit the gravel road about thirty minutes earlier, and Ben had been shifting the whole time. I assumed he was trying to get blood back into his extremities from where he’d been holding me.

It couldn’t have been comfortable holding 165 lbs in his lap for as long as he had. But unlike Kev, Ben hadn’t complained once.

In the silence after the wheels stopped and the engine sputtered to a halt, I heard what Kev was muttering to himself.

“Won’t even let us have a taste, even though he knows good and damn well that after he’s trained him up, he’s gonna be serving dozens a week. Fuckin’ bullshit.”

My breathing sped up just slightly. My heart jackhammered against my ribs.

The true reality of my situation sunk in.

I hadn’t just been kidnapped. I’d been kidnapped by what sounded like a human trafficking group.

Ben leaned forward, lifting me as he shifted. “Shhhhh,” he breathed into my ear. “You don’t need to worry. The boss will take his time. As long as you don’t fight too much, you might even enjoy it. Well, not the first time. No one ever seems to enjoy it the first time, regardless of their gender or orientation. But especially not the guys.”

Ben had shifted me so my head lay on his shoulder. He was patting my hair, shushing me softly while Kev sat in the front grumbling about not getting to—and I quote—‘spit roast the little twink like a god damn rotisserie chicken.’

I’m assuming I’m the ‘twink’ in this scenario of his. But I can only imagine what he means by spit roasting, and nothing I can think of is very appealing.

I mentally jolted as I heard Kev’s door open. The car shifted. A gust of warm wind curled through the car’s interior. Just a few seconds later, Ben’s door opened. A rush of air ruffled my fringe, the hairs tickling my eyebrow. The bear of a man smoothly slid from the car and hoisted me with him, all in a single fluid motion.

“Boss’s ready,” Kev grumbled, slamming both doors.

The swaying motion of Ben’s footsteps carried me into the unknown.