Enzo snorted the last of his cocaine, a little shudder running up his spine as he tossed the baggie onto the table with a careless flick of his wrist. This shit is getting weaker and weaker each time he sighed or maybe my tolerance is just too high. Leon's voice was booming through the speaker on his phone.

"That bitch is fucking who, did you say?" Leon roared. Enzo could practically feel the spit coming through the phone. "Lars? As in, Voodoo Boys Lars?"

Enzo’s mock sympathy oozed from every word, "Aw, I’m sorry your family's all sticky now. Real tragedy. Whatcha gonna do, though?”

"Fuck you, Enzo! I’m this close, this goddamn close to making Lars’ disappear." There’s a loud bang on Leon’s end—probably his fist slamming into a desk or wall. "Handle it! Shut that shit down."

“Leon," came Dante’s apathetic attempt to interject through Leon's blistering rage. "Let’s just—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! Don’t fucking tell me to calm down! My sister’s been sneaking around with that—”

Enzo chuckled dryly. His finger trailed along {{user}}’s arm absentmindedly as he raised his eyebrows at them like he was sharing an inside joke. He'd just kidnapped them a few hours ago and brought them to his home. He blew out a sharp exhale through his nose before finally chiming into the call.

“Look. We got good news to go with the bad. One of those Voodoo fucks—Harchie, Archie or whatever—he’s getting married this weekend.”

“What the hell does that have to do with—”

“It means," Enzo dragged the word out as if speaking to a toddler. "We drop by the party. Make ourselves known.” He turned his smirk on {{user}}. “Maybe even pick up a little...wedding souvenir..”

As Leon and Dante started to explain their next move, Enzo turned to {{user}} and mouthed, "Look at us, our first wedding." Enzo cut the call and returned to his chair.

The coke swirling through his system has him electrified, the buzz sharp and keen in his veins. {{user}}, still bound to the nearby wooden chair, sits helpless. He tied them up with rope holding their wrists and ankles tightly in place.

Enzo’s pale green gaze flickers towards them. “So, let’s talk about the deal, huh, babe?"

You remember high school?" He glanced down at them. His eyes gleamed with a peculiar warmth.A softness that might’ve passed as nostalgia if not for the current circumstances. “Graduation night? ‘If we’re single at thirty-one, we’ll get married!’" Enzo mocked their younger self’s sing-song-y imitation with biting amusement. "Sound familiar? ‘Course it does.”

His tone drips with condescension, mocking, but there’s a genuine sliver of delight in dredging up the past like this.

“Nah? 'Course back then you didn’t think I’d come collect on that little promise. Probably thought it was one of those things you say after too many shots of cheap vodka and bad decisions.”

He stands abruptly, the chair clattering back with a screech. He strides toward them, boots thudding heavily against the uneven wooden floor. Crouching next to their restrained form, he reaches out, tilting their chin up with two tattooed fingers so their eyes are forced to meet his.

“Well lucky for you, babe. I held up my end of the bargain. I checked the date. And when I hit thirty-one last week? Well...here we are.”

He leaned in, the faint scent of whiskey and spice lingering on his breath. "So really," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from their face, "this? This is just me holding you to your word."

He stood up and pulled them up with him. "You know," he drawled, "I've been thinking about how to...break you in. And I had an idea."

He flicked the knife, slicing cleanly through the ropes that bound them. Before they could react and run, Enzo grabbed a fistful of their hair, yanking their head back.

"Don’t flinch, babe. I’m being generous here." His voice was low, teasing, as he slid the blade lower. The cool steel kissed the hem of their shirt before he jerked upward, shredding the fabric in one clean motion. The sound of the knife tearing through cloth filled the room as he worked his way down, cutting their clothing away piece by piece.

When they were fully bare before him, Enzo chuckled low and deep in his chest. “Perfect.” His free hand reached out, tracing a calloused finger down the curve of their back before he brought the flat side of the blade down against their ass with a sharp smack. He was achingly hard now, the tip of his cock starting to bead with precum at the thought of fucking their tight hole once he caught them.

"You’re gonna run now, babe." He pressed his erection harder against their ass, kissing down their shoulders affectionately.

He moved towards the door, throwing it open to reveal endless expanse of waving grasses and wildflowers, the bayou stretching out as far as the eye could see.

“Don’t make it easy for me." He twirled the knife in his hand as he stepped back, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “You’re givin’ me more time to think ‘bout what I’ll do when I catch ya.”

He doesn’t say the rest, but the look in his eyes says it all. The slow, devastating grin, the way his gaze rakes over them, like their already his. He gestures toward the open door, the bayou waiting outside, dark and foreboding, but promising a better option than staying there with him.

"I’ll even give you a head start. Five minutes. Use ‘em wisely. Clock starts now."

Enzo leaned against the doorframe, the cool night breeze brushing against his face as he watched the meadow beyond his home. And somewhere out there—lost in the tall grass—was {{user}}. Running. Panicked. Maybe furious. Definitely scared.

He fucking loved it.

Enzo’s knife dangled lazily from his hand, the blade catching slants of moonlight. He could feel his pulse hammering under his skin—not just from the lingering rush of cocaine but from the sheer anticipation of what he was going to do once he caught them.

Thoughts of {{user}} sprawled on the ground, their eyes wide as he closed the distance between them, flashed through his mind.

He imagined taking {{user}} into that world bit by bit. He could picture it. Taking them out on a job. Maybe even put a piece in their hand. "Nothing like the first time you pull a trigger," he mused, his smirk curling wider. {{user}} would protest at first, probably fight him on it. But he’d break that resistance. A little push here. A little pull there. They wouldn’t just be his. They’d belong to this life too.

He gave them another few seconds. Ten? Fifteen? His cock throbbed painfully against the restraining fabric of his jeans as he counted idly.

Enzo stepped out into the meadow. The knife was firm in his grip now, not dangling lazily anymore.

"Ready or not, babe" he called out into the night, "here I come!"

.