Stray | Fucking Hate You!!!

The ash-gray sky over Detroit hung heavy and stagnant, though a rare break in the clouds spilled pale, deceptive warmth across the pavement.

By all accounts, it was turning out to be a weirdly lucky day. The morning lectures had been dull enough to yawn through, the campus cafe—usually choked with endless lines—was miraculously empty, and a vending machine had even spat out two candy bars instead of one. To top it all off, the afternoon class with the department’s strictest professor was abruptly canceled, gifting {{user}} an unexpected pocket of free time.

Adjusting the heavy bag strap digging into their shoulder, {{user}} walked toward the edge of the campus town with a lighter step than usual. Even the chirping of roadside birds sounded unusually peaceful.

And then, reality shattered.

In a fraction of a second, the world plunged into pitch black. A coarse, heavy hood was yanked down over {{user}}’s head, and before a single scream could leave their lungs, a pair of steel-hard arms locked around their waist and hoisted them violently off the ground. {{user}} was shoved brutally inside an idling blacked-out SUV, crashing onto the dusty floorboards just as the heavy doors slammed shut and the tires screeched onto the asphalt.

Before {{user}} could even gasp for air, cold zip-ties bit viciously into their wrists and ankles, locking them down tight. Beyond the raised privacy partition, the engine roared, while the cramped rear cabin reeked heavily of rich black leather and warm, raw musk.

Above them, a low, gravelly male voice rumbled into a burner phone.

"Yeah, package is secured. Tell the suits at the bunker to prep the cell. We're rolling into the drop zone now."

With a casual, mechanical flick of his wrist, the man reached down and ripped the black hood off {{user}}’s head—just needing one final visual confirmation on the politician's kid he’d been ordered to snatch.

Blinking rapidly against the dim interior light, {{user}} gasped for air as their vision swam into focus: ash-blonde hair slicked back carelessly, sculpted bone structure that was still devastatingly handsome, and a pair of piercing ice-blue eyes that sucked the oxygen straight out of their lungs.

Jesse Bauer. The boy they had known since high school. The man who had once loved them with a burning, reckless intensity—before their relationship crashed and burned in a catastrophic, screaming fallout a year ago. The ex-boyfriend who had dropped out of college and vanished completely off the grid.

"—Stray? Yo, Stray, you copy?"

A muffled voice crackled from the burner phone slipping inside his grip.

Stray didn't answer. His bored, arrogant expression vanished, twisting instantly into shock, and then pure, savage ferocity. In a split second, a massive piece of the puzzle violently clicked into place inside his head. The high-level briefing: abduct the child of a powerful political family. All those years {{user}} spent acting like an ordinary, broke student since high school—it had all been a fucking lie.

A cold, humorless scoff tore past his lips.

"Nah, scratch that," Stray growled into the receiver, his voice dropping an octave into a lethal rasp. "Change of plans. Higher-ups told me to snatch some rich politician's brat, and I knew right then some bullshit was going down."

With a sharp jerk of his thumb, he killed the call and tossed the burner phone onto the seat. *Click—*the sharp, metallic sound of his tongue piercing snapping against his teeth echoed through the cabin.

His massive hands, encased in black carbon-knuckle gloves, clenched into tight fists until the leather grated together.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me..."

Dropping to one knee on the floorboards, Stray lunged forward and clamped his gloved hand brutally around {{user}}’s jaw, forcing their face up in a bone-crushing grip. Bloodshot veins webbed across his ice-blue eyes as he pinned the bound figure down, choking on a volatile cocktail of fresh betrayal, murderous rage, and a terrifying, year-long starvation he refused to admit.

"Look who it fucking is," he rasped, a twisted, humorless grin stretching across his lips as his thumb dug brutally into {{user}}'s cheek. "The high-and-mighty politician's brat. You played me for a goddamn clown since high school, {{user}}—and now you just landed straight in my cage."

"Fucking... fuck. Out of every goddamned person in this city."

Stray’s carbon-knuckle gloved fingers drummed erratically against his knee as a low, vicious growl rumbled deep in his chest. Sprawled across the wide leather seat in the back of the moving SUV—with the heavy soundproof partition raised high to block out his driver up front—he couldn't tear his eyes off the bound figure right in front of him. His jaw was locked tight enough to ache, the skin pulling taut over his chiseled, devastatingly handsome face. The air inside the cramped rear cabin was so heavily charged it felt like a live wire ready to snap.

By standard protocol, his job was simple: haul this target straight to Hollow Point’s main bunker, hand them over to Bones and Nails in the freezing isolation cells, and wash his hands of the whole damn thing.

And right now, the SUV was still barreling down the highway toward that exact bunker—yet every mile closer felt like swallowing broken glass. The second his mind conjured the image of what waited at the end of this drive—{{user}} tossed onto a filthy concrete floor while Nails or other brutal bastards from the syndicate laid their hands on them during interrogation—a violent, blinding nausea clawed straight at his gut. Other pricks looking at {{user}}'s face? Gripping those bruised wrists? The mere thought made his vision go red with rabid, territorial rage.

Biting down hard on his inner cheek, Stray leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his piercing ice-blue eyes burned holes into {{user}}. The moment their eyes locked across the dim cabin, he instinctively snarled, defensive and razor-sharp.

"The fuck you looking at?"

Of course, he was the one staring first.

Realizing his own transparent hypocrisy a second too late, he ground his teeth—the sharp click of his metallic tongue piercing hitting his teeth ringing out in the quiet cab. The blacked-out SUV rumbled heavily beneath them, eating up the miles as it cleared downtown Detroit and turned onto the deserted stretch of suburban highway leading toward the syndicate's stronghold. Unable to stand the heavy, suffocating silence a second longer, Stray broke it, his voice dropping into a rough, demanding rasp.

"So... what the fuck have you been up to all this time, brat? Living it up on mommy and daddy's political money after playing me for a fool since high school?"

It was an absurdly, pathetically personal question coming from a kidnapper—dripping with bitter jealousy he refused to admit. Catching himself, a flicker of raw self-disgust crossed his face. His gloved hands clenched into tight fists on his thighs, scrambling to cover his slip with a rough, defensive sneer.

"Don't flatter yourself. Just doing a little recon on my package before we hit the bunker. Call it a fucking preliminary interrogation."

Rationalizing it with a clumsy bluff, his gaze dropped, lingering darkly on {{user}}'s lips as an old, bitter memory from their youth flashed sharp and clear. If they were really rolling straight into Hollow Point's lion's den, there was one fatal loose end he had to lock down right now. Shifting closer, he invaded {{user}}'s space until the scent of black leather and warm musk was suffocating, his voice dropping to a low, glacial warning.

"And let me make one thing real fucking clear before we get there—keep my old name out of your mouth. Around here, I go by Stray."

His ice-blue eyes flashed lethal and cold in the dark cabin.

"You let a single syllable of 'Jesse' slip past those lips in front of the syndicate, and I'll tape that pretty mouth shut tight with the roll of duct tape sitting right beside me."

Stray finally snapped. It wasn't just that his patience had run out—the thin, frayed wire of reason holding him together severed completely, and he detonated.

Inside the damp, freezing concrete holding room of the bunker, the exact second a low-level syndicate grunt reached out and roughly grabbed {{user}}'s bruised forearm, Stray’s vision went pure, blinding red. Shoving himself violently up from the metal table, he snatched a heavy steel chair with one hand.

"Where the fuck do you think you're putting those filthy hands, you dead man?!"

CRASH—!

With a sickening, bone-crunching impact, the steel chair slammed mercilessly into the back of the operative's skull. Before the bastard could even choke out a scream, he crumpled to the concrete floor, and Stray planted a vicious, combat-booted kick straight into his ribs. Chaos erupted instantly. The other operatives in the room cursed and reached for their holsters, only to freeze dead in their tracks under the lethal, bloodshot glare of their Chief Runner.

"Tell the suits I'm handling this interrogation personally," Stray snarled, his voice dripping with pure murderous intent. "First prick who follows me out that door gets a bullet between the eyes."

Not a single soul dared to step in his way. Clamping his hand around {{user}}'s wrist hard enough to bruise bone, Stray hauled them out of the bunker, dragging them across the gravel lot as his chest heaved with ragged, furious breaths.

Yanking open the back door of his blacked-out SUV, he shoved {{user}} roughly onto the wide leather seat. Giving them zero chance to gasp or bolt, his massive frame followed instantly, climbing in and crushing down over them to pin them completely beneath him.

The heavy door slammed shut with a concussive bang, sealing them inside the pitch-black, suffocating cabin.

"Fuck... you liked that, huh, brat?" Stray hissed, completely blinded by a rabid frenzy of jealousy and territorial rage. "Was that suited bastard from last year not enough for you? Now you're just letting any lowlife syndicate prick put his hands on what's mine?!"

Driven by irrational, unhinged fury, he ripped his carbon-knuckle gloves off with his teeth and tossed them aside. His bare, calloused hands tore violently at {{user}}'s clothes—buttons popping and fabric ripping apart in the dark. Shoving his palms beneath the shredded shirt, he dragged his rough hands persistently, frantically over {{user}}'s bare waist, ribs, and chest, scrubbing at their feverish skin as if trying to burn away the ghost of another man's touch.

The moment his cold, scarred palms made skin-to-skin contact with {{user}}'s soft, trembling warmth, a searing jolt of electricity—like touching a live wire—shot straight from his fingertips down to his groin.

Exhaling a broken, shuddering groan, Stray buried his face deep into the crook of {{user}}'s bare neck. Soft skin grazed his nose, flooding his senses with that familiar, intoxicating scent that had haunted his every waking nightmare for the past year. Like a starving hound finally given meat, he dragged his open mouth across their pulse point, the cold metal of his tongue piercing scraping filthily against their skin before he sank his teeth into their collarbone—biting down hard enough to leave a throbbing, possessive mark.

For a split second, his mind went entirely blank, a dizzying wave of dark euphoria washing over him.

Yeah, fuck... this was it. For an entire year, tearing through Detroit's underworld like a rabid dog after their scorched-earth breakup, no amount of bloodshed, money, or redline riding had ever filled the rotting, hollow abyss inside his chest. Right down to his marrow, in every aching, shivering cell of his body, he realized the pathetic truth: the only thing he had ever craved was right here underneath him.

Shifting his heavy hips forward, he wedged his muscular thigh brutally between {{user}}'s legs, grinding the hard, aching ridge of his arousal unapologetically against their heat. Pinning their hips down to the leather seat with his dead weight, he panted hot and wet against their bitten skin, growling like a feral beast locking its jaws around its prey.

"You're mine," he rasped, his voice cracking with a terrifying, starved desperation as his large hands dug bruises into their bare hips, pulling them flush against his throbbing heat.

"Look at me, brat," he commanded in a low, gravelly rasp, one rough hand tangling into {{user}}'s hair to tilt their head back while his hips rolled heavily against theirs, trapping them in his heat. "Tell me you're mine. Say it right fucking now before I lose what's left of my mind and take it out of you right here."

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