Armin sat on the bed awaiting his fate.
The pounding in his chest refused to go away.
About two hours after the displeased man left the room, the door burst open again.
The man walked back in.
He was fully clothed now, wearing black tailored pants and a black silk shirt with the first two buttons undone.
His face was expressionless, and in his hand was a tall glass of wine that he stirred gently.
He walked in with his other hand hidden in his trouser pocket and slumped lazily into the armchair at the foot of the bed.
Almost immediately, two men followed suit into the room.
They were huge and looked like they bore unresolved malice in them.
They walked in and stood in front of the bed, their hands intertwined in front of them.
Armin sat up from the bed, exchanging looks from the attractive man to the other two, who certainly did not look like anything good and didn’t seem to care about their looks either.
The man held out the glass of wine to him.
“Want a sip?
It’s good wine.”
Armin scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“I want food.
I’m hungry.”
The man smiled slightly, an amused look on his face.
What was amusing to him?
Armin thought.
The smuggled look on the man’s face irritated him, and his face unconsciously represented exactly what his thoughts were saying.
The man stared at Armin for more than ten seconds.
His eyes were bright and seemed to have something to say—something good.
Armin thought they were mesmerizing and leaned into them.
He was getting hypnotized by the man’s sharp eyes when the man suddenly interrupted the silent chemistry.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
He dropped the glass on the side table, walked to the dressing table, removed his wristwatch, and dropped it on the table.
Armin followed his every movement observantly, noticing the wristwatch was gold and that the man’s movements possessed the gentility of a hunting tiger.
Armin nodded in foolish approval.
“Hold him.”
“What?” Armin’s survival instinct kicked in.
He knew he couldn’t stand head-to-head against any of the men in the room.
At best, he could run away.
He made a move to jump off the bed but was caught mid-air in a suffocating hug by one of the stiff men.
Armin wriggled like a possessed worm trying to get free, but he was held down in no time and with little effort.
The men held his hands on both sides and brought him down to his knees.
A wave of cold air flushed against his naked body, and goosebumps covered his arms.
The fear in his heart was vividly written on his face.
His mouth was already shivering when he looked up to face the man.
“What do you want?
Can’t I refuse to have sex with you?
This Isn’t right!
You shouldn’t be doing this, you know that right?
This will make you birds of a feather with that old witch at the brothel.
Doesn’t the thought of that irk you?” Armin’s mouth kept running, hoping his questions would make the man feel guilty and let him go.
“No,” the man replied flatly, without sparing a glance at the frightened boy.
No?
Which of the questions was he answering?
“What are you going to do to me?” Armin asked again.
“Hold him in front of the mirror,” the man commanded his captors, completely ignoring the question.
They dragged him and pushed him down onto his knees in front of the gold-rimmed mirror.
Armin looked into the glass and saw the reflection of the man behind him unbuckling and pulling out his belt.
A fresh wave of panic enveloped him.
“Please!” he mouthed absentmindedly.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and he looked up at the man’s reflection in the mirror.
“No, please, no,” he begged.
The man whipped the air with his belt, the welting sound filled the bedroom space.
Armin shut his eyes tight and yelped like a wounded dog.
He shot his body up and threw his head back, screaming for dear life.
Startled that no pain came after the welting sound, he froze and slowly opened one eye.
The man was standing quietly behind him with his head tilted slightly to the side.
He had that same amused look on his face, but it was short-lived.
He raised the belt high and brought it crashing down on Armin’s butt cheek.
Armin screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his life.
The pain was vivid.
He cried like a little child, struggling to break loose from his captors.
He turned his back to the man who still stood calmly with the belt in his hand, an unreadable look on his face and that damn head tilted to the side.
“No, no, please!” Armin begged in furious tears.
“It hurts, it hurts so much!”
The strike had left a red, swollen welt on his butt cheek.
“I warned you, didn’t I?
Now look in the mirror.”
“No,” Armin objected, shaking his head wildly.
“Please, no more.
I will be good.”
The man paused for a second and crouched down to his level, wielding the belt in his hand.
He cupped Armin’s jaw in his hand and forced him to look at him.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Armin,” he choked out in tears.
“How old are you?”
“22,” Armin replied.
“You said you will be good?”
Armin nodded.
“Words!” the man commanded coldly.
“Yes,” Armin replied timidly.
He hated pain, and he hated violence.
He just wanted the madness to stop.
He was tired and already getting overwhelmed by everything in less than two days.
The man nodded twice and let go of his chin.
“You said you wanted food?”
Armin looked up at him bewildered.
What was this man all about?
One second he was smiling, the next he was acting like the devil’s reincarnate, and then the next second he was acting nice.
Armin didn’t care anymore.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Fine cuisine?” the man asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Armin stared at him, exhausted and in pain.
“Anything,” he answered nonchalantly.
He wasn’t in the mood for sarcastic humor.
His butt was still on fire, and his throat was sore from all the screaming, yet here the perpetrator of his pain had the guts to fool around with words when the tears on his face hadn’t even dried up yet.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” the man pulled him back from his thoughts.
Armin chose silence this time and lowered his head.
The man stood up and nudged at the captors.
Only then did they let go of Armin’s hands, walk to the door, and leave.
The man carried Armin off the ground in a quick move, as if he weighed absolutely nothing, and gently placed him on the bed.
“So, let’s do this all over again,” he said gleefully, unbuttoning his shirt.
Armin’s life flashed before his eyes.
Again?
he thought.
What is this man’s problem?
“I noticed you don’t like it rough.
Tell me how you prefer doing it.
I don’t mind compromising for a pretty boy.”
“I don’t know,” Armin replied quickly, hoping the man would leave him alone, but he was wrong.
The man pulled off his shirt and shot him a warning look.
“Trying to piss me off again?”
Armin sighed.
He had been caught red-handed in the act.
“I don’t know.
I really don’t know,” he looked down at the silk sheet, feeling embarrassed.
“I’ve never been intimate with anyone.”
“All your life?” the man was thoroughly baffled, and his face showed it.
“Yes.”
“An omega?”
“Yes.”
“With this beautiful face and body?”
“Yes.”
“Why?
Why were you at the brothel then?”
Armin was getting fed up with this involuntary interview.
What was it to him?
What did the information matter to him?
He wasn’t about to tell a stranger who had caused him pain twice—no, scratch that, thrice—that he was paying for his brother’s crime that he nothing about, simply because his stupid dad had sold him off to that salamander.
“I just didn’t want to,” he replied.
It wasn’t entirely a lie, right?
He’d rather work to save the future of his family than go have sex.
His family?
The thought of the future that he had spent so many years trying to save, only to see it fall apart in just one day.
The tears were pooling again and threatening to pour.
“I don’t want to see those tears,” the unsympathetic voice of the man interrupted him.
Armin wiped his eyes immediately with the back of his hand.
“What’s your name?
I mean, what should I call you?”
“What would you like to call me?” the man asked him back.
This man was stressing him out.
Was this rage-baiting?
Was he trying to provoke him so he could get leverage to whip him again?
“I don’t know?
The punisher?” Armin raised an eyebrow at him in a quest to shut the man up.
He was tired of the questions and only wanted something to eat.
“I prefer Daddy.
You will call me daddy.”
“What?” Armin felt cringe.
“My dad is at home.
Do you perhaps, have any daddy issues?
I can’t fix it for you, but I know someone who—”
The man pulled his leg violently toward the him, shutting him up mid-sentence.
“You talk too much, Min-min!”