Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jonathan Pine’s eyelids fluttered open, the world tilting in and out of focus like a ship caught in a violent swell.

His skull throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that pulsed behind his eyes with every slow blink. His limbs were leaden and unresponsive, as if his body had been filled with wet sand. He summoned all his will to try and flex his fingers, but they barely twitched against the rough bite of… rope around his wrists?

What—

Jonathan inhaled, the air smelling of leather and something faintly chemical. Chloroform, maybe? His mouth was dry, his tongue thick. He swallowed, tasting blood. Panic started to infiltrate his mind when a voice he knew well, too well, cut through the haze.

"Matthew Ellis." The words were slow, deliberate, laced with something between amusement and disdain. "Or should I say, Jonathan Pine?"

The name that had haunted him for years—his name, one that somehow felt more like Roper's brand than his own identity—hit like a live wire. His pulse spiked, sharp and sudden, sending a jolt of clarity through the drug-induced fog. No one had spoken it in years; few knew about it, and it hadn't meant anything good for a long time now.

Shadows swam and merged into indistinct shapes around him, refusing to solidify into anything recognizable. He blinked hard, his vision struggling to stabilize against the lingering haze of whatever they’d pumped into his system. Gradually, the blurs sharpened into a room—a bedroom, expensive but impersonal.

Plush carpet beneath his knees, silk-draped windows, the faint scent of cedar and something metallic. Three of Teddy’s men, the ones he first met at his house, stood against the walls, their expressions serious, guns on their waists.

And then there was Teddy De Santos himself.

He lounged in a high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled under his chin. The same lazy confidence, the same cat-like predator’s smile, the same intense eyes that had put Matthew down on his knees. Teddy’s hand lifted, and Jonathan’s stomach dropped when he realized what was on it.

A file. Thin, unassuming, but a file. Its edges were crisp, the corners slightly worn and softened, suggesting it had been handled, opened, and closed many times.

Jonathan swallowed against the dryness in his throat and looked down at himself. His arms were bound tightly behind his back, lashed to his torso. The restraint cut off circulation, making every breath shallow and tight, forcing him to kneel rigidly—an awkward, humiliating posture like a supplicant before a king.

Alright, this was bad. Really bad. The drugs still fogging his senses, the professional knots restraining him, plus Teddy's deliberate name drop, all crystallized the terrifying truth: He was exposed. 

He forced a ragged breath, consciously pushing down the icy wave of panic that clawed its way up his throat, threatening to choke him.

Teddy knew who he was, or at least suspected strongly, because Roper wasn't here, and Roper definitely would want to be here for this. But suspicion wasn’t confirmation. And if there was one thing Jonathan had honed over his time with Roper, it was the desperate, vital skill of talking his way out of impossible corners.

He just had to make sure Teddy didn’t bring Roper into this, otherwise… well, there would be no escaping him this time.

"I didn’t know you were into roleplay, Teddy," Jonathan rasped, shaping his voice into Matthew’s easy drawl, the one he’d practiced in front of mirrors, in hotel rooms, in the quiet moments when no one was watching. The corner of his mouth twitched into a shaky grin, though his pulse hammered in his throat.

"But this…" He shifted, the ropes biting deeper into his wrists, the movement sending a spike of white-hot pain through his shoulders that made his teeth clench. "Is a bit too much."

"Too much?" Teddy’s eyebrows arched, his expression a blend of mock surprise and genuine amusement. A slow, indulgent chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound warm, familiar, and so disarmingly Teddy that for a second, Jonathan felt a treacherous flicker of something dangerously soft and yearning stir beneath the icy panic in his chest. That man had always possessed the uncanny ability to disarm him with that laugh, to pull him close even when every rational instinct inside him screamed to flee. "You think that’s too much?"

The unforgiving ropes gouged into his flesh with every minute tremor, the sharp, constant pressure a brutal reminder that he wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t in control. Teddy’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes—dark, amused, utterly devoid of warmth—locked onto Jonathan. He held Teddy’s gaze, kept his breathing steady, and forced his shaky grin to stay in place, nodding slowly as Matthew would.

Teddy tilted his head, studying Jonathan like a specimen under glass. "I’ll miss you, Matthew." His lips curved in something almost fond, a cruel parody of affection that chilled Jonathan to the bone. "I truly will."

The words settled like a blade between his ribs. That was certainty. Not suspicion, not a theory, no… Teddy was being quite straightforward. God, he just hoped Teddy hadn't found out about Roxy, too. That thought sent a fresh wave of icy dread through him.

Jonathan forced another ragged breath past the constriction in his chest, the effort a physical ache that scraped his throat raw. "I’m still here," he insisted, the Matthew-drawl straining at the edges.

Roper wasn't here. The absence screamed louder than any presence. If Teddy knew, if he truly knew Jonathan was here and not Matthew, then why wasn't Roper here? He knew the worst man in the world. He wouldn't miss this chance for payback.

Teddy’s smile faded. "No," he said softly. "He’s not. Jonathan is here. As he always was." He tapped the file against his knee, then gestured at Jonathan. "And that's who I want to know now."

No, he didn’t. No one did. Everyone who had ever met Jonathan Pine was gone: dead, vanished, or teetering on the edge of danger they could never outrun. Only Roper… it was always, inevitably, him.

Jonathan swallowed, the dryness in his mouth making it harder to speak. “Teddy, look,” he began, his voice measured, still clinging to the cadence of Matthew Ellis. “I don’t know what you think—”

Teddy cut him off with a sharp scoff. “Think? Amor, I don’t think. I know." A pause. "Or aren't you the man who took Richard Roper down? Or thought he did?" The emphasis on 'thought' was a tiny, precise dagger.

Jonathan ignored the pet name—amor: love—the way it curled off Teddy’s tongue like an old habit, something warm and familiar that didn’t belong here. It dug under his skin, a reminder of nights when Teddy’s voice had been the only thing that could slow the racing of his thoughts. But there was no comfort in it now.

Because Teddy had it all laid bare.

Jonathan’s gaze flicked to the file again, the weight of it suddenly obvious. Somehow, that thing held the traces of Jonathan Pine, or Alex.

Great.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, forcing his shoulders to relax even as the ropes bit deeper, the last remnants of Matthew Ellis slipping away like smoke. No point clinging to a ghost. No more pretending. It wouldn’t do any good now, and might even piss Teddy off. And if there was one thing worse than Teddy knowing, it was Teddy angry.

But there was something else. A missing piece.

Roper wasn’t here.

He lifted his head, meeting Teddy’s gaze fully. No more hesitation, no more careful shaping of his voice into something lighter, smoother. Just the truth. "Why isn’t Roper here?"

Teddy’s smirk widened. He clapped, slow and mocking. "There he is. Finally." The applause stopped as abruptly as it started. He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Why would he be here? Do you think you hold such importance?"

Jonathan didn’t flinch, because he knew he did. Deep in his bones, he always knew. Roper wasn’t the kind of man to forget, to simply walk away. Jonathan had meticulously dismantled all that made Roper who he was—his sprawling empire, his suffocating pride, the carefully constructed illusion of invincibility. 

And Roper? Roper had taken things from him  in their brutal exchange, too. Precious things. Irreplaceable things Jonathan couldn’t scrounge back for, no matter how hard he fought.

But only one of them held the power now.

"Well," Jonathan said, letting the word hang between them, "I was just under the impressionRoper would want to kill the man who took everything from him."

Teddy’s expression flickered, something dark passing behind his eyes, but the smirk stayed in place. He shrugged casually. "No. He told me I was free to do whatever I wanted with you. Consider it... delegated authority."

The words settled like a blade twisting between Jonathan’s ribs.

Not because of the threat, he’d known the risks the second he walked back into this world, but because of what it meant. Roper hadn’t come. Hadn’t demanded to witness his destruction firsthand, hadn’t insisted on being the sole hand to pull the trigger.

He’d given Jonathan away to Teddy. Jonathan’s pulse spiked, but he kept his face blank. That wasn’t Roper’s style. Roper didn’t delegate revenge. He savored it. He orchestrated it, down to the last agonizing detail. He needed to see the light drain from his enemy’s eyes himself.

Which meant Teddy was lying.

Or Roper wasn’t in control anymore. The alternative possibility landed with a dull, sickening thud in Jonathan’s gut. No, that wasn't possible. It was more likely that Roper trusted Teddy to kill him, to make him pay, maybe as a test? Jonathan’s mind raced, sifting through possibilities. What mattered was that Roper wasn’t coming. So this wasn’t about him. This was about Teddy. And Teddy had grown increasingly unpredictable as they grew closer.

"So what? What do you want from me?" Jonathan asked as he tested the ropes again, the burn of the fibers rubbing against his skin served as a sharp counterpoint to the numbness still lingering in his limbs.

The drugs weren’t out of his system yet, but the adrenaline was cutting through it, sharpening his focus. He so dearly needed it, because he had to find out what exactly Teddy knew, and if he had any ideas about Roxy and Sally.

"I told you." Teddy mused, resting his chin on his hand. "I want to know you, Johnny."

Jonathan held his gaze. "You’re the one with the file."

Teddy’s smile turned sharp. "Oh, I already know what’s in here." He tapped the folder against Jonathan’s chest. "But I’m more interested in what isn’t."

Jonathan didn’t react. He’d spent years building lies, layering them so deep that even he sometimes forgot where the truth began. But Teddy had always been good at peeling things back.

Teddy stood, turning away as he flipped the file open. The rustle of paper echoed in the room. Jonathan’s gaze followed the motion as he tried to reconcile the sight of Teddy, casual and unhurried, with the reality of what was happening. This wasn’t the Teddy who’d laughed with him over glasses of whiskey in dimly lit lounges or exchanged hushed confessions under the cover of night, or uttered 'Matthew' like a prayer.

This was something colder. Something he had only seen in Roper, who might as well be standing in the corner, lighting a cigarette with approval in his cold eyes.

“You disappeared after Roper’s empire collapsed. No trace. No bodies. Just… gone.” Teddy glanced back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, the gesture almost playful. “But not really. You became Alex, a member of the British Intelligence, too curious for his own good. Or for the good of his colleagues.”

Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment. Graham, Waleed, Tony—he remembered their late nights working together, the shared coffees and meals gone cold on the cluttered desks, the quiet camaraderie mixed with Graham’s dry humor, Waleed’s unshakable calm, and Tony’s fierce loyalty. They’d walked into danger for him, trusted him, and he’d led them straight into Teddy’s crosshairs.

“Graham. Waleed. Tony…” Teddy now listed their names slowly, drawing each one out as if savoring the sound of them.

He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs with a casual elegance that made Jonathan’s stomach churn. There was a smugness in his posture, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

A flame ignited inside Jonathan, white-hot and searing, its intensity only tempered by the physical restraints binding him. His fingers twitched against the ropes, the rough fibers digging into his skin, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t lash out.

“I killed them, didn’t I?” Teddy asked, tilting his head slightly, his smirk widening. “That’s why you came for me?”

Jonathan’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he fought to keep his composure. The urge to lunge at Teddy, to wipe that smug expression off his face, was almost overwhelming, but the ropes held him fast. “Yes.” He rasped.

He wished he could say it was the whole reason, but he couldn't. Part of it was the thing that kept him awake all these years, that haunted him every single moment of his life. And the moment he found out Roper was alive… well, it consumed him whole.

Teddy’s smile softened, something almost resembling admiration flickering in his eyes. “That’s beautiful, Johnny. Truly beautiful.” He nodded, as if agreeing with some unspoken sentiment, before closing the file with a decisive snap. "Most people would have cut their losses and moved on. But not you. You came after me, even though you knew it would cost you.”

Jonathan didn’t respond, understanding that this Teddy was one of their first days together—the Teddy capable of orchestrating the deaths of his friends and then sit here, calmly discussing it like it was just another business transaction. Not the man he kissed. Not the man he danced with, making the world fall away. Not the man who for terrifying, fleeting moments, had made Jonathan feel something other than the dead weight of his own guilt.

Teddy uncrossed his legs, leaning forward just slightly. The file in his hand creased under his grip. "You know what I find interesting?" He didn't wait for an answer. "How long did you think you could keep this up? Drinking my champagne, laughing at my jokes, lying in my bed." A slow, deliberate shake of his head. "And all this time, you were counting the seconds until you could put a bullet in my skull."

Jonathan's jaw tightened. He could feel the weight of the men in the room, their stillness, their patience. No one moved. No one needed to.

"See, that's the thing," Teddy continued, voice smooth as the ice in his untouched drink. "I don't mind a liar. Hell, I respect a good one. But you—" He tapped the file against his knee. "You didn't just lie to me. You made me like you."

Jonathan exhaled through his nose. The room wasn't spinning anymore, but the ache in his head pulsed like a second heartbeat. He shouldn't feel guilty, not one shred. Teddy was a monster, Richard Roper's true son through and through, with cold calculation and ruthless ambition wrapped in charm. That was the whole point of the mission: get close, make Teddy like him. Earn his trust.

Just not… not quite like this.

Not in the way Teddy had kissed him last Tuesday, fierce and possessive, as if Jonathan was some rare delicacy he intended to devour whole, leaving him breathless and scraped raw inside, exposed nerves humming. Not in the way those surprisingly gentle hands had touched him afterward, tracing lines on his skin as if Jonathan wasn't permanently stained by blood and death. As if Teddy’s touch alone could somehow scour him clean, erase the grime of a thousand necessary sins.

The tenderness had felt like a violation far worse than any roughness. And definitely not in the way he looked at him, as if Jonathan was worthy of his attention, as if he could ever belong in Teddy's world.

"Teddy," he started, voice rough.

"Ah-ah." Teddy held up a finger. "No more Matthew. That man's dead. I want to hear Jonathan Pine."

Jonathan’s patience snapped like a frayed rope.

"Okay. You want to hear me? You're gonna hear me." He spat, causing Teddy to raise an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Roper doesn't care about you, Teddy. That man doesn't care about anyone but himself. The fact that you're his son is just another way for him to manipulate you. He is using you, okay?" He rasped, his chest heaving with the force of his words. "Just like he used every single person in his life. Like he used me."

He breathed hard, his wrists burning against the ropes, his pulse thundering in his ears. He hoped, desperately, that Teddy would understand. Roper didn’t have a heart. Jonathan had searched for it, yearned for a shred of humanity in the man who’d shaped his darkness. The closest he’d ever seen was with Danny, a twisted affection Teddy wasn’t privy to.

Teddy was the child Roper had discarded, left behind to fight in the mud of his own making, the son he would exploit until he was drained dry and discarded again.

Jonathan knew that bone-deep truth, and he needed Teddy to know it too. And if he could make Teddy see it, maybe, just maybe, he could turn him against Roper. And for a moment, he thought it might work. Teddy’s expression shifted, the smirk fading into something more serious, thoughtful. His dark eyes flickered with conflict, and Jonathan allowed himself a sliver of hope.

But then Teddy stood and tossed the file onto his chair with a casual flick of his wrist.

"You mean before…" He paused, gesturing vaguely toward Jonathan, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "Or after you fucked his wife?"

Jonathan’s breath hitched, his stomach twisting into knots. Jed. He knew about her. Of course Teddy knew about her.

Teddy strolled towards him, unhurried, "Jed," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with feigned familiarity. "That's how you say her name, right?" His tone was light, conversational, but the malice in his eyes was unmistakable.

A flame burned inside of Jonathan at her mention. It surged, burning away the cold knot of uncertainty, replaced by a ferocious, protective fury. He promised himself he would never allow anyone to ever hurt her again, and Teddy wasn't going to make him break that promise, one of the only ones he had been able to keep.

Jonathan snarled, straining against the ropes, the fibers digging deeper into his skin. "Don’t you dare."

Teddy shook his head, tutting softly, as if Jonathan were a misbehaving child. "Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’m not gonna go after her." He shrugged, his tone dismissive. "She doesn’t interest me. I have all I need right here."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. He believed him relatively, but Roper? Roper was another story. If he knew, if he ever found out… Jonathan couldn’t let that happen. He had to keep trying, had to make Teddy see.

"Just…" His voice cracked, and he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to steady. “Listen to me. Roper is gonna get rid of you the moment he doesn’t have any use for you anymore.” Jonathan leaned forward, his tone softening, pleading now. “He’s not worth your soul, Eduardo.”

Teddy’s expression crumbled, just for a moment. Jonathan knew it was a low blow to bring up Teddy’s faith, his guilt, his soul. But he had no other choice. Desperation clawed at him, urging him to dig deeper, to find whatever vulnerability lay beneath Teddy’s icy exterior.

He needed to get to him. Just this once. Please, just this once.

Teddy looked down, his hands resting on his knees as he crouched in front of Jonathan, their faces now inches apart. The silence stretched until Teddy finally raised his eyes to meet Jonathan’s.

"Maybe." He tilted his head to one side, then the other, as if weighing the idea. "Maybe not." A small smile curled at the corners of his lips, unsettlingly calm. "But I don’t trust you to tell me that."

Jonathan’s chest tightened, the weight of failure pressing down on him. He had played his hand, and it hadn’t been enough. Teddy didn’t trust him. And why would he? Jonathan had lied to him about almost everything and manipulated him in every possible way. He wouldn't believe him.

Teddy's finger hooked under Jonathan's chin, lifting it with a slow, deliberate motion. The touch was soft, but the grip behind it was unyielding. Their faces were inches apart now.

"There's one more thing I want to know more than anything, though," Teddy’s dark eyes searched his, the smirk on his lips barely masking something deeper, something raw. "Was anything real?"

Jonathan’s breath caught. The question lingered in the air like a blade poised to fall. Teddy’s smirk wavered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of control slipping, and in that fleeting crack, Jonathan saw it: genuine vulnerability. Stark, naked hurt. The kind that wasn’t rehearsed or manufactured. It was terrifyingly real, a chasm opening in Teddy's carefully constructed facade, and it made staring at him, holding that raw gaze, unbearable.

He glanced at the men standing silently against the walls, their weapons holstered but ready. If he denied it, if he spat in Teddy’s face with a cold no, Teddy’s bruised ego might ignite, and there would be no coming back from it. But if he admitted the truth… if he let Teddy see the treacherous parts of himself that had faltered, the weak, foolish parts that had dared to feel something real, even for a monstrous lie…

He’d be exposing the last fragment of himself he’d kept hidden, flayed open and utterly vulnerable before the one person who could exploit it most cruelly.

"Teddy, I…" Jonathan started, his voice cracking, but Teddy cut him off.

"Don't speak if it isn't the truth, Johnny," Teddy warned, his tone soft but edged with steel. His thumb brushed lightly over Jonathan’s jawline, a gesture that felt too familiar, too much like the nights when the lines between them blurred.

Jonathan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He should lie. He should protect himself, cling to the last shred of armor he had left. But then he thought of the quiet moments: Teddy laughing at something stupid he’d said, the way his fingers had traced the rim of his glass when he was thinking, the weight of his gaze when he thought Jonathan wasn’t looking.

"Yes."

The word slipped out before he could stop it, tremulous. Teddy’s breath hitched, just slightly. His fingers tensed against Jonathan’s jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him feel it.

Jonathan looked down, unable to hold his gaze.

For a long second, Teddy didn’t move. Then, slowly, he exhaled. His thumb brushed the line of Jonathan’s jaw, almost absently, a ghost of the touch Jonathan craved and feared, before his hand fell away entirely. The sudden absence felt like a physical blow. Jonathan could feel the eyes of Teddy’s men on them, waiting. Jonathan stared at the floor, his chest tight, his mind a whirlwind.

It should be a lie. It should all have been a lie, every carefully constructed word, every lingering glance held a beat too long, every fleeting moment of connection that had fooled him into believing there was something real beneath the surface.

He wasn't supposed to get attached, wasn't supposed to feel the way his heart stuttered when Teddy's fingers traced his skin, wasn't supposed to crave the warmth of his touch. He wasn't supposed to want him, not like this, not with the kind of hunger that gnawed at his chest and left him breathless. And yet, he did.

He had dared to believe, even for a moment, that Teddy was different from Roper, that the violence in his hands could be tempered, that the darkness in his eyes could hold softness. But now, he knew the truth: he would die by Teddy's hands, the same hands that had once held him close, that had once offered an illusion of safety, while leaving Roper and his growing empire intact.

Teddy stood. He barked an order in Spanish, and one of his men stepped forward, crouching behind Jonathan. The ropes slackened, the pressure on his wrists easing, but his arms hung limp, leaden, as if they no longer belonged to him. The ache bloomed into sharp pins and needles, the blood rushing back in a flood of sensation that made him grit his teeth.

“Out,” Teddy commanded, his tone clipped, dismissive.

The men moved without hesitation, filing out of the room with the casual precision of a well-oiled machine. Viktor paused at the door, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Disfrútalo, jefe,” he said, his voice thick with innuendo, and then the door clicked shut. Enjoy him, boss.

It was just them now. That couldn't mean anything good.

Jonathan flexed his fingers, testing the limits of his stiff, uncooperative limbs. His gaze flicked upward as Teddy crossed to the nightstand, his hand closing around the sleek black grip of a pistol. Jonathan’s stomach clenched, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He knew what came next. But he didn't, and wouldn't beg.

But Teddy didn’t aim the gun at him. Instead, he turned it over in his hand and extended it toward Jonathan.

“Take it,” Teddy said calmly.

Jonathan blinked, his mind still sluggish, struggling to parse the command. What was he doing? His fingers twitched involuntarily, a spasm of nerves, but his arm remained leaden at his side. He couldn't tell if it was the lingering effects of whatever they'd given him locking his muscles, or because he didn't want to risk. Teddy sighed, a sound tinged with impatience, and crouched fluidly in front of him again, the space between them shrinking to mere inches.

Teddy’s hands were warm as they closed around Jonathan’s, his touch unexpectedly gentle, almost intimate. He pressed the gun into Jonathan’s palm, and Jonathan’s fingers curled instinctively around the grip, the metal cool against his skin. Jonathan stared at the weapon now nestled in his own hand, his mind reeling, struggling to grasp the sheer insanity of this act.

Why? Why would Teddy do this? Why arm him, after knowing exactly who he was? After knowing, with cold certainty, what he had done to Roper? How was Roper allowing any of this?

“I said, take it, Johnny,” Teddy murmured, coaxing.

It was the same tone he’d used a hundred times before, the one that made Jonathan’s pulse quicken, his resolve waver. Teddy’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, a caress that felt like a mockery, yet sent a shiver racing down Jonathan’s spine.

Jonathan’s breath hitched. Without conscious thought, almost against his own volition, he raised the weapon. The barrel trembled slightly as it leveled at Teddy’s forehead, a dark eye staring unblinking at the space between his brows. Teddy didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. His hands fell away, leaving Jonathan’s clutching the gun, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Go on,” Teddy said, a soft challenge, his eyes locked onto Jonathan’s. A faint smirk played at the corners of his lips, daring him, tempting him. “Do it.”

His mind raced, a torrent of questions and doubts flooding his thoughts, each one clawing at his sanity. This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Why would he— why would Teddy—?!

"If I do it, your men will just kill me right after, right?" He gave a humorless smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

He didn’t need to look around to know the room was probably wired, that Teddy’s men were waiting just outside, ready to storm in the second the shot rang out.

Teddy snorted, soft, almost affectionate, as if Jonathan had just told a joke only he understood. His lips curved into a lazy smile, his gaze never leaving Jonathan’s. "As if you care about that."

Jonathan’s jaw clenched. He didn’t argue. He wouldn’t care if they killed him—not really. Not if it meant he didn’t fail again. Not if it meant he’d done something right, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

"Besides," Teddy continued. "Every man in this place has orders to let you go if you shoot me."

"Sure. As if Roper would let me walk away after killing you." Jonathan scoffed, not buying into a single word.

This had to be some kind of test, or trap. Roper was good in those, and Teddy lived up to it. There wouldn't be a world in which any of them would allow him to leave alive after what he had done to both.

"My father isn't here." Teddy snorted, but quickly, something cold settled in his eyes, and he tilted his head, "And he isn't the one who created this army. They will follow my orders, not his. Not yet."

Not yet. So they would at some point. Just not now? Why not now? Why not when Teddy's life was on the line?

"You want me to believe that?" Jonathan raised his eyebrows.

Teddy tilted his head, his expression softening. "Believe me or don’t believe me." He shrugged, casual, dismissive. "It doesn’t matter to me."

Jonathan’s grip on the gun tightened. His finger twitched against the trigger, the urge to pull it overwhelming. Teddy leaned forward, his hand rising to cup Jonathan’s chin, raising it. His touch was warm, tender, but there was a hardness in his eyes that made Jonathan’s stomach turn.

"I’m giving you the chance," Teddy said, his voice low, intimate, "to kill the man who ordered your agents’ deaths. To finish what you started with my father."

Jonathan’s breath hitched. Rex. Graham. Waleed. Tony. Their faces flashed in his mind: Rex's easy grin over a shared beer, Graham's focused scowl during a briefing, Waleed's quiet chuckle, and Tony's booming laughter… their blood on his hands. He carried their deaths like a second skin, guilt and grief etched so deep he sometimes forgot what it was like to breathe without them.

Teddy was right. He could finish it. He could avenge them. Right here. Right now. He could avenge them, spill the blood of the architect of their destruction. He could make sure their sacrifice wasn’t just another meaningless entry in a ledger of violence.

And not just that.

This was his chance, his only chance, to ensure Teddy never sold another weapon that shattered lives, never coldly ordered another execution, never smiled that knowing, predatory smile at another man the way he’d smiled at Jonathan, like he already knew how the story ended.

His finger tightened on the trigger, the hesitation wavering. One pull. That was all it would take. A fraction of a second, a tiny movement. One pull and Teddy would be gone, his reign of terror along with it. One pull, and maybe, just maybe, the weight would lift. Jonathan could shed the layers of aliases—not Matthew, not Alex, not even the hollowed-out shell of Jonathan—and find… someone.

Someone who could breathe freely again.

"Do it, Johnny," Teddy murmured. His forehead pressed harder against the muzzle, his breath warm against Jonathan’s wrist. "Do it."

Jonathan’s hand shook, the gun trembling in his grip. He should do it. He knew he should, the logic cold and absolute. And yet…

His mind drifted back to the days and nights he’d spent with Teddy. The way Teddy looked at him, like he was the only person in the room. The way his hands had touched him, possessive and gentle all at once. The way his lips had brushed against Jonathan’s, with the taste of champagne and something darker.

He remembered the rare, genuine laughter that had startled from his own throat, the terrifying ease of simply being beside him, those fleeting hours where the weight of his identity, of Teddy’s monstrous reality, had almost dissolved. Like he could forget how he and Roxy were the only people he’d let touch him like that in so long, ever since Jed. Like for once, for a few precious, poisoned hours, he could forget the crushing, isolating void that was his existence.

It shouldn't matter. He shouldn't matter, his misplaced feelings, his mistaken attachments, they shouldn't mean anything in a moment like this, should be dust motes, meaningless against the scale of Teddy’s crimes.

Still… Jonathan’s chest constricted, a vise tightening around his lungs, his resolve crumbling like wet sand. The gun trembled harder, his finger slipping from the trigger as he lowered it, his arm falling limply to his side. Hot tears welled, blurring Teddy’s form into a smudge of dark hair and darker skin. He blinked furiously, but the tears clung, stinging his lashes, tracing hot paths down his cheeks as his breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He tried to reason that it would be useless, that killing Teddy with Roper still out there would mean nothing, that he would just be wasting a bullet, and would probably get killed right after. But he knew, in his bones, that it wasn't the reason he didn't shoot.

Teddy’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something in his eyes—something that might have been satisfaction, or relief, or something else entirely. Jonathan couldn't stand it.

“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay,” Teddy murmured, his voice low, condescending in its gentleness. His chuckle was warm, almost indulgent, as if Jonathan were a child who had stumbled into some foolish, forgivable mistake.

But it wasn't okay. None of this was okay. Acidic shame flooded Jonathan’s throat. He had failed, he had let Teddy in, he had let himself falter again—

Teddy’s thumb lingered on Jonathan’s cheek, the pad of his finger brushing away the tears. Jonathan hated himself for the way his breath hitched at the touch, the way his body leaned ever so slightly into Teddy’s hand like a starving man offered bread, betraying him, the way his thoughts tangled into knots he couldn’t unravel.

He hated himself most of all for the soft, knowing curve that lifted Teddy’s lips, that intimate smile whispering I told you so, as if he’d always known it would come to this.

“You meant it, didn’t you?” Teddy tilted Jonathan’s face up, forcing him to meet his gaze. "There was something real," he murmured, as though they were sharing a secret.

Jonathan’s jaw clenched, the words cutting deeper than any knife. He couldn’t deny it, not to himself, not when the memory of those stolen, quiet moments—Teddy’s genuine laughter echoing in a sunlit room, the unexpected warmth softening his gaze—still clung to him like a phantom touch, a ghost of comfort he couldn't exorcise.

But admitting it out loud? That felt like ultimate surrender.

So Jonathan didn’t answer. His eyes burned, but he refused to let more tears fall. Instead, he remained utterly still, letting Teddy’s hands continue to cradle his face, the man’s fingers warm against his skin, possessive in their tenderness. It was a cruel mockery of the intimacy they had shared before, a reminder of everything Jonathan had lost, and everything he’d never truly had.

People would die. Good people. Innocents. Because of him. Because he couldn’t pull the trigger when it counted. Because he hadn’t been strong enough, ruthless enough, to do what the mission demanded. It was all for nothing. The mission, the lies, the sacrifice. It had all been for nothing.

Jonathan’s voice was hoarse, ragged. "What now? You make an example out of me?" He forced a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the room's heavy silence. "Show everyone what happens when they cross Richard Roper's true disciple?"

Teddy’s smile widened, his head shaking slowly, as if Jonathan had missed the point entirely. “No,” he said, almost affectionate. “Now…” He leaned in closer still, eliminating the last sliver of space, until their foreheads rested solidly against each other. Their breaths mingled, warm and shared, yet their gazes remained locked in a silent battle. “I keep you."

The words settled over Jonathan like a shroud. ‘Keep’ him? What was that even supposed to mean? Would he torture him for what he did to his father? Keep him for information purposes? Jonathan truly couldn't tell, and that was the worst part.

Teddy’s hand slid around to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair, holding him there in place. Jonathan’s chest tightened. He wanted to pull away, to fight, to escape, but he ended up sinking into the warmth.

"And what does Roper think of that?" Jonathan asked quietly.

His mind raced, grappling with the implications. Roper had to be behind this. It had to be some twisted game, some punishment for what Jonathan had done to him all those years ago. Roper wasn’t the type to let go of grudges, especially not one this deep.

He’d want Jonathan to suffer, to make him pay, to wring every last drop of usefulness out of him before discarding what was left, and he would have Teddy do the dirty work.

"My father doesn’t get a say in who I keep with me," Teddy scoffed, his tone light but edged with something sharper, something colder. His fingers tightened slightly in Jonathan’s hair, a possessive grip that sent a shiver down his spine. He leaned back just enough to meet Jonathan’s gaze, "This is my decision. Mine alone."

A small, quiet part of Jonathan wished Teddy was just a puppet in Roper’s hands. If Teddy wasn’t acting on his own, if this was all part of some grand, cruel design orchestrated by Roper, then maybe, just maybe, Jonathan could rationalize his own weakness, his inability to pull the trigger.

 He could tell himself the fleeting moments of connection he’d felt with Teddy, the dangerous warmth that had seeped into his defenses, weren’t entirely his fault. He could pretend it wasn’t entirely his choice to let Teddy live, to let him win.

But Teddy’s words cut through that fragile hope like a blade. This wasn’t Roper’s doing. This was Teddy, acting on his own desires, asserting his own control. And that made it so much worse, because it meant Jonathan’s failure was entirely his own.

Jonathan swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"It's okay. You’re mine now, Johnny,” Teddy murmured, a low, possessive purr. “You always were.”

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered shut, a shudder running through him. He hated himself for the way his body responded, for the way his heart ached at the words, for the way a part of him wanted to believe them. He hated himself more because he knew, deep down, that Teddy was right. He’d always belonged to him, to this family, even when he’d thought he was free.

Teddy’s lips pressed against his forehead, a kiss that was both tender and mocking, a reminder of the power he held. “You’ll see,” Teddy whispered, his breath warm against Jonathan’s skin. “You’ll see how good it can be.”

Jonathan didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was a whirlwind of guilt and shame, the gun still clutched in his hand, useless now. Teddy’s fingers lingered on his cheeks, thumb brushing away the dampness beneath his eyes. Jonathan wanted to pull away, to shove him back, but his body betrayed him, leaning into Teddy’s hold, sinking into the warmth of his touch.

Teddy’s smile softened, “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending. Tired of being alone.”

His eyes flickered shut, his lashes trembling against his cheeks. He was. He was so fucking tired all the time, tired of himself, tired of trying and trying, just to fail over and over again, tired of breathing. But Teddy shouldn't have seen that. He shouldn't have opened his chest and carved out the hollow there.

“Let me take care of you,” Teddy said, sounding so perfectly soft. “Let me make it all go away.”

Jonathan opened his eyes as Teddy moved closer, his palm warm against Jonathan’s waist, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt, his other hand cupping his cheek. His breath hitched, a small, trapped sound. The warmth of Teddy’s touch had seeped through his skin. A dangerous comfort, undoing him in ways he desperately didn’t want to acknowledge.

He knew, with chilling certainty, where this was inexorably heading, knew precisely what Teddy intended to do next. He should push Teddy away. Should tell him to fuck off. Should do something to stop this before it went too far. But he didn’t.

Teddy leaned in, his breath mingling with Jonathan’s, their faces so close that Jonathan could see every fleck of gold swimming in the dark depths of Teddy’s eyes—a secret detail reserved only for those Teddy permitted this near him. He stopped there, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch away.

It was agonizingly close. Jonathan could practically feel the heat radiating from him, the soft, tempting curve of his mouth. But he didn’t bridge the gap. Instead, he waited, his gaze searching Jonathan’s, full of something raw, vulnerable even, a silent, demanding question asking for permission Jonathan knew, deep in his fractured core, he had absolutely no right to give.

Because he had done this already, hadn’t he? He had kissed Teddy as Matthew, had let him close, had pretended it meant nothing. But this wasn’t Matthew. This was Jonathan Pine, broken and exposed, stripped of every layer of armor he’d built around himself. And Teddy wasn’t asking for Matthew’s permission.

He was asking for his.

Jonathan’s chest tightened, his breath shallow. Images flashed behind his eyes: his agents, their faces, the lives Teddy had extinguished or shattered. They deserved better. They deserved justice, and he didn't deserve any of this—this stolen intimacy, this unbearable closeness, this fragile thing Teddy offered with his silent question.

Maybe if Teddy had forced him, had taken this part of him by violence or coercion, Jonathan could have clung to righteous anger, could have pretended he didn’t want him, could have hated him as he should. But that hadn’t been the case for a while now.

A tremor ran through Jonathan as he leaned ever so slightly into Teddy’s touch, a surrender as profound as it was damning, the cold disappearing as it always did with Teddy. His hand lifted, almost of its own accord, to cradle the side of Teddy’s neck, fingertips finding the soft, vulnerable hair at his nape. The contact sent a jolt through him before he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing lightly against Teddy’s, tentative and unsure, as if he didn’t trust himself to do this at all.

Teddy hesitated for the briefest moment. Then it was immediate.

Teddy kissed him like he’d been waiting for this moment all along, his mouth soft yet insistent, coaxing Jonathan’s lips apart with a tenderness that stole his breath. Jonathan responded, hesitantly at first, unsure of how to navigate this intimacy.

Because Jonathan had never kissed anyone like this before.

He had stolen kisses, lied, and manipulated his way into intimate moments with Teddy, but never like this. Never with someone who had kissed him like he mattered, like he was worthy of gentleness. 

He didn’t know what to do with it.

His hand trembled as he held Teddy's neck, his lips parting hesitantly to deepen the kiss, a low sound catching in his throat. Teddy’s fingers tightened against his waist, pulling him closer until not an inch of space remained, his other hand sliding into Jonathan’s hair, cradling his skull and holding him with a certainty Jonathan couldn’t muster.

It was soft, achingly soft, the kind of kiss that lingered, and lingered, that demanded patience rather than urgency. Teddy’s lips moved against his with a rhythm that made Jonathan’s chest ache, his breath catching as warmth spread through him, a slow, molten tide that pooled low in his stomach and radiated outwards, leaving his limbs heavy.

The world narrowed to the slide of lips, the press of bodies, the dizzying scent of Teddy’s skin, and the terrifying vulnerability of being held so completely.

He kissed back hesitantly, shyly exploring the heat of Teddy’s mouth, the faint taste of mint, and something darker, richer, like whiskey. Teddy hummed low in his throat, a rumble that vibrated directly against Jonathan’s lips, sending shivers down his spine. Teddy tilted his head, deepening the kiss further, his tongue brushing against Jonathan’s in a deliberate stroke that made Jonathan’s knees threaten to buckle.

Every movement of Teddy’s lips against his own spoke of practiced patience, a careful control that barely contained the fierce hunger Jonathan could feel burning just beneath the surface.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. The tenderness of it overwhelmed the sharp edges of Jonathan’s guilt, of everything that was wrong about this. He clung to Teddy, his other hand digging into the fabric of his shirt, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as the kiss grew deeper, more urgent, but still impossibly soft.

When they finally broke apart, driven solely by the desperate lack of air, they were left breathless and dizzy. They rested their foreheads together, eyes closed, sharing the same fractured space. Teddy’s warm breath ghosted over Jonathan’s swollen lips, his fingers still tracing feather-light, almost imperceptible patterns on Jonathan’s waist.

Jonathan’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his heart pounding in his ears, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t name.

"I hate you," Jonathan muttered.

No, he didn’t. But he wanted to, God, how he wanted to, but the lie tasted bitter, hollow, even to himself. He craved to hate Teddy, needed to hate him with a ferocity that could burn away the treacherous ache in his chest, wished he could summon the fury and disgust that would make this unbearable closeness easier to shatter.

But hatred wasn’t there, just this vast, echoing emptiness filled with jagged shards of anger, a deep, bruising hurt, and a desire that coiled hot in his gut.

"I know, amor." Teddy’s voice was a low murmur, amusement threading through it like smoke. Jonathan didn’t need to open his eyes to know he was smiling.

Before Jonathan could muster a retort, a defense, anything, Teddy’s mouth was on his again—but this time, the kiss wasn’t soft or tender. It was rough, demanding, feral, all teeth and desperation, a kiss that felt less like affection and more like a brand, a claiming.

Teddy’s fingers twisted tight in Jonathan’s hair, yanking just hard enough to sting, arching his throat, surrendering him completely to take the kiss deeper, harder. His other hand gripped Jonathan’s waist like a vise, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath his shirt, pulling him so close their bodies fused together, leaving no space for breath or thought, only the overwhelming, consuming force of Teddy’s possession.

Jonathan gasped into it, the sound swallowed by Teddy’s mouth, and then met him with equal ferocity, biting back just as hard, their tongues clashing in a fight that was as much about anger as it was about need. Teddy shoved him backward without breaking the kiss, slamming him into the wall with enough force to rattle his bones.

The impact should have stolen his breath, knocked the wind clean out of him, if Teddy’s hand hadn’t already been there, slipping behind his skull at the last impossible second, a rough cradle that cushioned the blow with a possessive tenderness that made Jonathan’s stomach twist into a tight, sickening knot. The contradiction was almost worse than the violence.

The sharp tang of pain coming from his spine was a relief—something real, something honest—amid the dizzying haze of want and self-loathing. This was better, necessary. Roughness like this felt like penance, like the punishment he deserved for letting this happen, for letting himself fall so far, for being so willing.

Teddy pressed into him harder, hips pinning him in place, and Jonathan’s head spun. Oxygen was a distant memory, his lungs burning, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, even as the voice in the back of his mind hissed wrong, wrong, wrong. His hands clawed at Teddy’s shirt, gripping the fabric, as if he let go, he’d drown.

It was desperate. It was shameful.

And Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to stop, not when every ragged breath drew Teddy deeper into him, not when the friction between them sparked like flint on stone.

It all came down to the taste of Teddy’s lips, the scrape of his teeth, the bruising grip of his hands. Jonathan’s pulse roared in his ears, his chest heaving, his mind a blur of heat and need. It was like he was being devoured, piece by piece, until there’d be nothing left but the hollow ache of what he’d allowed himself to become.

When Teddy finally pulled away, it was abrupt, leaving Jonathan gasping for air, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. He pressed his forehead against Jonathan’s shoulder, body trembling with the effort of restraint. Jonathan's lips were swollen and tingling, the ghost of Teddy’s touch seared into his skin.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

"They will come for me." Jonathan breathed out, still recovering from the kiss, his chest still rising and falling unevenly. His voice was soft, a little ragged, but edged with something akin to defiance. He opened his eyes, staring at the opposite wall, unwilling to meet Teddy’s gaze.

Teddy raised his head from Jonathan’s shoulder, a lazy smirk curling his lips. His hand lingered on Jonathan’s cheek, warm and possessive. "Who, Johnny?" he asked with mockery. "Who would come for you?"

Jonathan didn’t flinch, but the words cut deeper than he let on. Who would come for you?

Basil. Sally. They might. They would. If they knew the truth, if they discovered where he was, he had no doubt they’d try. But the thought filled him with icy dread. He prayed fervently that they remained ignorant, blissfully unaware of this nightmare, far away from Teddy’s reach and the danger Jonathan represented. Someone he loved had to be safe, had to survive this.

He couldn’t bear the thought of dragging them into Roper's web, of watching Teddy dismantle them piece by piece, their loyalty and courage turned into weapons against them, just like everything else he touched.

Jonathan swallowed hard against the lump of fear and desperation, forcing the words out before his courage failed him entirely. “My government. They faked my death so I could come investigate you.” He met Teddy’s gaze, trying to project conviction. “If I don’t reply to them every day, they’ll know something is wrong and come for you.”

It was a lie, a desperate, flimsy lie, but it was the only card he had left to play. He didn’t know what Teddy would do with that information, didn’t know if it would provoke immediate execution or inspire some new, horrifically inventive form of torture. But anything was better than whatever Teddy intended for him now.

Teddy chuckled, low and dismissive, as if Jonathan had just told a joke. He stepped back slightly, studying Jonathan with that infuriating ease, that knowing smile that always made Jonathan feel like he was ten steps behind. “No, they won’t.” His fingers lingered on Jonathan’s cheek, brushing away something damp.

A tear? Jonathan hadn’t even noticed he’d shed one. The humiliation burned hotter than any physical pain.

He frowned at Teddy's answer and his own weakness, his jaw tightening. “Why not?”

Teddy cupped his cheek, his touch tender, almost loving, as he leaned in closer. His lips brushed against Jonathan’s ear, his breath warm and intimate. "I made a deal with River House," he murmured, soft but laced with triumph. "We continue our business if they let me keep you. They didn’t even hesitate."

Jonathan should have expected that. He should have. A rogue agent found meddling with their dirty business? Of course, they’d traded him. Still, his stomach twisted, a wave of nausea rising as the implications sank in.

River House—the organization he’d given everything to, the one he’d bled for—had handed him over like a bargaining chip, a disposable asset. He was nothing to them now, just another piece to be moved across Teddy’s board, sacrificed without a second thought.

"Now your friend, Sally…" Teddy drawled, pulling away to face him, watching his reaction like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

Jonathan’s blood turned to ice. No. Not Sally. She shouldn’t be here. She was supposed to be safe. Someone had to be.

"She came for you."

Of course, she did. Jonathan’s chest tightened, a sick, sinking weight pressing against his ribs. He hated her for it. Hated that she cared enough to walk into hell for him. Hated that he’d dragged her into this, just like he dragged everyone else down with him, because they all died, they all kept dying, the faces flashing behind his eyes, and he couldn't—

Jonathan inhaled. Focus. He had to focus on saving her. He couldn't lose another one. With monumental effort, he forced the panic down, ironed the terror from his features, sculpting his expression into something blank, utterly detached. "I’ve no friends," he said, the lie smooth, practiced. A sad smile tugged at his lips, the kind that said nothing matters, least of all me.

Maybe, just maybe, if Teddy believed she meant absolutely nothing, he’d lose interest. Maybe, if he played this perfectly, she’d walk away alive. It was the only move left on the board.

Teddy tilted his head, considering. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pulled out his phone. "So I guess you’d have no problem if I killed her off."

Jonathan’s pulse spiked, a jagged, frantic rhythm against his throat. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as Teddy scrolled, tapped a number, and put the call on speaker. The phone rang once, twice—

A rough male voice answered in Spanish. "¿La matamos?" Do we kill her?

Jonathan fought to keep his expression neutral, a mask of icy indifference, even as Teddy’s predatory gaze remained locked onto him, searching for the slightest crack. "Ponla al teléfono." Put her on the phone.

He would make him hear it. Oh, God, he would make him hear him killing her. Jonathan felt sick in his stomach. The brutal memory of Roper forcing him to see a picture of Jed, beaten and broken, slammed into him with visceral force. He couldn’t reconcile this cold-blooded monster with the Teddy who had kissed him with such desperate intensity just minutes ago, the man whose touch had ignited a dangerous, fleeting warmth, who’d made him feel, however briefly, seen. But it was the same man.

And deep down, a treacherous voice whispered, he’d known this darkness was there from the very beginning.

The line crackled, then rustled: fabric, movement, a sharp gasp. Sally’s voice, shaky but clear, came through, "I… I don’t know any Jonathan. P-please, I was just lost in the jungle. I don’t know what’s happening!"

She was good. Playing the terrified tourist perfectly, keeping her head under unimaginable pressure. A fierce, aching pride surged through Jonathan, immediately followed by crushing guilt. She shouldn’t have to be this good. She shouldn’t be here at all, trapped in the jungle, bargaining for her life simply because she’d crossed paths with him.

"See?" Jonathan gestured at the phone, "This woman's just a lost tourist. Let her go, Teddy."

Please. The word screamed inside his skull. Please believe it. Please let her walk away.

Teddy hummed softly, tilting his head back to study the ceiling. For a few moments, there was only Jonathan's racing heart and Teddy's hum, and Jonathan hoped. He dared to.

Then Teddy let out a sharp, derisive snort. "Pedro, mátala." Pedro, kill her.

Jonathan moved before the words fully registered, his body lunging forward, fingers clamping around Teddy’s wrist, his pulse hammering hard enough to choke him. "No!" The word tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

Sally couldn’t die. Not like this. Not because of him.

Teddy’s eyes darkened, a flicker of anger gleaming in their depths. “Ah, Johnny.” He shook his head slowly, his smirk twisting into something bitter. “No friends, huh?”

Jonathan looked down. He had walked right into Teddy’s trap, played the game exactly as Teddy had wanted. Of course Teddy saw through his lie. Of course, he knew Sally wasn’t just some stranger. His grip on Teddy’s wrist tightened, not in defiance now, but in silent pleading.

Teddy lifted the phone again, "Espera," he murmured into the receiver, then muted the call. Wait. His eyes never left Jonathan’s. "What do you want me to tell them?"

Jonathan swallowed. The first play had failed. Now came the option that made his skin crawl.

“Eduardo, please just…” Jonathan’s voice was soft, all pleading cadence. His thumb brushed over the pulse in Teddy’s wrist, a caress that felt as intimate as it was calculated.

Teddy’s gaze flicked between Jonathan’s face and his touch, a frown creasing his brow. Jonathan didn’t shy away, didn’t retreat. He would do what he had to do for Sally.

It wasn’t like having sex with Teddy would be a huge sacrifice, not when the phantom heat of his touch still lingered vividly in Jonathan’s memory, not when even now, amidst the fear and the anger, his body betraying him with a traitorous, undeniable pull toward the man holding him captive.

But that very pull twisted into a dull ache beneath his ribs, a deep, bruising hurt. This was someone who had seen past the walls, glimpsed the vulnerability Jonathan guarded so fiercely, and was now coldly using that knowledge as leverage against him.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from Teddy’s. “Let her go,” Jonathan muttered, their breaths mingling. “Let her go, and I…" His hand moved from his wrist to his chest and trailed lower, sliding down Teddy’s stomach, fingers brushing beneath the hem of his waistband. "I’ll do whatever you want.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but they were necessary. He told himself it wasn’t a betrayal, not really. It would be easier this way, wouldn’t it? A small comfort, a way to rationalize what he was about to do.

He thought it would work. Teddy was looking at his lips, leaning in, as if mesmerized. But before his lips could meet Teddy’s and his fingers could touch deeper, Teddy’s free hand shot out, grasping Jonathan’s wrist with bruising force.

Jonathan froze, panic flashing in his eyes.

"You think this is what I want?" The words were gritted out between clenched teeth, his breath hot against Jonathan’s face.

Teddy was furious. He looked just like back in the boat, the only time Jonathan had been truly afraid of him, when the mask of charm and ease had slipped, revealing something darker, something untamed.

"Teddy—" Jonathan raised his other hand, trying to stem the storm brewing in front of him.

But Teddy cut him off.

"Don’t you fucking 'Teddy' me!" Teddy roared, inches from Jonathan’s face. His grip tightened momentarily before he released Jonathan’s wrist, leaving behind faint marks and a lingering ache.

Teddy stepped back, pacing across the room like a caged animal, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. Jonathan’s stomach sank, a cold dread settling in. He’d miscalculated. Badly. But how? Why was Teddy so furious? Why wouldn’t he want this? Teddy had said he was keeping him, hadn’t he? Wasn’t this part of it?

Teddy stopped abruptly, and fired off in rapid Spanish, "¿Crees que eres mi puta ahora? ¿Eso es lo que piensas?" You think you're my whore now? Is that it?

Jonathan frowned. Puta. Whore. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but… hadn’t Teddy implied he owned him? If Teddy wanted Jonathan to be his whore, if that was the price for Sally’s life, then so be it. He’d gladly pay it. God, Roper would be howling with laughter at what he has become. The man who’d once tried to dismantle empires, now reduced to bargaining with his body.

"I’m whatever you want me to be, as long as you let her go," Jonathan said and opened his arms slightly, a gesture of surrender, of submission.

Whatever it took.

But instead of calming Teddy, his words seemed to ignite something even darker. Teddy’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with a mix of fury and a thing Jonathan couldn’t quite place—disappointment? Disgust? Teddy took a step forward, then another, leaving his phone at the table. Jonathan’s instincts screamed at him to run, to put distance between them, but he stayed rooted in place, frozen as Teddy closed the gap.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air heavier, suffocating.

Teddy’s hands shot out, gripping Jonathan’s neck with a force that wasn’t painful but firm enough to make him flinch. His thumbs pressed into the sides of Jonathan’s jaw, forcing him to meet Teddy’s gaze head-on. Teddy’s face was inches from his, his breath hot.

"Listen to me," Teddy hissed, each word laced with a ferocity that felt like a physical blow. "I would never lower myself to taking you like that. Never."

Jonathan’s mind struggled to process the words. Lower himself? What was Teddy talking about? Teddy’s hands tightened slightly, his thumbs brushing against Jonathan’s skin in a gesture that was almost, almost tender, but the words that followed were anything but.

"If you want to kiss," Teddy continued, as if sensing his confusion, his voice still trembling with anger, "we kiss. If you want to fuck, we fuck. If you don’t want any of that, then we don’t fucking do it."

Jonathan blinked. Teddy thought… God, no, it wouldn't be rape. He would do it willingly. It was his own choice. Right? What if it were Roxy making that choice? A voice questioned from the back of his mind. But no, that wasn't the same. Roxy would have no choice, and he… he wouldn't have to.

Realization sank in. He had offered himself up, told Teddy to take him whenever he wanted, no matter what. And Teddy hadn't. He could have, easily, without hesitation, but he hadn't.

A fragile hope unfurled between Jonathan's ribs, warm and treacherous. It was ridiculous, because this was the bare minimum, the lowest bar a person could clear. And yet, it filled that desperate, aching part of him that still wanted to believe, that needed to believe, Teddy had salvation in him. That he wasn't just his father's son.

That caring for him wasn't the sin it was.

"That simple?" Jonathan asked, quieter, just to be sure.

Teddy let out a humorless laugh, "Yeah," he said, his thumbs brushing lightly over Jonathan’s skin, a gesture that contradicted the anger still burning in his eyes. "That simple. I’m keeping you, Johnny, but never like that."

They stared at each other, and Jonathan dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, Teddy was telling the truth. That this wasn’t about degrading him, about reducing him to something less than human, but about something else entirely.

About lo—

"¿Jefe?" The voice crackled through the phone, shattering the fragile tension between them. Boss?

The reminder of Sally, of the fact she was still bound, at the mercy of Teddy’s men, and  that she was still on the other end of that line, waiting for a verdict, waiting to die, sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. Teddy turned to move, but Jonathan’s hands shot up, catching Teddy’s wrists where they still hovered near his neck. He didn’t push him away. Didn’t pull him closer. Just held on, his grip desperate.

Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. The plea was written in the tremor of his fingers, the way his breath hitched, the silent, shattered look in his eyes. Teddy’s gaze flicked down to where Jonathan’s hands clung to him, then back up to his face.

For a heartbeat, Teddy just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow exhale, he released Jonathan’s face and turned away, crossing the room to the table where the phone lay. Jonathan’s hands fell to his sides, his pulse hammering.

This was it. The moment Teddy unmuted the call, the moment he gave the order—mátala, kill her—and Sally’s voice would cut off in a gunshot.

Teddy’s thumb hovered over the mute button.

Jonathan braced himself.

Teddy unmuted the call. "Estoy aquí." I’m here.

"¿Qué hacemos con ella, jefe?" Pedro’s voice was casual, like he was asking about the weather. What do we do with her, boss?

Teddy didn’t look at Jonathan. Deliberately. His gaze fixed on the wall, his posture rigid, like he was forcing himself not to glance back. But when he spoke, the words were a reprieve.

"Llévala al aeropuerto y envíala de vuelta a su país. Quiero gente vigilándola." Take her to the airport and send her back to her country. I want people watching her.

Jonathan’s knees nearly buckled, an exhale leaving him like a rush. She’s alive. Sally was alive. They’d send her home. They’d watch her, yes—Teddy wasn’t stupid, he’d keep her as leverage—but she’d be alive. For now, at least. 

She’d be a leash around Jonathan’s neck, a silent threat he could never ignore. Still, it was better than a body in a jungle. Better than another ghost haunting him.

Jonathan swallowed hard. He had to make sure she stayed alive.

"Can I say goodbye to her?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Teddy’s head snapped toward him, one eyebrow arching. For a second, Jonathan thought he’d refuse, thought he’d see that cold fury again, the one that made Teddy look like a stranger.

But then Teddy jerked his chin in a sharp come here motion, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You have three minutes." He spoke into the phone again, "Ponla al teléfono otra vez." Put her on the phone again.

Jonathan moved quickly, crossing the room toward Teddy. When he stopped next to him, though, Teddy didn’t make a move to hand him the phone; his posture relaxed, almost indifferent. Jonathan hesitated a moment, then leaned toward the phone.

“Sally? It’s Jonathan.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Jonathan could picture her face, the way her eyes would widen, the quick flash of fear before she masked it. When she spoke, she was still clinging to the act. Loyal to the end. “I don’t— I don’t know who you are but I—”

Jonathan quickly cut her off, “It’s okay. Teddy knows everything." He quickly gathered all his strength to tell her what he had to, "Now you gotta listen to me. They’re sending you home. Right now. And when you get there, you forget about me. You forget you ever knew me.”

The words felt like glass in his throat. It was for the best, wasn’t it? He’d enjoyed her friendship, her partnership, the rare moments of normalcy she’d brought into his life. But he couldn’t let her risk herself for him, not anymore. He couldn’t lose another person because of his own failures.

A beat of silence. Then, softer, “Jonathan—”

“No.” Jonathan said, sharper than he intended, the edge of desperation creeping in. “This isn’t a negotiation. You walk away, and you don’t look back.” He forced himself to soften his tone, “Just go. Please.”

Another pause. He could practically hear her weighing her options, the stubborn set of her jaw even through the static.

“Okay,” she finally said, the word small. Resigned.

Jonathan wanted to say so much more. Wanted to thank her for everything, to apologize for putting her in danger, and to tell her to warn Basil to stay far away from this mess. But Teddy was still watching, his gaze heavy, calculating, and Jonathan didn't want to risk him changing his mind.

So he just closed his eyes and said, “Goodbye, Sally.” Then nodded at Teddy.

Jonathan watched Teddy turn off the call and slip the phone back into his pocket. Teddy turned, his dark eyes locking onto Jonathan’s with an intensity that made his pulse stutter. Then he stepped forward, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate strides. Jonathan stood rooted in place, his heartbeat a steady thrum in his ears, his body tense yet oddly pliant under Teddy’s approach.

Teddy stopped in front of him, and his hand rose, fingers brushing against Jonathan’s jaw before settling against his cheek, cupping it fully, warm and possessive. His thumb traced the ridge of Jonathan’s cheekbone, a gesture that felt both possessive and intimate, as if he were reminding Jonathan of the fragile threads that now bound them together.

Jonathan didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch.

"You stay," Teddy murmured and his hand moved slightly, his thumb brushing over Jonathan’s lower lip, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down Jonathan’s spine. The words were soft, almost tender, but beneath them lay steel. "You don’t try to run away or mess with my business." Teddy pulled Jonathan’s face closer, their foreheads almost touching, his eyes boring into Jonathan’s with a look that made it impossible to look away. "You don’t lie to me ever again." A pause, loaded. "And Sally lives."

Jonathan’s stomach churned, a sharp ache twisting deep in his gut. Everything Teddy was asking of him was wicked, a web of demands and concessions that would strip him of any autonomy, any semblance of control. Stay. Don’t run. Don’t interfere. Don’t lie. It was a cage, one he’d walked into willingly, one he’d allowed Teddy to construct around him.

His mind raced, searching for loopholes, for any sliver of leverage, but there was none. Teddy had him cornered. Because the alternative was unthinkable. Sally’s face flashed in his mind. He was already dammed, wasn't him? There was no reason for him to damm her, too.

Jonathan exhaled, slow and measured, then leaned in. His lips brushed Teddy’s right cheek, feather-light. "I’ll stay." Another whisper of contact against his left cheek. "I won’t try to run away or mess with your business." Then, lingering just shy of Teddy’s mouth, close enough to feel the heat of his breath. He met Teddy’s gaze, his own eyes hollow but resolute. "And I won’t lie to you ever again."

Not a kiss. Not quite. But the promise of one.

Teddy’s smirk curled, slow and knowing. He stroked Jonathan’s cheek, the praise slipping out like honey. "Good boy."

Jonathan’s body reacted instantly, a traitorous warmth spreading through him at the praise. He despised it, despised himself for the way his chest tightened, the way his heart skipped a beat. It was a weakness, one he couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how much he loathed it. Teddy’s attention had always been a dangerous lure, one Jonathan had tried to resist but inevitably found himself drawn to, time and time again.

Teddy looked away from him, turning sharply toward the door. “Viktor?” he shouted.

Jonathan’s gaze followed instinctively, his body stiffening as he heard Viktor’s voice respond from the other side. “¿Qué pasa, jefe?” Viktor shouted back, his tone casual, almost amused.

So, they were right there, waiting. Jonathan wondered if Teddy been telling the truth earlier when he claimed they would have let Jonathan go if he’d killed him. It didn’t matter now, though, did it? He hadn’t pulled the trigger when it mattered.

Teddy’s next words froze Jonathan’s blood. “Bring Roxy.”

Roxy. Until now, Teddy had known everything he shouldn’t—every secret, every alias, every lie. But Roxy? If Teddy knew about her, too, then Jonathan’s already impossible situation had just become infinitely worse. He would have to find a way to protect her. But if Teddy didn’t know… Maybe he could still pretend. Again. Which hadn't worked out well.

“Why?” Jonathan asked, and raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance.

Teddy shrugged, “You know why,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. Then he patted Jonathan’s forearm, an affectionate gesture, and walked away. Teddy reached for the file on the chair, flipping it open before sitting back, his posture relaxed, like a man settling in to watch a show.

Jonathan’s mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening. What did Teddy mean by “you know why”? What was he expecting? He opened his mouth to question Teddy further, but before he could get a word out, the door swung open.

Roxy walked in. She wore a simple yet elegant dress, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Her expression was serious, her usual charming smile nowhere to be found. Jonathan’s stomach tightened. Something was wrong.

“Here, boss,” Viktor said from behind her, his voice dripping with amusement. He glanced between Jonathan and Teddy, a malicious smile spreading across his face. In Spanish, he added, “Parece que lo disfrutaste.” Seems like you enjoyed him.

Heat crept up Jonathan’s neck, shame and anger warring within him, while Teddy just chuckled, seemingly unbothered. “Go, Viktor,” he ordered, his tone firm but not harsh. Viktor snorted, saluted Teddy with mock respect, and then closed the door behind Roxy, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

Roxy didn’t even look at Jonathan. Her gaze was fixed on Teddy, her posture rigid. “What did you tell him?”

Jonathan frowned, a growing sense of dread settling in his chest. Something was very wrong. Roxy’s tone, her demeanor, it was all off. She wasn’t acting like herself, and the way she spoke to Teddy, as if they were co-conspirators, made Jonathan's heart sink.

“Nothing yet,” Teddy replied, leaning back in his chair with an air of indifference. He crossed one leg over the other, the picture of ease. “Thought you would want to be the one to tell him.”

The realization hit Jonathan like a punch to the gut. Roxy had betrayed him. She had given him in. His heart pounded in his chest, disbelief and betrayal swirling together in a nauseating mix. He turned to her, his jaw clenched tight, “Roxy,” he said, his words laced with a mix of anger and hurt. “Tell me you didn’t—”

“You lied,” she cut him off and finally turned to face him, "There was no team to back you up." A step forward, then another, "No government." She stopped in front of him and scoffed. "You made me risk my life for nothing."

Jonathan stared at Roxy. She wasn’t wrong, he had lied. But she had started this. She had lied first, pulled him in, this mess, and now she dared to act like he was the only liar here?

“You lied first,” Jonathan spat and took a step toward her, his chest tightening as he forced the accusation out. “I told you, didn’t I? Because of you, people I loved are dead.” His fists clenched at his sides, the memories of the day he lost his team coming back to him. “What did you expect? For me to be completely honest with you?”

Roxy flinched, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before they narrowed into a glare. Her jaw tightened, anger flickering across her face like a storm gathering. “You fucking asshole,” she snapped, her voice trembling with fury. She shook her head, disgust etched into every line of her expression. “I trusted you.”

Trust. The word burned in Jonathan’s chest, acrid and bitter. If she had trusted him, truly trusted him, she wouldn’t have handed him over to Teddy. She wouldn’t be standing here, acting like she was the wounded party.

“Did you?” Jonathan shot back, his gaze darting between Roxy and Teddy. He gestured angrily, the motion jerky and uncontrolled. “You told him about me, didn’t you?” The words tasted like bile in his mouth.

He’d always known this was a possibility, that Roxy might sell him out if it meant saving herself. But she didn’t look hurt, didn’t look scared. She looked fine, too fine, and the way she and Teddy were acting, it was like they were in this together.

Roxy huffed, a sound of exasperation that only fueled Jonathan’s anger. “You’re kidding me?” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, “He already knew. Then he came to me.” She gestured toward Teddy, her hand trembling with emotion. “And told me you lied.”

Jonathan blinked. Teddy had already known. She hadn’t given him up, not before Teddy had the information. Which meant… He turned to Teddy, his heart pounding in his chest, “How did you find out?” The question he should have asked from the beginning spilled out.

Teddy sighed and reached for the whiskey glass on the table, took a slow sip, and set it back down with deliberate calm. When he finally raised his eyes to Jonathan, there was a bitter twist to his lips. “I wanted to present you to Roper,” Teddy said, “As my partner. A future, permanent partner.” He interlaced his fingers, resting his hands on his lap, his expression softening into something that looked like regret—or maybe just resignation. “So I finally showed him a picture of you. He recognized you immediately.”

Jonathan couldn't believe it. A future, permanent partner. Teddy had wanted to introduce him to Roper as his… partner? As someone he planned to keep, to build a life with? That thought stirred something inside of him.

"Present me to Roper?" Jonathan repeated, still in disbelief.

Teddy had wanted to introduce him— as what? A partner? A lover?

Teddy rolled his eyes, his smirk twisting into something bitter. "What do you want me to say?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was an undercurrent of something raw beneath the bite. "That I cared enough to want to present you to my father like some stupid teenager?"

Jonathan exhaled slowly. He had done this. He had made Teddy care too much, trust too much, feel too much. And because of that, Teddy had gone to Roper, and everything had unraveled. The irony wasn’t lost on him. His own lies, his own manipulations, had been the very thing that destroyed the fragile trust between them.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he changed the subject, the only thing he could think to do.

"What about Roxy?" He glanced between Teddy and Roxy, his jaw tightening. "You said you plan to keep me. What about her?"

Roxy crossed her arms, "He said I could leave if I wanted. Disappear."

Jonathan stared at her, incredulous. Leave? Disappear? As if Teddy would let her go after everything she knew about his business. He raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched into every line of his face. “And you believed him?”

Teddy raised his hand, a lazy, amused smile playing on his lips. “I’m right here,” he drawled with mock offense.

Jonathan ignored him, his attention focused entirely on Roxy. She huffed, shaking her head as if he were the unreasonable one, and stepped closer to Teddy, "He also offered me a greater part in his business."

She stopped beside his chair, her hip brushing against his arm. Teddy uncrossed his legs, making room for her to perch on his lap. His arm slid around her waist, familiar, pulling her closer as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Jonathan watched as she took his whiskey glass and drained the last of it, her eyes never leaving Jonathan’s.

A greater part in Teddy’s business? After she betrayed him?

Jonathan’s instincts prickled. Something wasn’t right. Teddy didn’t reward betrayal, because as he said, he was loyal to those loyal to him. And Roxy wasn’t acting like someone who had just been handed a lifeline. She was too calm, too controlled, her posture too relaxed against Teddy’s side.

"So that’s it?" Jonathan opened his arms, "You’re just… staying?"

Roxy shrugged, swirling the empty glass in her hand. "Better than leaving with nothing."

Teddy’s fingers traced idle circles on her hip, his smirk deepening. "See, Johnny? She knows how to adapt."

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. Adapt. Like he was supposed to just accept this, like he was supposed to just fall in line. His eyes narrowed as he studied Roxy. She was playing a game, just like he had, just like Teddy was. The difference was that Jonathan could see the cracks in Teddy’s facade: the flickers of anger, the moments of vulnerability.

But Roxy? Her mask was flawless, her every move calculated. He realized she’d always been better at this than he was.

"And now?" Jonathan asked, a bitterness taking over him. "We play house?"

He had betrayed Teddy’s trust, and here he was: a prisoner. Roxy had done the same, and yet she’d been rewarded. A bigger share of Teddy’s business, a place at his side. The injustice of it burned, but worse was the way Teddy and Roxy chuckled, as if this were all some grand joke he wasn’t in on.

They got up, fluid and unhurried, and Teddy took Roxy’s hand. "Now we sleep." He pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles, then turned to Jonathan. The warmth of Teddy’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand up. Jonathan’s pulse jumped as Teddy’s lips brushed his skin, the touch feather-light.

Heat spread through him despite himself, a traitorous flush creeping up his neck.

"And tomorrow…" Teddy murmured against his fingers, "We meet with Roper."

The name sent a chill down Jonathan’s spine. On one side, meeting with him would give him a better understanding of his situation. On the other… he didn't want to. He feared the moment he would face Roper again, would stare into those cold eyes, and hold himself back from attacking him.

Teddy’s arms slid around their waists, guiding them toward the bed. Jonathan stiffened, but resistance felt pointless. It was just sleep. The intimacy of it meant nothing like every other night he spent with Teddy. Keep lying to yourself, a cruel voice echoed inside his head as he let himself be steered—let Teddy press him down onto the mattress. Roxy settled behind him, her body warm against his back. Teddy faced him, close enough that Jonathan could feel his breath.

"So relax," Teddy murmured, fingers brushing Jonathan’s jaw. "And rest."

Jonathan opened his mouth, to argue, to demand more answers, but Teddy leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Enough for today, amor."

The tenderness of it was worse than violence.

After that, it was a blur. Hands tugging at fabric, the rustle of clothes being shed, until they were all in their underwear, skin pressed to skin. Roxy’s breath was steady against his spine, her arm draped over his waist. Teddy’s fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, possessive and soothing all at once, a touch too gentle for a man who had just threatened to kill Sally.

This is wrong.

He should have shoved them both away. Should have fought. Jonathan hated himself for the comfort he found in their closeness. Hated the way his body relaxed into the warmth, the safety of being held. He had spent so long alone, so long fighting, that the simple act of being touched, of not being the one in control, was a relief.

He closed his eyes eventually, exhaustion pulling at him.

Sleep was a blessing, an escape from the reality he had chosen by not pulling the trigger. 

Hey, dear readers! Thank you for reading this story. I'd love to write more for this, so if you liked it, please tell me all about it, and I'll consider writing more, promise. Comments motivate me a lot. My ideas included: Teddy's pov to show more of his vulnerability, Teddy presenting Jonathan and Roxy as his partners to Roper, Roper trying to kill Teddy, Jonathan trying to commit suicide and having a big discussion with Teddy, and Teddy meeting Danny. I'm open to ideas too, so tell me about yours if you have any!