Chapter 275- Choosing the one who Trained her
Her fingers moving.
’Once he enters that cell,’ she thought, ’it is over.’ ’Tartarus Class A wing.’ ’No portal technology functions within a six-hundred-meter radius of the facility.’ ’No suppressor bypass.’ ’The collar comes off at intake but the cell does the same job permanently.’ ’He goes in.’ ’He does not come out.’ ’Not for years.’ ’Not for a decade.’ ’Not—’
Her fingers stopped.
She looked at the GPS tracker.
At the blinking dot that was the SUV.
Moving through the city.
Toward the facility.
She looked at it for a long time.
Her hand moved.
Not to her thigh this time.
To the console.
To a tab in the lower left of her secondary monitor — a small, unmarked tab, the kind that didn’t have a label because it didn’t need one, because she was the only person who had ever sat at this console and she knew what every tab was by position.
She looked at the tab.
Her fingers hovered.
On Screen Seven, his face. Still at the camera.
On the GPS monitor, the blinking dot. Moving.
On the suppressor feed, forty-six hours, fifty-two minutes.
She looked at the unmarked tab.
Her lips pressed together.
She bit the lower one.
’It’s the jammers.’ The thought arrived clear and specific. ’The jammers that block his portal signal within the SUV.’ ’The jammers that Sugar’s team installed as the second layer of containment.’ ’The jammers that I helped design.’ ’That I wrote the blocking protocol for.’ ’That I put in place.’
She looked at the tab.
’He cannot use his powers.’ ’The collar suppresses everything.’ ’Switching off the jammers changes nothing.’ ’It’s redundant.’ ’It’s a precaution that is no longer necessary because the collar is already doing the job.’ ’It’s just—’
Her fingers trembled.
’It’s just redundant.’
She clicked the tab.
The jammers went offline.
No alarm. No confirmation dialogue. Just a status indicator in the corner of the screen turning from green to grey with the quiet, administrative finality of a switched-off system.
She stared at it.
Her hands in her lap.
The grey indicator.
"What have I done."
The words came out very small.
Not to anyone.
Just to the screens.
Just to the forty-three monitors carrying their various feeds and data streams and the face of the man in the CCTV who had been looking at her through a camera for the last three minutes.
She breathed.
Slow.
’Nothing happened.’ ’The collar is still active.’ ’Forty-six hours, fifty-one minutes remaining.’ ’He cannot bypass the collar.’ ’The jammers were redundant.’ ’I just removed a redundant layer.’ ’Nothing happened.’
She looked at Screen Seven.
His face.
The flat, unhurried eyes.
The corner of his mouth.
That corner.
That very specific, very small movement of the corner of his mouth that she had seen enough times in enough lives to recognize what it meant.
Her breath stopped.
The portal opened.
Inside Screen Seven.
Not metaphorically — literally within the screen, the yellow tearing of portal technology ripping through the CCTV feed from the inside, the image distorting, the back seat of the SUV fragmenting around it as the portal pushed through the signal itself.
He laughed.
The sound came through all forty-three speakers simultaneously.
Low. Clean. The genuine laugh of a man who has been waiting for a punchline and has just received it.
"Finally caught you."
On Screen Seven — Sugar’s voice:
"How are you—" "The collar—" "You can’t—"
His hand moved.
Found her clit.
Pinched.
"AAAAAHHH~!! HIIEEK~!! OUNGH~!!"
Sugar’s whole body jolted. Her eyes rolled completely. Her thighs clamped together around his hand, trapping it, her walls clenching on empty air in the full, seizing orgasm of a woman hit at the exact right point without warning.
He looked at the camera through her orgasm.
"You betrayed me," he said. Flat. Even. Addressed to Sugar but carrying the weight of something larger — the cold, satisfied tone of a man who has just confirmed a suspicion he already held.
He had never been suppressed.
The realization moved through Nano’s chest with the cold clarity of understanding arriving approximately sixty seconds too late.
He had faked it.
The kneel on the rooftop. The frozen body. The cuffed wrists going still. All of it — performed with the thoroughness of a man who knew exactly what helplessness looked like and had reproduced it precisely enough to pass inspection.
He had let himself be arrested.
Had ridden in the SUV.
Had been collared and cuffed and he had felt none of it.
Had waited.
Had fucked Sugar through thirty minutes of a back seat while his powers sat fully intact beneath the theater of the collar.
Had waited.
For the jammers to go offline.
For the one thing preventing his portal signal from cutting through the noise.
For her.
For the tab she had just clicked.
The portal in Screen Seven blazed.
Yellow.
The SUV interior on the other side of it fragmenting and reassembling, the signal distorting from the energy output.
Sugar yelled.
"HOW ARE YOU—"
He was already gone.
The portal closed.
Screen Seven went to static.
Then to the empty back seat of the SUV — Sugar alone, still shaking through the tail of her orgasm, the power suppressor now absent from the feed, her wrists in the handcuffs that had been transferred to her at some point she hadn’t registered.
The collar.
Around Sugar’s neck.
Not his.
Hers.
He had put it on her.
At some point during the thirty minutes, between thrusts, while she was crying or moaning or rolling her eyes — he had transferred the suppressor to the person trying to suppress him and she had not noticed until it was already done.
Nano stared at Screen Seven.
At Sugar alone in the back seat.
At the collar on Sugar’s neck.
At the empty space where he had been.
Her mouth was open.
She looked at the GPS monitor.
The blinking dot had stopped moving.
She looked at the laboratory door.
Which was, she realized, on the other side of a very short room.
"Wait—" The word came out small. "Did he just—"
The sound came from behind her.
Not from the speakers.
Not from Screen Seven or any of the other forty-three screens.
From the laboratory itself.
The very specific, very unmistakable sound of a woman being fucked with comprehensive urgency — the rapid, rhythmic impact of flesh against flesh, the wet and brutal percussion of someone being taken at a pace that had abandoned any pretense of gradual.
PAH! PAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"AAANGHH~!! HIIEEK~!! ’CRUXIUS’~!! OUNGH~!! NGH~!!"
Nano turned her head.
Sugar.
One leg hooked in the air, bent at the knee, her heel pointing at the ceiling. The other flat on the laboratory floor. Her hands in the handcuffs — his handcuffs, the ones from the rooftop — locked behind her back, her wrists pressed together, her chest against the surface of the console table at the far end of the laboratory.
The power suppressor collar on her neck.
His cock in her cunt from behind.
His hips blurring.
Both his hands on her hips — gripping her the way he had gripped everything he had decided to possess, the full-fingered, proprietary grip of a man using a body as the handle of a thing he has already decided is his.
He was looking at Nano.
Over Sugar’s shoulder.
Over the blur of his own hips.
The flat, unhurried look of a man who has arrived exactly where he intended to arrive.
"Do you have energy drinks here?"
His voice was completely even.
Carrying no exertion. No breathlessness. Just the casual conversational register of a man who is doing two things simultaneously and finds neither of them taxing.
PAH! PAH! PAH!
"AAANGHH~!! HIIEEK~!! OUNGH~!!"
He kept looking at Nano.
"I need to fuck you both into submission all night." A pause. "I’ll need the energy."
"NANO." Sugar’s voice came out broken and furious and half-muffled against the console table. "RUN." A thrust drove her forward. "FUCK—" Another. "RUN—"
PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"AAANGHH~!! HIIEEK~!! ’NANO’~!! OUNGH~!!"
Nano stared.
Her mouth open.
Her hand on the back of the chair.
Her soaked panties under the hoodie.
The forty-three screens behind her, all of them now running different feeds that nobody was watching because the event had moved from the screens into the room itself.
She looked at Sugar.
At the collar on Sugar’s neck.
At his cock moving in and out of Sugar from behind in the full, rapid view of someone standing eight feet away.
At the handcuffs on Sugar’s wrists.
At his face, still looking at her.
Her jaw tightened.
The heat in her cheeks arrived fresh and immediate.
"Shut up."
The words came out before she decided to say them.
Directed at Sugar.
"You were the one who spread your legs." Her voice was thin and furious and carrying the specific, crackling anger of a woman who is angry at a situation and does not have a better target than the other woman currently getting railed against her console table. "You bitch."
PAH! PAH! PAH!
"AAANGHH~!! HIIEEK~!!" — ’Sugar.’
She grabbed her hoodie.
Both hands at the hem.
The fabric bunching in her fists.
She looked at him.
At the laboratory door behind her — still closed, still sealed, the biometric lock she had engaged at the start of her shift.
She looked at the door.
She looked at him.
She looked at Sugar, one leg in the air, crying, the collar on her neck, getting fucked into the console table.
She looked at her soaked panties.
She walked forward.
The walk was not confident.
It was the walk of a woman whose thighs were still sensitive from thirty minutes of what they had been doing, whose body was already carrying a specific, low-grade awareness of the man she was walking toward that had no relation to her intentions and every relation to her history.
She stopped three feet from him.
He stopped thrusting.