Chapter 4

The deep-end whistle hung limp around Marcus’s neck, forgotten as chlorine stung his eyes. Below the rippling surface, teenage bodies moved in lazy summer arcs, oblivious. Marcus’s gaze, sharp as a shard of obsidian, tracked one: Ethan Dawber. nineteen, lean muscle honed from swim team drills, shoulders broadening beneath his red lifeguard rash guard. Vulnerabilities mapped weeks prior: crushing pressure from a demanding coach, whispered insecurities about college scouts, a quiet resentment simmering beneath his dutiful facade. Perfect prey. Marcus adjusted the hem of his borrowed pool attendant polo, the crisp fabric hiding coiled strength. He didn’t belong among the squeals and splashes; his element was shadow, extraction. Beside him, Raven stood unnervingly still. Sunlight glanced off her oversized designer sunglasses, hiding eyes already dissecting Ethan’s profile. Her fitted linen shorts and silk camisole screamed unattainable luxury amidst the faded pool deck concrete. “See the tension?” she murmured, barely audible over the din. Her chin tilted towards Ethan as he hauled himself dripping from the pool. “The way he grips the whistle cord? Like it’s an anchor.” Marcus grunted assent, cataloging Ethan’s clenched jaw, the rigid line of his back as he scanned the crowded water. Desperation radiated off him the desperate need to succeed, to be seen as invincible. Raven’s scarlet lips curved. “Get him wet. Then get him alone.”

Later, dusk painted streaks of bruised violet across the sky. The last lingering swimmers had finally dragged themselves away, leaving the pool eerily quiet. Ethan slammed the breaker box shut with a metallic clang, plunging the deck into semi-darkness. Only emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows. Sweat glued his rash guard to his skin despite the cooling air. Tired muscles screamed. He grabbed the long-handled net, dragging it towards the deep end for the final skim. Footsteps clicked sharply behind him Raven. She materialized from the gloom near the pool office, looking incongruously pristine. Her voice sliced through the quiet, falsely apologetic. “Ethan, darling? Thank God I caught you. Utter mortification!” She gestured vaguely towards the dark entrance of the men’s locker room. “My friend Lincoln champagne spill catastrophe. Utterly reeks. Could you...?” She flashed a dazzling, helpless smile. “He’s trapped in the accessible stall trying not to ruin his Tom Ford trousers. Needs fresh towels urgently?” Ethan hesitated, net dangling. Protocol said don’t engage guests unsupervised. But Raven’s distress felt tangible, her plea wrapping tendrils of obligation around him. His coach’s latest critique echoed: Not assertive enough. Too accommodating. He sighed, nodding curtly. “Fine. Be right back.” Dropping the net, he turned towards the locker room entrance, disappearing into the deeper shadows.

The locker room air hung thick chlorine undercut with stale sweat and mildew. Darkness pooled deep near the far showers. As Ethan stepped inside, a solid shape detached itself silently from the shadows near the sinks: Marcus. Ethan froze mid-stride, a hitch in his breath catching in his throat. Before he could react or retreat, Marcus moved with predatory speed. One powerful hand clamped over Ethan’s mouth, stifling his startled cry. The other seized his shoulder, spinning him roughly. Ethan’s back slammed into the cold, damp tiles beside the towel dispensers. The impact jolted his teeth. Marcus pressed full-body against him hot, immovable muscle pinning him. Ethan struggled instinctively, a trapped gasp vibrating against Marcus’s palm. His feet scrabbled uselessly on the slick floor. Marcus’s free hand gripped Ethan’s jaw, forcing his face sideways. The lifeguard inhaled sharply Marcus smelled like expensive bergamot cologne layered over something primal, wild: crushed pine needles and musk. Then, shockingly, wetness scraped Ethan’s cheekbone a slow, deliberate drag of Marcus’s tongue from jawline to temple. Saliva cooled instantly in the dank air. Ethan froze, rigid with revulsion. Marcus leaned close, his voice a low, gravelly rumble vibrating against Ethan’s ear, sharp with undisguised threat. “Listen close, boy. You move? You scream?” His lips brushed Ethan’s earlobe. “You break? I break you worse. Behave. Do exactly as you’re told.” His grip tightened painfully on Ethan’s jaw. “Nod if you understand.” Ethan shuddered, nausea rising in his throat. He gave a single, jerky nod against the tiles. Outside, barely audible through the door, Raven’s heel clicked once approval.

Marcus shifted his weight. Not releasing Ethan’s face, but sliding the hand pinning him downward along his collarbone, over the clammy fabric of his rash guard, down the defined ridges of his abdomen. Ethan flinched violently as calloused fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of his swim trunks. One brutal tug downward fabric ripped. Cool locker-room air hit his exposed skin, raising instant goosebumps. Marcus shoved the ruined trunks past Ethan’s knees, trapping his ankles. Panic surged cold and pure. Ethan thrashed, a muffled protest tearing at Marcus’s palm. Marcus slammed him harder against the tiles, cracking the back of Ethan’s head. Stars burst behind Ethan’s eyelids. Pain radiated through his skull, leaving him dizzy, momentarily limp. Marcus seized the reprieve. Leveraging his knee between Ethan’s legs, he jerked downward. Hard. Ethan crumpled, buckling onto the wet, filthy tile floor. His kneecaps cracked jarringly against the concrete. Pain lanced up his thighs. Before he could recover, Marcus’s iron grip hauled him backward forcing Ethan’s hips flush against his own thighs. Then Marcus’s free hand tangled brutally in Ethan’s damp hair, wrenching his head backward at a cruel angle. Marcus loomed over him a dark silhouette framed by the emergency lights. “Open,” Marcus commanded, his voice thick with dark promise. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut against the horror unfolding, tears leaking onto his cheeks. Marcus’s grip tightened in his hair, a silent threat. Ethan trembled violently but peeled his lips apart, exposing clenched teeth. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth he’d bitten his tongue.