Page 21 of Taking Over the Dark

Marcello explains, “It is; he doesn’t get to enjoy being hard. He has to focus on what he needs to confess to, and then you both can decide what you want to do moving forward. I’m sure you’re both very confused about his role in all of this, and I know it’ll be another day or two until you’re both back to a hundred percent, so I figured I’d make it easier for both of you.”

Marcello looks back at me, raising his brows before he starts touching Zamir. I give him a quick nod, letting him know this is fine with me. I don’t know if he expected jealousy from me, but I don’t feel any. I’ve quickly learned that I like watching just asmuch as participating. Marcello will be good for Zamir. He’ll be able to feed that dark and depraved side of Zamir’s soul that I can’t. And by the look of the erection Marcello’s sporting behind his pants, he’s just as excited to get a hold of Zamir as we are.

Marcello pulls the lock off the cock cage and detaches the part for Zamir’s dick, holding it in one hand. I’m watching with rapt attention. I’ve never even seen a cock ring used, let alone a cage. He places Zamir’s balls through the cock ring, pulling them to the end and pushing his fallcid dick through. How Zamir isn’t hard from looking at Marcello, and being at his mercy, I’ll never know. He slides Zamir’s cock in the cage, lining up the top of the cage in the post and putting the lock on it like the cherry on top.

A shiver racks my body at the thought of how painful it would be to get hard in that thing, and that may just be why Zamir was controlled enough to not get hard.

Ellie’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Marcello, I’m still pissed the fuck off at you as well, but knowing you’re just a protective asshole, you probably had some dumb reason for what you did.” She raises her hand to keep him from talking and adds, “I don’t want to hear you talking. I’m sure you have a gag in your fun little cabinet. I’m not afraid to use it and put you in the corner to watch if need be.” My cock shouldn’t be jumping at the thought of Marcello gagged, but I clearly have no control over that thing.

I watch as they battle silently with looks. Ellie wins… this time. She keeps going, starting with her questions to Zamir, “All this is pointed to you, Zamir.”

All he responds with is, “I know.”

There is no way…

There is no way he set us up.

There is no fucking way he was dumb enough to cross Marcello Barone.

Marcello would’ve killed him already, right?!

He hangs his head, explaining, “It’s my family… not me.”

With no sympathy, Ellie deadpans, “That would be a good excuse to keep you around, and you know it.”

Zamir turns to look at Marcello and asks him, “Cello, can you take my bandage off?”

I watch as Marcello reaches out and pulls off the gauze and tape covering Zamir’s heart. Ellie gasps, and I take a few steps closer to look at red, angry-looking skin. I quickly realize it’s a skin brand and matches the ones they gave those Albanian men not long ago.

I ask before I talk myself out of it, “Does this mean you went against Marcello?”

“No. I made Marcello brand me to show my loyalty to him and his family.” I look at Marcello and he gives me a nod, and I step back beside Ellie.

I let Ellie focus back on the questions while I openly appreciate Zamir’s body. He looks incredible stretched out like he is. Every visible piece of skin is covered in tattoos up to the blacked-out circle around the shaft of his cock. But the canvas is what I’m appreciating. The fine-tuned muscles in his arms are flexing, trying to relieve some of the weight from his wrists, which in turn is causing his whole stomach and obliques to ripple in the most delicious way.

It’s sinful what I would do to trace those obliques with my tongue…

My eyes travel further down his body. Some of his tattoos look newer and more intricate, but some I can tell he got back before he was even old enough to be getting his body permanently inked. This is my favorite thing about tattoos: some are meant to tell a story, and some may just be for fun, but you can always tell the age of how long they’ve lived on someone’s body, and what that person has gone through since.

Ellie’s next question comes. “Did you really go to your apartment when you texted that to Nash?”

“No,” is all Zamir gives her.

Marcello elaborates, “We have video of him knocked out, being carried and thrown into a supply closet at the stadium. He doesn’t come out until an hour later, well after the both of you were taken.”

In a weak voice, I ask, “Is this all because you didn’t want to be seen with me in public?”

Zamir immediately raises his head, looks me straight in the eyes, and ends all my doubts. “Nash, I would call a press conference right now and confess my lo—my… you know what? I don’t care anymore. I would confess my love for you to millions of people right now. I will never keep you hidden away,Djale I Bukur.”

My heart is beating out of my chest, and if the heat rising from it and up into my cheeks is any indication, I know my face is as red as a beet.

“You both clearly know what actually happened, so why don’t you tell us Zamir?” Ellie says to him and Marcello.

“I wanted you both to find out the way Marcello did, so I didn’t look as guilty. None of this looks good, and that’s exactly what Vito and Agron wanted.”

I butt in before he keeps going because I’m lost. “Pause… which ones are these again?”

“Vito is my uncle and Alex’s father. Agron is my father…” He trails off and waits for me. I nod, giving him the ok to continue. “We still don’t know the full extent of everything, but they paid one of the players to drug me in the locker room and carry me to the supply closet. Someone hacked into my phone and sent you those texts right before you both were taken by who I’m assuming were Albanian men. You were both drugged and dropped in what we now know was an underground Faradaycage to sit there and die. Alex and Arben, our family hacker, found out about the bunker and saw that our fathers were on the move heading that way, and so did we…”

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