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“You’ve really found yourself a nice house, little one,” said the dapper, callous ambassador’s son, perching on Bruce’s desk and running his eyes around the extravagant room, a glass of bourbon in his hand.
Jason had a glass, too, but it was milk. He was standing by the sofa, and he was almost proud of himself—having the composure to keep up the front until Bruce came back, not blowing their delicate cover.
Though his emotions were scorching—both rage and a learned, deeply ingrained fear. Jason looked at Felipe and thought of what this man had done to Gloria, and the image of him standing before him inside his crappy, smoky childhood apartment over his dishabille, intoxicated mother, unbuckling his belt with a cruel smile over his lips.
Alfred had brought them the drinks, but Felipe had been patronizing about switching up Jason’s juice to milk. Jason had seen through the taunt. He’d been incessantly jittery since then.
“It’s been a while, little one,” Felipe said with a lopsided smile, bringing the amber whiskey to his lips. His other fingers tapped against the table. Jason remembered those fingers, and those hips rested beside it at an angle. He remembered the bulge between those legs.
And he wanted to throw up.
Jason answered with a deadpan, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Felipe tossed him a look, the smugness in his brown eyes making Jason want to punch him in the face.
“Oh, I think you knew exactly what I meant.”
“I really don’t.”
“So you got lucky, huh? Adopted by Wayne. Such a step up from your mother’s crappy apartment.”
Jason trembled. He wanted to leave. He’d rather not have this conversation or stay close to this man longer than he had to.
Where was Bruce?
Jason needed him to come back and lead lest Jason lost control and did something he would regret.
He checked his watch. Bruce should be here soon, right? He only had to leave for an hour max, he’d said that much. Jason had not expected Felipe to visit during that time. Jason meeting him alone was the last thing anyone—both Jason and Bruce—had wanted. But if Jason hadn’t stepped up, the man would’ve left, then they’d be back to square one and had to start the substance smuggling case again without any lead.
“It’s nice to speak to his ward,” Felipe continued. “I wasn’t expecting it to be you, but I was pleasantly surprised. You’ve grown so much. Looking more and more like your poor mother.”
“I could get you arrested,” Jason said through his teeth, “for what you did.”
“Would you, now?”
“I would.”
“Even if it will show them how much of a little whore you were?” Felipe took another drink. He looked around the room’s classy décor again before back at Jason, lecherous, belittling eyes roaming him. This man could see through him—everything Jason was—a fraud and a low street rat wearing a rich heir’s clothes. He was one of the few people who could. “Must have been hard to get to this point, sí? It’d be a shame to make what you tried to leave behind public knowledge.”
Jason gritted his teeth.
“I don’t care. You’re a fucking criminal and you deserve to rot in prison.” What you did to me… I will not let you do to anyone else hung on his tongue. Because as much as he hated it, it was already a lie.
Jason remembered Gloria’s black eye, the fear in her gaze, and the trembling of her marked-up body. Jason had felt like her at one point, and he’d let it happen again.
Jason hated himself for it.
“Bebé pajarito.” Felipe tapped his tongue and shook his head. “I am an ambassador. Do you think your little taunt can intimidate me? I’m untouchable.”
The glass in Jason’s hand started shaking, spilling the milk, so he put it down. He wavered on his feet, feeling lightheaded from the anger coursing through him.
Where was Bruce? If he’d been true to his words, then he wouldn’t be back in another forty minutes. Fuck, could Jason wait that long with this creep without making something… bad happen to him?
He couldn’t concentrate. Jason shook his head, but his vision seemed to swim.
“Are you feeling alright, mi uno poco?” Felipe’s voice rang like nails on a chalkboard.
Bruce said one hour. One hour, but that was a lenient estimate… Maybe he’d be back in half. Or twenty. Maybe he’d be here before—
Jason toppled, knocking on the table and making the glass on it shake before large hands caught him.
“You look sick, little one,” Felipe said in that disgustingly sweet voice. “Here, let me help you upstairs.”
Jason could not control his legs. His tongue was lead while his vision danced. He did not know how he got upstairs—Felipe’s hand was clutching his arm, clamp-like, as the taller man half-helped, half-carried him. Vertigo trapped him in an eddy of sickness, so Jason shut his eyes to get rid of the nausea.
By the time he reopened his eyes, they were already ambling on the second floor. Jason was floating on clouds.
“I can’t believe my luck.”
The door to a guest bedroom swung as the man helped him inside. Jason vaguely knew the feeling of being tossed onto an unmade bed, groaning as his hand rose to clutch his hurting skull. Something clicked shut behind him. He squirmed on the bed, trying to curl his limbs close to his torso and take the fetal position.
Jason blinked up and saw the figure mounting above, throwing a dark shadow over him.
Alarm bells rang in his head, but words shriveled in his mouth.
The man was undressing. A broad, muscular, and hairy chest appeared as he unbuttoned his shirt. He was fit, having one of those sharp figures one could see on a model in a magazine, or the lead actor of a trashy, cheap romance movie.
It was hard to imagine how someone like this used to deal with Catherine, but maybe that was exactly the reason. Maybe this man’s clichéd attractiveness had lowered his mother’s guard and the guard of so many young women, including Gloria.
The buttoned shirt fell away to muscular abs, and Felipe unbuckled and pulled his belt out of its hoops. He crawled onto the bed after Jason, who tried to squirm away before a firm hand clamped his ankle.
“Your mother was one of the hottest bitched I’ve boned.” Felipe’s hand started caressing Jason’s cheek, tracing his features, stroking his hair. Jason was going to be sick. “I remember her black hair and blue eyes, just like yours. You look like a copy of her. So pretty and… fuckable.”
When Jason tried to break away, Felipe held him firm and forced himself against him. The man stuck his nose under Jason’s bangs and took a long sniff.
“Even smells like her, too.”
“Let me go,” Jason hissed. “Or I’ll scream.”
Felipe had guts if he would do this in Bruce Wayne’s mansion, but it looked like the man’s ego and confidence trumped any concerns for consequences.
Jason tried again to push Felipe off before hearing the ugly sound of a needle uncapping, then the sharp tip pushing into his skin. Jason could not scream or fight when Felipe emptied the syringe into his system.
“The laced milk wasn’t enough,” said his past abuser as Jason’s body turned into mush. “Maybe this’ll have you loosened up.” He chuckled to himself. “Certainly worked on your mamá.”
Jason’s breathing slowed. He lay on his back, staring up at a ceiling that seemed to float. His brain flew far and wide as he faded in and out of a state of near-unconsciousness.
All the while, Felipe had been undressing him, pulling his shirt from his head, pulling his waistband loose.
“It’s such a pleasant surprise seeing you again, cariño.”
The man settled so Jason’s head was between his arms. He was going to rape him again.
Felipe spread Jason’s legs. Jason could not comprehend the coolness between his cheeks, but he somehow recognized those thick-knuckled fingers entering and spreading him.
Bruce… Bruce! He should be here soon… right? They were losing time.
Jason wanted to cry out, but his mouth was soon stuffed by a rag of a balled-up handkerchief. Felipe pulled out his fingers and patted Jason’s cheek.
“Oh, always love how they look all calm and tame when dosed up. Now, don’t make this harder now, pajarito.”
Tears ran down Jason’s face. His hands twitched at his sides as something harder and larger pushed up to his entrance.
Despite the drugs, Jason fought to get a word out. This couldn’t be happening… It couldn’t be happening again. He tossed back his head when that enormous object tore into him—a sensation that Jason had branded in his brain—then a scream rippled from his throat, trying to get out.
Felipe’s hips jerked forward, forcing his way inside before ripping outward. Pulling, then plunging.
“Fuck, yeah… what a nice slut with a nice little pussy… just as I remember it…”
Jason cried out Bruce’s name behind the rag. The euphoria spreading through his system wasn’t enough to block out the fear—
“Yeah, baby… while your mamá is asleep, let Felipe take care of you, sí?”
The memories were poisonous, and Felipe fucked him through the haze. He set at a rough pace, folding Jason’s body in half while slamming into him, each thrust tearing and hurting more than Jason’s body.
Jason cried through the rag until his face was washed in tears, his eyes a blurred vision made up of Felipe’s contemptible face. A face that Jason remembered clearly from his childhood, always attached to hands that freely roamed his body and a cock that tore painfully into him.
“Your papá won’t come in time,” the man said with a dry laugh. “You’re all my bitch for now, bebé pajarito. And look… you’re liking it too, aren’t you? Another little slut-whore like your mother was…”
The pain was entwined with the sensation of ecstasy and ripped an unwanted orgasm from Jason. His hips jerked and shuddered, coming all over his stomach and chest. He wasn’t aware he’d been aroused.
“How eager,” Felipe mocked. “Didn’t even need me to touch you, huh? No wonder Bruce-fucking-Wayne wanted you. You’ll always be a little cocksucking bitch.”
Jason tried to cut out Felipe’s speech, but even in the darkest recesses of his mind, they found him and taunted him.
Felipe’s rhythm was picking up and losing its smoothness. He rocked his hips toward his own orgasm as Jason let out a muffled, devastated cry behind the gag. Felipe came in him.
Felipe collapsed over Jason when he finished, cursing under his breath. He slapped Jason’s face and demanded a reaction, but Jason was like a dead statue, tear-drenched but unresponsive.
“You little bitch, you'd better answer—”
The door blew wide open.
Bruce’s familiar voice spat like a man ready to kill.
“Get away from him.”
It wasn’t a yell. There wasn’t the common rage associated with a man who lost control.
The words were almost reserved for how low and monotone they sounded. But Jason knew that was Batman’s voice. That was the voice Bruce used when his rage was pushing him to the limits of his no-kill discipline.
Felipe screeched when he was torn from the bed, his release dripping all over Jason’s thighs like a broken pipe. A loud crash followed as Bruce tossed him onto a shelf. Books and glassware fell and shattered.
Bruce wasn’t in his Bat suit. Bruce wasn’t Batman—just Bruce Wayne, an enraged father releasing all his anger on someone who’d hurt his son. As he beat his son’s former abuser, the loud cracks in Jason’s ears sounded like a bloodbath.
When it was finished—not over, just finished—Jason tried to push himself from the bed but could not. Then a pair of large, warm, and familiar hands caught him.
“Jaylad,” Bruce said softly, “I’m so sorry.”
He embraced Jason, pushing his head to the crook of his neck as Jason released a loud sob.
“It’s okay now, Jason. It’s okay. I’m here.”
They both knew it wasn’t.
Jason shuddered in Bruce’s arms. He could still feel Felipe all over him, inside him, threatening him from the other side of the room. He wasn’t safe; he could never be safe no matter how much Bruce tried to comfort or reassure him.
“I’m sorry, Bruce, I’m sorry…” I’m a whore, just as he said. I felt pleasure from his touches just like I did all those years ago…
“You did nothing wrong, son,” Bruce hissed. Rage still emanated from him, penetrating and filling the room. He was on the line of murder.
Jason did not speak, but he let Bruce hold him, wrap him in blankets, and carry him somewhere safe without Felipe’s presence.
Maybe Felipe was right; maybe there really wasn’t much that could be done against him, an ambassador’s son.
But Bruce would never let this be the end. That night, Batman paid Felipe a visit to his five-star hotel.
And the next day, the ambassador’s son’s beat-up face covered in bandages, and his comatose body in a full cast, became the headline all over the morning news.