Cain hadn’t left the garage since that night.
He couldn’t.
The name still echoed in his head. Cain.
He hadn’t heard it in years. Hadn’t felt worthy of a name. Not since he gave up control. Since he gave up pretending. The man had given it back to him not as a reward, but as a collar. A brand. A reminder of who he was now — not the mechanic, not the dominant, not the master of this oil-stained kingdom.
Just Cain.
And tonight, Cain was naked again. Kneeling on the floor, forehead resting against the concrete, arms behind his back, c**k half-hard between his thighs. Waiting.
The storm outside shook the old metal roof. Lightning flashed through the gaps in the door. And when the heavy sound of boots cut through the thunder, he shivered.
He didn’t look up.
He didn’t breathe.
Not until
