Terry lay on the floor, beaten, bloody, and half-conscious.
But still alive. He really was stronger than his father had been. Good.
Geese knelt on top of him, knees bracketing those narrow hips, and enjoyed the weak shudder that went through Terry's body. He managed to turn his head to look at Geese - but the eyes that had so recently shone with hatred were clouded and dim. He was probably fading in and out of consciousness, vision black at the edges, only barely aware of the hatred that sustained him...Geese knew that feeling. It had been his constant companion for all those months in the hospital, when he had spent each day in a drugged haze, clinging to one thing: revenge on the man who had reduced him, the ruler of Southtown, to such a state.
Now that man lay beneath him and it was better than all the drugs in the world.
Geese leaned over Terry, pushing him into the hardwood floor. He dragged a hand down Terry's chest, noting the contrast between hard muscle and swollen flesh...and the soft, hurt noises that came every time he dug his fingers into those tender injuries. No matter how Terry struggled to grit his teeth, Geese could hear those whimpers leak from the back of his throat.
Lovely.
He had planned to kill Terry. To throw him off the tower, or to stop his heart, or to just beat him into the floor until there was nothing left but gore.
But now the strongest man in the world, one of the only people Geese had feared, laid between his legs.
Terry didn't have to die. Not yet.
Geese pressed his mouth to Terry's neck and began to add a new set of bruises above the already darkening necklace of fingerprints.