Dead Plate Oneshots Torment

Warning: SA, mentions of SA, abuse, human trafficking

Rody leaned back against the armrest of his leather chair, a glass of whiskey in one hand as he looked over at the trembling figure kneeling on the floor in front of him. The dim light from the chandelier above cast long shadows across the room, adding to the suffocating atmosphere. The air was heavy with a mix of cigar smoke and the faint metallic scent of blood, which still clung to Vincent’s hands.

Vincent knelt, his body shaking, hair disheveled and sticking to his pale face. His once-pristine black shirt was stained with sweat and the occasional splash of red. His eyes were downcast, hollow and dark, refusing to meet Rody’s gaze, as if he could disappear into the floor. That same quiet, unshakeable man from years ago was long gone, broken under the weight of Rody’s cruelty.

“You did well today,” Rody murmured, the edges of his lips curling into a small smile. His voice was smooth, taunting, filled with an unsettling warmth. He leaned forward slightly, relishing in the way Vincent flinched, his entire frame stiffening. “Didn’t you, Vince?”

Vincent didn’t respond at first, lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t form the words. His silence was the wrong answer.

Rody’s smile disappeared. He slammed the glass onto the table next to him, the sharp sound cutting through the silence of the room. “Answer me, *now.*”

Vincent’s shoulders jerked at the command, and he forced out a hoarse, barely audible, “Yes.”

“Yes, *what?*” Rody’s voice was icy now, each word sharpened to a point. He rose from the chair, his imposing figure looming over Vincent, who instinctively shrunk into himself, bracing for the blow.

“Yes, I did well, Rody,” Vincent whispered, voice trembling as much as his hands. “I-I did what you asked.”

Rody’s fury seemed to cool at that. His smirk returned, and he crouched down in front of Vincent, cupping the man’s chin with a rough hand. “Good boy,” he whispered mockingly, his thumb brushing along Vincent’s jawline, tilting his head up to finally meet his gaze. Vincent’s black eyes were wide, glossy, filled with a deep fear that Rody relished. He leaned closer, his breath hot against Vincent’s skin. “See? Isn’t it easier when you just obey?”

Vincent gave a small nod, lips trembling as his eyes darted away, unable to hold Rody’s gaze for long. Rody sighed in faux disappointment, shaking his head. “But you’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?” he said, his tone light and almost conversational, though there was venom beneath the surface. “About dear old mommy.”

Vincent stiffened even more, a visible tremor running through his body. His breathing grew shallow, and Rody could practically feel the panic rising within him. Rody’s grip on his chin tightened. “You still remember how it felt, don’t you? The way her throat gave out under your hands? The way she looked at you, even when she couldn’t scream anymore.”

Vincent closed his eyes, desperately trying to block out the memory. But he could never escape it. Not when Rody reminded him of it so often. The day Rody had brought his mother to him, tied to a chair in the middle of this very room, gagged and blindfolded. The way Rody had pressed the gun into his hands, whispering sweetly in his ear, telling him that he had to do it if he wanted to survive. The horror, the sick realization of what he was being forced to do-how he could feel her pulse weaken beneath his grip, until it stopped.

That was the beginning.

“Look at me,” Rody demanded, his voice cutting through Vincent’s thoughts. When Vincent didn’t respond, Rody’s hand snapped forward, gripping Vincent’s hair and yanking his head back harshly. “I said, look at me, *puppy*.”

Vincent gasped at the sudden pain, his scalp burning as Rody held him in place. His eyes opened, tears brimming at the corners as he stared up at Rody, his expression broken. The nickname made him sick, a cruel reminder of how little control he had, of how Rody saw him as nothing more than a plaything-something to be bent and twisted until it broke.

But Rody wasn’t finished. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice softening again, his fingers threading through Vincent’s hair with deceptive gentleness. “Every thought, every breath-you belong to me. And you’ll do whatever I tell you. Won’t you, Vince?”

Vincent nodded shakily, the motion stilted and strained from Rody’s grip. He hated this-hated the way Rody had stripped away every last bit of his dignity, of his humanity. The cold, distant man who had once been able to hide behind a wall of indifference was gone. Now, he was just a hollow shell, forced to commit unspeakable acts to survive, to keep from angering the man who had stolen his life.

“Good boy,” Rody cooed again, finally releasing Vincent’s hair and standing up. He took a step back, watching Vincent crumple back into a kneeling position, utterly defeated. “I have another job for you tomorrow.”

Vincent’s stomach turned at the words. He knew what they meant-another person, another life he’d be forced to take, all under Rody’s sick command. His fingers dug into the carpet beneath him, his body trembling uncontrollably. He didn’t know how much more he could take. He didn’t know if he could keep doing this.

But Rody didn’t care. He never did.

The mafioso heir walked over to the window, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored suit as he gazed out at the sprawling city below. “You know,” he said after a moment, his voice casual, “I liked you when I first met you, Vince.”

Vincent remained silent, not daring to move.

“But you were so cold,” Rody continued, his voice almost nostalgic. “So detached. You didn’t respect me. You didn’t fear me.” He turned slightly, his piercing green eyes narrowing at Vincent. “I couldn’t stand it. So, I had to change that.”

Vincent swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know the reasoning behind Rody’s sadism. It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make the nightmares stop.

“But now?” Rody smiled, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Now, you know your place. Now, you’re mine.”

He walked back over to Vincent, crouching down once more to tilt his face up. Vincent winced, his vision blurred with unshed tears as Rody’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip. “Tomorrow, we’ll continue our little game. But tonight…” Rody’s voice trailed off as he leaned in close, his lips almost brushing Vincent’s ear. “Tonight, you’ll stay here. With me.”

Vincent’s heart raced, a sickening sense of dread settling in his gut. He knew what that meant. He had no choice. He never did.

Rody’s breath was warm against his skin as he pulled back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You’re such a good boy, Vince. When you behave.”

And as Rody stood, walking towards the bedroom, Vincent remained kneeling on the floor, his body numb, his mind trapped in the endless cycle of torment that Rody had created for him. The world outside moved on, indifferent to his suffering, while inside, Vincent was nothing more than a pawn in Rody’s sadistic game-a game that had no end.

Rody glanced back at Vincent, his eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction. He saw the way Vincent hesitated, still on his knees, as if rooted to the floor. That trembling hesitation-Rody thrived on it. Every shred of resistance that remained in Vincent only made the process sweeter. Slowly, deliberately, Rody crooked a finger, beckoning him forward.

“Come here, *puppy*,” he commanded, his tone low and smooth, yet filled with menace. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Vincent’s breath hitched, the air thick in his lungs as he forced himself to stand on unsteady legs. His whole body felt leaden with exhaustion, the psychological torment weighing him down far more than any physical pain could. His feet dragged as he approached Rody, his eyes downcast, trying to avoid the intensity of the green eyes locked onto him.

He didn’t want to be here. Every fiber of his being recoiled from Rody’s presence, from the perverse pleasure the man took in breaking him, but he had no choice. No matter how much he fought back internally, his body moved obediently, like a puppet on strings. Rody had made sure of that over the years-stripping away his autonomy piece by piece.

Rody reached out the moment Vincent was close enough, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him closer, so their bodies were mere inches apart. The heat radiating from Rody’s body made Vincent’s skin prickle uncomfortably, but he dared not pull away. Rody’s fingers slid up his arm, gripping his bicep with a possessive firmness, making sure Vincent knew exactly who was in control.

“You’re still shaking, Vince.” Rody’s voice was almost soft, like he was concerned, but the cruel amusement lacing his words was unmistakable. His other hand slid to Vincent’s chin, tilting his face upward so he could get a better look at those tired, haunted eyes. “Are you scared? Hm?”

Vincent’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. His throat was tight, his breath shallow. His instincts screamed at him to lie, to say something that would placate Rody, but the truth slipped out, fragile and terrified. “Yes.”

Rody’s smile widened, his thumb brushing Vincent’s bottom lip, feeling the tremor there. “Good.” His voice was a low murmur, pleased. “You should be.”

With a rough yank, Rody spun Vincent around, pushing him against the wall. Vincent let out a sharp gasp, his palms hitting the cold surface, trying to steady himself. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse racing under his skin. Rody pressed his body against Vincent’s back, pinning him in place, his breath hot against Vincent’s neck.

“You’ve been so obedient lately,” Rody whispered, his lips brushing Vincent’s ear. “I almost forgot how much fun it is when you fight back. But you know what happens when you don’t listen, don’t you, puppy?”

Vincent clenched his teeth, closing his eyes tightly as Rody’s hand roamed down his side, fingers digging into his skin just hard enough to hurt. He didn’t need the reminder-he’d experienced Rody’s wrath more times than he could count. But the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the way Rody’s touch lingered just on the edge of cruelty, as if he wanted to keep Vincent guessing, waiting for the inevitable punishment.

The anticipation was always the worst part.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Rody whispered, his lips barely brushing against the back of Vincent’s neck now, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. “But I will. You know I will, if you make me.”

Vincent’s entire body tensed at the threat, every muscle tight with fear and shame. He hated how his body betrayed him-how even in the midst of this nightmare, his skin burned under Rody’s touch, how his breath hitched when Rody pressed closer.

But that’s what Rody wanted. That’s what he always wanted: control.

Rody’s hand trailed lower, slowly, deliberately, until his fingers brushed over the waistband of Vincent’s pants. He could feel the way Vincent stiffened, the tension in his body, the silent plea for it to stop. But Rody thrived on that resistance, relished in breaking it down bit by bit.

“You’re going to be good for me tonight, aren’t you, Vince?” Rody’s voice was a soft purr now, though there was no tenderness in it. Just possession. Control. “You wouldn’t want me to be rough with you, would you?”

Vincent swallowed hard, the shame and disgust twisting in his gut. He hated how his body responded, how he couldn’t stop the warmth pooling in his stomach despite the overwhelming fear and revulsion. His lips trembled as he forced out a barely audible, “No… I- I’ll be good.”

Rody’s hand slid lower, undoing the button of Vincent’s pants with a maddening slowness, savoring every second of Vincent’s unraveling. “That’s what I like to hear,” he whispered, his breath hot against Vincent’s ear. “Good boy.”

Vincent’s body betrayed him completely then, the overwhelming mix of fear, shame, and twisted desire coiling tightly in his chest. He hated himself for it. Hated how Rody had conditioned him to respond, to break under the weight of his manipulation. Hated how his body no longer listened to his mind.

But Rody didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was the power. The control.

And as his hands continued their cruel exploration, Vincent knew there was no escaping it. No escaping him.

Rody owned him-body, mind, and soul. And no amount of resistance could change that.

Vincent’s heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears, his breath shaky and uneven. His whole body trembled against the cold wall, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of Rody pressing against him. His throat felt tight, like something was strangling him from the inside out, but he couldn’t even muster the strength to move or speak.

He could feel Rody’s breath on the back of his neck, hot and steady, as if the man was completely unaffected by the terror he was invoking. Every second felt stretched out, like a slow descent into hell, and Vincent was trapped, spiraling further into it.

Rody’s hand drifted lower, the deliberate slowness only heightening the unbearable anticipation. Vincent’s fingers curled into fists against the wall, his knuckles white from the pressure as he bit his lip, holding back a whimper that threatened to escape.

“I can feel you shaking,” Rody’s voice cut through the air, a low, mocking whisper. He dragged his fingers down Vincent’s side, over his ribs, savoring every involuntary shiver. “Are you really that scared, *puppy*? You’re acting like you don’t trust me.”

The word, the name Rody had given him-*puppy*-felt like chains wrapped around his neck, choking him with shame and fear. Vincent didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words were stuck in his throat, every instinct telling him that whatever he said wouldn’t matter. Rody wouldn’t stop. He never did.

Rody’s fingers curled into the waistband of Vincent’s pants, and Vincent flinched, his body recoiling instinctively, though he knew it was futile. His mind was screaming, begging for him to push Rody away, to run, to fight-but he couldn’t. The years of torment had broken him too thoroughly. He had no strength left to resist.

“Look at you.” Rody chuckled softly, a twisted satisfaction in his voice. “Still trying to hold on, huh?” His free hand slipped up to Vincent’s neck, his fingers wrapping loosely around his throat, not squeezing, but there. A threat. A reminder. “But I can feel how weak you’ve become, Vince. You’re trembling like a leaf.”

Vincent bit down on his lip, hard enough that he tasted blood, the sharp pain grounding him for a brief moment. His body was betraying him, every inch of him shaking, his legs threatening to give out from under him. He could feel Rody’s grip tighten ever so slightly around his throat, just enough to make his breath catch. His pulse quickened, a cold dread settling into his bones.

“I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to,” Rody murmured, his lips brushing against Vincent’s ear, the cruel intimacy of it making Vincent’s stomach twist. “You’ve been so good lately, Vince. So obedient. I just want to make sure you’re still mine.”

Rody’s fingers slid down his neck, tracing a line over his spine before they settled back on his hip, gripping tightly now, possessively. Vincent’s breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, his entire body tensed as if expecting a blow. His skin crawled where Rody touched him, a sickening combination of fear and resignation overwhelming him.

“I-I am,” Vincent whispered, his voice barely audible, cracked with fear. His throat burned, the words tasting bitter, but they were the only thing that might stave off what was coming. “I’m yours.”

Rody laughed softly, almost as if the words amused him, like Vincent’s submission was something he found endlessly entertaining. “Oh, I know you are,” he purred, leaning in closer, his chest flush against Vincent’s back. “But it’s not enough for you to say it. You have to *show* me.”

Vincent’s heart sank at the implication. He didn’t know what Rody wanted-what fresh horror he had planned for tonight-but he knew it would be worse than the last. It always was. His mind raced, searching desperately for an escape, but there was none. There never was.

Suddenly, Rody’s hand tightened around his wrist, yanking him away from the wall and forcing him to turn around, until they were face to face. Vincent stumbled, his legs barely holding him upright as he was pulled into Rody’s arms. He tried to avoid eye contact, but Rody grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up.

“Look at me,” Rody commanded, his voice sharp, though his grip was deceptively gentle. Vincent’s green eyes met his, wide with terror, and Rody’s smile widened. “There we go. You look so much prettier when you’re scared.”

Vincent’s lip quivered, but he bit down on it to stop the tremor. His throat felt like it was closing up, his vision blurring slightly as panic clawed at him from the inside out. He couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t think. All he could focus on was the man in front of him, the cruel glint in Rody’s eyes, and the knowledge that nothing he said or did would save him.

“You know what I want from you, don’t you?” Rody asked softly, his fingers tracing the line of Vincent’s jaw, down to his throat, pressing just hard enough to remind Vincent who held all the power. “I want to see you *break*, Vince. Completely. I want to see that last bit of fight leave your eyes.”

Vincent’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with dread. The fear was suffocating, paralyzing. He shook his head, barely able to muster the strength to speak. “P-Please…”

“Please, what?” Rody’s voice was a low, mocking whisper. “Please stop? Or please keep going?” He tilted his head slightly, his smile growing darker. “It’s hard to tell with you sometimes. You make all the right noises, but I think deep down, you like this. You like being my little *puppy*, don’t you?”

Vincent’s breath shuddered, his chest heaving as he tried to form a response. But the words stuck in his throat, choking him. All he could do was shake his head, a weak denial that only seemed to amuse Rody further.

Rody’s grip tightened on his jaw, enough to make Vincent wince. “No?” he repeated, his voice still soft but now edged with warning. “That’s a shame. Because I’m not stopping. Not until I see every last piece of you fall apart.”

Vincent’s vision swam, his fear now all-consuming. He felt like he was drowning, suffocated by Rody’s control, by the inescapable reality of his situation. There was no way out. There never had been.

Rody’s hand trailed lower, his intentions clear, and Vincent felt his knees weaken, barely able to keep standing. The terror coursing through him was almost paralyzing now, and his voice broke when he whispered, “Please… don’t…”

But Rody only smiled, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he leaned in close, his breath hot against Vincent’s ear.

“Too late for that, *puppy*.”

Each breath from Vincent came out in sharp, panicked gasps. His body trembled violently under Rody’s grip, the fear crawling up his spine, suffocating every rational thought in his mind. Every inch of his skin felt hyper-aware of Rody’s closeness, the heat of his breath, the firm hold he had on him, the way Rody’s fingers dug possessively into his hips.

Vincent’s breath hitched again as Rody pulled him closer, their bodies now fully pressed together. He could feel every muscle of Rody’s frame, solid and unyielding against his own, and it made his stomach churn with a sickening mix of dread and something he didn’t want to name. Something he’d buried deep down to survive these years of torment.

Rody’s lips brushed against Vincent’s ear, slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey. “I can feel it,” Rody whispered, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “You’re shaking so much, Vince. Is it fear… or something else?”

Vincent’s throat tightened, but he couldn’t answer. His heart pounded violently in his chest, the sound of it deafening, drowning out everything else. He hated this. Hated how Rody had this power over him. How his body betrayed him every time, trembling in fear, yes, but something darker stirred beneath that fear, something Vincent desperately tried to ignore. He felt sick just thinking about it.

“I think I know,” Rody continued, his lips grazing Vincent’s neck now, sending a shiver through him. “You want me to stop… but not entirely, do you? You hate me, but…” His hand slid lower, his fingers teasing Vincent’s pelvic lines, the touch feather-light, yet heavy with intent. “Your body doesn’t seem to mind.”

Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, his hands coming up to press against Rody’s chest in a weak attempt to push him away, but it was half-hearted, futile. His limbs were like lead, too heavy, too drained from years of this.

“You’re lying,” Vincent managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper, shaky and weak. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew Rody could feel the truth, the slight hitch in his breathing, the way his pulse quickened beneath Rody’s fingers. He cursed himself, hating the betrayal of his own body.

Rody chuckled softly, his grip tightening on Vincent’s jaw again, forcing him to look up at him. “Am I?” His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, dark and unreadable. “You’re so obedient when you’re scared. So compliant. I almost feel bad for breaking you like this… almost.”

Vincent’s stomach twisted in knots, shame flooding him as Rody’s words pierced through him. Rody *had* broken him. Completely. There was nothing left of the man he used to be. He was Rody’s-whether he wanted to be or not.

Rody’s hand slid lower on his hip, his touch more insistent now, claiming every inch of Vincent’s body with a possessiveness that made Vincent’s head spin. He wanted to fight it, wanted to scream, to beg, but his voice was gone, trapped somewhere deep in his chest, buried beneath layers of fear and submission.

“You’re mine, Vince,” Rody murmured, his voice soft but full of dark intent. His lips brushed against Vincent’s neck, trailing lower, his breath hot and intoxicating against Vincent’s skin. “You’ve always been mine. And no matter how much you try to fight it, no matter how much you hate me… your body knows who owns it.”

Vincent’s vision blurred, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. His hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t move, didn’t resist. He was too far gone, too broken. There was nothing left to fight with.

Rody’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of Vincent’s underwear, his fingers cold against the heat of Vincent’s skin. Vincent tensed, a sharp gasp escaping him, his body betraying him yet again as a surge of something unwanted pulsed through him. He hated this. Hated how Rody could make him feel like this. Hated how powerless he was to stop it.

“See?” Rody’s voice was laced with cruel satisfaction, his fingers moving with calculated slowness, teasing, torturing. “You like this more than you’re willing to admit, don’t you? You’re so responsive, Vince. I’ve trained you well.”

Vincent shook his head, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged gasps, tears slipping down his cheeks now. “N-No…” His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with fear and shame. “Please…”

Rody’s grip tightened, both his hands now holding Vincent in place, his touch possessive, controlling. “Please, what?” he asked, his tone mocking. “Do you want me to stop? Or do you want more?”

Vincent’s breath hitched, his heart racing, but he couldn’t speak. The words were trapped, tangled in the mess of fear, shame, and the dark, twisted desire that Rody had forced him to acknowledge.

“Answer me, *puppy*,” Rody growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Or I’ll make this worse for you.”

Vincent’s entire body trembled, the weight of Rody’s control crushing him. He squeezed his eyes shut, a tear slipping down his cheek as he whispered, broken and defeated, “M-More…”

Rody’s smile widened, his grip tightening as he leaned in, his breath hot against Vincent’s ear. “Good boy.”

—–

Rody had just finished handling some *business* for his father, the heir to one of the most feared criminal empires in the city. The streets were quiet as his car rumbled down the road, his mind drifting as he passed through a dimly lit neighborhood. That’s when he saw it—a small bistro, tucked between a row of aging buildings. It looked unremarkable at first, but something about it drew his attention. He wasn’t sure what it was, but as he drove by, he caught a glimpse of the man inside.

The next day, Rody found himself back in front of that bistro. He wasn’t even sure why he stopped. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the way Vincent had looked so calm, so unaffected by the world outside those doors. Rody stepped inside, and there he was, standing behind the counter—tall, dark-haired, with an expression that looked like he couldn’t care less about the world.

Rody had made his move quickly. He wasn’t used to waiting, wasn’t used to people ignoring him. “Nice place you got here,” he said, his voice dripping with the confidence that always made people take notice. He expected Vincent to look up, to acknowledge him, maybe even flirt back. But Vincent barely spared him a glance.

“Thanks,” Vincent muttered, his voice flat, uninterested. He went back to cleaning glasses, not giving Rody a second thought.

Rody’s smile faltered for the briefest second, but he wasn’t deterred. For the next few days, he kept coming back. He tried again and again, each time with a new approach—compliments, small talk, flirting, and even hinting at who he was, what his family could do. But every single time, Vincent was cold, distant, and completely unbothered.

“I’m not interested,” Vincent finally said one afternoon, his tone as dismissive as ever. Rody had been leaning against the counter, flashing one of his usual smirks.

“Not interested?” Rody had echoed, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. “You sure about that? You know who I am, right?”

Vincent looked up then, but there was no fear in his eyes, only irritation. “I don’t care who you are,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not interested.”

That was the moment everything changed for Rody. No one *ever* talked to him like that. No one dared to look him in the eye and brush him off as if he were nothing. He had expected Vincent to crumble, to finally give him the respect he was owed. But all he got was a cold, indifferent stare.

Rody’s blood boiled. Days of being dismissed, treated like he didn’t matter, piled up into one explosive moment. He didn’t even think—he just acted. His hand shot out, grabbing Vincent by the wrist, his grip tight, almost bruising.

“What the hell are you doing?” Vincent growled, trying to pull away, but Rody didn’t let go. His face twisted with anger, his eyes darkening as he dragged Vincent out from behind the counter.

“I’m done playing your little games, Vince,” Rody snarled, yanking him toward the door. “You think you can just ignore me? You think you’re better than me?”

Vincent struggled, digging his heels into the floor, but Rody’s grip was unyielding. He looked around, hoping someone—*anyone*—would step in, help him. But the patrons sat frozen in their seats, their eyes wide with fear. The staff barely even blinked. No one moved. No one said a word. They knew who Rody was, and they weren’t about to cross him.

“Let go of me!” Vincent spat, his voice laced with a mix of anger and panic. He tried to shove Rody away, but it only made Rody tighten his grip.

Rody leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “You should’ve been smarter, Vince. Should’ve known better than to disrespect me. Now, you’re coming with me. We’ll see how long that arrogance of yours lasts.”

Vincent’s breath hitched, and for the first time, Rody saw it—the flicker of fear in his eyes. That small, almost imperceptible crack in his composure only fueled Rody’s rage and satisfaction.

“No one’s gonna help you,” Rody sneered, dragging him through the door and into the night. “They’re all too scared, and you know it.”

Outside, the street was just as empty as the bistro. Vincent struggled again, but Rody’s grip was iron. “Where are you taking me?” Vincent demanded, his voice cracking with the hint of desperation.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Rody replied coldly, shoving Vincent forward toward his car. The click of the door unlocking echoed in the silence, and Rody pushed Vincent inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

As Rody slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced at Vincent, who was pressed against the door, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide with a mixture of anger and fear. Rody’s smirk returned, dark and cruel.

“See, Vince,” he said, his voice soft but menacing. “You should’ve listened. Now, you’re mine.”

Vincent didn’t respond, but the silence between them was heavy with dread. The engine roared to life, and as Rody drove away, Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest. He had no idea what Rody had planned, but one thing was certain—his life, as he knew it, was over.