Leo didn't retreat. He stepped closer, hands raised, palms out. "Let him go. Now." His voice steadied, surprising even himself. Thorne's muscles coiled, a predator assessing prey. The silence stretched, thick with the scent of sweat, fear, and something metallic—blood? Leo saw a crimson smear on the rug beneath the man's cheek. Thorne's gaze flickered, a sliver of awareness piercing the red haze. He released the man's hair abruptly. The stranger scrambled backwards like a crab, gasping, clutching his throat. Leo didn't look away from Thorne. "You're done," he stated, low and final.
Thorne's eyes snapped to Leo. The raw fury hadn't faded; it merely shifted targets. The predator found new prey. "Am I?" The words were a low growl. Before Leo could react, Thorne lunged. Hands like steel bands clamped around Leo's biceps, lifting him off his feet as easily as lifting a child. Leo kicked, struggling uselessly against the crushing strength. Thorne carried him towards the grand staircase, ignoring his thrashing. "You intervened," Thorne hissed, breath hot against Leo's ear. "You volunteered." Each step jarred Leo's spine. Up they went, Thorne's grip unyielding, Leo's heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Thorne kicked open the bedroom door and flung Leo onto the vast bed. The impact knocked the air from Leo's lungs. Before he could scramble away, Thorne was on him, straddling his hips, pinning him down. One large hand ripped Leo's shirt open with brutal efficiency, buttons scattering like broken teeth across the dark sheets. Leo froze, terror locking his muscles. Thorne leaned close, his face inches away, eyes burning with a terrifying, unhinged intensity. "You wanted his place?" he snarled. "You'll serve it." Leo squeezed his eyes shut. The scent of Thorne's rage filled his nostrils. He felt small. Broken. Utterly helpless. A choked sob escaped him. Hot tears welled beneath his closed lids, spilling over, tracing paths down his temples into his hair. *David*, he thought desperately, the name a silent scream inside his skull. *Please. Find me.*
The tears fell faster, silent and scalding. He felt Thorne's weight shift above him, the predatory stillness deepening. Then, a sharp intake of breath. Leo dared to crack open his eyes, vision blurred. Thorne was staring down at him, his expression shifting. The raw, consuming fury flickered, replaced by a dawning, almost startled confusion. The harsh lines of his face softened infinitesimally. He looked at Leo's tear-streaked cheeks, the ripped shirt exposing vulnerable skin, the utter despair etched into every trembling line of his body. It was as if he was truly *seeing* him for the first time since dragging him upstairs.
Thorne's grip on Leo's wrists loosened. He didn't move away, but the crushing pressure eased. His breath hitched, ragged. "Leo..." The name came out hoarse, stripped of its usual command, laced with something unfamiliar – shock, perhaps even a sliver of horror. He stared at his own hands, still hovering near Leo's torn shirt, as if noticing the violence inherent in them for the first time. The manic energy that had fueled him moments before seemed to drain away, leaving behind a hollowed-out exhaustion and the chilling residue of what he'd almost done.
Leo lay frozen beneath him, tears still streaming silently. He didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe too loudly. The raw vulnerability in Thorne's confusion felt almost more terrifying than the rage. Slowly, Thorne pushed himself off the bed. He stood beside it, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the curtains. He ran a trembling hand through his dark hair, his gaze fixed on the scattered buttons gleaming on the dark sheets. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of shattered control and Leo's stifled sobs.
Then, Leo moved. He scrambled sideways off the bed, his movements jerky with adrenaline-fueled panic. He didn't look back. He bolted for the bedroom door, bare feet slapping against the cool hardwood floor. The hallway outside was dark, the mansion eerily silent. He didn't pause. He flew down the grand staircase, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. At the entrance hall, he snatched a heavy cashmere cardigan draped over a hall chair – Thorne's, smelling faintly of expensive wool and danger – and wrenched open the massive front door. The cold night air hit him like a slap.
He didn't hesitate. Thorne's sleek, black Ducati Panigale gleamed under the portico lights, keys still dangling from the ignition – a testament to Thorne's arrogance or his shattered state. Leo swung a leg over the unfamiliar machine, fumbling with the controls. The engine roared to life beneath him, a predatory snarl that echoed his own terror. He twisted the throttle hard, the bike leaping forward onto the winding driveway, gravel spraying behind him. He leaned into the curves, the wind tearing at his ripped shirt beneath the cardigan, the city lights a distant, beckoning constellation. He remembered David's penthouse address – etched into his mind from the note, from the escape – guiding him like a beacon through the labyrinthine streets.
The Ducati screamed to a halt outside the sleek downtown tower. Leo stumbled off, legs shaky, the engine's heat radiating against his thighs. He ran for the private elevator bank, jabbing the penthouse button repeatedly, frantically. The ascent felt eternal. He hammered his fist against David's heavy apartment door, the sound echoing in the sterile hallway. "David! David, open up!" His voice was raw, choked with tears, barely recognizable.
The door swung inward. David stood there, tousled hair, eyes bleary with sleep, wearing only low-slung sweatpants. Confusion flickered across his face, instantly replaced by shock as he took in Leo's state: tear-streaked cheeks, the oversized cashmere cardigan hanging open, revealing the ripped shirt beneath, the angry red marks circling his wrists like manacles. "Leo?" David breathed, his voice thick with sleep and sudden alarm. "What happened?"
Leo didn't answer. He launched himself forward, crashing into David's solid chest with a choked sob. He buried his face against David's bare shoulder, his body shaking violently, the scent of expensive detergent and sleep-warm skin a stark contrast to the lingering terror and Thorne's oppressive cologne. David staggered back a step from the force, then instinctively wrapped his arms around Leo, holding him tight as Leo's tears soaked into his skin. The frantic pounding on the door, the raw anguish – it shattered the quiet sanctuary of the penthouse.
David guided the trembling Leo towards the bedroom, his touch firm yet gentle. He eased Leo onto the edge of the vast bed, the soft sheets a world away from Thorne's cold mansion. Without a word, David fetched antiseptic wipes and a glass of water. He knelt before Leo, carefully disinfecting the raw, bruised circle around Leo's wrist where Thorne's fingers had bitten deep. The sting made Leo flinch, but David's hands were steady, his focus absolute. He pressed the cool glass into Leo's hand. "Drink," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly with concern. "Then tell me. Everything."
Leo sipped the water, the chill grounding him slightly. The words tumbled out in a fractured rush – Thorne's feral rage, the assault on the stranger, the terrifying shift of focus onto Leo himself, the ripped shirt, the crushing weight, the declaration of being a "replacement," and the horrifying moment Thorne seemed to recoil from Leo's tears. He described the frantic escape, stealing the Ducati, the blur of city lights as he fled towards the only sanctuary he knew. David listened in utter silence, his expression hardening into granite as Leo spoke, his grey eyes darkening with a dangerous, protective fury. He didn't interrupt, just absorbed the horror etched into Leo's voice.
When Leo finished, trembling anew, David wordlessly rose. He slid onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping under his weight. He opened his arms, and Leo collapsed against him, pressing his ear to the solid, reassuring thump of David's heartbeat beneath his bare chest. Leo's trembling hand drifted across David's torso, fingers tracing the sharp ridges of his abdominal muscles, the powerful line of his pectorals, seeking the tangible proof of safety, of sanctuary. David's arm tightened around Leo's shoulders, anchoring him, but his gaze remained fixed on the distant city lights visible through the bedroom window, his jaw clenched tight. The silence wasn't empty; it vibrated with the cold, calculating fury David was visibly wrestling into control.
Leo felt the tension coiled in David's frame, the rigid stillness beneath his touch. He knew David was replaying every horrifying detail Leo had shared, dissecting Thorne's actions with a predator's cold precision. Leo pressed closer, inhaling the clean scent of David's skin, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing soothe the jagged edges of his own panic. Exhaustion, deeper than bone, seeped through him, weighing down his limbs. The adrenaline crash, the terror, the frantic flight – it all dissolved into a profound, aching weariness. His tracing fingers stilled, resting flat against the warm skin over David's heart.
David remained silent, his gaze fixed on the glittering cityscape beyond the window, but his hold on Leo tightened subtly, pulling him impossibly closer. The protective fury hadn't faded; it had merely banked, simmering beneath the surface, contained by the immediate need to shield Leo. He shifted slightly, adjusting Leo against him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Leo's head, fingers tangling gently in his hair. The other arm stayed locked securely around his waist, a fortress against the world outside the penthouse walls. Leo felt the tension gradually bleed from David's muscles, replaced by a weary vigilance.
Leo's fingers, tracing the hard planes of David's chest, slowed and finally stilled, resting palm-down over the steady thump of David's heart. The frantic energy that had propelled him across the city on a stolen motorcycle drained away completely, leaving him boneless and heavy. The scent of David's skin – clean linen and something uniquely, reassuringly *him* – filled Leo's senses, pushing back the lingering phantom smells of Thorne's rage and the mansion's oppressive dread. He pressed his ear harder against David's sternum, letting the rhythmic beat anchor him in this fragile sanctuary. Each breath David took lifted Leo slightly, a gentle, grounding rhythm.