It’s Dean’s day. Thank God.

“Rise and shine, pets. Ready for a new day?” Earl exclaims, his face beaming with evil joy.

He paces over to Dean, the sound of his steel-toed boots against the cement always so loud and antagonistic. Earl unlocks the cuffs, then steps away with the gun pointed directly at Dean’s skull.

But instead of walking towards me like he usually does, Dean remains where he stands. He is completely still, his expression blank, as he stares Earl down with a scathing glare. “You’re a fat, fucking bastard,” he says, his tone low and levelled.

Earl stands stock-still while I watch the scene in terrified silence, my fingers curling around my pole and gripping tight.

Then Earl slugs Dean across the jaw with his fist.

I flinch, crying out in protest, yanking at my chains to draw Earl’s attention back to me. When Dean slowly pulls himself up from his knees, his fist is closed tight, hiding a small treasure.

Earl presses the barrel of the gun against his back and shoves him towards me. “Don’t fuck with me, kid. Next time it’s a bullet in your face instead of my fist,” Earl warns. “You’re on borrowed time.”

My breathing is ragged and quick as Dean approaches me, face to face, blue eyes on green. My gaze drifts to his busted lip, already swelling and smeared with blood. I inhale, almost choking when the breath reaches the back of my throat. Then Dean leans in. He presses those full lips to mine, and I immediately taste the metallic, coppery blood on my tongue, mixed with sweat and a trace of mint from the toothpaste. I part my mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and he breathes in deep, so deep, as if he’s sucking up my lifeforce for survival.

As he continues to kiss me, I feel him reach his arm around my body, finding my cuffed wrists. But instead of placing his thumb against my pulse point like he usually does, he pauses. His mouth breaks away from mine, and Dean grazes his lips against my right cheek until they are pressed up to my ear. The tickle of his hot breath makes me shiver.

Then he whispers in a scratchy voice, “Don’t let go of your cuffs. Don’t let them fall.”

Another breath gets caught in my throat as I instinctively curl my fingers around the metal, gripping as tight as I can. Dean takes a moment to unbuckle himself and push his jeans down to his ankles, then lifts me up with both hands.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he orders.

I ignore the tingly sensation those words procure and do as he says, holding myself up so Dean can try to unlock my cuffs with the belt clasp. It feels like an impossible feat, but my God, I’ve never wished for anything more.

Dean enters me, averting his eyes like always, unable to witness my reaction to what he considers a horrifying violation. I should agree, I really should, but my guess is that my eyes tell a different tale.