Forced sex

"If I hadn't come, were you planning to never speak to me again for the rest of your life?"

The car was driving on the highway. Milo, whose hands were bound behind his back, sat in the back seat, ignoring Miles's words and turning his face to look out the window.

As the cars drove away, the city of Taran descended into chaos. Ten minutes earlier, a sudden gunshot rang out from Anto's villa, plunging the entire city into a sleepless night.

Before Miles could even speak, Nona, who was exchanging pleasantries with the ladies outside, sensed something was amiss. She crept out of the living room and saw many cars surrounding Ento's mansion. Looking closer, she saw figures moving inside the cars; it seemed Milo's plainclothes bodyguards had been kidnapped. Nona immediately realized something was wrong. She jumped out of the window, alerting the guards and drawing gunfire. She ultimately escaped Ento's mansion with a narrow escape.

Upon receiving the news, Pomlason had no choice but to knock on the door, reminding them that Nonai might return to report. Given Milo's special status, there was no guarantee that Blaze wouldn't go berserk and storm Taran to snatch him away. The news of Mengsha being shot in the head was still being broadcast repeatedly on television, and Pomlason and Onto both advised Miles to leave that night for safety.

Miles understood; since Milo wouldn't cooperate, he had no choice but to resort to some brutal methods.

The steering wheel turned, the tires screeched on the road, and the driver in front said, "The Gangu checkpoint is just ahead."

Hearing that familiar voice, Milo realized that Harold had come with Miles.

“If you close a deal with Pong Rasom, you won’t even be able to leave Tengbang. If you succeed, the Tengbang government will kill you. If you fail, Pong Rasom won’t spare your life. This isn’t a place where you can act recklessly. I’m taking you away for your own good.”

Milo finally gave Miles a disdainful look: "You're fucking pathetic!"

"When did you learn to swear?" Miles's expression clearly darkened.

"I've learned far more than that. Why don't you guess who I learned from? Lanman, Frostraven, everything you can and can't imagine, I've done it all with Blaise. I—"

Miles grabbed Milo by the back of the neck, causing Milo to lose his balance and slam into the car window frame with a thud.

Milo felt no pain whatsoever; instead, he felt an intense pleasure that drove him to madness: "Can't bear to hear it? The truth is, I just love being fucked by him!"

Vulgar words are just uttered; it doesn't matter whether they hurt others or oneself.

Miles braced himself up, and the privacy glass partition between the front and rear seats rose up, separating the cabins. Upon seeing this, Milo immediately began to struggle violently: "Miles, you fucking let me go!"

“You really think I don’t have a temper?” Miles pressed his hand against Milo’s chin, his gentle whisper a stark contrast to the force of his knee. “Milo, don’t make me angry.”

The more Milo struggled, the more Miles became annoyed by his intense physical resistance. He felt he was probably going crazy, driven by an impulse to do something indecent.

Miles turned Milo's face around, imprinting restraint along with the taste of blood between his lips onto the other's.

Milo's pupils dilated uncontrollably, goosebumps rose all over his body, and his twisted fingers tore through the leather of the seat.

The forced kiss ended, and Miles licked away the blood from his bitten lip. His Adam's apple bobbed, and even his voice changed with emotion: "You think I won't force you?"

Harold held his breath. The car's navigation system showed that they were passing through the Chira Mountains. The vehicle began to bump, and Harold tapped the screen. At that moment, music started playing in the car.

Miles moved his hand to Milo's lower back and deftly pulled off his belt. Touching the warm, smooth skin, Miles suddenly felt an irresistible surge of emotion welling up within him, an emotion that had long since subsided. He gripped Milo's neck, preventing him from moving, and then lowered his head to kiss the soft skin of Milo's waist.

The moment their skin touched, a chill ran through him, and Milo coughed violently, his Adam's apple sliding down his neck, which was soaked with cold sweat.

Miles ripped off Milo's clothes, and as the shirt slipped off, Miles's gaze fell on the old cut scars on Milo's wrists. This glance brought him back to his senses from the forceful suppression and plunder.

Milo gasped for breath, a painful groan escaping his throat.

"Milo?" Miles sensed something was wrong.

Milo pushed Miles away with all his might, slumped in his seat, looking disheveled, gasping for breath, his eyes already red.

In the struggle, a packet of pills, packaged in a small transparent bag, slipped out of the inner pocket of Milo's coat.

Miles caught a glimpse of the bag of pills out of the corner of his eye, and regained his composure. He picked it up, examined it closely, and asked in astonishment, "You've relapsed?"

Milo couldn't reply at all. His panting turned into rapid gasps, and his pupils began to dilate asymmetrically.

The partition between the front and back seats reopened, and a voice came from inside: "Turn around and head up the mountain!"

Harold was startled and quickly turned off the music. Heading up Qila Mountain, wouldn't that mean stepping into Mengtuo's territory? He advised, "If we drive another half an hour, we'll be crossing the border. If we go straight up the mountain now, the checkpoint in Gangu ahead will notice something's wrong."

"Harold!"

Miles's rebuke was extremely forceful and showed no mercy.

Harold, feeling helpless, said no more.

The fluorescent paint on the guardrail of the mountain road flashed past the car window. The black car turned and started climbing the hill at maximum power.

*

The summit of Mount Chila.

A buzzing sound sent dust and rocks flying. The checkpoint personnel fired warning shots, and overexposed spotlights shone from all directions. The checkpoint personnel on the watchtower watched warily as the black car drove recklessly below, while someone ran up behind to report the incident.

The black car came to a smooth stop, and with a loud bang, two figures got out of the car one after the other.

Miles carried Milo in his arms, followed by Harold, who placed his right hand on his lower back, ready to draw his gun at any moment.

Soon, the messenger returned jogging. The gate beneath the watchtower opened, and two men carrying a stretcher rushed forward and skillfully took Milo from them.

Miles did not rest and followed along up the mountain.

As soon as I stepped into the wooden shed that served as a rescue room, a mixture of smells—sweat, blood, and disinfectant—along with the noise, flooded my nostrils and eardrums. Figures moved about, and low commands, suppressed groans, and the clatter of utensils all assaulted my ears.

The stretcher bearers skillfully placed Milo in the only available space.

Miles's gaze swept quickly across the chaotic scene. The walls were covered with medicines labeled with various dates, many of which had already expired.

The young man in charge of the rescue was at a loss, looking as if he had been temporarily brought up the mountain. His fingertips trembled as he rummaged through the medicine cabinet.

On the hospital bed, Milo's breathing gradually weakened.

Sweat rolled down Miles' forehead, soaking his temples, but his breathing was remarkably steady, his voice deep and cold: "First, calmly push the [unclear]." The other person froze on the spot, Miles' eyes suddenly turning cold, "Don't you understand?"

The mountain wind rattled against the window frame. Miles watched as the other man injected the medication into the vein. He grabbed a pair of scissors and, with a "ripping" sound, ripped open Milo's shirt, neatly pressing four diagnostic patches onto his bare chest. The electrocardiogram monitor beeped incessantly.

Only after he had finished doing all this did Miles' tense spine relax. He slowly left the room, the evening breeze carrying a chill, and all the strength in his body seemed to be instantly drained. The belated shock and fear that he had forcibly suppressed finally surged into his heart like a tide, and he belatedly realized what he had done.

Milo is immature, but isn't he immature too?

How could he be so easily provoked? How could he possibly want to attack him in the car? More importantly, Milo's resistance to him had reached such an extent... that his old ailment had relapsed...

Thinking about Milo's previous two experiences, Miles suddenly wasn't sure if he could pull Milo back from the brink of death a third time.

The mountain wind howled through the eaves, and Miles leaned against the wooden wall as a shadow fell over him.

Meng Tuo leaned against the doorframe, his burly figure almost blocking out the light in the doorway. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, his cold eyes sweeping across Miles' pale face: "Tsk, Mr. Dale, aren't you always so careful? How dare you come to my place today?"

Miles raised his eyelids, his gaze calm and unwavering. When he spoke, he was surprisingly fluent in the local Tengbang dialect: "Once he wakes up, I'll take him down the mountain immediately. I won't cause you any trouble."

"Troublesome?" Meng Tuo scoffed, glancing sideways at the dimly lit room. His eyes instantly filled with deep-seated hatred. "I'd recognize that guy lying in there even if he were ashes! That son of a bitch, Elion, beat my dick to a pulp just to protect him!"

As he spoke, Mengtuo suddenly turned around, stared at Miles, and grinned: "I also heard that he's your brother's darling? Ha, I really want to see what kind of god this guy is, that he's made you Dale brothers and that mad dog Elion swarm around him like flies to blood?"

"Mengtuo, don't touch him."

"Don't touch him?" Meng Tuo chuckled bitterly, as if he'd heard the funniest joke. "I know, he's so precious. But—" He suddenly leaned closer, lowering his voice, "Boss Dale, we've been working together for so long, we're practically in the same boat. Does your darling know that you, this seemingly clean businessman, have actually been delivering goods to us people all this time? I don't think he's really interested in working for you. If you really want to get him, how about I do you a small favor?"

A sinister glint flashed in Meng Tuo's eyes: "I have plenty of good stuff here. I guarantee he'll be obedient to you from now on, as docile as a cat."

Miles turned around abruptly, his face still expressionless, but the coldness surging deep in his eyes revealed his anger.

"I told you, don't lay a hand on him."

Meng Tuo chuckled, swallowing the thick smoke from his throat, his yellow teeth flashing a sly smile: "Alright, I respect your opinion."

*

Consciousness is like an anchor sunk in the deep sea, being slowly and laboriously pulled back to the surface.

Milo opened his eyes, his vision filled with blurry, swaying light and shadow, which slowly coalesced after a long while.

The smell of disinfectant stubbornly seeped into his nostrils. He belatedly felt the cold, foreign object on his arm. Looking down the IV tube, he saw the clear medicine slowly dripping into the drip chamber.

Milo rolled his eyes, his gaze shifting with difficulty, landing on the silent figure by the bedside.

It's Miles.

He sat on a simple wooden stool, his hands clasped together and resting on his furrowed brow. The morning light streaming in from the window outlined his profile; despite his exhaustion, he was not hunched over.

In the dead silence, only the faint sound of medicine dripping could be heard.

Milo turned his face away, not wanting to look at Miles, but the rustling sound still woke Miles up.

"Milo, you're awake?" Miles opened his eyes, rubbed his temples, and stared intently at Milo's pale face. "Let's talk."

Milo remained silent, turning his entire body inward with extreme slowness yet unwavering resolve, leaving Miles with only a back view wrapped in a thin white blanket, resisting to the extreme.

"You've always remembered. You've always remembered the first two years we got together."

Milo's heart began to pound. It was a memory he found most shameful and least willing to recall.

"So, you hate me because you remember what I did to you from the very beginning, right?"

Milo closed his eyes, trying his best to suppress the increasingly erratic heartbeat. His nose felt sore, as if all the pain needed an outlet.

Milo slowly turned around, mechanically opening his lips to look at Blaise: "What do you want to hear? Listen to me. I remember after you rescued me from the fire, you locked me in the hospital and gave me injections and electrotherapy over and over again. I remember how I was treated in front of you, less than a dog?"

As he spoke, Milo almost laughed: "That's right, I remember everything. Are you satisfied now?"