Betrayed part 4

 Dorian sat at his desk, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He knew what he was about to do could never be undone. This call—this deal—would mark a point of no return. The man on the other end of the line was Sebastian "Bash" Luthier, a shadowy figure who operated in the underworld but had never been caught. Dorian had defended him once, securing his freedom with a legal loophole that no one else had noticed. Now, years later, he was reaching out to him again—not as a lawyer, but as a man in need of something far more dangerous.

“Tell me what you need, Judge,” Bash said smoothly, his voice oozing with the confidence of someone who had the world at his fingertips.

Dorian’s throat tightened. He’d always considered himself above men like Bash, even as he defended them. But now, they were equals—or worse, he was the one seeking help. “I have a problem,” Dorian said quietly. “A serious problem.”

Bash waited, his silence coaxing more from Dorian than words ever could.

“It’s Victor Moreno. He’s out. He came to see me. He... he’s making threats.” The words felt like acid on Dorian’s tongue, burning with the shame of admitting how deep he’d sunk. “I need him gone.”

The line went silent. Dorian could hear the faint sound of Bash breathing, the stillness making him feel more vulnerable than ever.

“You want Moreno dead,” Bash said, more as a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Dorian whispered. It felt like signing his soul away with that single word. “I can’t handle this through the courts. He’ll come for me eventually, and I won’t see it coming. I need him out of the picture, permanently.”

Bash let out a low chuckle. “You really are in deep, aren’t you? I always wondered when you’d finally see things my way. But it’s not as simple as snapping my fingers, you know. Moreno’s got reach. Even getting to him won’t be easy.”

Dorian clenched the phone, fighting the urge to hang up and forget this ever happened. But there was no turning back. “I don’t care how much it costs,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Just make it happen.”

Bash was silent for a moment longer, and when he spoke again, his voice was as cold as ice. “I’ll do it. But this isn’t just a business arrangement, Dorian. You understand that, right? You’re asking me for a favor, and favors in my world come with a price.”

Dorian’s stomach twisted. He had known that calling Bash meant owing him—more than money, more than legal tricks. It meant a debt that couldn’t be measured. But if it meant surviving, if it meant getting Moreno out of his life, then it was a price he was willing to pay.

“I understand,” Dorian said, though the words felt hollow.

“Good,” Bash said, sounding pleased. “I’ll be in touch when it’s done. And Dorian—just remember who you belong to now.”

The line went dead, leaving Dorian in the suffocating silence of his office.

---

The next few days passed in a haze of dread and anticipation. Dorian went through his usual routine as a judge—hearing cases, issuing rulings, pretending that everything was normal. But beneath the surface, his mind was consumed with thoughts of Moreno, and of Bash’s impending move.

Every time the phone rang, his pulse quickened. Every time he received a message, his heart leaped into his throat. But nothing came. No word from Bash. No sign of Moreno.

And then, one morning, the news broke.

Victor Moreno had been found dead in his penthouse apartment. The reports were vague at first—something about a break-in gone wrong, maybe a hit, maybe an accident. But as the day went on, the truth became clearer: Moreno had been assassinated. The police suspected it was related to his criminal dealings, but they had no leads. His empire had crumbled in an instant, his loyal men scattering like rats from a sinking ship.

Dorian watched the news in a kind of numb disbelief. It was done. Moreno was gone.

That night, Dorian sat in his living room with a bottle of whiskey, staring blankly at the flickering television screen. He had thought he would feel relief, but instead, a deeper dread settled over him. Bash had delivered on his promise. And now, Dorian knew, the real cost would come.

Sure enough, two days later, a package arrived at his office. It was small, nondescript—just a plain envelope with no return address. Dorian’s hands trembled as he opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper with a brief message:

“You owe me.”

No signature, no details. But Dorian knew what it meant. Bash had taken care of Moreno, but now Dorian was in his debt. And Bash never forgot a debt.

The message was clear: Dorian’s life was no longer his own. He might have been a judge in the eyes of the law, but in reality, he was a puppet, bound to the strings of men like Bash who controlled the city from the shadows.

---

Months passed. Dorian continued his duties as a judge, ruling on cases that ranged from petty theft to violent crime. But each time he stepped into his chambers, the weight of that envelope in his desk drawer haunted him. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw a man who had crossed lines that could never be uncrossed.

Bash had not called in his favor yet, but Dorian knew it was only a matter of time. And when that day came, whatever Bash asked for would be far worse than what he had already done.

One evening, as Dorian sat alone in his chambers after hours, his phone rang. The moment he saw the blocked number on the screen, his heart stopped.

He answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Bash.”

“Judge Hayes,” Bash said, his voice smooth as ever. “I’ve got something for you. A small case. Should be right up your alley.”

Dorian swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

Bash chuckled. “You’ll know when you see it. I’ll send the file over tomorrow. Just make sure it gets handled the way I want it.”

Dorian’s hand tightened around the phone. “And if I refuse?”

There was a long, dangerous pause on the other end. “Refuse?” Bash’s voice was soft, almost amused. “There’s no refusing, Dorian. Not anymore. We both know that.”

Dorian closed his eyes, the reality of his situation sinking in deeper than ever. He had sold his soul, and now there was no way out.

“I’ll take care of it,” Dorian said quietly, his voice heavy with defeat.

Bash’s smile was almost audible through the phone. “Good. I knew you would.”

The line went dead.

Dorian sat there for a long time, staring at the phone in his hand. His dream of power, of prestige, of sitting above it all—had turned into a nightmare. And now, he realized, he wasn’t just trapped in a system of corruption.

He was a part of it. Forever.