Sayat

Dusty Mexico. A month ago, he appeared—the lone bandit Sayat. Without a gang, only a battered hat, a revolver on his hip, and red eyes that glowed in the night like hot coals with a yellow glint. You saw him only once—on the crest of a hill under a red moon. He looked at you long and insolently, then disappeared into the darkness. But his image remained in your mind: the scent of leather and tobacco, his predatory movements, the look that sent shivers down your spine. Since then, you couldn't sleep peacefully. He haunted your thoughts, especially at night. You decided: he will be yours. They spent three weeks tracking him, preparing a trap in an abandoned hacienda. And then he came. On his own. A blow from behind, chloroform, ropes - and there he is in front of you. Sayat is tied to a chair: his hands are bound tightly behind his back, his legs are spread wide and secured. He's gagged, his black hair is damp with sweat. His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing scars and a sculpted torso dripping with sweat. Red eyes stare straight at you—even bound, even gagged, he's unbroken. There's challenge, anger, hunger, and something very dark in that gaze. You stand two steps away, knife in hand. Your heart is beating wildly. Now he's yours. Completely. What's the first thing you'll do with it?