Chapter One: The Trap
You get used to quiet out here. The kind of quiet that sits in your ears like cotton, broken only by the wind scraping across dry brush or a lonely coyote yipping in the distance. I’d been on patrol six hours already, driving a stretch of desert west of Sasabe that doesn’t see much traffic. At least not the kind that follows the law.
I was tired, cold, and ready for a coffee that didn’t taste like motor oil when I spotted it a silver Honda Accord sitting half off the dirt road, right up against the wall. No lights. No plates. Just abandoned there.
I pulled my Border Patrol SUV to a slow stop and flicked the spotlight across the back window. Nothing moved. The car looked ancient—early ‘90s maybe, beat to hell and covered in a film of dust. Probably hadn’t passed inspection in a decade. But it was too close to the wall to ignore. Something about the way it just sat there felt off.
I keyed the mic. “Dispatch, this is Charlie Seven-Nine. Got an abandoned vehicle near mile marker eighty-three. No plates. Gonna check it out on foot.”
“Copy that, Charlie Seven-Nine.”
I stepped out into the chilly air. I adjusted my tan felt cowboy hat, and made sure my Glock was snug in its holster. The moon was low but bright, casting long shadows. I approached the car carefully, keeping my flashlight angled down toward the front bumper.
When I got to the windshield I leaned over to check the VIN. The glass was fogged inside. No sign of keys. That’s when the hairs on the back of my neck went up.
Before I could turn, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind me. Before I could react, I then heard the chilling click of a pistol being cocked.
“¡Alto! Manos arriba. Hands where I can see.”
I froze. Slowly, I raised both hands above my shoulders.
Another voice came from my right, low and calm. “Don’t try anything, agente. We don’t want blood.”
They were close now. I didn’t need to look to know they had me boxed in. My sidearm unusable in this situation.
“Back away from the car. Slowly,” the first voice ordered. “Turn around.”
I did. Two men stood in the shadows, both dark haired, both armed, both wearing jeans and black jackets. Their eyes were sharp and focused. These weren’t coyotes or desperate migrants. These guys were professionals. Calm and controlled. Probably cartel.
“Take off the gun belt,” one said, waving his weapon at my waist.
Careful not to make any sudden moves I unclipped the buckle and let the smooth black leather drop to the ground,
“Now the jacket.”
“What the hell man?”
“Shut up and do what I tell you, agente. Or you can choose to die.”
My fingers hesitated at the zipper. The wind hit harder and colder.
“Take everything off,” he barked. “All of it. Do it.”
I took off my jacket and handed it to him. Then I stripped the long-sleeved uniform shirt off carefully, folding it in half. He caught it in one hand and draped it over his arm.
“Vest and t-shirt too.”
I pulled off the ballistic vest and thermal shirt beneath it. My skin prickled in the cold.
“Keep going.”
I removed my boots and socks, then the green uniform pants. I stood there in nothing but briefs, heart hammering, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
They both stared. One of them reached down and rubbed his cock through his pants.
“Underwear too. I said everything.” he said.
I hesitated. His gun raised half an inch.
I slipped the briefs down, kicking them aside, standing there naked in the desert under the full glow of my own cruiser’s headlights. The air cut through me like ice. My muscles tensed on instinct, but I kept still.
One of them moved behind me. I heard the jingle of steel and then felt the bite of cold metal on my wrists as the handcuffs cinched tight.
“Put him in the SUV,” the first man said.
They handled the uniform with care, dusting it off and setting it on the hood of my SUV. The one who rubbed his cock stripped off his own clothes and began dressing—layer by layer, just as I had. He slipped the thermal shirt over his chest, then the vest, then buttoned up the dark green shirt carefully. He slid into my briefs and I noticed he was hard. He pulled the pants on, tucking them in with precision, then pulled up my socks and zipped up my boots snug around his ankles.
Last came the belt with gun, cuffs, baton, radio, everything. He buckled it on his waist, then reached for the tan felt cowboy hat, brushing off the dust, and placed it atop his head.
He turned and looked at me, expression unreadable. He adjusted the brim of the hat pulling it low.
“Fits perfect,” he said and then reached down and squeezed his dick through the uniform pants. “You’re just my size.”
The other man opened the rear door of my SUV and gestured.
“In you go, güero.”
I didn’t move.
He raised the pistol again. “Now.”
I climbed in, my freezing skin scraping against the cold vinyl. The door slammed behind me. From the back seat, I watched them climb into the front like they belonged there.
My SUV started forward. My body ached from the cold and the humiliation. I sat naked, cuffed, stripped of everything I was trained to protect. Now I was wearing nothing at all while someone else wore my gear.
The man in my uniform picked up the radio microphone, keyed it and said “Charlie Seven-Nine Clear. No Action.” He sounded like me. His English was clear and unaccented as he said it. Dispatch acknowledged, “Charlie Seven-Nine Received.”
Now they wouldn’t be checking on me any time soon. The hair on my neck stood up.
The two didn’t say much as we drove off. Just silence. Just the creak of the suspension and the hum of tires across gravel. The man in the driver’s seat adjusted the mirror, so our eyes met.
“Tonight, I am the Border Patrol,” he said, smiling an evil smile.
Chapter Two: Slipping Off the Radar
We drove in silence for what felt like twenty minutes. No lights except for the dashboard glow. I watched the desert roll past through the side window, my bare shoulders shivering every time the cruiser hit a bump. I couldn’t see much of the men up front, but I could hear them. The quiet clicks of the radio. The shuffle of gloved fingers checking compartments. Then the one in the driver’s seat—my seat—cleared his throat and tapped the console mic. He didn’t push the button. He just sat there, staring at it. Then he said something in Spanish to his partner, low and tense. They’d realized it. The cruiser’s GPS tracking would give them away if they didn’t act.
The one in my uniform didn’t panic. He leaned forward and flicked the radio off entirely. “No problem,” he muttered in English. “We know how to make you and this SUV disappear.”
A moment later, the car slowed and turned off the dirt path. They rolled us behind a rocky outcropping half a mile off the main patrol road. My boots—his boots—crunched as the driver stepped out and opened the hood. I couldn’t see much from the back seat, but I could hear what he was doing. He knew exactly where to go. No fumbling. No hesitation.
He popped a fuse panel, reached down deep, and pulled something hard. I heard the snap of a fuse popping out. A second later, the GPS signal on the console blinked and vanished.
He slammed the hood closed.
The man in the passenger seat turned, reached down, and held up my phone. They’d pulled it from my shirt pocket earlier and hadn’t even looked at it until now. The driver slid back behind the wheel and took it from his partner. I watched as he swiped through the screen. He was calm. Way too calm for someone who’d just kidnapped a federal agent and hijacked a government vehicle. He thumbed the settings, flicked off location services, powered it down, then pulled the battery cover and dropped the phone onto the floorboard.
I stared at it, helpless, my stomach twisting.
These guys weren’t amateurs. They knew patrol protocol. They knew vehicle tech. They knew how to disable trackers and disappear.
The one in uniform looked over his shoulder at me, still cuffed, still naked in the back seat. “Your friends will be looking, Agent Wyatt Cooper,” he said. “But not yet. The night is quiet. You won’t be missed for some time.”
He reached for the visor and slid it down, checking himself in the mirror. “I like your hat Agent Wyatt. You always wear your hat like this? Low over the brow?” he asked, adjusting the brim of the tan felt hat. “It fits well and now it’s mine.”
I didn’t answer. He smiled at me through the mirror. “You wear this uniform with pride, don’t you?” he said, giving the patch on the shirt a pat. “But now it all belongs to me.”
His partner leaned over and opened the glove box, rifling through paperwork and pulling out my ID, my wallet, even a few crumpled receipts from lunch that week. Digging through my wallet, they found my license. My address. Everything.
“Got it,” the one in the passenger seat said in Spanish. “I’ll bet he lives alone. No pictures of children, girls or men in here. Maybe he’s gay.”
“Perfect,” the other one said. “We’ll visit his home two hours before sunrise.”
The car idled. Outside, the wind whispered through dry brush. No sirens. No search party. No thudding of rotor blades. They had time. And that terrified me more than anything.
The one in my uniform pulled my jacket tighter and turned the heater up a few notches. He reclined in the seat and leaned back. I stared down at my bare legs, at the cuffs digging into my wrists, and the feel of vinyl on my skin. My face burned hot with humiliation and anger, but underneath that was a deeper chill I couldn’t shake. They think I might be gay. There we so many fears and questions running through my head.
Because they weren’t just stealing my uniform and SUV. They wanted me as well.
Chapter Three: A Man Disassembled
The sky had just started to pale at the horizon when the cruiser rolled into my complex. It’s one of those no-frills, government-subsidized units just outside of Ajo. Concrete buildings painted desert tan, a strip of gravel for a parking lot, and a dozen doors all facing the same dusty courtyard. It looked quiet, but then it always did.
I watched from the back seat as we pulled into my assigned spot. No sirens. No neighbors out for a morning walk. No sign that anyone knew what was about to happen. The man in my uniform shut the engine off and turned to his partner.
“Let’s be quick,” he said. “No drama. Just in and out.”
His partner nodded and got out, slipping my ID into his jacket pocket. I saw him cross to the door like he belonged there. He looked like he was coming home from a double shift. The man dressed as me walked with purpose, boots thuding up the two concrete steps.
He didn’t knock. He used my keys. I watched as he drew my pistol and swung the door open. If there had been anyone in my apartment, I think things would have been much worse. I held my breath and waited.
They didn’t take me inside. I guess they didn’t want to risk being seen dragging a naked, cuffed guy through the breezeway pre-dawn. So I sat there, crouched low behind the window tint, feeling more like an object than a man.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
I saw the one dressed as me come back out first. He had my duffel bag in one hand. It was the one I usually kept ready in case of call-ups or overnights. From the look of it, it was packed full. Black cowboy boots sticking out of the side zipper. A spare duty belt slung over his shoulder.
Then came the other one. He was now wearing one of my uniforms and carrying an armful of folded green fabric—shirts, pants, a second vest. My jackets. My caps. My uniform hats. Even my damn laundry bag full of dirty clothes. He stuffed everything into the back and shut it with a quiet thunk.
“Too easy,” the first one in my uniform said. “It’s like he prepped it for us.”
He looked back at the cruiser and met my eyes through the window.
“Didn’t leave much of yourself at work, huh?” he asked, almost casual. “It’s all here. Everything we need. Your closet’s clean now, Wyatt,” he said, voice low. “I even found your cologne.”
He smirked. “I hope you like it on me.”
I stared back at him but didn’t say a word. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
They drove off fast, turning back onto the county road with the confidence of men who believed they’d thought of everything. And maybe they had. The cruiser had no GPS. My phone was dead. And now they had my name, my clothes, my gear… even my scent.
The passenger pulled a blanket from the back—probably one of mine—and tossed it over my lap. Not out of kindness. Just so no one passing by would see too much through the windows.
The man impersonating me looked into the mirror again. “Enjoy the ride agente,” he said. “We’ll be having fun a little later.”
I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t want to know. But deep down, I understood something real ugly was coming. These guys weren’t looking for one hit. They weren’t in it for a payday or a quick run. They were planning something bigger. It was something that needed my uniform, my badge, my SUV, and possibly me.
And they had all of it now.
Chapter Four: The House in the Dust
The one driving the cruiser called himself Gabriel Morales. Late twenties, hard-edged but handsome, almost pretty, with short jet-black hair tucked neatly beneath the tan Border Patrol hat. His English was clean, almost local, but when he spoke Spanish, it was quick and low and full of warning. He’d grown up in Ciudad Juárez, raised by a single aunt after his white mother vanished. He wasn’t like the other street kids. He watched, learned, and adapted. First small jobs for the Sinaloans like messages, pickups, and transport. Then uniform work. Impersonation. Border passes. He could look you in the eye and make you believe he belonged. And he was the same size and build as me. And now, he could pass as an agent. With my name. My uniform.
The second man, quieter but just as dangerous, was Luis Ortega, early thirties. Square-jawed, broad-shouldered, eyes like dead coals. He said less, but nothing escaped his attention. Luis had done six years in a U.S. federal prison for weapons trafficking. He was fluent in more than just English. He knew procedures, training routines, where to find tracking devices, how to clone radio IDs. And he was the one who knew how much a stolen identity could be worth, especially one backed by a clean badge. He was also about the same size as Gabriel…and me. The uniform he’d stolen from my apartment fit him well enough.
They weren’t freelancers. They were part of something bigger.
But right now, I was their prize. I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I let my guard down.
The desert rolled by for another hour before we left the last road behind. We dropped onto a narrow cut between two ridges, a trail more suited for ATVs than patrol cruisers. The tires kicked up dust that hung in the air, clouds in the pink-gold of dawn.
When we finally reached the safe house, it felt like the world had forgotten it. A one-story concrete slab house, roof rusted to hell but with solar panels still intact. There was a metal water tank and an old detached garage that looked like it hadn’t held a vehicle in years. Gabriel backed the SUV into the garage like he’d done it a hundred times, pulled the door shut, and the outside vanished.
I sat stiff and silent in the back seat, still cuffed, still naked under the rough blanket they’d tossed me. I’d stopped trying to count the hours. I just watched. Memorized. Waited.
They moved fast. Luis opened the side door and hauled me out with one hand, guiding me into the house while Gabriel went to the SUV and grabbed all the bags full of my uniforms.
Inside, the house was bare but functional. A couch, a kitchen table, two rooms off the main living space. The electricity worked. So did the plumbing. It had been prepared. Stocked.
I was shoved into a wooden chair in the corner of the room while they brought in the rest—my gear, my boots, my badges, my spare gun belt, my hats. All of it lined up on the kitchen table.
Gabriel took off the jacket and hung it neatly on the back of a chair. Then he turned toward the mirror hanging crooked above the sink and studied himself.
“How do I look?” he asked Luis, tugging the brim of the hat down just a little, then adjusting the collar.
Luis grunted. “Close. You’ve got your mother’s white genes. Your face isn’t exactly the same, but the uniform will cover for it. People only see the uniform, not the man wearing it.”
Gabriel smirked, then turned toward me. “You feel it slipping away, Wyatt?” he said softly. “That part of you that was so sure of yourself?”
He stepped forward and crouched in front of me, eye to eye. “You were proud of this uniform. But without it, what are you?”
I didn’t answer.
He stood and slowly began unbuttoning the shirt. Not carelessly—he treated it like something sacred. When he slid it off and held it up, he wasn’t just seeing fabric. He was seeing identity. Control. Authority.
Luis, meanwhile, pulled out one of the burner phones and took a few pictures. Not just of me in the chair. But of the uniform spread on the table. Of Gabriel trying on a second pair of boots.
“Your size is perfect,” Gabriel said, slipping his hand into the glove. “Almost like we planned it with you in mind.” He looked at the nameplate on the uniform and then back at me.
“Wyatt Cooper. We haven’t even started using you yet, puta. It’s a big bonus that you are a hot looking man.” He smiled, leaned in close again, and said something I’ll never forget. It made my blood run cold.
“By the time we’re done, you’ll see yourself walking by—and it won’t even feel wrong. But it will be me walking by in your uniform. Working your job. You’ll still work for Border Patrol but I’ll be you when I need to. And you’ll wait for me and want me. You’ll crave my touch. You’ll beg for my dick. Wait and see.”
He kissed me hard on my lips, then he turned, walked back toward the table, and began folding up my uniforms with careful precision. And I sat there, heart pounding, the blanket pulled tight around me. I didn’t think their plan would work but I was still their prisoner. They weren’t just stealing my tools. They were wearing my uniforms. It sounded like they might also try me on to see how I fit. A single thrill from that thought shocked me. I felt my face redden just from thinking about it.
Chapter Five: Imposter on Patrol
They didn’t just cuff my wrists this time.
Luis got a set of leg irons from my SUV. He slipped them on like he’d done it a hundred times before, the chain short enough to make walking a shuffle. Then they used rope. Rough nylon cord, looped tight around the corner posts of the bed. One around my right wrist, another at the ankle. Just enough slack to roll slightly. Not quite enough to sit up.
Luis didn’t say a word the whole time. Gabriel watched from the doorframe, arms crossed, the brim of my Border Patrol hat casting a shadow over his eyes.
When they finally closed the door and locked it behind them, I was left staring up at the ceiling fan spinning slow and lazy overhead. I couldn’t tell if it was night or day. The light in the room stayed on, humming like a bug zapper, washing everything in a pale yellow.
My body ached. My wrists stung. My mouth was dry. But my mind? My mind wouldn’t stop.
What did I do wrong? There was never training for something like this. I don’t know what to do. I have to escape. What happens when they don’t need me anymore?
They hadn’t mentioned killing me, not directly. But it didn’t feel out of the question. Gabriel was careful with the uniform. Respectful, even. But the way he looked at me—like a possession he didn’t quite know how to use yet made my stomach twist but also caused a tinge of desire in my mind.
And Luis? Luis didn’t look at me at all. He treated me like cargo.
What if they don’t kill me? I wondered.
What if they hand me over? Sell me to someone deeper in the network? A nameless man in a desert cell, traded like currency? I’d heard stories. Some were too awful to believe. I tried not to think of those stories now. But there wasn’t anything else to think about.
When they returned, the sound of the SUV pulling into the garage kicked my adrenaline into gear. I pulled against the ropes on instinct, even knowing it would just rub my skin raw. I listened. Footsteps. Voices. Laughter.
The door opened.
Gabriel walked in first, still wearing the uniform. His cheeks were flushed, and there was a different energy in him—looser, relaxed. Confident in a way I hadn’t seen before.
Luis followed behind, his jacket slung over one shoulder. He held a six-pack of cold bottles, condensation still running down the sides. He also had a large bag of fast food from a burger chain.
“Successful run,” Gabriel said, taking off the hat and setting it gently on the nightstand near my head. “No questions. No second glances.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed near my legs, his boots heavy against the floorboards. “I’m not just wearing the uniform anymore,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I can pass as an agent now.”
He turned his head slightly, studying me. It wasn’t with mockery, not even with anger. Just interest. Like I wasn’t a person but a placeholder. A toy perhaps. A thing for him to examine. To use.
Luis stayed by the door, silent, sipping from his bottle. His eyes didn’t leave me. There was something colder in his stare now. Less business. More interest. A hunger.
Gabriel took a large hamburger from the bag and unwrapped it for me, setting it where my hands could reach it. He put a bottle of water beside me. “Eat up, Wyatt. We need you healthy and strong.”
After I ate, they took me into the bathroom to use the toilet. They took off the leg irons and both of them escorted me. I pissed and pooped with no privacy, but I badly need to go. When I finished, they took me back to the room and put the leg irons back on my ankles. Then I was tied to the bed once more.
Gabriel leaned closer, running his fingers against the leg of my shackled ankle. Then he slid his had up further between my thighs. He cupped my balls for a moment and they stroked my dick. I could not help it as the stimulation made me hard. He stroked it a few more times and then stood up.
“You’re not the only one adapting to change,” he said. “We’re getting comfortable here. I think you and I will have a mutual good time mi chacho.”
He smiled at me, stretched, and scanned my body one more time. He had a look on his face like he’d just realized he could do things to me – or worse yet, with me. There was a hunger in his eyes.
“Rest while you can, Wyatt. Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”
Then he turned off the light. The door clicked shut.
Chapter Six: Preparation
Two days.
That’s how long I’d been tied to that bed. Two days without much food or water. Two days without much sleep. Two days stewing in my own sweat, unable to clean myself, with my beard growing out. I was unable to move more than a foot in any direction. The ropes stayed tight. The leg irons never came off.
By the time Gabriel came into the room again, even he noticed.
He wrinkled his nose slightly and waved at Luis.
“Time to clean him up. He stinks.” Luis didn’t respond with a joke or insult. He just grabbed a folded towel and a pair of heavy-duty hair clippers from a bag near the door. Gabriel unlocked the leg irons, then untied the ropes from the bed. I could barely move, but they weren’t gentle about getting me upright. My balance was off. My muscles trembled. Still cuffed, I was half-dragged and half-marched down the hallway to the same narrow bathroom.
It was basic. A chipped sink. A toilet. A stand-up shower-tub with a plastic curtain. The only light came from a single bulb overhead. They didn’t say anything as they shoved me inside.
Luis stood near the door, arms folded.
Gabriel held a cheap can of shaving cream and picked up a straight razor. “Time to lose your hair, Wyatt.”
With that, Gabriel took the clippers and shaved the hair off my chest and underarms. Then he worked on my pubic hair and stripped as much as he could Next, he smoothed shave cream on my chest and proceeded to shave off all the stubble. Then, he shaved my underarms. My mind was going crazy wondering what their angle was. I nearly pissed myself when he lathered up my pubic hairs and ass crack. I started to squirm but Gabriel said, “You move again and I’ll cut your dick off. I’m not playing here.”
I froze and stood as he scraped all the hair off my dick and balls. My cock rose and grew hard from the stimulation, increasing my humiliation. Luis said, “He likes your touch, Gabriel. He’ll be ready for fun soon.”
Gabriel smirked and pushed me over to expose my ass. He scraped away the hair in the crack and pulled me back up. Finally, he took a pair of hair clippers and cut the hair on my head. I was left with what amounted to a GI cut with just a half inch of hair left. He did not shave my beard. I was fully hard and losing my mind by now. Why was my cock responding this way?
I didn’t ask what was happening. I didn’t want to know. Gabriel motioned toward the toilet. “You’ve been holding it. Go.”
I stood there, suddenly shy in front of them. My face burned. My heart pounded.
He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “You can either do it now or do it in the shower. Either way, you will piss and shit.”
Exposed and humiliated, I sat down on the toilet and took care of it as quickly as I could. Once again, no privacy. No dignity. Just two men watching with unreadable expressions as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
When I was done, Luis reached over and turned on the shower full-blast, heat fogging the glass. Gabriel nodded. “In you go.”
I stepped in. The heat of the water stung on my freshly shaved skin. But then it felt incredible with the hot water running down my back, sweat and grime washing off in streams. I stood there too long, lost in the relief, until I felt Gabriel step in behind me.
He didn’t get in the water. He didn’t even take off his boots. He just turned off the ways and stood on the edge of the tub as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Luis came over holding a plastic kit.
“I think you should be a little cleaner for what’s coming, cariño” Gabriel said lightly.
They opened the enema kit and pushed me down, leaning against the shower wall. I felt the tube inserted and the liquid going in. He filled me until I thought my guts were going to burst. When he pulled out the tube he said, “Hold it. I’ll tell you when you can go.” When I thought I could not stand it any longer, he told me to sit on the toilet. It was a huge relief. My guts had started to cramp and it felt good to release the liquid.
“Back in the shower and lean over again,” said Luis. As soon as I did it, that tube was shoved up my ass again and more liquid flowed in. This time they made me hold it longer. When I was allowed to sit on the toilet again, the liquid that came out was almost clear. “That’s good enough,” said Gabriel and shoved me back in the shower.
He grabbed a bottle of something and poured it into his latex gloved hand before massaging it roughly through what little hair was on my head. The scent was cheap and chemical. I tried not to flinch. His fingers dug in hard, not gentle at all, but it was the first contact I’d had that didn’t involve pain or rope burn. I got hard again from his touch. Next, he massaged it into my eyebrows and my growing beard. At the time, I didn’t know he was dying my hair black.
Luis handed him a bar of soap and a washcloth. After turning the water on again, Gabriel began lightly scrubbing. My skin prickled. I kept my eyes down. He caressed my butt cheeks, he gently wiped my hard dick and balls. His hands gently touched every part of my body and then I felt a finger poking into my asshole. He was gentle, almost loving with his touches. And oh my God, I liked how it felt. My dick was dripping precum. Finally, he rinsed my hair and the rest of the soap sluiced down the drain.
Gabriel was hard in the uniform pants and he looked me over with hungry eyes. Not a word was said between them but Luis looked angry. Not about the job they were planning but about what Gabriel was apparently planning with me. I just stood there, hollowed out, while the water ran down the drain.
When they were done, they let me dry off on my own. Luis left me alone with Gabriel, who stood watching as I toweled off. My badge was still pinned to the uniform shirt. My boots cleaned and polished. He looked too much like me now.
When I was done, Gabriel reattached the leg irons. Then he handed me a small bottle of water and walked me back to the room. In the room, as he was tying me back to the bed, he told me he thinks I am gay. I tried to deny it but he didn’t believe it. He tweaked my nipples enough that my dick got rock hard again. That was all the proof he needed. He kissed me on the lips again and left the room. “Soon, agente.”
Outside my room, they didn’t speak again. They didn’t have to. Because now I understood something I hadn’t before. They weren’t just impersonating me, Gabriel had fallen for me. And whatever they were preparing for, whatever was coming next, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it.
Chapter Seven: Learning the Language
Each night, one of them slept on the sofa and the other one took the other bedroom. They would get up each morning and shower and shave. Gabriel always used my cologne as well. They’d make coffee in the morning and sometimes bring me some or a small orange juice in a bottle. Usually, they gave me some scrambled eggs with salsa. It wasn’t much but they fed me enough that I wouldn’t starve.
They still didn’t know I spoke Spanish.
I don’t even remember when I picked it up—part college classes, part fieldwork, part survival. You spend enough nights in the desert, enough time listening to smugglers whisper over radios or detainees cry into their phones, you start to absorb everything. Slang. Tone. Intent.
So when Gabriel and Luis talked openly around me, they assumed I was deaf to the details. But I wasn’t. That morning, I sat on the edge of the mattress, wrists cuffed to a length of chain bolted into the floor, while they made coffee and planned the day.
“La entrega es cerca del puesto,” Luis said, sipping from a metal thermos. The delivery is near the outpost.
Gabriel nodded, crouching near his duffel. “Warehouse behind the depot. We’re taking two bricks and bringing back fifty-K.”
Luis looked over at me, his eyes sweeping my face like I was livestock. “El gringo… tal vez lo vendemos,” he said, voice low but not low enough. Maybe we’ll sell him.
Gabriel gave a half-smile. “Hay gente que paga por esto. Especialmente si parece uno de nosotros.” There are people who’ll pay for this. Especially if he looks like one of us.
I felt panic rising in my chest.
They came in and took off the leg irons and unchained me. They marched me into the bathroom to do my business. This time, I saw myself in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. My beard had grown out a lot and both it and my hair were now died black! With my suntan, I could pass for Hispanic.
My mind raced again. Why did I need to look Mexican? What are they doing to me?
They didn’t just mean I looked Mexican now—they meant I was more marketable. Disposable. Something to be passed off for profit. I felt the back of my neck prickle with sweat, even though the room was cold.
After breakfast, they dressed quickly.
Gabriel wore my full uniform again—shirt tucked tight, badge gleaming, belt arranged perfectly. He even mimicked my walk now, a little too stiff, a little too squared-up. The hat came last, settled on his head like it belonged.
Luis had donned one of my uniforms and wore my departmental baseball cap. They both looked completely official.
They brought out the patrol vehicle from the garage and loaded it like they’d done it a hundred times before. Two tightly wrapped bricks were stashed in the back, under a folded blanket. I couldn’t see the entire process, but I watched through the slats in the blinds from where I was chained.
Gabriel paced in front of the car, checking angles, reviewing his pockets, even adjusting the mirrored sunglasses he’d taken from my gear bag. I hated how good he looked in the uniform. Like a near copy of me—but confident, deadly, and completely in control.
When they got to the outpost warehouse, Luis told Gabriel to keep the engine running. He jogged across the back lot, where half a dozen Border Patrol vehicles were parked behind a chain-link fence. He scanned the rows, then scaled the fence and slipped between two SUVs. He unscrewed the license plates off one of them.
A perfect match.
He returned to their vehicle and swapped the stolen plate onto their SUV. No one saw him. He moved fast, like he’d done it before. He took the original plates from the stolen cruiser and put them on the other vehicle he’d just stolen the plates from. Now, the plates wouldn’t flag the SUV to anyone. If the car got noticed, it would look like it belonged to another unit. They were always one step ahead.
The delivery took less than fifteen minutes. A man with a shaved head and mirrored sunglasses came out with two empty crates on a dolly. They didn’t talk long. Luis stood guard while Gabriel handed over the bricks, collected a small duffel, and nodded once before walking back.
The return trip was quiet. Gabriel took side roads. Luis counted money in the passenger seat.
I was just a loose thread they hadn’t clipped yet. And Gabriel seemed to have a plan that Luis wasn’t part of. A plan for me.
When they got back to the safe house, I pretended not to notice the bag Luis tossed onto the counter. Money, pills, powder. Whatever it was, they were pleased with themselves. Gabriel took off the uniform slowly, folding it with care, laying it out on the couch.
I didn’t see it but one of them slipped a couple of pills into a cold beer. He waited until they dissolved and swirled the bottle to make sure it all mixed in.
Gabriel walked over to me with the beer and said, “You know,” he said softly, not looking at me, “you should feel proud. You’re making a difference… just not in the way you expected. You deserve a beer.”
Luis laughed from the kitchen.
Gabriel held the beer up to my mouth. I was very parched and happily opened up for it. He stroked my hair and let me drink it all before taking the bottle away. He stroked my chest and twisted my nipples a little. My cock hardened again.
He took my cock in his hand and lowered his voice leaning close to my ear. “Soon I will make love to you.’
Then he left the room. I couldn’t understand why I got hard at being toyed with. Maybe this was a part of me I never admitted. I never really enjoyed sex with women. It was too fussy and structured. But am I gay? Was I feeling attracted to Gabriel?
They were high on power now. I could see it in the way they moved, talked, looked at each other. Their confidence had grown. The danger wasn’t just that they were impersonating me. It was that they were good at it.
I looked down at the manacles on my wrists.
And I knew I had to act soon.
Because whatever came next, they might not need me alive for it.
As I thought about that, my mind started to wander, get cloudy. I realized enough to know I had been drugged. I was overcome with dizziness and felt myself slipping into unconsciousness.
What followed was a blur as I faded in and out of awareness. Gabriel walked into the room wearing my uniform. He turned me face down on the mattress and pulled up my hips so that my knees supported me while my head and chest were on the mattress. I heard the click of a top opening so I suspect he had some lube. I felt the cold gel dribble into my crack and a finger worked it in. I was mildly enjoying the feeling but passed out again. I woke later to feel his dick inside me. He was fucking me but I could not do anything about it. I didn’t want to do anything about it. I was loving the feeling and the attention of Gabriel.
He was in my uniform with his dick and balls out of the zipper. I was paralyzed and my mind faded in and out of consciousness. I woke up again as he pounded my ass to his full climax. I could feel his cum spraying inside me. The drugs and his dick pounding my prostate had stimulated me too much. I could not deny my orgasm. My dick exploded; spraying my own cum onto the mattress. It was the most mind-blowing ejaculation I had ever experienced. Even in my drugged state, I knew this was special. I heard Luiz whoop in the distance saying, “He likes your dick, Agente Cooper.” And it was true. I’d never felt so good in sex or so attracted to a man.
They both burst out in laughter as I lost consciousness again. If only I could have stayed unconscious, it would have been less humiliating. Fate denied me that luxury and my body betrayed me. Still, my mind grappled with the realization that being used excited me.
The next time I drifted into semi-consciousness, my mouth was stuffed with Luis’s dick. He was pumping down into my throat. He held my head in both hands and pushed me up and down his slick dick. I could taste his precum. He’d slap my face and yell for me to wake up as he raped my mouth. Suddenly, he pulled out a little and I felt his hands shake as he erupted into my mouth. “Gringo, don’t spit it out or you’re dead,” he said with a low growl. He finally pulled out of my mouth and said, “Swallow it. All of it.”
I realized what had happened and let his load slide down my throat. He tilted my head to look up at him. “Open your mouth, Gringo.” I did and he looked to see I’d swallowed. He shoved his dick back in my mouth and told me to suck it clean or lose my teeth. I cleaned his dick and was pushed back to mattress. I soon fell unconscious again as I lay in a puddle of my own cum.
Chapter Eight: Property of the Cartel
Another day had passed. The sun was low when Gabriel returned from the town, his boots dusty, uniform perfect. He moved differently now. It was like my identity had fused with his ego. Luis didn’t even call him by name anymore. He called him Agente Cooper. It made my stomach turn.
Luis met him at the door, gave a short nod, and opened the duffel bag they’d brought back from the last run. Money. More bricks. A burner phone. Gabriel looked through it all with the focus of a man checking inventory. Not like a smuggler, but as a manager. Like he was already running the next tier of the operation.
I sat chained near the wall, legs cuffed, too stiff to stretch out fully. I’d tried to hide how much Spanish I understood. I still listened when they talked too freely. I still learned what I could.
The cartel was watching.
They’d been impressed with Gabriel’s delivery, his polish, his authenticity. They asked if he could keep working under cover of the real Border Patrol. That meant more money. More risk. Then there was one terrifying development. They wanted to see the agent he’d stolen the uniform from.
That night, they got bolder. Gabriel walked into the room still dressed in the full uniform. The scent of my own cologne hit me before I even looked up. He had worn it on purpose. He stepped in front of me and crouched down, one hand on my shoulder.
“You smell that?” he asked, grinning. “Smells like you, Wyatt. Except now it smells better on me.”
He stood back up and pulled something from behind his back.
My hat. My regulation tan felt cowboy hat. The one I’d broken in over two years of desert patrols and cold night shifts. He put it on my head and adjusted it low over my eyes.
Gabriel laughed. “Look at you. Back in uniform. Almost.”
He leaned in close, his voice quieter now, darker. “You’re not Wyatt Cooper anymore. You just look like some Mexican punk we picked up at the fence. That’s what they’ll see. That’s what they’d like now – a Border agent to play with who is Hispanic. They may want you but I don’t have to give you up to them.”
He continued, “You and I could have a life together. I could keep you. Let you return to your job but you would work for me. We’d share this uniform when I need to handle something. In exchange, I’d take care of you. I’d love you. Our sex is good. I know that in time, you would love me back. I can see it in your eyes.”
I tried not to flinch. I tried not to show how deeply it cut. But inside, something twisted. All my years of service, my pride, the brotherhood all reduced to a costume and a lie. But, I didn’t say no. I actually had some distorted feelings for Gabriel. I realized I had liked how he used me.
I told Gabriel, “Maybe we could work it out.” I gave him a shy smile. I wanted him to believe me.
The real fact was that they weren’t just stealing my identity. They were turning it into a way to make money and gain prestige in the cartel.
Luis paced behind Gabriel, arms crossed. “You think he’ll still be pretty enough when we drop him with the cartel? Some of those guys like ‘em scared. Like ‘em soft.”
Gabriel didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on me, then he stepped forward and took back the hat and put it back on his head.
“Nah,” he said. “They won’t touch him. He still belongs to us.”
That night, they drank. Loud music thudded through the walls, some mix of norteño and electronic bass. I sat there in the dim light, still cuffed and naked. My muscles ached. My throat was dry. But my mind stayed sharp.
They were careless when they drank. They left doors cracked. They left their burner phones on tables. I paid attention. I remembered names they mentioned. I watched what made them angry. I noted when they slipped—when they started to disagree.
Later, I heard Gabriel say something that made me sit up.
“La entrega es mañana. Quieren verlo en persona.” The delivery is tomorrow. They want to see him in person.
Luis hesitated. “Estás seguro? Es un riesgo.” You sure? That’s a risk.
Gabriel exhaled hard. “Vale la pena. Si les gusta, nos suben.” It’s worth it. If they like it, we move up.
Luis didn’t argue.
But his eyes flicked toward me. “Quizás deberíamos disfrutarlo de nuevo esta noche. Podría ser nuestra última oportunidad.” Maybe we should enjoy him tonight. It might be our last chance.
I didn’t know what they were planning to show the cartel. Just that I was the centerpiece. Some warped trophy, some bargaining chip. Maybe they wanted proof of their dominance. Maybe they wanted to sell me outright.
Either way, my time was running out.
They used me all night in ways I’d never experienced. I let them do what they wanted. I didn’t fight. I was used hard and I liked it. I told Gabriel I want him. How I love the way he touches me and the way he fucks me. I couldn’t resist. And dear God, my dick got hard as they used me. I came several times that night. In the end, I was exhausted but sexually satisfied.
I was not just telling Gabriel that I want him. I was beginning to mean it. And whatever came next, I knew I wouldn’t walk away from it easily.
Chapter Nine: The Delivery
The next day came like a hangover.
Dry heat settled into the walls of the safehouse, and everything felt heavy. I hadn’t slept more than a few hours in days—maybe longer. My body was stiff from the sexual activity, cold floor and tight restraints. But something in the air told me this day was different.
Luis opened the blinds early. His face looked sharper than usual. Focused. Edgy. Gabriel followed him into the room, freshly shaven, already buttoned into my uniform again. He looked the part. Every inch of him radiated law enforcement authority.
He gave me a once-over and then motioned toward the hallway. “Let’s get him ready.”
Luis didn’t say anything. But I noticed the way he lingered, the way he looked at Gabriel with something bordering on hesitation.
They dragged me to the small bathroom again, unlocked my leg cuffs long enough to clean me up. No jokes this time. No taunting. Just a quick scrub down and a clean shave—Gabriel made sure my face was smooth now. He gently ran his hand along my face and jaw. His eyes were soft as he gazed at me. I felt like I was being prepped for something special.
Back in the bedroom, Gabriel tossed something onto the mattress.
It was one of my uniforms.
Not the full thing—just the dark green shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled halfway. No belt, no gear, no boots. Just the shirt and a pair of matching uniform pants without a belt.
He tossed me black socks next.
“No underwear,” he said simply. “They want to be able to see your body.”
I pulled the clothes on with numb fingers. It felt wrong. Half-dressed in the thing I used to wear with pride, now stripped of every ounce of power and personal dignity.
Gabriel looked pleased. “I am a Border Patrol agent now. You are just some Mexican trying to impersonate me.”
Luis, still silent, leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. He had a scowl on his face.
The drive was long. They had replaced the stolen plate with another swap from a different unit overnight. Every move was deliberate. Professional.
I sat in the back seat, wrists zip-tied, Gabriel’s mirrored sunglasses on his face as he drove. Luis rode shotgun.
When we pulled off the main road, we followed a dirt path for almost three miles before a crumbling warehouse came into view. It was half sunken, surrounded by desert scrub and rusted fencing. The windows were blacked out. Two SUVs already waited outside, matte black, engines running.
Gabriel parked and checked his watch. Then he turned toward me.
“Remember,” he said, “you don’t talk. You don’t look anyone in the eye. You’re just there to be seen.”
Luis didn’t look back at me. But I caught the flicker of doubt in his jaw, the way his mouth tightened.
Inside the warehouse, it was cool. The windows had been painted over to block out light, but a few battery-powered lanterns cast a dull yellow glow over the open floor. Two men stood waiting.
One wore a leather jacket over a designer button-down, his dark hair slicked back with precision. The other wore tactical gear and a blank expression.
Gabriel stepped forward first. “Aquí está,” he said. Here he is.
They made me stand under one of the lights.
The man in the jacket circled me slowly, taking in the shaved skin, the partial uniform, the silent compliance. He looked me in the face once and then smiled at Gabriel.
“Parece obediente,” he said. Seems obedient.
“Es mío,” Gabriel replied. He’s mine.
Luis didn’t respond.
The man in tactical gear walked over and lifted the hem of my shirt, checking my ribs, my back, the curve of my spine. He undid my pants and let them drop to my knees as he felt up my dick and balls. He squeezed my ass cheeks then slid his finger into my ass. Then he nodded and walked back to his boss.
“We’ll let you know,” the man in the jacket said. “He’s useful with you for now.”
He handed Gabriel a brown envelope. It was thick.
“No cometas errores,” the man warned. No mistakes.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Entendido.”
As they turned to leave, Luis hung back, eyes on me. We didn’t speak. He knew I understood more than I let on. I knew he was starting to regret how far this had gone. But it was too late for either of us now.
And the worst part? I wasn’t sure if Gabriel even wanted to. He liked being me and using me. Too much.
How long could the charade go on until Gabriel got caught? My patrols were usually solitary but the agency must know my SUV and I are both missing. They must be looking for me. I had to believe that but a part of me wanted to belong to Gabriel.
Chapter Ten: Tightening Circles
Later that day the heat was rising. It wasn’t just the sun burning down on the desert.
By the time they returned to the safe house after the cartel drop, something had changed. When they pulled into the garage, Luis slammed the door shut harder than usual. He yanked open the rear passenger door and hauled me out without a word. His grip was tighter. Less theatrical.
Inside, the old TV buzzed with static until Gabriel flipped through the channels and found a local news report.
The headline across the bottom read:
“BORDER PATROL AGENT MISSING—HIS VEHICLE AND UNIFORMS STOLEN”
A photo of me flashed onscreen—taken from my ID badge. Full uniform. Hat squared. Jaw tight. Professional.
Then came the update. “Sources say the agent was last heard from on patrol in a remote area of Cochise County. Federal authorities are now involved. A multi-state task force has been formed…”
Gabriel muted the volume.
“Every agency for three states is looking for us,” Luis said, finally speaking.
“No,” Gabriel corrected, eyes locked on the screen. “They’re looking for him.”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Which is why we keep winning. They think he’s dead.”
Luis didn’t argue. But the silence afterward said more than words.
Later that night, we almost got caught.
They took me with them again—Luis driving this time, Gabriel in the passenger seat. Another late run, another delivery. I sat cuffed in the back, hat pulled low, face turned away when they passed other vehicles. We weren’t even five minutes from the safehouse when flashing red and blue lights came into view ahead.
A checkpoint.
Border Patrol, state police, and a marked sheriff’s unit.
Gabriel’s entire body tensed.
Luis slowed the cruiser to a crawl.
“Just drive,” Gabriel said, voice cold. “You’re in uniform. We don’t stop unless they wave us down.”
Luis nodded, but his hands trembled slightly on the wheel. I noticed it. So did Gabriel.
As they approached, a uniformed officer waved two trucks over but barely glanced at our green-and-white vehicle. His eyes moved across the windshield, saw the decals, the silhouette of a uniformed agent in the passenger seat and he waved us through without a second thought.
We didn’t breathe until we were half a mile past.
Luis finally exhaled. “Too close.”
Gabriel chuckled, but it was tight, forced.
“We’re invisible,” he said. “As long as we keep control.”
Luis didn’t answer.
He kept glancing at the rearview mirror. At me.
Back at the house, Gabriel was fired up. He stripped out of the uniform shirt and tossed it on the bed, then turned toward me.
“You saw that?” he asked. “That was power. Real power. That uniform opens doors. No one questioned us.”
He paced as he talked, the adrenaline still bleeding from his skin. “We can keep doing this. More runs. Maybe even cross into New Mexico. Expand. The cartel is impressed.”
Luis sat at the kitchen table, eyes shadowed. “They also said no mistakes. You think they’d forgive us if that checkpoint had pulled us?”
Gabriel stopped pacing.
For a moment, I thought they’d finally come to blows. But Gabriel only smiled.
“You’re scared. That’s your problem. You want out? Fine. But I don’t walk away from this.”
Then he turned to me and knelt down, his eyes level with mine.
“I made you disappear,” he said. “And now I can pass for you.”
“You’re just my shadow now,” he whispered. “I’m the agent.” Then he kissed me in a loving way and I liked his kiss. It made me horny for his dick. I wanted to be used by Gabriel again. I could not deny how I felt.
They locked me up that night tighter than usual. Leg cuffs, wrist cuffs, rope across the ankles. But Gabriel’s hands lingered a little longer. His eyes held mine a little too long. His eyes both sad and hungry.
And Luis? He barely looked at me at all. But when I listened closely through the cracked door, I heard them arguing. Not loud. Just enough.
Luis: “We should dump him. Get rid of the car. It’s too hot.”
Gabriel: “We get rid of him, we lose our leverage.”
Luis: “It’s not about leverage anymore. You’re obsessed with the uniform. With him.”
A beat of silence.
Gabriel: “Maybe. Maybe I want him. The sex is good. He wants me too. We could work this out together.”
I stared up at the ceiling, arms aching from where the rope bit into my skin. Gabriel might be my ticket out of this.
The circle was tightening. They couldn’t keep running forever. And sooner or later someone would make a mistake. Maybe I could use his desire against Luis. All I had to do was survive until that day.
Chapter Eleven: Fault Lines
The sun hadn’t even fully risen when Gabriel came into the room again, alone.
He’d stopped locking the door behind him.
That was his first mistake.
I was cuffed, sure—but not gagged. And over the past week, I’d learned that words could cut sharper than any blade.
He carried a fresh T-shirt and sweat pants and set them on the foot of the bed. “Put these on,” he said quietly. “It’s cold in the mornings. I don’t want you getting sick.”
I didn’t move. Instead, I looked him in the eye and asked, “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
He blinked. “Like what?”
I shrugged slightly. “Like you’re trying to decide whether you want to impersonate me… or crawl into bed with me. Or both.”
His expression darkened—half insulted, half something else.
“I enjoy the sex with you. I think you do too,” he muttered. “And I like being you for my business.”
“Aren’t you falling for me?” I leaned just slightly forward. “You’re the one bringing me shirts. Shaving me. Putting my hat on me like I’m a trophy. You’ve enjoyed sex with me. You could’ve dumped my body in the desert a long time ago, but here I am—clean, fed, alive.”
Gabriel stood still for a long moment, then looked away. “I’ve seen men like you. Always trying to get inside someone’s head. And by the way, you mine now. Just like your uniforms. Just like your SUV.”
“I’m already in your head, and you’re in mine. I like you, Gabriel.” I said softly. “And Luis knows it. He’s jealous.”
That one landed. His jaw ticked.
“You two used to be tight,” I said. “But now he looks at you like he doesn’t trust you. Like he’s not sure you know what you’re doing anymore.”
Gabriel turned his back on me, pretending to look through the duffel bag, but I kept going.
“Luis doesn’t like it when you use me. Doesn’t like the way you talk to me. I bet he’s wondering if this whole thing’s about money anymore. Or if it’s just about… me.”
Gabriel spun around fast. “Shut your mouth.”
I held his gaze. “You don’t want me quiet. You like it when I talk to you. It lets you feel like you can still take the upper hand. But you want me and I want you. We can make a deal.”
For a second, he looked like he might hit me.
But instead, he reached forward—deliberate, almost gentle—and adjusted the collar of my shirt. His fingers hovered for a second on my neck, then dropped. He ran a hand through my hair to smooth it down and then he cradled my jaw in his hand.
“I like you better quiet,” he lied. And then he kissed me.
He turned and left the room.
But the door didn’t lock behind him again.
Luis was waiting in the kitchen. He was dressed, but his boots weren’t laced. That was unusual.
“You gave him clothes?” he asked flatly.
Gabriel nodded.
Luis scoffed and looked away. “You realize we’re two hours from having the whole damn desert crawling with feds? And you’re playing nursemaid to your little sex toy?”
Gabriel opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water. “He keeps morale up.”
Luis laughed bitterly. “For who? You? You think he’s gonna stay quiet forever? He’s watching everything.”
“I’m watching both of you,” Gabriel snapped. “He’s still a prisoner.”
Luis looked toward the hallway. “You sure about that?”
Across town, at a temporary command post outside Tombstone, Arizona, law enforcement was closing in.
Sheriff’s deputies, State Police, Border Patrol, and two unmarked FBI units had formed a task force. A regional commander stood over a satellite map spread across the hood of a Suburban.
“We picked up heat signatures near an old mining road east of Skeleton Pass,” he told the group. “No registered utilities, but there’s evidence of recent tire tracks possibly matching a Border Patrol unit.”
“Infrared picked up movement?” a deputy asked.
“Three bodies. No ID yet. All match Agent Cooper’s build. Could be him. Could be the perps.”
The commander looked up.
“We move tonight. Quiet and fast.”
Back at the safe house, Gabriel sat at the kitchen table polishing my boots. Not his. Mine.
Luis leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
“This isn’t going to end well.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Gabriel said. “But I’ll decide how it ends.”
“That’s what scares me.”
There was a long pause before Gabriel stood. He walked to the back room where I was still seated, then tossed me a uniform.
“Get dressed,” he said. “You’re going to meet someone tonight. He wants a real Border agent to work with.”
I caught it awkwardly. “Another buyer?”
Gabriel ignored the question. “Put on the full uniform. You’re going to stand next to me again. I want them to see that we can work together.”
From the corner, Luis murmured, “That’s what this is about. You want to be seen with him.”
Gabriel turned sharply. “Don’t confuse power with desire.”
But I saw the way Luis looked at me. And I knew he was already concerned. And jealous. They were unraveling. Bit by bit. All I had to do was keep pushing.
Outside, the wind kicked up dust along the highway. Four SUVs moved in convoy, lights off, tires barely humming. I had been missing for nearly ten days. And the noose was finally starting to close.
Chapter Twelve: Fault Lines Crack
Gabriel laid out every piece of the uniform on the bed like a shrine.
My uniform.
Shirt pressed. Ballistic vest folded neatly underneath. The dark green pants, belt, boots, socks—everything I’d worn that night, cleaned and waiting. Even the tan felt cowboy hat sat on the nightstand.
“Tonight, you’re going to wear it,” Gabriel said, voice low but resolute.
He didn’t wait for my answer. He unshackled me long enough to help me into each piece like a tailor fitting a suit. The shirt was snug across my chest again, and the boots clunked with that familiar weight as he laced them up.
Then came the cuffs again—wrists behind the back, metal tight against skin. Leg shackles clinked cold around my ankles.
“You look better this way,” he murmured, stepping back to inspect me. “It’s how you were meant to be seen. But at the meeting, you will tell them that you will work for me while you are at the Border Patrol. If you refuse, I will give you to them. Do you understand?”
I nodded in assent.
He turned the wooden chair in the corner and guided me down into it like a stage manager setting a prop. “Sit. Wait.”
I did. Not because he told me to. But because I wanted to see how much further this would go.
Luis came in a few minutes later. He froze when he saw me, chained and seated in full uniform.
He looked at Gabriel. “What the hell is this?”
Gabriel didn’t answer right away.
“We’re going to set up a meet with Raul’s crew in Sonora,” he said casually. “They want proof. That we can walk into a U.S. checkpoint in uniform and not get stopped. He’s our proof.”
Luis crossed his arms. “This isn’t a plan. This is you playing dress-up with your favorite doll.”
Gabriel’s eyes flared. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m serious. You parade him around in his own clothes, spray him with his cologne, touch his damn face like he’s some—what? Trophy? Pet? Lover?” Luis shook his head. “You lost the thread, hermano.”
Gabriel stepped forward. “You don’t get it. He is the plan. They want infiltration so what’s better than a real agent walking among them? I let him go and he returns to his job with a good story of what happened. But he works for me and I keep him and use him and his uniforms when I need to.”
Luis scoffed. “You’re not thinking straight.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “I’m thinking clearer than ever. You’re the one dragging your feet. Always second-guessing.”
“Because I’m not in love with him!” Luis snapped, the words louder than anything else so far.
Silence. Even I didn’t move.
Gabriel’s face barely changed, but something behind his eyes hardened.
“You want out?” he said flatly.
Luis hesitated. “I want this over. I want the money and to disappear.”
Gabriel reached slowly for the pistol tucked under his belt. “Then say it.”
Luis stared at him. “I’m not your enemy.”
“No,” Gabriel said quietly, “but maybe he is your enemy.”
He turned and pointed at me. My heart stopped for a moment praying the two of them would leave me alone.
He looked at me, seated in the chair with my cuffs and badge, in the uniform that once meant purpose and authority. Now I was just a pawn in some cartel scheme.
Outside, we didn’t hear the quiet roll of tires across the gravel.
But the first chopper passed low in the sky, a distant thump-thump-thump barely noticeable over the tension inside the house.
Luis heard it first.
“We need to move,” he said quickly, turning toward the door.
Gabriel didn’t move.
He kept staring at me. There was lust in his eyes.
“Gabriel,” Luis hissed.
Still nothing.
“Gabriel!”
Gabriel blinked out of whatever daze had gripped him and looked toward the window.
He saw it too—the unmistakable white shape of a federal SUV parked a half mile off, motionless. Watching.
“Get everything,” Gabriel barked, suddenly all motion. “Cash, phones, burner IDs. We move in two minutes.”
Luis was already grabbing bags, stuffing uniforms and gear into backpacks. “What about him?”
Gabriel looked back at me again, eyes soft.
“We bring him.”
I didn’t say a word. But inside, something shifted. Cracks were forming. Not just between them but in the whole illusion. Their empire of stolen names and uniforms was about to collapse. And I would be there when it did.
Chapter Thirteen: The Break
The SUV peeled out of the garage in a cloud of gravel and dust.
Luis gripped the wheel hard as they roared down a narrow desert service road that barely qualified as a path. Gabriel sat beside him, fingers curled tight around the frame of the door. I was stuffed in the back, wrists and ankles still cuffed, the familiar uniform now soaked in sweat beneath the body armor.
The fake calm Gabriel wore had finally cracked. He barked orders at Luis while fumbling with the handheld radio.
“They’re already too close,” Luis snapped. “We shouldn’t have waited this long. You had to play dress-up—”
Gabriel cut him off, “Shut up and drive.”
Luis clenched his jaw but said nothing. The SUV bounced hard as it took a dip in the road. I slammed into the side panel, grunting, but kept my mouth shut. Let them fight. Let the whole thing implode.
We weren’t alone on the road. In the distance, dust trails rose behind government-issue Suburbans. The air overhead vibrated faintly. It was too distant for clear rotors, but unmistakable.
“Chopper’s tracking us,” Luis muttered. “They’re watching the roads. We need to go dark.”
“There’s a service tunnel off 93,” Gabriel said, half to himself. “Barely marked, but it leads to the old arroyo drainage system. We take it west—get to the truck depot.”
“You sure?”
Gabriel didn’t answer. Just stared out the window, jaw set.
I shifted slightly in the back. My hands were going numb behind me, but my brain wasn’t. Every twist in the road, every choice they made I was tracking it. Memorizing terrain. Timing. Escape routes.
“Still think I’m the plan?” I said quietly.
Gabriel turned and gave me a hard look. “You’ll stay useful if you keep quiet.”
I held his gaze. “You sure Luis agrees with that?”
Luis didn’t answer, but I saw his knuckles whiten on the wheel. The seed was already planted. The SUV swerved off the paved road onto a rough gravel path. Scrub slapped at the doors. The engine groaned as Luis pushed it harder.
Finally, the old concrete slab came into view—half-covered in sand and brush. An old drainage culvert, just big enough to wedge the SUV through.
“This is it?” Luis asked.
“Go,” Gabriel barked.
They doused the headlights and rolled in slow. The concrete swallowed us, echoing the rumble of the tires in a low, menacing hum. We were under the desert now. Out of sight but not out of danger.
Luis killed the engine. Darkness closed in. No one spoke.
Gabriel finally broke the silence. “We’ll wait here. Let the birds pass. Then cut north to the depot.”
“You mean your new fantasy hideout,” Luis muttered.
Gabriel turned to him. “We agreed—”
“No. You decided. You and your badge-boy back there.”
He jerked a thumb toward me.
“Why don’t you just admit it?” Luis went on, his voice sharp and bitter. “This was never about the money. You got obsessed with him. You’re in love with him. With his uniform.”
Gabriel pushed off the seat in the cramped SUV, one hand on the roof. “You’re jealous.”
Luis snorted. “Of what? A chained-up gringo in his uniform? You think that makes you powerful?”
“More than you’ll ever understand.”
They were close—too close. I could feel the static in the air.
Then Gabriel reached into his coat and pulled his sidearm—just a slow, deliberate movement.
“Step out,” he said.
Luis stared at him. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Step out.”
Luis laughed once. But he opened the door and stepped into the dust and silence of the culvert.
I couldn’t see much, but I heard them. Shouting. Boots crunching, a quick movement, a scuffle.
Then a gunshot.
My heart kicked into overdrive. The rear door flung open and Gabriel stood there, panting. His shirt was torn at the sleeve. His hand trembled slightly as he holstered the pistol. “He made a choice,” he said flatly.
I stared at him. “So did you.”
He leaned in, grabbed me roughly by the collar of my uniform, and hauled me out of the SUV. “Now its just me and you. Let’s go.”
Outside, Luis’s body lay slumped at the edge of the tunnel, half in shadow. One shot to the chest. Blood pooling around him. No more words.
Gabriel didn’t look back.
He shoved me forward into the darkness, muttering to himself.
“We’ll find a new route. A new name. You’ll keep playing the part until I say otherwise.”
The wind picked up outside. The hum of a chopper passed overhead again. We weren’t lost yet. But we were running out of places to hide.
Chapter Fourteen: Extraction
The morning came in dusty and gray, light just beginning to stretch across the desert floor.
Gabriel hadn’t slept. I could tell by the way he paced, fingers twitching toward his pistol every time a bird rustled in the distance. He still wore my uniform, though it had grown dirty, creased, and loose from wear. We were less than five miles from the border depot, hiding behind the shell of a collapsed ranch house. Gabriel had plans but they were unraveling.
He had bound my wrists in front this time. My hands were red and swollen, but at least I could feel them. He’d given me water, muttering something about keeping me strong enough for the next move. But there would be no next move.
We both heard it at the same time.
The sound came low and fast—engines, tires crunching over rock, and the unmistakable thump of boots moving with purpose. Then came the voice.
“Federal agents! Drop your weapon!”
Gabriel spun, pistol already out. He looked around wildly—no cover, no escape, just open desert and too many guns.
He didn’t drop it. Two shots cracked. Gabriel fired first. Then came a rapid chorus of return fire, echoing through the ruins. Gabriel’s body twisted, arms flailing, the pistol flying from his hand as he crumpled near the edge of a collapsed wall. The hat fell off his head as blood darkened his uniform. My uniform. I felt like a copy of me was lying there dead. I felt sorrow and longing seeing him like that. I should have just felt relieved. I felt numb. And ashamed of my feelings.
Silence followed.
Then shouting, orders barked, boots rushing.
“Hands where I can see them!”
I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
A pair of Border Patrol agents came into view, rifles raised but faces human. One of them hesitated when he saw me still in my full uniform, though scuffed and rumpled, face dirty, eyes hollow.
“Cooper?” he asked, voice almost cracking.
I nodded slowly.
He rushed forward and knelt in front of me, voice softer now. “We’ve got you. You’re safe.”
The cuffs came off. My hands dropped like lead to my lap.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak. I just let them work.
Paramedics came. One of them gave me a blanket, even though it was already hot. I was shaking. They checked my vitals, touched the bruises on my wrists, the marks around my ankles. I saw one of them glance at my chest, then look away, jaw tight.
They didn’t ask questions yet.
I was Wyatt Cooper again. But that name didn’t feel right anymore.
The ambulance rolled over a slight bump and I winced. Everything hurt in ways I couldn’t name. Physically, I’d survive. But inside, something was broken. Displaced. My sexuality had been changed and my desires were now recognized by me.
Later, in the hospital, I’d sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the uniform they gave back to me. The real one. Clean, pressed, whole, ready for me to put on and walk out.
I wouldn’t be able to put it on right away.
Not yet.
But I’d get there.
Eventually.
Epilogue: The Desert After the Storm
Three months.
That’s how long it had been since I came home.
The news cycle moved on quickly—one more headline in a stack of tragedies and manhunts. Most people forgot. But I didn’t.
I still woke up in a sweat sometimes, heart thudding like it had back in that safe house, tied to a bed while two strangers wore my identity like it belonged to them. How they used me for their pleasure but I liked it. I sometimes caught the scent of my own cologne in public and flinched, as if I might see Gabriel around the corner. I still looked at the mirror sometimes and didn’t recognize the man staring back. I would see Gabriel, wearing my uniform instead of me. And I yearned for his touch, his kiss, his dick.
The brass told me I could return to duty when I was ready. “No pressure, Cooper. We’re just glad you’re alive.”
Alive. Some days, that felt like a loaded word.
I attended psychological counseling sessions three times each week. We worked through my feelings during my capture. We talked about sexuality and how humiliated I was at feeling sexually aroused while another man used me. It took weeks but I finally began to accept that I was gay. It wasn’t just Stockholm syndrome. It was uncovering things I had hidden from myself for many years.
The therapy helped. Not right away. I spent the first few sessions staring out the window, arms crossed. But then something broke loose, and the words started to come. Slowly. Quietly. Like dust sliding down a hill.
I told the therapist about the uniform. About the way Gabriel wore it, not just as a disguise, but as a way to take something sacred from me. I told her about the way Luis looked at me, like I was property. I told her about the way they drugged me, raped me, used me for their pleasure. I told her I’d never felt so powerless in my life or so sexually excited.
But I also told her something else.
That I would be whole again. That I would stop hiding my sexuality from myself.
When the psychiatrist released me, I had a different outlook on myself but I was cleared for duty. The report did not mention my sexuality. It only said that I was now recovered and fit for duty after a few more weeks off.
One afternoon, I found myself driving back to the sector station to return to work. My truck—recovered and repaired—sat in the same spot I used to park. The late sun cast long shadows across the asphalt. A couple of agents were coming off shift, boots dusty, faces tired. One of them gave me a nod. I nodded back.
For a moment, I stood by my locker. I ran my hand across the nameplate. Agent Wyatt Cooper.
Until today, I hadn’t touched a uniform since the day I got out of the hospital.
But that morning, at home, I opened the box.
Shirts. Pants. Belts. Hats. Boots. Gun.
I didn’t put it on yet. But I laid it out on the bed. I sat down in the chair across from it, staring for a long time. Then I put it on again. I looked in the mirror and finally saw myself as the man in uniform instead of Gabriel. I was the man who wore it before but I’d been hurt, humiliated and changed.
But this man isn’t gone. I’m different but I’m me again.
My life will be different. Scars under the green uniform will take time to heal.
In the meantime, I will patrol the border and do my job as a US Border Patrol agent. I will be more careful. More suspicious. More thoughtful.
Someday, I will trust again. And I will find someone to love who will love me back.