Train ride in lock-up (M+/m)

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mmph
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Train ride in lock-up (M+/m)

Post by mmph »

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The car was quiet, but the tension was suffocating. Diego sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. His uncle Victor drove, his face unreadable, but his jaw clenched. Victor's cousins, Omar and Julian sat in the backseat, whispering and chuckling every so often. Their laughter sent chills down Diego’s spine.

Victor had always been the enforcer. When Papá died, Mami had done her best to keep things together—cleaning houses by day, taking sewing jobs by night. She didn’t have papers, so she worked twice as hard for half the pay, always looking over her shoulder. Her boys hadn’t made it easier, constantly testing boundaries. First, it was skipping school and graffiti. Then it was shoplifting, trespassing, and other dumb shit that always ended with Mami crying and Victor showing up.

Victor didn’t yell like Mami did. He didn’t need to. His silence was heavier than any lecture, and when he did speak, it was low, calm, and terrifying. Diego had learned early on not to mess with his uncle, and even now at 20 years old, he still felt like a dumb kid around him. The man didn’t play.

“¿Qué pasa, Diego?” Victor asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but Diego could feel the weight behind it. “You’re so quiet today. Something on your mind?”

Diego shifted in his seat, staring at his knees. “Nah, Tío. Just tired.”

“Tired, huh?” Victor’s lips curled into a smirk. “Maybe it’s all that hard work… being famous.”

Diego’s heart dropped. “What do you mean?”

Victor gave him a cold smile. “No te hagas el pendejo, Diego. Omar, show him.”

Omar leaned forward from the backseat, his phone already in hand. He tapped the screen, but Diego didn’t need to look to know what was playing.

Diego wanted to disappear. The video started playing: him on the CTA train, blowing smoke from his vape into an old man’s face. The man told him to stop, but Diego taunted him, stepping closer like he was going to throw down. And then he did—one punch, quick and cocky. His friends howled with laughter in the background.

Julian snorted. “Damn, bro. Real cabrón, huh?”

“It wasn’t—” Diego stammered, his voice rising. “It’s not even like that. It was just for jokes—”

Victor slammed the brakes at a red light, and Diego jolted forward. Before he could react, Victor reached over and snapped cold, heavy handcuffs around his wrists.

“¡Qué chingados! Tío, what are you doing?” Diego shouted, trying to pull away, but Julian and Omar reached forward, pinning his arms from the backseat.

“Hands in your hoodie,” Victor ordered, his voice calm but firm.

Diego stared at him, panicking. “Tío, come on—”

“Do it.” Victor’s eyes narrowed, sharp as knives. “Or te meto al pinche baúl. Maybe you'd prefer that?”

“We’re going to the game, right?” Diego’s voice cracked as he asked, desperation leaking through.

Victor didn’t even look at him. “Don’t worry about the fucking game.”

Omar leaned forward again, this time with a roll of duct tape. “Hold still, primo.”

“Wait, wait, no—” Diego protested, but it was useless. Omar ripped off a strip and pressed it tightly over Diego’s mouth, the adhesive biting into his skin. Victor yanked his hoodie up and pulled a black surgical mask over the tape, hiding it.

“You stay quiet,” Victor warned. “No scenes. ¿Entendido?”

Diego nodded quickly, his pulse racing.


----------------------------


At the CTA station, Victor parked, and the cousins hauled Diego out of the car like a criminal under escort. Omar carried a heavy duffle bag over his shoulder, the chains inside clinking faintly. Diego glanced around desperately as they marched him toward the platform, but no one stopped them.

The train pulled up, and they pushed Diego inside. Victor unzipped the duffle bag, pulling out thick chains and padlocks. Omar and Julian forced Diego up against the center pole, beginning to wrap the heavy chains around his torso.

Diego’s face burned as passengers stared, some whispering, others pulling out their phones.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Victor called out, raising his voice to the curious passengers. “Let me introduce you to @BroDieselKing!” He held up Omar’s phone, playing the viral TikTok. “You might’ve seen his famous video. Today, he’s got a new one for you: an escape challenge.”

Diego’s face burned with humiliation as passengers chuckled and pulled out their phones to film. Victor ripped the mask and tape off his face, giving Diego a hard look.

“Go ahead, mijo. Tell them it was your idea.”

Diego hesitated, his dry lips trembling. His eyes flicked to Victor, catching the sharp warning in his uncle’s gaze.

“It—it's my idea,” Diego mumbled.

Victor nodded, his smirk returning. “Good. Now let’s make it interesting.”

Julian crouched down, yanking one of Diego’s beat-up Converse sneakers off his foot.

“Wait, no—what are you doing!?” Diego protested, panic rising.

“Relax, primo,” Julian said, holding up the shoe. “It’s for the thumbnail.”

Victor grinned, his tone mockingly cheerful.

Julian peeled off one of Diego’s socks.

“Damn, bro,” Julian said, holding up the sock with a smirk. “This smells like shit, but hey—anything for the fans.”

He laughed as he grabbed the sock and stuffed it deep into Diego’s mouth. “Perfecto. Now you’re quiet.”

Victor shoved the dirty sneaker into Diego’s mouth pushing the sock further back into his throat. Diego started to wretch, but caught himself. Just as Omar quickly wrapped chains around Diego’s head, securing the shoe in place. The sharp click of padlocks locking the gag in place made Diego’s stomach sink. Diego gagged as the rubber sole pressed against his tongue, the taste bitter and disgusting.

Victor leaned in close, his voice low and menacing. “You’re gonna stay here. Ride this train until CTA comes to cut you loose. And when they do, you’re gonna tell them it was all your idea. If you say anything else—if you rat—you know who’s gonna pay for it, verdad? You want Mami to get deported?”

Diego froze, tears stinging his eyes. He shook his head.

“That’s what I thought,” Victor said, patting his cheek. He straightened, clapping his hands. “Alright, vámonos.”

The train slowed to a stop near Wrigley Field, and Victor and the cousins stepped off, leaving Diego behind. As the train doors closed, Diego sagged against the pole, the weight of the chains and his humiliation pressing down on him. Passengers stared, some laughing, others filming.

Diego closed his eyes, wishing he could disappear, but there was no escape—not from the chains, and not from the mess he’d made of his life.