Chapter 4: The Branch and the Barbed Clamps
The cot was a rack of needles.
Gerard woke to every welt on his back firing at once, a symphony of raw nerves that pulled him out of sleep with a grunt he swallowed before it could become anything louder. He lay still for a moment, face pressed into the thin pillow, breathing through the sting. The flat was dark. The window showed nothing but a slice of gray sky. Dawn, or close to it.
His phone buzzed on the floor beside the cot.
He reached down, fingers fumbling, and brought it to his face. One message. No name. Just coordinates and a single word.
Kommen.
Gerard stared at the screen for three seconds. Then he pushed himself up, swung his legs over the side of the cot, and stood.
His back screamed. He ignored it.
The bathroom was a closet with a sink and a mirror that had lost most of its silvering. He splashed cold water on his face, ran wet fingers through his beard, and avoided looking at his reflection. There was nothing there he needed to see.
Dressing took longer than it should have. The shirt was cotton, loose, but every brush of fabric against his shoulders felt like sandpaper. He pulled on his boots, laced them tight, and grabbed his keys from the table.
The drive was thirty kilometers of empty highway and pine trees.
Gerard kept the windows down. Cold air filled the cab, sharp with the smell of resin and damp earth. The sky shifted from gray to pink to a pale, washed-out blue. Somewhere behind him, the city was waking up—traffic, coffee, the dull machinery of ordinary life. He left it all behind without a backward glance.
The coordinates led him off the main road, down a gravel track that wound through thickening forest. The pines grew taller here, older, their branches twisted into shapes that looked like they'd been frozen mid-argument. No birches. No silver bark. Just dark green needles and shadows that hadn't yet learned to retreat from the dawn.
He parked in a clearing that wasn't really a clearing—just a gap in the trees where the underbrush had died back. The grove stretched ahead, silent and watchful. Adrien's car was already there, black and sleek, parked twenty meters away like it had grown out of the earth.
Gerard killed the engine. Stepped out. The ground was soft with pine needles, muffling his footsteps as he walked deeper into the grove.
Adrien stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back, facing away. He wore dark trousers and a gray henley, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His silver hair was damp, like he'd showered recently. He didn't turn when Gerard approached.
"You came," Adrien said.
"You sent coordinates."
"I sent one word."
"The word was 'come.'" Gerard stopped three feet behind him. "I came."
Adrien turned. His pale eyes moved over Gerard slowly—the rumpled shirt, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he held his shoulders just slightly too high to keep the fabric off his back.
"You didn't sleep."
"I slept."
"Not well."
"No."
Adrien's mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something else. "Take off your clothes."
Gerard didn't hesitate. The shirt came off first, peeled over his head with a wince he couldn't quite hide. The cold air hit his chest, his nipples tightening instantly. Then the boots. Then the jeans. Then everything else.
He stood naked in the grove, pine needles pricking his soles, welts still angry and red across his back. The dawn light filtered through the branches, painting stripes across his skin.
Adrien walked a slow circle around him. His footsteps were quiet on the soft ground, but Gerard tracked them by sound alone—left, behind, right, front. When Adrien reappeared, he was holding a coil of rope.
Hemp. Thick. Rough.
"Turn around," Adrien said.
Gerard turned.
The rope looped around his wrists, pulled tight, cinched with a knot that bit into the soft skin of his inner arms. Adrien worked in silence, efficient and unhurried. He wrapped the rope around Gerard's forearms, below the elbows, then back to the wrists, weaving a lattice that pinned his arms together behind his back.
When he pulled the final knot tight, Gerard's shoulders rolled back, his chest thrust forward, his spine arching against the strain. The position stretched every welt on his back, turned them from dull aches to bright, singing lines of fire.
"Breathe," Adrien said.
Gerard breathed.
Adrien moved in front of him. From his pocket, he produced something small and metallic—two steel clamps, joined by a short chain that glinted in the half-light.
Gerard's jaw tightened. He'd seen clamps before. Worn them, once, on a dare. But those had been plastic, weak, more for show than anything else. These were different. These were real.
"Hold still," Adrien said.
The first clamp bit into his left nipple, steel teeth closing on sensitive flesh. Gerard hissed through his teeth, a sharp intake that did nothing to dull the pain. The second clamp followed a heartbeat later, and then both nipples were trapped, crushed, connected by six inches of cold chain that pulled with every breath.
"Scheiße," Gerard muttered.
"Something to say?"
"No."
Adrien reached up. Caught the chain between thumb and forefinger. Pulled.
Gerard's whole body leaned forward, following the pressure, a sound escaping his throat that was half growl, half whimper. His nipples burned. His chest ached. The chain felt like it was going to tear right through him.
Adrien released the chain. Gerard rocked back on his heels, breathing hard.
"There's a branch above you," Adrien said. "Low-hanging. Directly over your head."
Gerard looked up. The branch was maybe seven feet off the ground, thick and gnarled, sagging under its own weight. A perfect hook.
"Walk to it," Adrien said.
Gerard walked. The pine needles stabbed his feet. The chain swung with each step, tugging at his nipples, sending little shocks through his chest. He stopped when the branch was directly overhead.
Adrien stepped up behind him. His hands found the chain, lifted it, and hooked it over the branch. The chain caught, held. Now Gerard couldn't move back. Couldn't bend forward. Couldn't do anything but stand there, chest thrust up, nipples stretched, every breath a careful negotiation with the clamps.
"The only way you leave," Adrien said, "is to pull yourself free. No hands."
He stepped back. Crossed his arms. Waited.
Gerard stared at the branch.
The chain hung from it, links catching the light, disappearing into the clamps that held his nipples. If he pulled hard enough, the chain would slide over the branch. But sliding meant friction. Friction meant force. And force meant the clamps would pull him before they let go.
He calculated the geometry of his own agony.
Pull forward, and the chain would lift off the branch—but only if he could get enough leverage. Pull back, and the chain would just dig deeper, held in place by the weight of the branch. Pull sideways, and he might dislodge it, but the torque would twist the clamps, and that would be worse.
His arms were useless behind him. His legs were free, but standing on his toes only made the stretch worse.
"Still calculating?" Adrien asked.
Gerard didn't answer. He was too busy breathing through his nose, trying to find the rhythm that would keep the pain at a manageable level.
"You have until the sun clears the treeline."
Gerard looked east. The sun was a pale disc just above the horizon, bleeding orange and pink through the pines. Maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe less.
He could stand here and wait. Let the deadline pass. See what Adrien did next.
But that wasn't the bet.
The bet was to leave. To pull himself free. No hands.
Gerard clenched his jaw. Shifted his weight. The chain clinked softly against the branch.
He tried pulling straight back—a sharp jerk that sent the clamps tearing into his nipples, white-hot pain that exploded behind his eyes. A sound ripped out of him, raw and guttural, but the chain didn't move. The branch held.
"Again," Adrien said.
Gerard pulled again. Harder. The clamps bit deeper. Blood welled around the steel teeth, tiny beads that dripped down his chest, catching in the hair.
The chain held.
"Your arms are useless," Adrien said. "You know that. You're not going to pull free with your shoulders. You need to use your legs."
Gerard stopped pulling. Breathed. Thought.
Adrien was right. His arms were bound. His chest was anchored. But his legs—his legs were free.
He bent his knees. The chain slackened slightly. Not much, but enough. He dropped lower, lower, until his thighs burned and the chain hung loose above him.
Then he jumped.
The motion was explosive—legs driving up, body surging toward the branch. The chain snapped taut, caught the branch, and then—for one glorious second—slid.
It slid.
The chain scraped over the bark, inch by inch, and then it was free, falling, and Gerard was falling with it, landing hard on his knees in the pine needles with a grunt that emptied his lungs.
The clamps were still attached. Still biting. Still sending waves of pain through his chest. But the chain was free from the branch, and he was free from the anchor, and he was kneeling in the grove, gasping, alive.
Adrien walked over. Looked down at him.
"Thirteen minutes," he said. "That's a record."
Gerard lifted his head. Sweat dripped from his forehead, caught in his beard. His nipples were on fire. His arms ached from the rope.
"Was there a previous record?"
"No."
"Then it is not a record."
Adrien's mouth did that thing again—the almost-smile, the flicker of something that might have been amusement if his face knew how to make that expression.
Adrien knelt in front of him. Reached out. His fingers found the clamps, and for a moment, he just held them—pressure steady, eyes locked on Gerard's face.
"These stay on," he said. "Until I decide otherwise."
Gerard nodded.
"Stand up."
Gerard stood. His legs shook. His chest screamed. The chain swung between the clamps, pulling with every breath, a constant reminder of the steel buried in his flesh.
Adrien reached behind him and began to untie the rope. It took longer this time—the knots had pulled tight, and his fingers worked methodically, patiently, like he had all the time in the world.
When the last loop fell away, Gerard's arms dropped to his sides. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, felt the blood rushing back into his hands.
Adrien watched him for a moment, then reached up and unhooked the chain from the pine branch. The clamps stayed where they were, steel teeth still buried in Gerard's nipples, the chain swinging free between them with every breath.
"Put your clothes back on," Adrien said.
Gerard looked at him. "The clamps."
"Stay on."
"Under my shirt?"
"You'll feel them every time you move. Every step. Every breath. That's the point."
Gerard didn't argue. He walked to where his clothes lay crumpled on the pine needles and bent down to retrieve them. The chain swung forward, the clamps tugging, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making noise.
The shirt was the worst part. Cotton dragged across the welts on his back, and then the fabric settled over his chest, and the chain pressed against his sternum, and the clamps—already aching—got worse. Every movement sent a fresh jolt through his nipples, hot and sharp and relentless.
He pulled on his jeans. Laced his boots. Stood there in the gray morning light, fully dressed, looking like any other man who'd been out too late and slept in his car.
Except for the chain under his shirt.
Except for the way his hands trembled, just slightly, when he reached for his keys.
Adrien was already walking toward his own car. He stopped at the driver's door and looked back over his shoulder.
"Follow me," he said. "Don't fall behind."
The drive was short. Ten minutes, maybe less. Adrien's black sedan wound through back roads Gerard didn't recognize, past farms with rusted tractors and fields gone fallow, until the trees thickened again and the road narrowed to a single lane.
Then Adrien pulled over. Parked on the shoulder, hazard lights blinking. Gerard parked behind him and killed the engine.
They were at the edge of a public path. Gerard could see it through the windshield—a walking trail, wide and well-maintained, cutting through the forest like a vein. Joggers used this trail. Dog walkers. Families with strollers and kids on bikes. It was Saturday morning. The path would be busy.
Adrien got out of his car. Gerard followed.
"Walk," Adrien said.
They walked fifty meters down the path until they reached a tree—a massive oak, old and gnarled, with a thick trunk and low branches that spread wide like arms. Adrien stopped in front of it and turned to face Gerard.
"Strip," he said.
Gerard's hands moved to his shirt. He pulled it over his head, and the chain swung free, and the clamps reminded him they were there with a sharp, electric bite. He toed off his boots. Peeled off his jeans. Stood naked on the public path, ten feet from where anyone could walk by.
Adrien produced the rope again. Same hemp, same rough texture, same efficient knots. He positioned Gerard against the oak, back pressed to the bark, and began to work.
Left wrist first. Rope around, rope through, rope around again. Pulled tight, anchored to a branch that jutted out at shoulder height. Then right wrist. Same process. Same precision.
Gerard's arms stretched wide, palms facing forward, fingers splayed. The bark bit into his back, every ridge and groove pressing into the welts from the night before.
Adrien knelt. Left ankle, anchored to the base of the trunk. Right ankle, same. Gerard's legs spread wide, boots gone, bare feet digging into the dirt.
Spread eagle. Again. But this time, the sky above him wasn't a canopy of birch leaves. It was open, pale, endless. And the path stretched out on either side, visible for a hundred meters in both directions.
"Listen carefully," Adrien said.
Gerard listened.
"You have until dark. The sun sets in approximately twelve hours. You will not be freed by me. You will not free yourself."
Adrien stepped back. Crossed his arms.
"You will get a random man to free you. A stranger. Someone who has no connection to you, no reason to help you except their own curiosity or pity."
Gerard said nothing.
"If anyone wants to touch you," Adrien continued, "you will say 'Yes sir.' You will not resist. You will not complain. You will not explain unless asked."
"And if they ask why I am tied up?"
"You will tell them thieves did it to you. You were jumped on the path. They took your clothes and left you here."
Gerard's jaw tightened. "That is a lie."
"It's a story. There's a difference."
"No. It is a lie."
Adrien's eyes narrowed. "You'll tell it anyway."
"I do not lie."
"You will today."
"No."
Adrien stepped closer. His hand found the chain under Gerard's shirt—no, wait, the shirt was gone. His hand found the chain directly, fingers wrapping around the links, and he pulled.
Gerard's whole body arched off the tree. The clamps tore at his nipples, white-hot, and a sound ripped out of his throat that was half snarl, half gasp.
"You will tell them thieves did it," Adrien said. "Or you will stand here until the sun goes down, and then I will leave, and you will spend the night tied to this tree with no one to hear you scream."
He released the chain. Gerard sagged against the bark, breathing hard, sweat already beading on his forehead despite the cold.
"Do you understand?"
Gerard lifted his head. Met Adrien's eyes. The word came out rough, scraped raw.
"Ja."
Adrien nodded. He turned and walked back toward the cars. His footsteps faded. An engine started. Tires crunched on gravel, then faded to nothing.
Gerard was alone.
The path stretched out before him, empty for now. But not for long. The sun was climbing, the sky was brightening, and somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of voices. Laughter. A dog barking.
People were coming.
He tested the ropes. They held. He tested them again, pulling harder, and the bark scraped his back and the clamps bit deeper and nothing moved.
He was stuck.
The first person to appear was a woman with a golden retriever. She was jogging, earbuds in, and she didn't see him until she was ten feet away. When she did, she stopped so fast she almost fell.
The dog barked. The woman stared.
Gerard stared back.
"What the—" She pulled out one earbud. "Are you okay?"
Gerard opened his mouth. The lie sat on his tongue like poison. He couldn't say it. He wouldn't.
"I am fine," he said.
"You're tied to a tree."
"Ja."
"Naked."
"Ja."
"Are you—do you need help?"
The woman's hand was already reaching for her phone. Her eyes were wide, frightened, but also curious. The dog kept barking.
Gerard thought about the rules. A random man. She wasn't a man. She couldn't free him anyway.
"I am fine," he said again. "You can go."
"Like hell I can. I'm calling the police."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"Do not call the police."
The woman's thumb hovered over her screen. "Why not?"
Gerard's jaw worked. The lie. He couldn't say it. But he could say something else.
"Because I am here by choice."
The woman blinked. "What?"
"I am here because I chose to be. There is no crime. There is no danger. You can go."
She stared at him for a long moment. The dog stopped barking and sat down, panting. The path was quiet.
"You're serious," she said.
"Ja."
"You're standing there, naked, tied to a tree, and you want me to just... leave?"
"I do not want you to do anything. I am telling you that you can."
The woman shook her head. She put her earbud back in, tugged the dog's leash, and jogged away without looking back.
Gerard watched her go. The sun was higher now. The path was still empty. He closed his eyes and waited.
The next hour brought three more people. A man with a stroller, who saw Gerard and immediately turned around, pushing the stroller back the way he'd come. A teenager on a bike, who slowed down, stared, and then pedaled away fast. A couple, holding hands, who whispered to each other and kept walking without stopping.
None of them were men alone. None of them asked if he needed help.
The sun climbed. Gerard's arms ached. The chain swung with every breath, a constant, grinding reminder of the steel in his flesh. His feet were cold, his back raw, his nipples on fire.
And then, finally, a man appeared.
He was alone. Mid-thirties, maybe. Jeans, a hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low. He was walking with his hands in his pockets, head down, and he almost passed by without looking up.
But then he did look up. And he stopped.
"Whoa," he said.
Gerard said nothing.
The man walked closer. He was shorter than Gerard, leaner, with a scruffy beard and tired eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
"You okay, man?"
"I am fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like you're tied to a tree."
"That is accurate."
The man laughed—a short, nervous sound. "Yeah, I can see that. What happened? You lose a bet or something?"
Gerard almost said yes. The truth was right there, ready to fall out of his mouth. But the rules were the rules.
"Thieves," he said.
The word tasted like ash.
"Thieves?"
"Ja. They jumped me on the path. Took my clothes. Left me here."
The man's eyebrows went up. "Seriously?"
"Ja."
"That's... wow. That's messed up."
"Ja."
The man looked around, like he was checking for witnesses. Then he looked back at Gerard—at the ropes, the chain, the naked body stretched against the tree.
"You want me to cut you down?"
Gerard's heart kicked. His chest tightened. This was it.
"Yes," he said. "Please."
The man stepped closer. His hand reached out, hovering near Gerard's chest, near the chain, near the clamps.
"Can I...?" he asked.
The rules. The words. Gerard forced them out.
"Yes sir."
The man's fingers brushed against the chain. Then the clamp. Then Gerard's nipple, already raw and swollen, and Gerard's whole body jerked against the ropes.
"Sorry," the man said. "Just wanted to see how it was attached."