Johnny Polak’s hands press searing wax onto Sebastian Kane’s pale, taut skin while a third man, balding, broad-shouldered, secures him with tight ropes, the molten trails glistening against his stretched flesh. Kane arches under the heat, his long hair framing the sweat beading on his back as the wax hardens in thick, glistening sheets. The restraints dig into his wrists, holding him still while Polak’s fingers trace the burning paths, each drop a deliberate mark.
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