Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 60

Chapter 60: ’Left Behind’

Florian did not know what to expect as he was ushered out of the room by the rogue leader, accompanied by two other men who ensured he did not try to run.

He was still fortunate that he wasn’t being dragged or bound in any way. He was walking on his own two feet, and as of now, he had no plans of making a run for it—not until he had fully mapped out an escape route.

So, as he walked, he kept his eyes sharp, observing everything he could about his surroundings. What he knew for certain was that they were underground. When they first brought him here, they had thrown a bag over his head, making sure he had no idea of the exact location of the hideout. They had only removed it once he was locked in that windowless room.

The only real clue he had was the descent—he distinctly remembered being led down a long flight of stairs.

’That’s all I know. Great.’

He would have cursed Kaz for not fleshing out more details about this place. As one of the writers of this damn novel, he should have known every inch of this hideout, but of course, Kaz had been more focused on ensuring Lancelot got his dramatic rescue moment rather than giving Florian the necessary details to help himself.

And, of course, Kaz had been far more invested in adding to Florian’s trauma than providing any realistic means of escape.

So, in terms of where exactly he was? He was clueless.

Florian forced himself to stay calm, eyes darting to every hallway and corridor they passed. He noted the archways leading into darkened passages, the few wooden doors lining the rough stone walls, and the occasional crates stacked haphazardly in corners. Some hallways seemed narrow, while others widened into larger spaces, but none of it told him where an exit might be.

More importantly, he searched for places to hide—shadowed corners, barrels large enough to squeeze into, anywhere that could buy him time if he ever managed to slip away.

Unfortunately, his captors seemed aware of his every move. The two men flanking him never let him veer too far from the path they directed him down.

After a few turns, they entered a large open chamber. It was the most spacious room he had seen so far, and judging by the way the rogues lounged around, this was their gathering area.

Dozens of men were scattered about, seated on rough-hewn benches or standing near wooden tables covered in half-eaten food and spilled drinks. The stench of alcohol and unwashed bodies was thick in the air. The moment Florian stepped inside, all conversations died, and every pair of eyes turned to him.

A wave of discomfort crawled up his spine. The stares weren’t just curious; they were assessing, leering. The kind that made his skin crawl.

Florian kept his expression neutral, refusing to let any fear show on his face. He had already expected this reaction. He knew what kind of men these were.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

A deep chuckle cut through the silence, and the rogue leader—Charles—turned to face him.

Florian already knew this man’s name, and he had no interest in hearing it again. He knew exactly who Charles was, what he had done to the original Florian in the novel. That alone was enough to set every nerve in his body on edge.

Charles grinned, the expression filled with amusement and something far more insidious. "Well now, aren’t you a sight?" he mused, stepping closer. "I must say, I’m impressed. You were quite the brave little prince back there."

Florian remained silent. He had no interest in whatever this man had to say.

Charles didn’t seem to mind the lack of response. If anything, it amused him more. "You know," he continued, reaching out to grasp Florian’s face, "I think we should get along. It’d be such a shame if you kept up this cold act."

Florian tensed as rough fingers tilted his chin up. The touch was light, but it sent a wave of nausea rolling through him. He forced himself to stay still, to not jerk away too violently. His mind screamed at him to react, to pull back, but he knew showing fear would only make things worse.

Even so, he leaned back just enough to make the message clear: don’t touch me.

Charles chuckled at that, the glint in his eyes darkening with something cruel. "Oh? Not so fond of being handled?" he murmured before suddenly grabbing a fistful of Florian’s hair, yanking his head back.

Florian sucked in a sharp breath, a flicker of pain shooting through his scalp, but he refused to let a sound of discomfort escape. He glared up at the man holding him, his heart pounding.

Charles’ grin widened. "I hate that look in your eyes." He tugged harder, forcing Florian to meet his gaze. "That determination. That foolish act of bravery. Do you think you’re some kind of hero?"

Laughter rippled through the gathered men, the sound grating in Florian’s ears.

Florian clenched his fists, exhaling slowly through his nose. "What’s the point of this?" he asked, voice steady despite the way his pulse raced. "Why bring me here?"

Charles hummed, seemingly delighted by the question. "Patience, little prince," he said, his tone mocking. "You’ll love what I’m about to show you."

Florian’s stomach twisted with unease, a heavy weight settling in his chest. Whatever Charles was about to show him, it wouldn’t be good.