The Flesh Cartel #2: Auction

Did they hurt you?” He pounded the door with both fists. So padded he barely felt the shock of it. “Dougie, answer me, kiddo!” A pause, and then, “I’m . . .” Was he in the cell right next door? Oh please God let him be as close as he sounded.
    “I’ll live,” he said finally, echoing Mat’s own typical post-fight reply, minus any hint of the usual glibness. “You? Did they . . .” A hitch, maybe a little sob. His voice sounded sandpaper rough, wet with tears. “. . . make videos of you?”
    Mat found himself just as choked when he said, “Yeah.” The thought of Dougie being raped on camera , tortured like they’d tortured Mat, and for what? Would they end up
    on some BDSM porn tube with a bullshit disclaimer that all models were having fun? In some sick old fuck’s private wank collection?
    “They microchipped me.” Fuck. “Me too, Dougie.” “Why would they do that?”
    Mat leaned his forehead against the little slit in the door, let his eyes close for just a moment. That question had been haunting him from the moment the doc had tagged him. “I don’t know, Dougie.”
    Another sniffle. A too-long pause. Then, “My arm hurts.” 7 “Mine too.” And then, even though he knew it was ridiculous, a flat-out lie, “It’ll be all right, Dougie. Just . . . just try to get some rest, okay? Close your eyes. Go to sleep.
I’ll—” Stand guard. Protect you. More lies. “I’ll be right here, I promise.”
He tried to do like Mat asked. Not only did he sorely need the rest, he wanted to ease Mat’s anxiety a little, too. Keep him from worrying too much.
    To think he’d been about to admit to the plug. He shifted, curled up in the corner with his knees to his chest, and the plug shifted too, making him whine.
    “Dougie?” Mat called. “It’s—it’s fine. Just sat wrong.”
    “Did they—” Mat sounded like he was on the verge of tears. The last time Mat had cried was at their parents’
    funeral, ten years ago. Dougie had only been thirteen at the time, but he’d never forgotten the horror of it, seeing his older brother—his protector, his idol, the strongest person he knew—break down like that. “Did—”
    “Don’t ask, Mat. Just . . . It’s fine. I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He’d never been further from fine in his life. He bore down on the plug again. He couldn’t stop. It was reflexive.
    Push. Push. Push. Still so full. He touched his belly, as if he could feel the plug from the outside. He couldn’t, of course, but he massaged there anyway, imagining the plug moving inside him at his touch.
    He tried to curl up tighter, backing up until he’d wedged into the jointure of two walls. It was so cold in here, too bright for his gritty eyes. Why was it so cold in here? He 8
    shivered, huddled up tighter. Closed his eyes. He slept, a little, in that half-aware kind of way you slept on buses or trains when you were afraid you might miss your stop. No dreams, thank God, but pain bled into his awareness as he dozed. Everything hurt. The plug wasn’t even the worst of it, not after the beating for the camera.
He jolted awake to the sound of—what? Footsteps?
    Yes; a man was standing at the door to his cell. Through the narrow, glassless window, Dougie could just make out a black eye and a swollen jaw. Mat’s handiwork, maybe? He hoped so.
    “So pretty, sleeping like a little baby. Baby want a blankie?” “Leave him alone!” Mat shouted from his cell. “You asshole, why don’t you come try it with a real man, huh?”
Dougie clenched his jaw, ignoring the insult. He’s just trying to drawthem away.
It didn’t work.
“What’s that you’re wearing there, pretty boy? Mmm, looks
    kinda sexy.” A rattling sound signaled a key in the lock to Dougie’s door. It swung open a moment later.
    Dougie lurched upright, leaning precariously against his corner on one hip and, for some absurd reason, reaching down to shield his groin.
“Don’t you dare cover yourself up, hole. You’re new meat, so I won’t beat you for not assuming the position, but I will beat you for hiding yourself from me, understand?
    Get it through your thick skull. I’m a man. You’re a hole. You don’t have the fucking right to hide from me because
    your tiny little cock is mine , got it? Mine.” He kicked out, catching Dougie in the thigh. “Spread.”
    9 Beside them, Mat yelled something unintelligible, almost
    distracting the guard’s attention. Almost , but not quite, because