The Flesh Cartel #5: Wins and Losses
Burn down the entire world, if that’s what it takes. “Help people,” Mat said.
Nikolai nodded. “And do you think you can be of any help to anyone if you’ve been beaten so badly you can barely stand? If your master is so angry with you that he keeps you on the serum indefinitely?”
Mat swallowed hard, but said nothing. A thought like that was too big to wrap his head around. Too terrifying to contemplate as a thing that could actually happen.
“Look at you. You can’t even help yourself like this. I may not force you, but your future master will. He’ll hurt you, Mathias. He’ll tear you. He’ll make you bleed. If you can’t steer his intentions, you won’t survive them. So show me, Mathias. Show me you understand how to play this game. Show me you understand how to win. I can’t in good conscience turn you over to him until you do.”
Damn him for genuinely making Mat never want to leave him. Because as much as Mat wanted to believe there couldn’t be anything worse than this, he knew that wasn’t true. There was always worse. Better the devil you know.
Please don’t send me away, he’d beg, if he were a weaker man. (A smarter man?) But he wasn’t. He was just Mat. “You wouldn’t know good fucking conscience if Jiminy Cricket slapped you in the face with his dick.”
Nikolai frowned, lifted the belt and folded it, hooked his thumb in the loop end and gave it a hard snap that made Mat jump—much to his shame. It was just noise. Just fucking noise. “Are we back to this, again, Mathias? Pride? Truly? I thought we’d sorted that.”
“And I thought you didn’t want me all meek and servile.”
“Servile, no. Pliable, yes. The man’s buying you as a tamed animal, not a whipping boy. I don’t think any of us wish to see you as the second.”
Don’t pretend you fucking care about me, you fucker. If you cared, you’d let me go.
“I wish to fuck you now, Mathias. Not your hand. Not your mouth. Your ass. No, I won’t force you. No, I won’t go fuck your brother instead if you turn me down. Yes, it will displease me if you don’t cooperate. And yes, there will be consequences. So will you at least make the wise choice, if not apply what I’ve taught you here today? Or will you go back to square one and force me to begin your lessons afresh?”
The serum does he mean the serum I can’t live through that again. But no, the way he was fondling the belt . . . maybe that’s all it’d be. A simple beating. He could take that. Win his own way.
Or he could give in. Give Nikolai what he wanted and not hurt for a little while. Keep his strength up so he could help Dougie, help himself, help every poor bastard in this place. Would that really be such a bad thing? Would he really be sacrificing so much?
Yes. No. “I don’t know.” God, he sounded as desperate as he felt, was on the verge of saying Help me, of throwing his arms around Nikolai and crying on him because he knew Nikolai would hold him, wouldn’t deny him the chance to feel—even if only for a second—all this terrible weight lifted off his shoulders and taken into someone else’s hands. It was tempting. So, so fucking tempting.
And it scared him shitless.
“It’s all right, Mathias.” Nikolai stroked his shoulder, rubbed at the muscle there, rock hard with tension. “You’ve fought well. It’s time to rest. Let your cornerman tend you. Ease your pain.”
Rest . . . yes. Yes.
Mat didn’t speak. He just reached out with steady hands and undid Nikolai’s fly.
chapter four
T
he hours passed in absolute agony. Dougie couldn’t sit, couldn’t stand, couldn’t walk, couldn’t eat, couldn’t piss, couldn’t do anything but suffer. His whole body was one unending ball of pressure, like instead of a plug up his ass, there was a pump filling him inch by inch with concrete. A heavy, expanding mass carried in his belly, and he couldn’t make it go away, couldn’t relieve it for even a second.
At some point, he slept. And dreamed, as he always did these days, of hands and mouths and cocks, of being pinned, fucked every which way. And of Nikolai. Always of Nikolai, in his perfect suit with his perfect manners and his perfect fucking control.
He woke to a damp spot on the bed beneath his caged cock—no relief, hadn’t come, but he’d leaked that clear fluid again—and a breakfast tray on his little table. How the hell did he keep sleeping through the food deliveries?
That bothered him less than he thought it
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