Undone

by R Phoenix

  He’d studied his incubus, though, along with so many others. He could feign the proper reactions well enough, and he’d mastered a few. Like the rage, pure and unadulterated, that threatened to spill over at the mere idea that his slave — his! — might rebel and allow Barsum to win without making a single move.

  Such defiance would be like spitting in Leandro’s face, akin to declaring that he’d rather suck Barsum’s cock than obey his master.

  Barsum strolled up to them, a look of utter satisfaction upon his lips. “Where should I wait to collect my prize?”

  Leandro gave the man the look he knew Kolt hated, the one he’d been told was impossible to read — alien, his incubus had said, so different from anything a human or any of the otherkin might offer. He luxuriated in the pleasure of seeing the foul man hesitate. “What prize?”

  Beside him, Gideon eased a hand from his pocket, letting it fall to his side instead, brass gleaming across his knuckles now.

  “Oh, come on, Leandro,” Barsum scoffed with an irritated glance aside at Gideon. “You won’t break your own little rules. I got the normie so deep in the hole that he’ll never get back out, not even if he comes back down right now. The only hole your whore can drag him into is his wet mouth or tight ass.”

  Little rules?

  The anger that had been threatening to spill from him since the mere idea that his slave might disobey came flooding back to the surface. Everything else faded into the background.

  Leandro stared at him.

  “He dragged the human upstairs about five minutes ago,” Barsum added. “The most they’ll do up there is play strip poker.”

  If Kolt knew what was good for him, that was all he would do, but Leandro’s imagination — and ire — had already been stoked.

  Leandro jerked his head toward Gideon. “When the hour is up, return Kolt upstairs and escort Detective Ackerman to my office.”

  Gideon nodded, but his eyes stayed trained on Barsum.

  Good.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Barsum looked between them, a scowl twisting his lips. “What the fuck, Leandro?” he demanded.

  “You may forget, but Kolt’s holes — all of them — belong to me,” Leandro said, voice silken despite his escalating fury. “No one touches them without paying me. Must I remind you of how expensive my property becomes when I haven’t given permission first?”

  Barsum’s mouth dropped open as the realization hit him.

  If the human had touched his whore… Really, what other reason would there be for an incubus in the midst of a game like this to bring someone up to a private room?

  “You lose,” Leandro purred, offering a mock-sympathetic pat to Barsum’s arm — as though he wasn’t about to go into a rage at the idea of someone else touching what was his.

  As though he was proud of the creature for managing to outwit his competition… and he was proud and annoyed, all at once. Leandro had given him the means to win, but Kolt hadn’t used those resources the way he’d expected.

  No, his incubus had made his own rules, which made the entire situation both fascinating and dangerous.

  Kolt would need a reminder of who he belonged to — and soon.

  Leandro offered a slight nod to Barsum. “Good night, Barsum. I’ll see you next week.”

  “I’m not coming back to your shitty little hole in the wall,” Barsum spat.

  Leandro’s eyes found Barsum’s, and for a moment, they held each other’s gazes. Finally, his unwelcome guest turned on his heel, stalking out with all of the dignity of a cat that had just been thrown into water.

  It wasn’t until the door closed behind him that Leandro glanced back at Gideon. “An hour,” he reminded the nephilim. “Don’t bother to knock before you enter.”

  Gideon nodded.

  Leandro was glad to leave it to him. The fae lived outside of what most of the otherkin and mortals alike thought of as the flow of time. Like most of his kind, he couldn’t be bothered with it… unless something was in his way.

  He returned to his office to await the arrival of the mortal who had dared touch his incubus. He had no doubt about it; if Kolt had taken the human from the main floor and into a room, there would be sweat and semen poisoning the air. Kolt was an incubus. It was what they did. He didn’t much care about combating his anger, but it had begun to ebb nonetheless. Instead, it blossomed into heady excitement.

  This was only another stage of the game.

  He knew perfectly well that his newest patron couldn’t afford what he’d done that night. Leandro had read all about Detective Bryce Ackerman, the latest addition to the new little venture focused on understanding the otherkin — and the fae. It was by his own hand that the good man had ventured into the Lucky Blight at all. The simple but illegal spell was worth the risk.

  The Organization had the potential to cause problems, and Leandro wanted to know just what they thought they would do. What place did they think they occupied in the world? What role did they really intend to play? The fae court, at least, would not bow to a human-led quasi police force.

  Especially one that employed people like Bryce Ackerman, whose dossier had been far from impressive. Then again, what else should he have expected from a cryptic, clandestine group of would-be scientists and detectives?

  The anticipation of calling those debts due immediately made him impatient. He always loved hearing their excuses. They were rarely original, but there was something about their desperation that called to him. He reveled in their emotions, their words, and their pleas even if he’d heard it all before.

  Just give me one more chance.

  I have a family to take care of.

  I’ll have your payment tomorrow — next week, next month, soon.

  Oh, and his personal favorite: I’ll do anything.

  Really, by definition that was precisely what they were doing when he called their debts due on his terms. He could catch those who attempted to cheat him, but it was a needless waste of resources.

  It was far better to refuse to allow them into a situation where they could cheat him at all. Besides, the truly desperate were the most entertaining to toy with.

  Leandro didn’t yet know the full extent of what Bryce Ackerman owed him, not in its entirety, but he’d find out before long. He knew Barsum’s figures, and Gideon would get Kolt’s soon enough.

  Bryce Ackerman might have been a pawn in a game mortals would have considered cruel — unfair, as though the world was ever anything else — but that didn’t erase the fact that he had played.

  He’d let himself be drawn into the fray, and he had no one but himself to blame for his predicament. Not Barsum, not Kolt, and certainly not Leandro.

  Leandro didn’t have to wait long for his special guest to arrive.

  The human stumbled as he crossed the threshold, and even if he hadn’t reeked of liquor, it wouldn’t have been difficult to see that he was piss drunk — no doubt thanks to Kolt. He’d dressed so hastily that the zipper of his pants had been left open. His shirt was worse, unbuttoned and hanging off of his shoulders like this was a tiki bar instead of a classy establishment.

  If that hadn’t been enough to prove that he had indeed gotten acquainted with Leandro’s incubus, the blissed-out look on his face confirmed it.

  “Thank you for joining me, Mr.…?” Leandro asked, as though he didn’t know exactly who he was speaking to… or what the man had done.

  As though he wasn’t seething.

  “Detective,” the human corrected him with a look that was certainly meant to come across as confident but only ended up half-bewildered.

  Leandro could see right through him.

  “Ackerman,” the man added at long last, reaching into his back pocket and sloppily flashing his credentials before sagging down into the nearest chair.

  Did he truly think Leandro would care about shiny new credentials of an organization that barely even knew what it was doing?

  At the very least, he fina
lly seemed to realize his fly was open, and he quickly zipped up.

  “Detective Ackerman,” Leandro repeated.

  He had to wonder how drunk the HR department had been when they’d let him on the mortal police force. let alone as a detective among those dedicated to policing something as nebulous as otherkin.

  The shirt remained open, showing a muscular chest he wanted to rip to shreds as the idea of Kolt’s slender hands running along that skin filled his mind. No, he couldn’t do that.

  Not yet.

  How had his incubus allowed this piss poor excuse for a man to touch him? The more he watched the human, the more disgusted he became. Never mind that it had been his game that had brought them there. His incubus hadn't needed to do…

  That.

  “How much of your debt will you be paying tonight?” Leandro asked without further preamble. Not much, he was sure. The so-called detective would probably try to pay him off with his shoe laces.

  “I'm sorry, who are you?” Ackerman slurred, looking unimpressed for a moment before his face lit up. “Wait, are you the pimp?” he asked crudely. “Not the friendly fatty?”

  Leandro fisted Ackerman’s tasteless shirt by the collar before the man could react — like he was the cheap whore that Kolt wasn't. He pulled the man up by the twisted cloth at his throat. “I add one percent interest every time someone pisses me off,” he snarled.

  “Jesus, fuck,” Ackerman hissed. “Dude, legit question. I just came here to—” He didn't finish his sentence, which was probably the only reason Leandro didn’t snap his neck then and there. “And then the jolly one just appeared, and this other guy…” Babbling. He was babbling.

  Leandro didn’t interrupt him, though his fingers tightened more around the shirt.

  “He didn't say he was a whore, okay?” Ackerman replied. “I'd never have fucked him if I'd known!”

  That part was undoubtedly untrue, whether the detective knew it or not. Kol’tso was an incubus, after all, and if his slave had decided to set his sights on the man… But his incubus should’ve known better than to betray him by fucking a human.

  “I wouldn’t have fucked him if I’d known.”

  Those weren’t mere words; Leandro could taste the truth in them, the accuracy. Ackerman hadn’t misspoken when he’d said he’d fucked Kolt.

  How dare he.

  He released the cloth of the shirt only to grab the man’s soft dick — the one that had fucked his incubus — through his pants. “What was it like?” Leandro hissed. “His ass around your cock? Worth dying for?” he mocked.

  Ackerman grunted something unintelligible, his knee jerking up in a reflexive but futile move to protect himself and fend Leandro off.

  “It was all right.” The man shifted in discomfort. “You need to talk to your fucking boyfriend. He never mentioned he was seeing someone. Jesus Christ,” the detective gritted out through tightly clenched teeth.

  All right.

  Sex with his slave was never just all right. “He isn’t my boyfriend,” he said, disdain dripping from the word. “Your business is figuring out how you’re going to pay off your substantial debt to the house, not concerning yourself with what I do to my slave.” He squeezed, merciless, wanting to hear a cry of pain from Ackerman. The idea of Kolt riding the cock of this pathetic excuse for a human infuriated him, and he didn’t give a fuck about any consequences he might have to contend with.

  “Whatever floats your boat, man. He never mentioned you.” Ackerman struggled like only a drunk man could to be released — all useless flailing, sloppy and slow. “I think I can overlook everything, y'know,” he added, as if he had no care for his testicles.

  Was he insane or just fucking stupid? There was nothing protecting him except that badge, and even that was tenuous at best. Leandro could pay anyone off, and he doubted the new division of the Organization would even care that this one was gone. They’d probably be grateful.

  “Payment,” he said, the fingers of his other hand tangling in Ackerman’s hair and jerking his head back.

  It exposed his throat perfectly, the vein visible just beneath the skin. It would be so easy to snip the cord keeping the human alive. It would be a mercy and a much-needed culling of the gene pool. It would be a positive step in evolution — or whatever it was they believed these days.

  “I'm not paying for the fuck,” Ackerman insisted.

  If he had any human survival instinct or logical reasoning skills, he certainly wasn’t showing them.

  Leandro’s eyes lingered on the artery, presented right there in front of him. The Organization was still in its infancy, more annoying than worrisome. Regardless… He had a chance to learn about them before they gained momentum, and that would be difficult if he slaughtered one of them.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything at all.

  “Then I’ll have to report you for theft, trespassing, and property damage,” Leandro stated.

  “Illegal prostitution, gambling fraud, and assault of an officer of the law,” Ackerman countered. Even with his head at that odd angle, he still managed a — far from impressive — drunken glare. “Your boy told me about the games being rigged,” he added with a grunt. “I'm sure I can get him to go on the record with it.”

  Well then. What was the saying? The kitten has claws?

  Tiny ones, mind, and none that could do much damage.

  Leandro’s lips twitched into the start of an ugly smile. “Are you willing to bet what little remains of your career on it, Detective?”

  “Sure, when the game’s not rigged.” And was that a very drunk mimicry of his own ugly smile on the detective’s lips?

  Leandro didn’t appreciate being made a fool of, and it was increasingly looking like the human was trying to do exactly that. “Everyone accuses casinos of being rigged when they lose.”

  “If it ain’t true, we won’t find anything. But then you and your boytoy’ve got real fucking issues, man. He’s a goddamn liar.”

  It wasn’t the first time a drunk had mocked him, but this felt terribly personal in a way he couldn’t truly put into words. He knew why, though. The man had touched his slave, had fucked his slave — and that didn’t happen. That hole was reserved for him and him alone.

  “Regardless, your debt remains.”

  “I’m sure you have payment plans,” Ackerman stated. “I doubt I’m the first one you’ve fucked over.”

  No, though Ackerman was the first to have fucked his incubus without his permission. But he would be the last to violate and desecrate what belonged to him.

  And for that, he wanted something more than money.

  “Mm, well. Then let’s see what sort of arrangement we can come to, Detective Ackerman.”

  Chapter Three

  Gideon had made short work of dumping him in Leandro’s private suite over the casino.

  Kolt wasn’t stupid. He knew he was counting down to the apocalypse. He dropped the clothes he’d taken from lost and found, leaving them in the middle of the den on his way to the bathroom. The half-empty bottle of Krystal was still in his hand, and he continued to sip from it as he went through the rigorous task of scrubbing every part of himself. Leandro would be pissed enough without smelling some human on him or feeling the crackle of magic on his skin from where he’d used his gifts to influence the man.

  No. He needed to be fucking virginal clean if he was going to weather the storm that was Leandro.

  He took a hot shower and scrubbed his skin — three, four times, even washing his hair twice with the fancy shit the fae insisted on using, vain thing that he was.

  Kolt lingered in the bathroom after he was done. He left his hair damp, hanging loosely over his shoulder. He paused in the middle of tousling it to get more air between the strands. A frown drew on his forehead as he leaned closer to the mirror. There, amidst the pale blond of his hair, was a streak of black marbled through the blond. His lip twitched in annoyance as he tried to tuck it away between the rest of his hair, with
limited success.

  Fuck. That was going to make it harder to get the fae to forget. It had been so long since he’d fucked someone other than Leandro that he hadn’t even thought about how he changed. It was usually subtle, slight lightening of the eyes or darkening of his skin, but he never knew how his body would respond to his partner’s desires. Blond to black was just a hard transition to be subtle about.

  Another gulp of champagne, then he dabbed the last of his skin dry with one of the big fluffy towels. Kolt grabbed the cologne Leandro favored, taking the cap of the stuff off and sniffing it. It was a typical scent, really, something strong and masculine that reminded him of bourbon and cigars and — well, Leandro, of course. He put it back, but only after he gave a quick spritz of it in the air over his head, letting the fine mist of it descend over him.

  There. At least he smelled like his master now and not Barsum, or the human, or Gideon, or someone else entirely. He checked his teeth in the mirror, offered a kiss to his own reflection — because he looked fine as fuck. He snatched the bottle of Krystal from the counter on the way out, not about to abandon it there, and he sauntered over to the bedroom.

  He’d gone this far to try to placate Leandro, so he might as well commit all the way. He placed the bottle on the nightstand and turned to the closet that was unofficially his. It didn’t really contain much in the way of clothes, a few shirts and pants, but mostly—

  Kolt sighed and reached for the choke collar he just knew Leandro would choose anyway, and he latched it around his own throat and neck, letting the chain that dragged the leather together dangle between his collarbones — useless and decorative, unless someone decided to yank on it.

  Knowing Leandro, his neck would be bruised and sore by the end of the night.

  He didn’t put anything else on, still feeling warm and wonderful from the feeding he’d done on the human. Buck naked but for the collar, he settled on the bed. Or rather, he arranged himself, because there was nothing accidental about the way he lay down in the middle of the bed either — one wrist draped over the headboard, the other toying with the chain of the collar around his neck. He knew he looked a little small in the bed, but it always felt enormous when Leandro wasn’t in it with him.