Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  The service door opened silently, and Mikela stepped out, their finery so out of place in the griminess of the alley.

  “Come on. The alarm won’t be delayed forever.”

  Cut trotted over and they swapped places. The shimmer of the foil shadow on Mikela’s eyelids was distracting, but it looked good on them. Shame they didn’t dress up more often. “Samson’s dad is already here, and he definitely saw me. He’ll notice when I’m gone, so there’s a good chance he’ll see you, so be ready.”

  Cut hung in the doorway, hesitant to go further in. He had to, but he’d drag it out for as long as possible. “What’s it like in there?”

  “You remember that route we took home from school sometimes that skirted the nicer neighborhood where all the rich kids hid, waiting to hurl insults and rocks sometimes?” Cut nodded. “It’s like that, but instead of rocks, the way they look at you makes you feel two inches tall. But fuck these people. Money doesn’t make you better. Remember that.” Mikela headed for the car, but before they pulled away, they turned back. “Don’t touch your lapel too much. Makes you look nervous. You can’t afford to do that in front of these people.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Cut went inside and headed down the narrow corridor. Music, laughter, and the delicate tinkling of glasses and dishware reached him before it came into view. He stood in the doorway watching the scene. There was probably more money in this room than the rest of Izanami collectively. Under any other circumstances, he would have done anything to avoid a place like this, people like this. Only the fact that he wasn’t here for himself kept him going.

  Cut’s throat tightened as he crossed the threshold. There was no going back now. It felt like every eye in the place was on him. He definitely felt like he didn’t belong here. Their stares said they all knew it as well, but at least they all agreed not to say it to his face.

  This place was huge, more like one giant room stretching towards the top of the dome, with smaller compartments on the sides. At the center of the space was a platform, likely set up for the occasion and a large banner projected above it. The Fellowship’s seal, a simple circle around a pair of shaking hands, mapped out in green hovered there. Cut kept to the edges of the main room, where the tables of food were, looking for Samson. Unlike Cut, he blended in perfectly.

  Cut did a circuit and a half before he gave up and waited by the buffet table. He wasn’t there long before an older woman cornered him like a prowling shark. At first, she pretended not to see him, then she tripped and bumped into him, clutching at him to keep herself upright, making sure her hands roamed over his front.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said as Cut helped her regain her footing.

  “It’s no trouble.”

  Instead of stepping back, like any normal person, she moved further into Cut’s arms. She purred up at him. “My, who did you come with?”

  Cut’s eye twitched. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t think I’m out of line in saying you aren’t here as a company head. So are you someone’s after party entertainment? Are you a mercenary or do you work through an agency? How do I book you?”

  Gritting his teeth, Cut peeled her hands off him and set them gently at her sides. “You don’t book me. I think you’ve got me mistaken for someone else.”

  The woman’s brows rose, but she didn’t seem embarrassed at all. “Am I? I’m not usually wrong about these sorts of things.”

  “Well, you are today.”

  “Kimberly, always on the hunt I see.” Ramzan Ba appeared between them, an affable smile plastered to his face. Cut’s belly sank into his shoes. He hadn’t been here 10 minutes before Ramzan had been able to pick him out of the over 200 people that were here. The woman disengaged Cut to kiss the air beside Ramzan’s cheeks.

  “You old devil. Is he with you?”

  “No, no.” Ramzan put a big hand on Cut’s shoulder and squeezed. “He works for my son’s company. He’s just gotten back from a business trip, so I’m sure he was trying to track down my son before you got to him. Isn’t that right?” He squeezed so hard the muscle started to cramp. “I just saw Samson. I’ll show him the way. Now if you’ll excuse us.” The woman’s face turned pink, which was the closest Cut would get to an apology from her, but he’d rather rebuff this woman a thousand times than go with Ramzan. Unfortunately, he had no choice.

  The taller man seized his elbow and boxed him in preventing any escape, not that Cut had any ideas about running and causing a scene. Ramzan had a strong grip for someone his age. Cut hoped to never feel it around his throat.

  The elder Ba steered them to one of the smaller rooms that turned out to be a kitchen. The caterers were prepping dishes to go out. They passed through, and not one set of eyes rose from their work.

  Ramzan grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him into a closet with a musty scent hanging in the air. It was crammed full of supplies now, but the dust on the shelves served as a testament to how long it had sat unused.

  He pushed Cut hard against one of the walls, sending boxes of dry goods flying to the floor. Cut threw out a hand and held onto one of the shelves to keep from falling. Ramzan was on him, his forearm on his throat. Cut gasped out of reflex. “I thought you were smart. When I told you stay away, you stay away. I’ve got half a mind to take care of you myself right now. But, I’ll give you one more chance. Leave here. Now. Stay away from my son.”

  Released, Cut coughed. He resisted the urge to rub his throat, not wanting to give Ramzan the satisfaction.

  “Your son doesn’t want that.”

  “What he wants doesn’t matter. I’m the one you need to worry about.”

  “And what if I don’t?” He lifted his chin and met older man’s eye.

  Ramzan didn’t even chuckle at Cut’s bravado. He pushed into Cut’s space again until Cut smelled the tobacco smoke clinging to him.

  “You know what happens if you don’t. If you want to live to be my age, you’ll do what I say.”

  Cut’s hands shook at his sides. It took everything he had in him not to haul off and hit Ramzan in the face. Ramzan was the worst kind of person, vile, manipulative, and no one was off limits—not even his children. He deserved everything that was coming to him.

  The silence seemed to satisfy him. He stepped back, smoothing his hair back into place. “Fix yourself up before you head back out. I don’t need anyone thinking we were fucking in here.”

  He left the pantry without a second glance, so certain Cut would obey his orders. Lucky for him, Cut had the same thing in mind. Being in Ramzan’s presence left a bad taste in his mouth.

  He took a minute to collect himself, straightening his jacket and making sure his collar covered any bruise that might be forming on his neck. He took his pod out of his jacket pocket and typed a quick message to Mikela.

  Did you get all that?

  Ever since he arrived at the hall, the tiny camera Mikela had attached to one of his blazer buttons had been streaming, taking everything Cut saw and heard to Mikel’s pod. This was one doozy of a plan. Cut couldn’t wait to bring this bastard down.

  You know it. Go Find Samson while I edit this down.

  Cut left the closet and only then did the catering staff acknowledge him, a pitying look on every face. He huffed. Pity now for whatever they thought might have happened, yet no one had tried to help, not even a knock on the door to try to break up what they knew must be happening. He understood it. To them, Ramzan was just another rich son of a bitch who could make their lives hell. Cut liked to think, had he been in their place, he would have done better, but he’d never know for sure.

  He pushed past them and went back into the main hall. He spotted Ramzan right away, schmoozing with others of his ilk. Samson was still nowhere in sight.

  Most of the hall was visible from where he stood, but not the side rooms. The one behind him was the kitchen, and he had two more to go.

  One turned out to be a small conference room
, where a handful of other guests were seeking a reprieve from the goings on. That left just one more place for Samson to hide.

  The bathroom was disappointingly standard despite how lavish the rest of the venue was. Three stalls, beige walls, sinks, and some crappy art made up the whole thing. He supposed a place to shit was a place to shit, no matter how much money you had to throw around. It did smell better than any other public restroom he’d been to, however.

  He walked along the stalls, peeking underneath until he saw a pair of shoes. He recognized them immediately. He knocked on the door, the sound echoing off the tiles. “Can I come in?”

  The door swung inward some, and Cut squeezed in. Samson was sat on the toilet, pants up. His shirt was open, his collar exposed. He held the tag between his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the engraving. He looked up at Cut, the lack of sleep last night gouging deep circles under his eyes.

  “Having second thoughts, dove?”

  “A few.”

  “If you want to talk, I’m listening. That’s what I’m here for.”

  He rubbed the tag harder before letting his hand drop into his lap. He held open his arms, and Cut stepped into them, straddling his legs. “It’s just so...final. If I go through with this, I won’t be able to go back home again. I’ll really and truly be on my own. No financial support, no family. They weren’t great, but they’re all that I had. I thought I was ready to do this, that it was worth it, but now I’m not sure. Maybe my father was right. I should just give up.”

  Samson rested his head on Cut’s chest. Cut stroked his hair as he thought about what more to say to that. Doubt now was understandable, but what other choice did they have?

  “Let’s say you don’t do this, you join the Fellowship. Do you give up the restaurant too? He didn’t want you to have that either. Does he ever stop? Do you ever get your freedom or do you have to wait for him to die? Where does it end?”

  Samson hummed, stroking the backs of his legs.

  “As far as family goes, I know they were all you had, but you owe them nothing. They shouldn’t treat you the way they do.” The memory of the things Rami told him, of Ramzan’s overbearing nature and manipulation pissed him off all over again. And to think that was all Samson knew, and he turned out like this? “They should want the best for you, for you to thrive, and they should love you no matter what. And you’ve got me now. And Mikela’s pretty much my only family out here, so you’ve got them too. It definitely isn’t the same as some old world family with generations of money making behind us, but I think we make up for it in loyalty and love.”

  Samson’s arms tightened around him. Love. Cut had come close to saying it before, but this time it felt like it really stuck. There were better places, more romantic places this conversation should have happened, but nothing in life was perfect. Less so in Cut’s life. He was glad he’d said it at all. It made the next time easier.

  “I love you.”

  Samson buried is head in Cut’s chest, just holding him for a second, letting Cut pet him.

  “You’d really let me be a part of your family?”

  “You already are part of my family. Pretty much ever since you trusted me with your care, you became someone dear to me. How could you be anything but a part of me now?”

  According to his books, this wasn’t always how D/s worked. Some people changed partners frequently or had multiple, and some relationships only lasted for a session or two before they parted ways, but that was never going to be Samson and Cut. Samson had always wanted to be his, and Cut had always wanted to be the man Samson needed. Cut wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Samson turned his face up to him and Cut held it between is hands a moment, brushing stray hairs from his forehead. “I love you, Samson.” Cut kissed him, and his whole body hummed with the contact. Thank the gods this bathroom was well maintained. The only things Cut smelled other than the man himself were the remains of an astringent cleaner and air freshener.

  Samson had that slightly drunk look about him when they parted. He wasn’t worried about all that negativity any more.

  “And then there’s the video we got… He took the bait, tracked me down just like Mikela said he might. And he threatened me. Mikela’s working on it now, but we don’t have to use it. You don’t have to do this today or ever if you decide this isn’t what you want. I’m behind you all the way, no matter what you choose. But I think it’s better to get this over with fast and get on with your life. It’s all up to you, though. Just let me know what to tell Mikela.”

  Samson shook his head. “I’ve got to do this. I’ll never be free of him, and you’ll never be safe if I don’t… You’re coming with me, right?”

  Cut smiled at him, trying not to look too pleased. “Of course. That’s why I’m here.”

  They left the bathroom and rejoined the gathering. Cut kept a professional distance as they navigated the crowd, but he made sure to give Samson little touches of encouragement on the shoulder or the hand when his doing so wasn’t too obvious.

  Occasionally Samson was approached by other business owners, and he chatted with them as long as was appropriate before moving on. Most knew his father and brought him up often as if Samson was nothing more than a conduit through which to curry Ramzan’s favor. They were in for a rude surprise.

  Cut’s pod vibrated against his chest. He covertly pulled it out to give it a read.

  Video’s edited, and I’m linked into their extranet. Just give me a signal.

  Standby.

  Cut cupped a hand over Samson’s ear and whispered Mikela’s message to him. Before Samson could respond, a young woman in a powder blue suit pushed through the crowd towards them, intercepting a pair of businessmen with hungry eyes before they reached the pair. “Mr. Ba requests that you join him at the podium in ten. He emphasized that you come alone.” She cut her eyes in Cut’s direction. He got the message.

  Cut took both of Samson’s hands. “You’ve come this far. You’ve got this.”

  Samson took a deep breath, steeling himself for the coming unpleasantness. “Watch for my signal,” he said and followed the young woman towards the podium. Cut followed up to the edge of the crowd. The people on either side of him sneered, upset that he’d pushed his way through to the front, but they only had to deal with it for a little while. People had been taking turns talking up there, likely other inductees, but Cut hadn’t paid attention. He was too focused on Samson as he went to stand beside his father. Cut wished he was up there to keep Ramzan from oozing all over him, but he knew that wasn’t possible.

  Another old man droned on in front of the slim mic. Cut had to force himself to listen. He didn’t want to miss something important.

  “Our next inductee has prepared a few words for this momentous occasion.” Drones fitted with cameras hovered nearby, flashes at the ready.

  Samson broke from his father’s group and approached the microphone, receiving slaps on the back and smiles from Ramzan and those around him. He stood up straight and tall, touching his neck. To anyone else, he might be adjusting his shirt, but Cut knew the truth. Samson searched the crowd, until he met Cut’s eyes. Cut mouthed the words, “You’ve got this.” Samson cleared his throat and stepped up to the podium.

  “Thank you for having me here tonight. Everyone I’ve met has been welcoming. However, I regret that I will have to decline. I have no intentions of joining this organization at this time.” The crowd erupted into murmurs of dissent and questions. What was he doing? Who did he think he was?” Samson gave them a moment before he went on. “Due to unsavory practices in both the professional and personal dealings, we will have to sever all ties with our parent company, Hinde.”

  Ramzan’s eyes bulged behind him. He reached for Samson, trying to turn him to demand an explanation for this behavior, but the younger Ba shrugged him off.

  “Isn’t that your father’s company?” Someone called out from the crowd. Samson was ready for him.
r />   “The head of Hinde has been a manipulative presence since Deyaa’s beginning. I’ll spare the details; however, this was merely an extension of how he exerted control over my personal life. I’d like to draw your attention to the following clip.”

  Without further instruction, the seal floating above their heads disappeared, replaced by the footage of Ramzan confronting Cut. It was hard to watch with the way the camera skewed as Cut was shoved and manhandled, but there were flashes of Ramzan’s face that were undeniable. His voice came through clear as a bell. The crowd fell silent as the clip ended and restarted. Samson went on.

  “Over the course of the last several weeks, the head of Hinde engaged in a campaign of targeted harassment of an associate and friend of mine that he felt was getting too close to me. On several occasions, he intimated that he would use force to remove this individual from my life if he didn’t do so on his own, as heard in the clip.” Samson gripped the edges of the podium. Now came the part they’d talked about. Cut thought the footage from him had been more than enough. But Samson continued. “He’s exerted an undue level of control over my very existence, reminding me on a near daily basis of the cost to create me, not just as the man I am today, but to bring me into existence. At Ramzan Ba’s request, and on his own word, my genes were heavily modified in vitro to his specifications.”

  Ramzan clamored forward, but when the younger Ba stepped out of his reach, security intervened, holding Ramzan away, his face a burnt sienna.

  “This is not the kind of person I want to do business with, let alone F. I would encourage all of you reconsider your association as well. Starting Monday, Deyaa will be a publically traded entity—an independent entity. If you have any questions about this move, my advice is to invest. I’ll answer any questions my stockholders might have after Monday.”

  He stepped down from the podium to the roaring echo of drone camera flashes, murmured rumors and shouted questions, but he didn’t entertain a single one. He found Cut off to the side, and they left the venue by the same entrance Cut had used to come in. They squeezed into Gray’s car and didn’t look back.