Chained

by Kim Fielding

For just one moment, Edge’s eyes flashed anger. Then they dulled again. “My life is good. I have a nice place to sleep. Good food. Nice clothes. I meet famous people.”

  It was like a poor recital of a badly written speech, but it seemed to please Whitaker. “Without me, Edge would have nothing. Be nothing. But I’ve given him a great deal, wouldn’t you say, Terry?”

  “Sounds like it.” Terry had no idea where Whitaker was going with this.

  “I ask for things in return, of course. That’s how the world works. In exchange for my generosity, Edge gives me his loyalty and service.” Whitaker leered as he swiped a finger across Edge’s lips, then looked at Terry. “Sometimes I loan his service out, as a favor. Did you enjoy him last night?” He dropped his hand to Edge’s ass and gave a hard squeeze.

  Terry had to force himself not to grit his teeth or ball his hands into fists. “Yeah, very much. He was fantastic.” Terry’s performance in that moment was worthy of an Oscar. Edge shot him a brief glance of what might have been gratitude or relief, and Terry kept his cool. “But I don’t think I understand what you’re getting at.”

  Whitaker was petting Edge’s back, very much like a person might pet a dog. “Edge gets moderate benefits from me and he pays a moderate price. But you want something bigger from me. You want me to make you a star.”

  “So I have to pay a bigger price.”

  “You’ve got some brains, boy. Good. Just don’t use them too much. You sign with me and I’m your brains.”

  “Fine. But what’s the price?”

  Whitaker’s smile looked smug and predatory. “You’ll give me the most valuable thing you own.”

  Dammit, why wouldn’t the asshole just spit it out? “My car?” Terry asked, hoping he looked innocent enough to get away with it.

  “What the fuck do I want with that bucket of bolts?”

  Despite everything else, Terry bristled even more. He liked his car. “I don’t own anything else that’s worth anything. A bunch of CDs, but I know you don’t want those.”

  “Not when I could buy the bands, kid.” Whitaker stopped touching Edge, which was a relief. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to decide whether you’re willing to give me anything I ask for. If you say yes, I’ll sign you on. But if you say no, I never want to see your fucking face again, and I guarantee you’ll never land a part, not even in community theater in Hoboken. Got it?”

  Terry stood, his heart beating fast. He was close. So goddamn close. “How can I make that decision if I don’t know what I’m giving up?”

  “That’s the way we play the game. You go all in… or you’re out.” Whitaker winked. “I’ll let you play with Edge some more today. Sweeten the deal a little.”

  Arrogant, revolting son of a bitch. But Terry thought quickly. Maybe he could work out a solution to at least part of his problem. “Okay, thanks,” he said evenly. “Twenty-four hours. But I want to spend that time at home—my home. It’s too hard to think clearly here.”

  Whitaker frowned and pulled a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one, blowing the smoke in Edge’s direction. After taking a few more drags, he shrugged. “All right. I believe in freedom of choice, so you go back to your shithole if that’s what you need.” He pointed at Terry with the cigarette. “Just remember, I also believe in the sanctity of a deal. Once you decide, there’s no going back. No second chances.”

  “I understand.”

  A few more puffs, then Whitaker nodded. “Okay. You come back here tomorrow morning at eleven to sign the papers—or else get the fuck out of my city and never come back.”

  “All right. I, um, need to grab a couple of things from the guest house.” He hoped for a few minutes to talk to Edge.

  “Edge, escort him. I’ll have his piece-of-shit car brought around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Still smoking, Whitaker left.

  Terry suspected that Whitaker’s apparent acquiescence was some kind of trap, so he remained alert as Edge led him silently out of the house. But nobody stopped them as they walked across the lawn. “Leave with me,” he said to Edge.

  Looking grim, Edge shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Go. Don’t come back.”

  “Do you know what he wants from me? That valuable thing he mentioned?”

  “No. But….” Edge dropped his voice. “Did you notice anything with the actors at the party?”

  “There was something off with them.”

  “They weren’t like that when they got here. But the boss signed them, and… I don’t know. Their eyes died. Their scents changed.”

  Lacking a canine’s sense of smell, Terry hadn’t noted anything weird about their odors. But he understood about their eyes. It was as if someone had replaced their lenses with mirrors.

  Edge gave him a quick pleading glance. “Go away. Please. You didn’t tell him about last night. Thank you. I’ll get rid of the gun. Just go.”

  Fuck. How long had Edge known about the gun? He obviously hadn’t mentioned it to Whitaker. Terry couldn’t hold on to the secrets any longer. “I’m an agent with the Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Have you heard of it?”

  “No.”

  No big surprise there. “We keep a low profile. We’re a federal law enforcement agency. We investigate possible criminal activity related to paranormal beings or activities.” That was a quote straight out of the handbook.

  “Paranormal. Like… me?”

  Shit. “Like shifters, yes.”

  “What do you do to us?”

  “It depends. Nothing, if you’re not breaking the law.” Terry hoped that was true, although he couldn’t really guarantee it.

  They reached the guest house and hurried up the stairs. Terry grabbed a few CDs at random so he’d have something to show in case someone stopped him. True, the CDs didn’t constitute a very good excuse for this detour, but he hoped that could be chalked up to the whims of a shallow wannabe actor. Edge watched him anxiously, his muscles tense, and seemed to relax when Terry led him back out onto the lawn.

  “I didn’t come here because of you,” Terry said, keeping his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I don’t know if anyone at the Bureau even knows you exist. But the Bureau suspects that Whitaker’s fucking around with things he shouldn’t. I came here to find out whether that’s true. If it is, he’ll be… arrested.” Taken care of, more like.

  Edge lifted his chin. “What do you think he’s doing?”

  The idea left such a bitter taste that it was hard to get the words out. “We think he’s convincing his clients to sell their souls in exchange for fame.”

  “S-souls?” Judging from Edge’s wide eyes, this was news to him. He seemed horrified. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He may be a broker for the forces of evil… or whatever it is that likes to acquire souls. Whitaker collects ’em, the evil forces make sure the clients make it big, and Whitaker gets all the power and money he wants.” Terry suspected that the power was just as important to Whitaker as the cash. If not more so.

  “Oh.” Edge let out a shaky breath. “Will you tell your Bureau? Will they arrest him?”

  “I’ll tell them, but I don’t know if I have enough proof. The fucker’s hinted at it, I’ve got circumstantial evidence, but I don’t know he’s guilty.” Except for the knowingness in his gut. But the Bureau didn’t care about Terry’s gut.

  Edge clearly didn’t know what to make of this, and Terry could hardly blame him. But there wasn’t time for lengthy explanations; Terry needed to get the fuck out of here before Whitaker changed his mind.

  “Come with me,” Terry ordered. “You can be free, Edge. The Bureau can help you. I’ll help you. Just come with me.”

  “Can’t.”

  Terry struggled to keep his voice quiet. “Why? You can’t be…. I don’t know all the things he does to you, but you don’t deserve any of it. You deserve your own life.”
/>   “My brothers….”

  “We’ll tell the Bureau about them, and they’ll get sprung too.”

  Edge firmed his chin. “There used to be four of us. Four brothers. But Butch was… he didn’t obey.”

  A chill shot down Terry’s spine, making him shudder, and his stomach balled into a knot. “What happened?”

  “The boss beat him at first. Often. It didn’t help.” Edge looked straight ahead. “Then the boss neutered him.”

  Oh, holy fuck. “Neutered. You mean—”

  “That’s what people do with a bad dog to get him to behave.”

  Terry didn’t know whether to puke or cry. “Edge—”

  “I took care of Butch while he was healing. I saw exactly what was done to him. And I also saw it wasn’t enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Butch only got worse. Didn’t obey at all. Then one day he… he bit the boss.” Edge’s voice rasped with the horror of the memory.

  Although Terry didn’t want to ask, he did so anyway. “What happened?”

  “The boss put my brother down.”

  “God.” Terry almost stumbled down the stairs leading to the parking area. There was the IROC-Z, as promised, with the keys in the ignition. Then a thought struck him. “Tell that story at the Bureau and it won’t matter anymore whether that fucker is actually stealing souls. Jesus, Edge, they can get him for killing Butch.” It wasn’t exactly murder since Butch hadn’t been human, but the Bureau generally didn’t concern itself with small legal details like that.

  But Edge backed up a step. “Duke and Holt. If I leave in your car, how long before your Bureau agents get here? Long enough for the boss to hurt them.”

  Terry wanted to argue, but Edge was right. “Run and get them. They can come with us.”

  “They won’t.” Edge laughed, possibly for the first time in Terry’s presence, but without humor. “They’re good dogs.”

  “Edge—”

  “Go!” It came out more as a bark than a word.

  And fuck it all, but Terry saw no other options short of bashing Edge unconscious and stuffing him into the car—a possibility he would have seriously considered if he thought he’d be successful. “They’ll come,” he promised quietly as he got into the driver’s seat. “Soon. Just stay safe a little longer. Please? We’ll come back for you.”

  Edge slammed the door closed and stalked to the steps.

  When Terry turned the key, the engine roared to life. He was thankful the radio was off—he was in no mood for music. He popped into gear and drove down the driveway, leaving Edge on the stairs.

  Nobody stopped him.

  He reached the gate and it slid smoothly open. Terry turned onto the road, stepped on the gas, and sped away.

  Chapter Nine

  Too often lately, Edge had agonized over the right course of action. This was not one of those times. Telling Terry to leave and refusing to join him had been absolutely the correct thing to do. He walked back to the main house with his head high.

  Still, his mind whirled with the information Terry had shared. Edge believed every word, mostly because it made so much sense. Of course the boss was stealing souls. Edge hadn’t been able to comprehend why the clients changed after signing on, but now he did. He also understood why the boss did this. Money, yes, but especially power. The boss fed off it like… like a vampire feeds off blood.

  Vampires. Vampires existed. Perhaps this shouldn’t have shocked a creature like Edge, but he’d always assumed that almost all of the world was comprised of ordinary people and conventional animals, and that he and his kind were a tiny minority of freaks. It was a comfort to know that other weird beings existed too—so many of them that an entire agency had been created to deal with them.

  And Terry was an agent with that organization. That made sense too. Edge wished him well.

  The one part of the story he couldn’t buy was Terry’s final promise to return and rescue him. Surely Terry had more important matters to worry about than one stupid mutt and his brothers. Besides, Edge and his litter mates were bred to serve a master. They weren’t meant to be free.

  As if in to confirm Edge’s thoughts, the boss met him just outside the door to the main house. “That boy is wavering, Edge. Do you think he’ll be back?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Of course not, you idiot cur. Weren’t you a big enough draw for him last night?”

  “I obeyed you, sir. I persuaded him to fuck me.” That was the closest Edge had ever come to lying to the boss, and it both elated him and tied his stomach in knots.

  “Right. You shook your big ass for him and he took it. But did you make sure he really enjoyed?”

  “I… I did everything he wanted.”

  The boss shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. “This is Hollywood. We don’t give people what they want—we tell them what to want. Make them roll over and beg for exactly what we want to give them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come inside, Edge.”

  Shuddering, Edge obeyed.

  This beating had been the worst yet. He wasn’t just bruised this time, but bleeding, and by the time the boss released him from the chains, Edge couldn’t even walk. But although the pain was terrible, somehow he hadn’t minded as much as usual. With every blow from the flogger and belt, every lash from the whip, Edge remembered that he had done the right thing today. He was good even if he was disobedient. And Terry seemed to view him as a person rather than as a monster or an animal. That knowledge warmed his heart even as his flesh burned in agony.

  Several hours passed as Edge lay curled on the hard tile. He wished he had water to wet his dry throat and a blanket to ward off the chill. He dozed a bit, with hazy dreams of running and blood. Finally he gathered enough energy to shift and limped out of the house on four paws.

  By then it was early evening, and the smells of newly cut grass and chlorine did not quite mask the aroma of grilled meat. He couldn’t tell whether the scent wafted from an open kitchen window or from a neighboring estate. It made his stomach rumble. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the previous night.

  He considered curling up in his hiding space behind the bougainvillea, but then he wouldn’t get to eat. Besides, his cage would be warmer, the bed in there softer than the ground outside, and he wouldn’t have to worry about one of his brothers getting angry at him for sleeping outside the kennel.

  Holt was in dog form, lying in the kennel and watching car racing on television. He got up when Edge entered, wandered over for a thorough sniff, and wagged his tail a few times in support. Holt was always more apt than Duke to provide scraps of consolation when Edge needed them, but Duke, who was on duty tonight, could be kind as well. Holt inclined his head toward the TV, inviting Edge to join him, but instead Edge made his way to his water bowl and drank it dry. Then he ate his dinner, a filling but uninspired mixture of meat, grains, and veggies that was their usual fare. He already missed the human food he’d shared with Terry.

  Edge curled up in his cage and tried to sleep, but his mind was too busy. Now that he knew the Bureau existed and would, according to Terry, exact justice for Butch’s death, was there some safe way he and his remaining brothers could escape? Even the first step, convincing them, seemed insurmountable. Then another far darker notion materialized. What if… what if they bypassed the Bureau entirely and meted out their own justice? What if they killed the boss?

  That was horrifying to consider. It would be worse than being weak, than being bad. Worse even than biting the boss, which had been terrible indeed. Edge belonged to the boss. The boss was his master, his god. You don’t kill your own god.

  Yet the idea remained, tempting in its awfulness. Like chewing at a scab until it bled.

  Edge shifted positions. He stood, turned around a few times, and lay down again. He pawed at his bed to rearrange it. And then, when sleep continued to elude him, he endured the painful shift back to human form and sat against the bars of his
cage, knees drawn to his chest. The metal hurt his battered back, but that didn’t seem to matter right now.

  “Do you think it’s hard to shoot a gun?”

  Holt swung his head to stare at him.

  “Maybe the shooting part is easy, but the aiming?” Edge mused. “I don’t know about that.”

  Uttering a heavy sigh, Holt stood, pawed off the TV, and shifted. It was painful to watch. For some reason, he’d always found shifting more difficult than his brothers, and he rarely did it. He claimed to be more comfortable in dog form. But it was a lot easier to have a conversation with a human-shaped mouth and vocal cords.

  Holt was taller than Edge and even more muscular. In man form, his head was shorn bald because human hair annoyed him. He had a long white scar across one side of his chest, a souvenir from when they were young and being trained to fight with knives. Butch had lunged too enthusiastically and Holt had been slightly too slow in withdrawing.

  Now Holt smoothed a palm over his scalp as if to make sure it met his satisfaction, then sat on the dog bed in his cage. “We don’t need guns. We have teeth.” He had a rumbly voice that sounded like a growl even when he wasn’t angry.

  “I know.” Edge rested his head on his knees.

  “We’d take the beatings for you if we could.”

  “I know that too. But you’re not weak like me.”

  “You’re not weak.”

  Edge didn’t bother to argue. He closed his eyes instead. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of beatings? You can withstand them.”

  “Not that. Someday I’ll end up like Butch.”

  Holt snarled. “Don’t say that!”

  Also not worth an argument, at least when Edge had so little energy. He softened his voice. “Do you sometimes wish for… more?”

  “What kind of more?”

  “A mate?” Unlike Edge, Holt and Duke were attracted to women, but they very rarely had physical access to them. A few times a year, when the boss was feeling especially pleased with them, he brought in prostitutes. But that was no more a real relationship than when the boss loaned Edge to his prospects and friends.