Break the Chains

by Reis Asher

  "They'll think I'm a narc," Conrad said.

  "Exactly. You need to be careful. Your Circle membership should have come with a rulebook—I recommend you read it before we venture into Circle spaces together."

  Conrad sighed. "Christina wants me to sell you, but…I like you being mine, Avery." Avery watched him slump onto the couch next to him, deflating even further. "I'm sorry."

  Avery shook his head. "You're not supposed to apologize to me."

  "I'm not supposed to own a human being," Conrad argued.

  Avery swallowed a sigh. "But you do. You need to get over that fact if you're going to keep me."

  Conrad pulled out a pack of smokes. He offered one to Avery, who waved it away, and lit up. He took a long drag and let it out slowly, sinking back into the battered couch like it might swallow him up.

  Avery waited and watched from his vantage point at Conrad's feet.

  Conrad finished his cigarette before speaking. "We're gonna get you tested and back to full health. Christina's right. I should have done this a lot sooner."

  "How are you going to pay for it?" Avery asked.

  "You let me worry about that." Conrad pulled out another cigarette, and Avery suspected he needed the stress relief to distract himself from the thought.

  Conrad

  Conrad sat in the waiting room, holding Avery's leash awkwardly. Avery knelt on the floor at his feet, clad only in a pair of black jeans. Many of the other slaves were naked, but Conrad had put his foot down with what he hoped was a convincing "you're mine, nobody else looks at you from here on out" speech.

  Funny thing was, it was all true. He was deeply possessive when it came to Avery, and he hoped his shriveling gaze would keep curious Masters from asking too many questions about the man kneeling in front of him. He didn't want to make small talk with other members of the Circle—doing so seemed to give the whole concept a legitimacy he wasn't ready to embrace.

  Though Avery did look handsome kneeling at his feet, head resting slightly on his leg. Conrad allowed himself the indulgence of stroking Avery's hair, not sure who he was trying to comfort. Avery leaned closer, and the pressure of his head so close to Conrad's cock was stirring in inconvenient ways. Not that the other Masters would mind. One was already being serviced as he sat waiting, a young blond man bobbing up and down on his cock enthusiastically. An old man reached up a female slave's skirt, making sure to show off that she wasn't wearing any underwear as he groped her. Conrad tried not to stare, but it was difficult. The world of the Circle was an entirely new concept to him. It was hard to believe this entire undercurrent to society had managed to slip by him as a cop. It only went to show the power and influence of the organization.

  "Mr. Fisher?" Conrad stood as his name was called, being careful not to tug on Avery's leash. He hated the thing, but the Circle booklet had strongly recommended it for new slave owners, and he wanted a front for his inexperience should he make any slips of etiquette. Avery followed him into the examination room, his head low and eyes staring at the floor. Conrad was grateful that Avery knew how to behave at least—though he despised the brutality it must have taken to forge a shipping magnate's son into such a cowed, skittish man.

  "Have your slave sit on the table." The doctor was an older man with steel grey eyes to match his slicked back hair, and he shook Conrad's hand with no hint of warmth. Avery needed no command and sat on the examination table as soon as Conrad detached the clasp holding the leash to his collar. Conrad wrapped the leather band around his hand.

  The doctor's eyes narrowed as he regarded Avery. "How long have you had this slave, Mr. Fisher?"

  "A few days." Conrad tried to keep his answers short and sweet as the doctor shone a light in Avery's eyes and ears.

  "Have your slave undress and sit on the table," the doctor barked. Conrad nodded to Avery, and he slipped out of his pants, letting them lay on the floor. The doctor continued his examination, not ceasing until he'd explored every orifice. Conrad cringed as he thrust a gloved finger inside Avery's ass, but Avery remained still and compliant, as if he was somewhere else entirely. Once he was done, the doctor ran a handheld scanner across the length of Avery's body and drew several vials of blood.

  "I hope this was a cheap buy, Mr. Fisher. This slave has been well-used. I also hope you've refrained from sexual contact with him until now, or we'll need to get you tested."

  "This might be my first rodeo, but I'm not a fool." Only he was. If he hadn't listened to his conscience, he might have fucked Avery a dozen times by now. Even though he'd known from the auction that Avery was sick, his reptile mind hadn't wrapped around the fact that it might be serious.

  He chided himself for only thinking of his own well-being. Who knew the sorts of people Avery might have been handed off to at any point during his enslavement? Avery might be dying. The thought hit him like a sucker punch, and it took all his strength to keep his poker face intact.

  "Just get me the blood work already." Conrad acted a little terse, trying to push his urgency by insinuating he'd fucked Avery.

  "The full report will be ready in an hour. Please remain patient until then." The doctor left, leaving them in silence.

  Conrad wanted to say something, but words seemed far away. He had no idea if they were being watched, and so calling Avery by name was not a good idea. Yet he wanted to comfort Avery, who sat on the table looking down at the floor, his legs swinging. Avery lifted his head and Conrad's heart broke to see tears welling in his eyes. He fought the urge to go to him and offer some form of tactile comfort, not knowing if Avery would want him near at that moment.

  The silence stretched out for ages. Conrad tried to meet Avery's eyes, but Avery lowered his gaze again. Conrad chewed his nails down to the quick, drawing blood. He craved a cigarette but had no intention of leaving Avery alone to go outside, and he had no desire to drag him out on a leash while he was emotionally compromised.

  The door finally opened again, and when the doctor closed it quietly, Conrad could almost taste bitter news in the air. He steeled himself for a life-changing moment, wondering if he would be able to stomach what came next.

  He hated himself for the fact that he thought about the phone number in his pocket, the one Christina had given him. A kind Master, Christina had said. Think of him like a sanctuary for retired racehorses. The Circle tolerates him because he takes care of a problem for them—he cares for slaves that are too broken to be allowed back into society. Saves them the embarrassment of former slaves becoming homeless and suicidal.

  Conrad fingered the stinging quick on his left index finger and it broke open, bleeding fresh. He savored the pain, punishing himself for even considering the thought. Avery wasn't a retired racehorse. He was a human being. A sick human being who needed love and care, not a pity case to be pawned off because Conrad wouldn't be able to have unprotected sex with him.

  Conrad wanted to punch himself in the face. A sea of self-loathing so strong came over him that he longed to pull out the number, tear it up, grab Avery's hand, and run out of the office before the doctor could present his news. He wanted to hide from his ugly thoughts. From his true nature.

  But then it had always been there, that horrible undercurrent, the unpleasantness that lay at his core. It was a piece of him he hated to acknowledge, but it existed all the same. It was the part of him that had experienced tremendous relief when his wife had overdosed. The part of him that had wanted to fuck Avery in the shower, regardless of what he wanted. The part of him that had led to him bidding on a two-hundred dollar slave in hopes of buying what he couldn't obtain through charm and empathy.

  "I would recommend you sell this slave at the earliest opportunity. Whatever the asking price was, you were duped. This one isn't even fit for the mines." The doctor shook his head. "I'll give you the full report later, but he's HIV positive, with chlamydia and gonorrhea to boot. He's missing a kidney, spleen, part of the large intestine, lung and pancreas, and there's evidence that his liver has regen
erated after a portion was removed. He has several low-lying infections that will require treatment."

  Conrad was glad he remained seated, because he knew his legs wouldn't have sustained the shock and remained functional. "How soon can we get him on a treatment regimen?"

  "Are you kidding me?" The doctor looked at Avery, then back at Conrad. "I recommend you worry about yourself right now. We have several humane options for dealing with your slave."

  "Such as?" Conrad asked.

  The doctor shrugged. "We can give him a lethal dose of barbiturates. Like putting a dog to sleep. The Circle will take care of cremation for a small fee."

  Conrad's muscles twitched and it took all his self-control to stay in his seat. He wanted nothing more than to grab the doctor by the collar of his shirt and shove him up against the wall. He couldn't even bear to look at Avery, knowing that one sad look from those wide, beautiful eyes would drive him over the edge into violence.

  "That's not acceptable to me," Conrad said.

  "I'll put it this way, Mr. Fisher. It would be kinder for both you and your slave if you ceased to prolong this suffering. Your file and credit history show that you are in no financial state to bear the burden of this slave's medical treatment. Without it, he is cursed to die slowly and will no doubt infect you if he hasn't already."

  "Are you denying life-saving treatment? Isn't that against the law?"

  "This is a Circle facility, Mr. Fisher. We are already outside the law. A slave is property by our rules, something you do not understand. I would not fix your computer for free, therefore I do not understand why you expect me to clean up this filthy slave without being paid."

  Conrad bit his lip. "I'll find the money. I will."

  "Mr. Fisher. I understand that you have developed an emotional attachment to your slave. It happens in this business more than Masters care to admit. You are a first-time Master, and that can be harder still. However, what did you expect for two-hundred dollars, sir? Do you expect to purchase a mansion for the same amount and act surprised to discover it has taxes and liens against it?"

  Conrad bit his lip. His entire mind screamed the words he wanted to say—he's a human being—but he kept them to himself. This hardened Circle doctor would do nothing more than draw unwanted attention to his unorthodox methods as a Master. There had to be another way, but he wasn't going to find it here.

  "I need time to think about it," Conrad said.

  "Take all the time you need." The doctor handed him a pile of leaflets detailing various euthanasia, cremation, and grief counseling services for Masters.

  Conrad nodded, unable to forge a convincing thank-you, and left the office with a shaky Avery in tow. He remained silent, knowing that once he opened his mouth all his rage and sorrow would come spilling out. They were almost all the way home before Avery broke the silence.

  "Do you…own a gun, Conrad?" Avery asked. His face was red with tear-stains where he'd sobbed quietly to himself the whole time, and he looked truly small and vulnerable, only intensifying Conrad's sense of guilt.

  Conrad pulled into the driveway outside his house and killed the engine before the full implications of Avery's question sank in.

  "Avery." Conrad's voice diminished to a hoarse whisper. "No."

  "I'm going to die anyway," Avery protested. "At least this way it'll be quick. You heard the doctor: it would be mercy."

  "Christina gave me the number of a Master who takes in slaves that can no longer serve. I can give him a call. He will pay for your treatment."

  "No, Conrad, he won't. Nobody is insane enough to pay that kind of money for a broken slave. He'll take me in, but he won't fund my treatment. I'll die slowly."

  "I won't let that happen. There has to be a way I can help you!" Conrad hit the steering wheel before resting his forehead against it. He released the long sigh he'd been holding.

  "Why do you care so much?" Avery asked. "I'm nothing. This is the life I signed up for. I got exactly what I deserved. I never wanted to feel safe again, and I haven't. Not for a single day. I've lived my life with a fear so strong it binds worse than steel chains ever could. In some ways, death is freeing. It means this torment is finally going to end."

  "You're not nothing! God dammit, you're a human being!" Conrad reached over and clasped Avery's chin, turning his head so that their eyes met. Avery welled up and a stray tear streaked down his face. Conrad brushed it away with a calloused finger.

  "You're too soft to be a Master, Conrad, but thank you. Out of all the Masters I've had over the years, I think you're my favorite." Avery managed a wan smile. "I wish I had met you when I was a free man. I might have made different choices in my life."

  "You wouldn't have given me a second look, Avery." Conrad let go and clasped his hands in his lap. "I might be a free man, but I'm still nothing. We're the same, you and I."

  Avery bowed his head. "You were a cop. You have a daughter. You had a wife. I have nothing to show for my life. When I'm gone, nobody will remember I even existed."

  "I'll remember you," Conrad protested.

  Avery shook his head. "You've known me less than a week. Allow me to be honest, but I won't even cross your mind a month after I'm gone. This lonely spell in your life will end, and you'll move on. You'll have a normal relationship with someone else. Someone who can be what you need."

  "You're what I need. Someone who sees me for who I am. Someone who can accept all the ugly parts of me. Someone who can tolerate my weird kinks and hangups and who won't leave me, damn it." Conrad closed his eyes, fighting back the chasm of despair that threatened to swallow him whole.

  "I'm sorry," Avery whispered.

  "No more apologies. We can't apologize for things that are out of our control. We are who we are. We can't change that."

  "Can we go inside? If it's all right with you, I'd like to get blackout drunk."

  "That's the best idea I've heard all day," Conrad said.

  Avery

  The television blared in the background, casting its neon glow through the dark living room. An ad reflected off abandoned bottles that had tumbled off the table onto the ragged, dirty carpet. Avery sat on the edge of his seat, a haze of drunkenness only slightly lessening the open pit of terror in his gut. Conrad was thoroughly drunk, still wearing his battered coat and boots as he swaddled a half-empty whiskey bottle like it was a newborn babe. He slipped in and out of consciousness, and Avery wished he could join him in the sweet oblivion of sleep. Every time he thought his sluggish mind had found peace, the truth came pouring back in and disturbed his rest.

  "Ave." Conrad stirred. Avery reached over and took the whiskey bottle away before it could tumble to the floor. He took a sip and set it down on the table, savoring the burn.

  "Yeah?"

  "Gonna find a way…Don't give up." Conrad sat up and reached for Avery, pulling him down with him as he lay back on the couch.

  Avery rested his head on Conrad's chest, listening to his heart beat. Conrad's hands tangled in his hair, massaging his scalp. Avery came undone, Conrad's tenderness untying his defenses like a pair of shoelaces. "I'm scared," he whispered.

  "I know," Conrad muttered.

  Avery calmed as Conrad's hands traced circles on his back. "Why would you even want to touch me? The blood in my veins is poison. I couldn't even tell you who gave what to me—I've been fucked by so many men. Thousands. Handed around parties. Gangbanged on video. I often loved it, reveling in the way it felt to be used. Other times, I hurt for a week and the handprints around my throat bruised my windpipe." Avery felt one of the boxes in his mind—those little compartments that held his worst moments—crack open a little. The evil spilled out like Pandora's Box, rushing from his mouth in a confession. "They made me hurt others sometimes. Made me rape people. My one Master—he made me fuck his daughter on her eighteenth birthday so he could watch her lose her virginity. She cried so much I couldn't even keep my cock hard, and I got whipped before being given drugs. I wanted to die. I wished for my end o
ver and over. Someone must have been listening."

  "Avery…"

  "Maybe it's for the best, Conrad. Just let me go." He trembled beneath Conrad's touch, as if the tender circles might break him. He'd expected Conrad to withdraw, to pull back, but he was either too drunk or plain unwilling. He hoped for the latter, but it was probably the former. Still, those hands continued to move, tracing lines and circles like Conrad knew the design of Avery's very soul and was drawing it on his body.

  "As a cop…I saw some ugly shit too." Conrad muttered. "Thought I'd seen the worst of what people had to offer. Yet…what's been done to you…" He shook his head, trying to sober up enough to talk. "I don't know how they could—how anyone could lay hands on you…or make you commit unspeakable acts…how they could still look in the mirror afterwards."

  "The Circle has its own laws—its own definition of normal. Not all my Masters were evil to the core, but the Circle does lure in those who place no value on humanity."

  "I wish I could kill every last one of them," Conrad muttered.

  "Don't say things you don't mean."

  A dry sound much like an aborted laugh escaped Conrad's throat. "Before I sold my soul and started taking bribes…I used to believe in justice. The good guys. The bad guys. Wanted to be a good guy."

  "You are a good guy," Avery whispered.

  "To you…it probably seems that way. You've seen…the worst of men. I'm sure I almost look like a saint by comparison."

  "I'm not sure I could handle a saint," Avery admitted. "He'd cover his ears when I blurted out my sins. He'd think I was disgusting."

  "What they did to you…it's not your fault," Conrad soothed.