His Brand of Love

by Angelique Voisen

  “M-master—”

  He placed a finger to my lips. “I’m not done.”

  Images threatened to pour out from the invisible armor I’d erected in my head. Nightmares where an eight-year-old me ran past endless corridors, clambered up stairs, trying to outrun my pursuer. In the end, he’d always catch me by the scruff of my shirt and kick me into the closet, locking me in. I shivered. Master came back, ball gag in hand. Another toy I hated because it stole my voice. Nonetheless, I let him fit over my head.

  I could endure an hour for him. Sixty minutes of the dark and silence. I looked up at him from beneath tear-filled lashes, wanting some measure of comfort, hoping he’d relent. Change his mind or give me a kiss and tell me to be brave. He did none of those things. Master rose to his feet, not looking at me once.

  “Perhaps being in here for a few days will teach you a valuable lesson, pet.”

  Did Master say a few days?

  Nothing about this was sane, safe, or consensual.

  This must be some kind of mistake, a cruel joke, but Master’s face remained impassive, lacking any sign of pity, of anything really.

  My safeword came out as a hopeless and muffled groan. Something inside me snapped. All of Noah’s lessons unraveled in the face of the terrible truth. Screeching beneath my gag, I fought. Hands and legs free, I lashed out, a wild animal, but the leash jerked me back to the wall.

  Master, no. Noah wasn’t my salvation, but my very own monster.

  Chapter Three

  Nick

  I glanced at my cell phone after parking the car, frowning. Three days and he hadn’t responded to my texts or calls. A queasy feeling washed over me. The last time something like this happened to my brother, he’d gone off the rails. It had taken everything of me to drag him back to reality. Had Noah been neglecting his pills again?

  “Fuck. It feels like I’ve been doing nothing but taking care of you my entire life,” I muttered.

  Six months. He promised me he’d try, that he’d worked hard to get his shit together so they would renew his membership at the club. It took me an hour to figure out Noah had been lying to me. Over the last twenty-four months, we’d spent time together. I’d tolerate his love for theatre and he’d watch a baseball game with me.

  Not once did he probe me about his membership. I thought it strange then, because the club had been both our lives. Noah was in his element there, one of the top Doms, until he ignored the safeword of a male sub. Things went south from there. The other partners in the club wanted nothing to do with him, but I convinced a fellow co-club owner and one of my good friends Chris. Chris, in turn, convinced the club to give Noah six months to fix himself.

  Like me, Noah had shares in the club and still earned passive income from it, but he’d been a silent partner until he atoned for his mistake. I personally gave the others news of his progress, never realizing Noah had started cruising the lesser known clubs in the city. Last I heard, he’d even collared and claimed a sub for his own.

  Fuck. We’d even attended Sunday Mass together. Neither of us were believers. We went for the sake of visiting her grave in the cemetery behind the church—Therese Hall, our mother.

  I pulled out Therese’s old rosary from my pocket. For a man of little faith, I’d run my fingernails over each bead as frequently as I practiced using the single-tail whip on beginning subs eager to taste a bite of my cruelty.

  She’d fucked both of us up. Sent us to the best Catholic schools, made us into altar boys, and she would have sent us to the priesthood, too, if I hadn’t placed my foot down. Ill thoughts, words, and deeds—nothing but dark desires fueled Noah and me. That had been one unbreakable bond we shared when we entered the world of BDSM. We learned what it took to master and control, to become good Doms and partners of an exclusive BDSM club.

  Somewhere along the line, Noah broke. Specialists argued some of us into the lifestyle were a product of damage. Untrue. Deep down, in my bones, I knew what I was since I was in my teens—a sadist. I inflicted pain for love, and my sub would bear that pain, craved it, to earn my love. Not that I took any permanent sub for my own.

  With Noah, I’m no longer sure.

  I plucked the photo from my dashboard. Yellowing at the edges, it smelled of age, of memories long buried. The happy people preserved by the camera lens looked wrong. Fake. Father, mother, and two boys—a complete set.

  First the rosary and the photo, why did I allow sentimentality to wash over me?

  Tucking the rosary back in my pocket, I stared at the picture a little longer. Letting out a small sound of disgust, I slapped it back on the dashboard, facedown so the oblivious smirking idiots would no longer look back at me.

  I get out of the car, lighting a smoke to calm my nerves. By the time I’d whittled away the stick and threw it in the bin by the elevator lobby, I didn’t feel any better. I cracked my knuckles, waiting until the bell chimed, reaching Noah’s floor. How often did my brother lie to my fucking face, whenever I visited him here?

  Reaching his unit, I rapped insistently on the door. No response, but I could hear the wail of violins humming from Noah’s surround-sound speakers. Noah always did like drama.

  “Open the fucking door, Noah, or I’m going to make so much noise your neighbors will call the cops.”

  That did the trick. I heard his hurried footsteps later, the door opening.

  “Nick, you didn’t mention you were coming.” Noah furrowed his brows.

  “You weren’t answering any of my calls or messages. I was starting to worry.” I elbowed my way past him, not hard to do, given I’m bigger, able to punch the living daylights of him if I needed to.

  “Well, come on right in.” Noah didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

  We regarded one another, trying to read the other the way we’d study potential subs, but failing miserably. Finally, Noah sighed.

  “Coffee or tea?” Noah asked.

  “Coffee. Black.”

  Had it been my imagination, or did a thump sound from somewhere in his room?

  “Did you get a pet?” I asked, sitting myself on the counter, watching him pour me a hot, steaming mug of coffee.

  “You can say that.” Noah filled his own mug, adding two cubes of sugar, before joining me.

  “You missed Sunday Mass.” I didn’t know why I went right for the kill. Perhaps I’d gotten sick of watching his back and trusting he’d do the right thing, the best for himself.

  “Mass,” he mused. “I forgot. I’ve been too obsessed with my new project lately. Time has become an irrelevant factor.”

  Was Noah pulling my leg, playing some kind of sick game, or did he tell the truth?

  I could never tell, but the mystery had lost its appeal a long time ago.

  “New project? You’ve gotten a new hobby then, like your therapist suggested?” I asked.

  I might be wrong. There might be hope for Noah after all. With some work, he could pull himself together and become the decent man I knew was buried underneath all his invisible armor. Blood was thicker than water. Noah was my only family. Despite my exhaustion and being disappointed too many times by his refusal to change, not to mention cleaning up his messes, I shouldn’t give up on him yet.

  Noah chuckled. “You could say that. Total immersion, brother, that’s how much my pet’s been giving me grief.”

  “What did you get then, dog, cat, or a fucking fish?” I demanded.

  Noah invested his time in simple things, like caring for another living being. Unable to help myself, I returned his grin. I’d broach the subject about him frequenting other clubs and taking a new sub another time. From personal experience, pushing Noah too far led to disastrous results. When someone pushes you, you push back, right? With Noah, however, he went right off the tracks.

  “Much better than a dog, brother. Something more exotic,” came his cryptic answer.

  Distrust replaced whatever little pride I’d felt earlier. Did I make constant excuses for Noah to the oth
er founders of the club, project his progress in my head, because he was my brother?

  I didn’t allow my smile to vanish, as that would send alarm bells ringing in Noah’s head. Racking my brains, I thought long and hard on our thousands of conversations together. A pet, Noah mentioned. He’d always fantasized about total power exchange, a 24/7 D/s relationship with a sub.

  No. Noah wouldn’t. He knew he was too imbalanced, far from ready to take on such a commitment. A chill crawled down my spine. I rubbed my hands, not surprised to find them cold and clammy.

  “Will you show me?” I asked.

  Noah’s smile faltered at my words, as if sensing the change in me.

  His crumbling expression dragged me back to the past.

  At eight, he’d always been curious, looking for new ways to hurt living things. Look, Nick, he’d said, showing me a dead mantis, its limbs twisted at odd angles, the others missing. Come see. Noah led me to the sandbox, grabbed his favorite red shovel, and began digging up the graves of other things—spiders, beetles, something with fur. My mind flashed fast forward to six months ago, to the incident at the club that had caused his membership ban.

  Without Chris’s and my intervention, it would be a lifetime ban as opposed to six months. I’d run up to one of the club’s dungeon monitors, who pounded his fists against one of the club’s private rooms. Few people had access to these rooms. Noah was one of them. I was another. Hearing the scream, I’d nearly dropped my keys. Time crawled, the way it did in horror movies, when the film reached its climax.

  It took me three tries to get the door opened. Three minutes to get the bloody and battered piece of sobbing meat that was once an adult man in his late twenties.

  “Noah? You’re wasting my time,” I said, sounding bored, indifferent.

  I used the tone he responded to the best. Noah couldn’t stand not impressing me, trying to outdo me. It was one of his vital flaws.

  I couldn’t back off now. If my worst fears came to pass and Noah really kept a young man inside God-knew-where, some dungeon he’d especially constructed, there was no going back for Noah or his victim. Not sub, boy, willing slave, because Noah crossed the one line he shouldn’t.

  Did Noah even obtain the consent of his latest conquest, before shoving him into his private hell?

  “You’ll see. Come with me, Nick,” Noah said.

  Noah got off the stool, turning his heel towards his bedroom. If he’d spent every waking moment trapped in this apartment for the last three days, why did he wear his suit? He’d always favored tailored clothing, but this, what the fuck went on that mind of his?

  I startled, clenching my fists to my side. I didn’t know Noah anymore. Watching the tense lines of his back, I could almost feel excitement rolling off him in waves.

  Had I lost him a long time ago, without realizing it?

  His bedroom looked the same—lavish, ornate, impractical, and furnished with heavy and imported furniture from Europe. I scanned the room for new signs of his deteriorating mind, gaze landing on the police-issued cuffs hanging on the headboard and foot of the bed.

  I never used those, preferring leather and Velcro. Next to the bed stood a cage large enough to contain a human being, but not for long periods of time. The St. Andrew’s cross was new, too. Someone had been shopping lately.

  Not a spot of blood on the cuffs or bars. No signs of a struggle. I didn’t catch a whiff of any strange smells either. Noah had always been a perfectionist. No surprise one of his favorite quotes was “cleanliness is next to godliness”. Did Noah consider himself a god to his latest victim?

  I heard it then—a muffled wheeze, someone breathing raggedly behind a gag, and a thump on the closet door. My nostrils flared. I dug my fingers against my palms. Jesus. I couldn’t afford to give anything away.

  Noticing Noah watched me intently, I remarked, “I like what you did with the room.”

  Keep talking.

  “Cage, cross, where’s the rest?”

  “You’ve seen nothing yet. I’m in the process of converting the spare guest bedroom into my play area. See the ceilings and walls? I’ve called in a specialist to soundproof them. By then, I’ll have broken down my pet. He wouldn’t fight me anymore.”

  What could I say to my brother? That’s he’s insane, delusional, and needs help? Looking into his gray eyes, so similar to mine, I no longer saw my reflection. Madness lingered in his depths. Noah was beyond salvation. Deep down, I knew the truth. I shoved my hand into my jeans pocket, fingering each bead of my mother’s rosary and prayed to a God I never believed in.

  God, give me the strength to do what I must. Help me save this young man my brother thinks belongs to him.

  Chapter Four

  Nick

  Noah walked up to the closet door, hammered his fist against the wood and grinned when the sub trapped inside bumped into something. Whoever was inside made that awful sound again, like a dog beaten to death but too stubborn to die. I knew my brother’s tastes. Whoever remained trapped in there would be male, in his early twenties, and someone who wouldn’t be missed. In other words, low profile, and in this sense, Noah and I were alike.

  My brother wanted to break them down, these lost boys, and whittle them to nothing for kicks. Lonely subs called to me for one reason. Their vulnerability proved too easy to exploit, to convert into steel through strength of submission.

  “Are you listening, pet? I have a guest, the only man whose opinion matters to me, so you better behave,” Noah chided.

  Noah pulled out a thin chain from underneath his shirt, and dangling at the end was a little key, one that unlocked his little prison.

  I cracked my knuckles, tensing up. The door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness for a second. The tiny space stank, of fear and despair, tears and sweat. Noah flicked the light switch open. Huddled to his side, towards us, with his knees drawn to his chest, lay Noah’s captive.

  Naked, sweat clung to his lean body, and a leather collar, worn with use, circled his neck. Noah had attached a red ball gag around his mouth, rendering him mute, incapable of making any sound but animal noises. Even peeled open to a permanent O, his mouth looked tempting, perfect for me to turn swollen with punishing kisses or slip my dick between. Noah had lashed his wrists and ankles together with rope, tight enough to bruise, create rope marks.

  Fuck, it was sheer dumb luck Noah didn’t cut away the boy’s circulation.

  I couldn’t deny the illusion he cast, how the sight of him, gagged, bound, and frightened, sent a surge of desire right to my chest and groin. Want hit me, twice as bad, lethal almost.

  He trembled at the sight of us, eyes widening in shock. Staring at first at Noah, his gaze met mine, full of terrible fear and casting away any thought that the sight of him was nothing but an apparition. What a sight Noah and I must make. Despite being older than Noah by a year and being bigger, scarred, and rough, we looked almost identical.

  No consent. No safeword.

  Noah really had the guts to do something so unthinkable. I admired and loathed his actions at the same time. I’d never pretended to be a good man. To make sure we didn’t both end up in the gutter, I’d nearly killed myself several times in illegal cage fights so Noah could get his degree. What the fuck went wrong? When did I realize I had a monster for a little brother?

  “Isn’t my pet perfect, Nick? A little disobedient though, but we could tag team him. Take turns breaking him, marking him,” Noah said dreamily.

  “How long?” My voice came out harsh, losing a measure of control, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the boy, whose baby blues all but screamed “save me”, but I wasn’t not sure I was the savior he’s looking for.

  “I kept him in there to punish him, knowing he’s claustrophobic. I think I’m going to make this my pet’s permanent home. I’m also thinking of calling him ‘dog’ instead of his real name. Sounds more appropriate than Julian anyway.”

  Julian. Finally, a name to call my brother�
�s victim.

  Noah spoke so casually about breaking Julian like a colt, but one look and I knew Noah had truly lost it. Three days and he’d already broken down this young man without realizing it. My hand crept to my mother’s rosary. I thumbed the smooth edges of the crucifix, before reaching to my phone. One call and I could put an end to this.

  Walk away, Nick. Make an excuse to head to the bathroom before the instinct to pummel Noah into an unrecognizable pulp kicks in.

  Noah entered the room. Julian cringed, tried to make himself as small as possible. Twitches crawled up the left side of my face. Noah reached into his pocket again, pulling out something I’d never seen out of a museum. Metal polished to perfection, its pear-shaped body glinted under the harsh closet light. He turned the screw at the top, unfurling the leaves. Julian let out a muffled scream, clearly knowing what it was.

  Julian stared at me over Noah’s shoulder, the desperation there able to cut to the bone.

  “Remember what I said, pet? If you’re good, you’ll get a reward, but you made such displeasing noises,” Noah said.

  Noah twisted the screw of the pear of anguish to the maximum, a threat, but I knew nothing about my brother anymore.

  I took a step forward. It became easier. Logic told me to call the police and have Noah arrested, but Noah had shoved me down the rabbit hole far too deep to come up now. Julian let out another whimper behind his ball gag, and I lost it. Rage blinded me. A surge of protectiveness filled me and propelled my body to keep moving forward.

  Did I want to save this young man, or take him for myself?

  My hands found Noah’s neck a second later, the most vulnerable part of the human body. I’d used these hands to maim and kill. I’m not a good man, let alone a decent one, but I’d never expected to use them on my own brother.

  Noah dropped the infernal medieval torture device, started making choking noises and gasping. He grabbed at me, trying to get the upper hand, but I had him in an unbreakable chokehold.