by T. J. Hamel
When Nathan doesn’t say anything, Maison answers for him. “I’ll tell you what happens – you get killed. Carter gets fucking killed. The operation is over. 8 years are fucking wasted. And thousands of slaves that we were this fucking close to saving no longer get set free.”
Nathan squeezes the neck of his bottle, wishing it was Scott Quinton instead. Everything was going so fucking well before that bastard went and found Carter. Everything was under control. Now, Nathan’s standing in the center of a goddamn mess.
“He deserves to know. I – I need him to know, Maison.”
“We can’t be selfish about this. It ends too bloody. I’m the worst person in the fucking world – the worst brother – but I’d rather Carter live as a sex slave that’s treated better than most because he’s owned by a man I trust, a man I know will be as kind to him as he possibly can, than have Carter know the truth and lose him altogether because he makes a mistake. You said it yourself – this case is damn close to being done. He shouldn’t be stuck there too long. It’s… safest to lie.”
Nathan gulps his scotch, not caring that it burns. At least with it hurting he can blame the pain for the tears stinging his eyes. “Please don’t make me his monster, Maison.”
Maison sniffs. He’s crying again. It’s not a good sign. “I’m so sorry, Travis.”
Eyes falling closed, Nathan sinks into the realization that he can’t get out of this. Both his director and commander are saying to lie. Carter’s fucking brother is saying to lie. Nathan is going to have to lie. Nathan is going to have to pretend to be a fucking slave owner, even in the safety of his own bedroom.
Nathan is going to have to be Carter’s monster.
◆◆◆
Despite Quinton’s promise, another picture doesn’t come for 17 days. 17 long, excruciating days. It’s of Carter in the same shower room as before, looking much skinnier, and far less defiant. His blue eyes are covered with a heavy black blindfold. His stomach is a concave shape. His lips are cracked and his cheeks are sunken in. He’s been sprayed down, the picture a high enough quality to show the drops of water still rolling down his goose-bumped skin. His dark brown hair is overgrown, falling on his forehead in wet clumps. He looks like a miserable, abused, wet dog.
The caption reads: 24 hours. Rome.
Nathan’s best friend, second-hand man, and undercover partner for the operation, is already on the phone with the pilot Nathan keeps on standby. Benny looks at Nathan with a sharp nod. “Wheels up in 30.”
◆◆◆
With 3 hours left on the countdown, the final email is sent. Nathan stops pacing his hotel room when the alert chimes. Benny snaps his head up to look at him. He’s not important enough in this world to be sent things as exclusive as this. Nathan tries not to crumble beneath the weight of Benny’s stare as he opens the message.
It’s a picture of Carter, as always. He’s naked apart from three things; the standard slave collar that Nathan knows Quinton puts on all of his boys, another black blindfold, and a cock cage. Though it’s not pictured, Nathan is sure that Carter’s ass is plugged as well.
Unlike the last picture, Carter looks relatively good in this one. He’s been dried off, all of his body hair from the neck down removed. The messy locks of dark hair have been cut and styled. His cracked lips are blood free and shiny with what Nathan assumes must be some sort of salve.
The caption reads: Belmont. Green Room. 11.
◆◆◆
Nathan’s eyes fall on his target the second he’s brought onto the stage with the others. Even blindfolded, Carter is easy to recognize. Not that he’ll have to worry about purchasing the wrong boy tonight. Carter is the main event. He’s the reason at least half of the men in attendance tonight are even here in the first place, most of them preferring the markets in the Americas instead. It’ll be a production when Carter goes up for sale. Quinton will make a show of it.
Hell, he’s already making a show of it. Nathan has been to two of Quinton’s events before tonight. Both times, the slaves were kept locked in cages in the back, only being brought out one at a time when it was their turn to be auctioned off. Tonight, they’ve brought them all out to be displayed before the champagne has even been distributed.
It gives Nathan a sick feeling in his gut. He has a suspicion Carter won’t be leaving that stage untouched. It won’t just be his sale that’s entertainment. It’ll be his body too.
“Roarke.” Nathan turns his face toward the sound of his name, glancing up to find one of his closer acquaintances standing there. Todd Henley. He internally sighs as he pastes on a smile and pushes to his feet. There are few people in this world that Nathan hates more than Todd Henley. There are also few people in this world that Nathan needs more than Todd Henley if he has any hope in ending this goddamn operation.
“Henley,” Nathan says in greeting, offering his hand to be shaken. “Take a seat?”
“I’d love to.”
Nathan returns to his chair, Henley taking the open one to his left. They’re turned towards each other slightly, enough for them to engage in pleasant conversation while never having to look away from the stage. Something is happening up there. Equipment is being wheeled out from backstage.
Bile rises in Nathan’s throat. He takes a large gulp of scotch to burn it away.
“You here for the Beckett boy?” Henley asks conversationally, as if he doesn’t know. As if he isn’t here for him too.
“Of course. When I catch that son of a bitch, I’m going to tie him up and make him watch as me and every single one of my men fuck his baby brother.” Nathan smirks over the lip of his glass, eyes tracking Carter as he’s yanked across the stage towards the leather padded spanking bench that’s now been anchored in the center of it. They pull him along so fast that his feet can’t keep up. He trips, the men letting him fall face first. Someone grabs him by the bindings on his wrists to pull him to his feet. With his arms bound behind his back as they are, the movement must be excruciatingly painful on his shoulders. Blood drips down the side of his face from a fresh gash across his forehead.
Those motherfu-
“Roarke?” Nathan blinks, looking over at Henley with a questioning brow. Henley chuckles. “I asked if you’re going to kill the boy after that?”
“Ah. I apologize. The show was a bit distracting.” Nathan winks before nodding his head towards the stage. He hates the way Henley grins when he sees what’s happening up there. “As far as what to do with the boy once he’s served his purpose, I haven’t decided. We’ll see how good of a fuck he is, I suppose.”
Henley laughs. “And how used up he is by then, right?”
“Of course.” Nathan drains his glass. He wants another, but he won’t have one. Tonight isn’t the night to numb his guilt. Not if it means dulling everything else as well. Nathan needs to be on his game tonight. Carter Beckett is up for sale, and the boy needs to be coming home with him.
“Man, I’m jealous. You’re going to have a damn good time with that little thing up there. Look at how pretty he is.” Henley whistles low, eyes narrowing on Carter like a predator catching sight of his prey.
“Can’t help but notice you’re acting as if I’ve already won the boy. Are you not putting your money in?”
“Of course I am, but do you think I’ll cross you?” Henley scoffs. “No one I know will cross you. As far as most are concerned, that boy is walking out of here tonight with you holding his leash.”
The words soothe something in Nathan’s chest, but he doesn’t allow himself to get his hopes too far up. There are still challenges in his way. As Henley said, most see Carter as already belonging to Nathan, but not all. There is at least one man that Nathan knows he’ll be fighting tonight. Nathan might be towards the top in this world’s hierarchy, but he’s not the top. Not yet.
“Master Roarke?”
Schooling his expression like he always does before having to face a victim of this cruel world, Nathan turns towards his name. It’s a young sl
ave dressed in nothing but a collar and a cock cage. He doesn’t meet Nathan’s eye, instead focusing on the knot of his black bowtie. Nathan arches a brow. “Can I help you?”
“Master Quinton is requesting your presence backstage.”
“Now?”
“Yes, Master Roarke. If – if you’re able to, Master.”
Nathan eyes the young man, wondering who he belongs to. Wondering what his story is. Wondering if he will finish this operation in time to save him.
“Lead the way, then.” Nathan stands, buttoning his jacket as he does. He nods at Henley. “I’ll see you later?”
“Of course.”
The young man leads Nathan through the crowd, pausing every time Nathan is stopped by someone. He politely stands by and waits as Nathan shakes hands and fakes grins and promises things he doesn’t plan on delivering. Almost every person speaks as if Carter is going home with him tonight. The few that don’t are close allies with the one man Nathan sees as his true competition. Miller. The man Nathan fully expects he’ll be going toe to toe with when it comes time for Carter’s sale.
What Miller doesn’t know is that there’s no chance of him winning. Nathan will be purchasing that boy tonight, no matter what it takes. If there’s a chance he’s not going to hell, it lies with saving Carter Beckett.
“Nathan Roarke!” Scott Quinton says with a grin, his arms outstretched in a grand gesture of presenting himself. “I am so happy you decided to join us.”
It takes everything in Nathan not to roll his eyes. There’s no scenario where Nathan wouldn’t have attended this event. Quinton is just pushing for dramatics by making it sound like it was ever in doubt.
Carefully keeping his disdain out of his tone, Nathan forces a smile and says, “It’s a pleasure, Quinton. As always.”
“Good. Good. I see Miller has arrived as well.”
Drama-lover status proven. Only a man who enjoys conflict would speak of Miller so openly to Nathan. It’s an obvious enough crossed line that Nathan doesn’t bother hiding the heat in his gaze when he levels Quinton with it. The man takes a step back, though Nathan isn’t sure he’s aware that he even does so.
Then Nathan catches sight of what’s happening on stage, and his fury threatens to boil over. Carter is strapped down to the spanking bench now. Someone is standing back, hitting him with a riding crop over and over in brutal strokes. The bench is shaking with the force of Carter’s movements as he writhes in his restraints. He’s sobbing for someone to please help him, his face turning this way and that as he tries to find sanctuary despite his blindfold.
The crowd is eating it up.
The other slaves cower where they’ve been placed kneeling in a line along the back of the stage. All of them are blindfolded like Carter, probably wondering when it will be their turn to endure the same fate.
“Are you enjoying the show?” Quinton asks, misreading Nathan’s expression apparently. “I thought since he’s such a popular commodity that the crowd might enjoy some extra fun before the bidding begins. Perhaps I might open the floor to some sampling, even. Allow everyone to get a taste.”
“Mmm.” Nathan frowns, eyes fixed on Carter. The boy is panicking. He can barely cry, barely beg, his breathing far too erratic now. Nathan wouldn’t be surprised if Carter passes out soon. “You know, I plan on buying that boy, Quinton.”
Quinton grins. “I’m hoping you do, yes!”
“Not if you let anyone lay a fucking hand on him.” Quinton’s eyes snap to Nathan’s, widening. Before he can ask for clarification, Nathan takes one step closer and casually moves his arm so his suit jacket rucks up just enough to show his gun. “That boy is already mine, Scott. You and I both know that. Everyone out there knows that. This auction is a formality. I’ve allowed it because I know you enjoy spectacle, but this is where I draw the line. Don’t you dare open up my property to be touched by others.”
“I – you – well, there are a few others-”
“He. Is. Mine.”
“Miller-”
Nathan takes another step, his nose less than an inch from Quinton’s temple. He pastes on a smile in case anyone is watching them. At the same time, he draws on every evil thought he’s ever harbored and directs the energy into his tone. “It’d be a shame if you lost this market, wouldn’t it? Perhaps Miller isn’t who I should have my sights set on after all. Europe does have a sort of… appeal to it, don’t you agree?”
“No!” Quinton whispers in a harsh panic. He sputters a moment before adding, “I – I won’t let anyone touch what’s yours, sir. Of course not. I – I have much respect for you. Of course he’s going home with you. Of course. Of course, Mr. Roarke.”
Nathan steps back, nodding once. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other now.”
“Yes. I – but perhaps…”
Nathan tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps?”
“Perhaps, when you purchase him, you could… use him? For everyone to watch. I really would love the opportunity to give my crowd a show.”
His gut reaction is to shoot the request down immediately, but his training quickly kicks in. The man he’s built himself up to be – the monster – would do that in a heartbeat. Nathan Roarke would fuck that boy senseless while the audience cheers him on. It’s marking territory in the best possible way. It’s a public fucking claiming, right there for all to see, especially Miller.
If Nathan’s training has taught him anything at all, it’s to do what Nathan Roarke would do, even if it means he loses his humanity in the process.
Maybe Carter Beckett won’t be the way Nathan earns a ladder out of hell after all.
Maybe Carter Beckett will be the final nail in his coffin.
“Fine.” Nathan looks away from the boy, eyes meeting Quinton’s. “No one fucking lays a hand on him from here forward. No one. Leave him on that fucking bench and don’t even breathe too close in his direction.”
Nathan walks away without asking if Quinton understands.
Quinton does.
Chapter Three
Keep calm. Breathe. Pay attention. Wait for your moment.
The words repeat in Carter’s mind as he tries forcing his lungs to work. They’re spoken in Casey’s calm, steady voice. Casey, who he hasn’t seen since he was sequestered in the dark. Casey, who Carter failed to save. Casey, who could be dead right now.
Keep calm. Breathe. Pay attention. Wait for your moment.
Carter’s moment isn’t coming for a long time. He knows that. There’s a possibility that whoever buys him might make a mistake during transport, but he has to survive this next part first. The part that involves him naked and strapped down to something, giving him a sick feeling that his bare ass is on display. He’s pretty sure he’s going to get raped. They haven’t done that to him yet, miraculously, but he’s pretty sure that’s what they’re preparing him for.
All Carter can hope is that it’ll only be one man. The man who buys him. Even though Carter is a virgin, he’s lucky enough to be gay, and to have experience fucking himself with toys, so he thinks he can physically handle a man fucking him. Mentally is another story, but Carter doubts he’ll be able to mentally handle anything any time soon, so he’s given up on that. Physically surviving is the thing right now, and Carter isn’t sure he’d physically survive a gangrape. Especially considering the current state of his body.
Honestly, if the person who buys him would just give him a bit of water and a piece of bread, he’d happily let them fuck him. Preferably on a bed. God, Carter would give anything to lay on a bed. Nice, warm, comfortable. Maybe his buyer will be someone who cuddles. He’d be so down for cuddles. For human contact. Comfort.
A speaker crackles and Carter jumps in his bonds. What sounds like hundreds of cruel voices break out into laughter. He knows it’s directed at him. What else could they possibly find amusing?
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to thank you all, as always, for making the time for-” Carter tunes the person out. He
shouldn’t. Casey’s rules make it clear that details should be paid attention to. Every bit of information Carter can soak in could be what helps save him. Carter can’t, though. He can’t listen to this. Can’t listen to these sick, fucked up people acting as if they’re selling art or antiques instead of human fucking beings. Can’t listen to them talking about him like he’s nothing but a pretty object to bid on.
A pleasure slave. That’s the terminology the men had used when they got him ready for tonight. They had asked him, tauntingly of course, if he was ready to become someone’s pretty little pleasure slave. He doesn’t know why they don’t just call it what it really is. They should have to own it. He’s going to be a sex slave. Pleasure gives the wrong implications. Pleasure makes it sound like he’ll enjoy it.
A pleasure slave.
Carter’s so strung out, he nearly laughs at the thought.
A round of clapping startles Carter again. He has no idea what happened, Casey saying I told you so in the back of his mind. Whatever brought the applause passes and the auctioneer returns to speaking. Carter focuses on his breathing and forces himself to listen and pay attention from this point forward.