Succession (10 page)

“You damn well better put weight on when we go back home. That threat I made when I first bought you and you weren’t eating still stands!”

I smile. It’s a threat, and it’s disgustingly smothering, but in a way I like being smothered. I like the fact that he’s so worried about me that he feels the need to threaten me. “Yes, master,” I reply, smiling at him. “I missed you, too.”

Cash nods, then goes to the door and summons Bulldog back. “Bring me the paperwork and his belongings, please,” he requests, slightly more civil now that he knows I haven’t been harmed.

A few minutes later, some papers and a bag with my clothes in it are brought in. As he fills out the paperwork, I strip the jumpsuit off and change back into my clothes, shocked by how loose they really have become on me. I don’t pay much attention to my body; when it’s bared, I expect something unpleasant, or it’s at night in the dark, or we’re in the showers. Hell, the only time I’ve even gotten off since I’ve been here is the two or three times when Sy has jerked me off to appease some voyeuristic request. I barely recognize myself.

And then I realize that I might never see Sy again.

It’s something I haven’t considered, up until this point, because Sy was part of the detention facility. Not seeing Sy would mean that I had gone home, and every time I thought about going home, I was so happy that nothing else mattered. In my fantasies, Cash would come, swoop me away, and nothing else bad would ever happen again, ever.

But those were fantasies. This is real life, and suddenly, reality is hitting hard.

“Cash, there’s something I have to ask you,” I spit out, impulsive.

“What’s that?” he asks, not bothering to look up from the paperwork.

“There’s a slave here, another one who was detained…” How do I even describe what Sy is to me, what he’s done for me? “He helped me out, Cash. He protected me, from the first day I got here.”

“That was kind of him,” Cash dismisses me, focusing on finishing the last page of paperwork. “Finish getting dressed, I’m not taking you home half-naked.”

I struggle into my clothes, irritated by his attitude. “Can we take him with us?” I burst out.

Cash finally looks up at me. “Sascha, don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure his master will come and claim him eventually.”

“No he won’t! He told me; his master forfeited rights, and he’ll be sold, and he doesn’t have the best background, and if he hadn’t helped me I would have been raped and beaten and hurt every day! He helped me and he protected me and I can’t just leave him here!”

My voice is rising and I don’t care. I won’t be ignored. This is important, and now that I know what I want, I’m going to go for it, consequences be damned.

“What, you want me to buy him?” Cash clarifies, looking less than happy about the situation.

I consider it for a moment. My master isn’t easily swayed by emotional appeals, not even from me. “He knows more about the project than he probably should.”

Cash narrows his eyes at me. He looks like he’s putting something together, and he lowers his voice before speaking. “Is this slave connected to something bigger?”

I’m surprised that Cash has already made the connection; then again, if the Argova family is closely connected with Sy’s master and his gang, it makes sense that they might have contacted Cash as well. Still, I don’t want to say too much in here. I nod, confirming his suspicions.

Cash gives me a suspicious look. I resent it, but then again, I’ve been talking about things that we don’t generally talk about with other people.

“I had to talk to someone! What I’ve been through in here, and Torenze came to visit me… he took care of me, Cash. When you weren’t here, he was. We should keep him close. He can be useful to us, I promise.”

Cash sighs. “All right. We don’t need any more risks. I guess this is how I make the past month up to you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, staying close as we walk out. Cash hands the papers over to where Bulldog and Lanza are standing.

“The other slave that Sascha was with when you were bringing him out—the bigger one?” Cash adds, casually. “I’d like to purchase him.”

Just like that. So typical of Cash.

Lanza looks surprised for half a second, then he glances at me and a look of understanding crosses his face. “The courts haven’t quite figured out what to do with him to settle the account his master built up. It could be another week or two before he’s ready for sale.”

I feel my heart drop, and I try to remind myself that it’s okay, that Sy will be out soon, that Lanza will probably update him. I try to convince myself that the “associates” he mentioned won’t really come in here and kill him once his bargaining chip is gone.

“Look into bypassing that, please,” Cash requests. “Get it taken care of quickly and I’ll pay any fees on the account as well as a finder’s fee to you for arranging it. I’d like to bring him home with me tonight.”

Lanza’s eyes widen at the bribe. “Of course, sir, right away.”

Cash and I are left standing there, and I look at him in awe. I missed his power, his ability to throw his funds around like they mean nothing. He smirks at me, leaning over to whisper in my ear.

“Miss me?”

I smile, leaning against him. “You have no idea.” It’s not just his money, or his power. When he’s around, everything seems to go right. I feel like I have my other half back at my side again.

Chapter 9
Homecoming

We don’t wait long. Lanza puts a rush on the process, and in less than thirty minutes, his com calls have revealed plenty of loopholes to close any open accounts and free Sy for purchase. I am elated. Lanza informs us that he is going to get Sy, and leaves Bulldog to fill out paperwork.

“What the hell do you want him for?” he asks, laughing. “I would have guessed you to be the type to stick with the pretty boys!”

“I saw him with my slave,” Cash answers, much more friendly than I’d be. “I thought they looked quite nice together. I’d like to replicate that in other settings.”

For as friendly as Cash is being, he comes off as rather creepy. He’s eyeing me up, head to toe, and he has a lustful look on his face. “There are just so many more options with another prop.”

Bulldog shuts his mouth as he prepares the rest of the sale quickly.

“He’s got a history of violence,” Bulldog points out. “Want cuffs to keep him in line?”

Cash hesitates for a fraction of a second, and I can tell that he wants to say no. Finally, he smiles. “You know, that would be much appreciated,” he agrees. “I’ll purchase a set of ankle and wrist cuffs, the connecting kind, please.”

I want to protest, badly, but I can tell that Cash has some sort of motivation, so I shut my mouth. I’ve followed Sy’s lead without arguing for weeks, following Cash comes back to me easily. I wait, silent, as Cash goes over the paperwork to facilitate the transfer of ownership. Suddenly, Sy is his. I can only hope Cash and Sy take it the right way.

Lanza leads Sy through the door, naked except for the cuffs. If he’s shocked or embarrassed, he doesn’t let on. He just stands there, naked and still.

“Does he not have clothing?” Cash asks, the picture of an offended aristocrat.

“Sorry, Mr. Michaud, his clothes were taken as evidence. I doubt we’ll ever see them, the trial is still in progress.”

Cash frowns, and then takes off his own jacket, striding over and placing it around Sy’s shoulders. It’s far too small for him, especially with his arms restrained.

“Well, at least he’s not completely naked,” Cash mutters. “Are we finished?”

“Yes, sir,” Lanza replies, smiling more at me and Sy than at Cash. “Best of luck to you.”

Cash barely grunts; apparently, he has decided to hate everyone here. Without another word, he heads out the door, leading us to the hov-car garage that connects to the building.

“I have a rental,” Cash mutters, his tone sour. “It was the fastest way to get here. I can only imagine what the house looks like.”

My eyes widen at the realization. “You haven’t been home?”

Cash finds the rental, opening the back door for Sy. I get into the passenger seat, happy when Cash climbs into the driver’s side next to me.

“Of course I haven’t been home, Sascha, the first thing on my mind was getting you home.”

I smile at him. It’s nice to know he cares. I guess I do, in general, but he’s not particularly good at showing it most days. It’s this sort of thing where he really shines.

“Is everything taken care of?” I ask, suddenly realizing that I haven’t bothered to inquire about his life at all. The fact that he’s here tells me that everything is fine, at least until I’m settled enough to hear the details. I’ll want all of them, but he knows that.

“For now, yes. There was a lot of interest in postponing any sort of legal actions so that I could be locked up for a while, regardless of innocence or guilt. They’re still watching me closely. And the media has gone wild with this! Did you know that I have plans to bomb the national peace centers? Or that I’ve arranged an army of super-slaves to do my bidding?”

I can’t help but laugh. It’s ridiculous, and a part of me is looking forward to going home and looking through my tablet to see the tabloids. “Please tell me they’ve got some sort of satire cartoon of you?”

Cash glares at me, teasing for once. “They have plenty of satire cartoons of me. I hear one company is looking to license my image for a tablet cover and wristband.”

I grin at the image of people sporting a little cartoon Cash on their tablets. “Did you think it would get this big?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “You really set things off, Sascha. I appreciate it—it probably saved both our asses—but there are repercussions to deal with. I have a lawyer, now. We have plans for how to make this work. There’s so much I need to fill you in on. I’ve hired a security company to guard the house, and maybe it’s good that I bought your friend—I could really use a bodyguard at this point.”

Suddenly, I become aware that Sy is in the backseat, silent and still. How quickly I can forget the man who has made my life tolerable for the past few weeks.

Cash rummages in his pockets until he finds something, which he tosses at me carelessly. “Get those cuffs off him, would you? With the attention I’ve been getting, being spotted with an unrestrained monster like that would certainly draw criticism. I’m being criticized enough for being a revolutionary. I need to maintain an image that fits with and works with the existing system. Maybe I’ll look into a shock collars for when we’re out in public.”

I sit there, keys in hand, mouth open. “What the hell?” I manage, appalled that he would even consider using one of those things on Sy. Has prison really changed my master that much?

He takes his eyes off the road for a minute to frown at me. “I’d deactivate it, Sascha. It would just be for appearances. They didn’t lobotomize me, you know.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Get moving; the ugly one put the cuffs on far too tight.”

I grin at his description of Bulldog and I crawl between the front seats, unable to stop myself from giggling as a light smack lands on my ass. God, I missed Cash.

I drop into the seat next to Sy and smile at him. He looks… exactly how he always looks. Calm, wary. I uncuff him quickly, frowning at the red marks where they pressed too tightly. I’d be whining and rubbing at them to ease the burn, but Sy just sits there, silent, waiting.

Cash hits the auto-drive button and adjusts the mirror so he can look back at us. “What’s your name?” he asks, much more cordial than he was when he first bought me.

“Syrus, master.” Sy is formal and stiff. It’s strange to hear.

“Hello, Syrus,” Cash says, nodding. “I hear you were responsible for protecting Sascha?”

“I did the best I could, master,” Sy answers.

“Well, you must have done something right,” Cash comments. “I read through your history—you’ve served as a bodyguard before?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good,” Cash nods. “Sascha can use some guarding.”

I recognize the statement as one of Cash’s terrible jokes; his humor is always off and a little offensive, but I grin anyway.

Sy just nods. “Yes, master.”

“We need to stop for food, and I suppose you’ll need some clothes, too,” Cash observes. He makes a sudden turn into a parking lot, sending his auto-drive into a screeching fit as he overrides it carelessly. “Wait in the car. I might take Sascha in like that, but not you.”

“As you wish, master.” It’s hard to tell, but I think I see the beginnings of a smile on the edge of Sy’s lips.

We enter a superstore, the kind that Cash typically wouldn’t be caught dead in, and we collect a variety of food, clothes, and even some personal care items. Cash looks at it all distastefully, but it’s the fastest solution. Even his elitist tendencies seem to have some flexibility when necessary. He tosses the clothes to Sy the moment we reach the car, and Sy dresses himself quickly.

The security team is in place at the house, and it’s chilling to see. They try not to be too obvious, but they aren’t hiding. Uniformed guards stand at every corner of the house, and I’m certain there are some we haven’t seen yet. The grass is overgrown and some debris litters our door—handwritten letters, bottles that must have been thrown from passing vehicles. It looks abandoned, save for the security.

“My maintenance crew quit once this hit the news,” Cash comments. “It seems there was a bit of harassment going on.”

Sy carries the bags without question. I am thrilled to be back home, looking around with surprise. Since the first time Cash brought me here, it has been immaculate, nearly unsettling in how empty and clean it is. Cash doesn’t like a mess, and the house is big enough that all the expensive furniture and artwork barely begins to fill the space. Now, though, it’s messy, torn apart by Kristine Miller’s little raid. They’ve left the furniture unturned, cushions tossed around the room, drawer contents and emptied trash can mess littering the floor. On top of it all is a layer of dust; so unusual, it gives the whole house an eerie feel.

Cash nods at Sy to follow him, and Sy complies like the perfectly trained slave that he probably is. We make our way down the hallway, slightly cleaner than the rest of the house, and we arrive at one of the guest bedrooms. It’s been looked through, obviously, but there was so little in it to begin with. I used to keep my bedroom messier when I was a kid, just some sheets on the floor and an overturned end table.