Succession (2 page)

“You’ll wait here,” he says, releasing my arm. “Someone will be with you shortly. It’s tight protocol around here. Think back to your training.”

“Thank you, sir.” He’s given me a valuable piece of information.

He leaves, and a few minutes later, the door opens and two men step in. Judging by the uniforms, I assume they’re guards. Both look about my master’s age, one is a little taller and thinner, the other one slightly shorter but stocky. Intimidating.

“Get your clothes off, slave,” the short, stocky one barks, like I’ve already disobeyed. His aggressive tone and stance prompts me to dub him “Bulldog.”

I comply, starting with the buttons on my shirt. I move quickly enough not to seem defiant, but I try to retain a little dignity. I wonder if they know who I am, to whom I belong.

“You want me to rip them off?” Bulldog threatens.

“His clothes are worth more than a month’s pay,” the other guard intervenes. “You might not have anything better to do than get your pay docked, but I have a family to take care of, and they like to eat. Besides, his master’s making waves. There will be a lot of attention on this one.”

“I don’t care who his master is. It’s stupid spending that much on clothes for a slave.”

Nobody responds, especially not me. I marvel at the reputation that I’ve already developed as I set my shirt aside and remove my pants seconds later. Bulldog would have approved of the clothes I wore a few years ago. As a washed-up brothel whore, there would have been nothing for him to envy, barely anything to be removed. I thought it would be that way forever, but since Cashiel Michaud bought me on a whim, I’ve enjoyed the finer things in life. Not just clothes, but food, safety… and the respect and affection of a man who’s just as pleased as I am to meet an intellectual equal, no matter what our stations in life.

The taller guard takes my clothes and places them in a bag, where I assume they’ll be kept until I’m released.

“Time for the fun part,” Bulldog says, smirking at me like he really will enjoy whatever horrors they’re going to inflict on me.

The other guard frowns at him and takes a step toward me.

“I’m going to search you for contraband,” he informs me. “This will be a visual and manual inspection. If you don’t cooperate, Officer Reynolds will restrain you, and there may be additional consequences later.”

Bulldog Reynolds. It has a ring to it. When I was first Demoted, I might have commented on it out loud, but I’ve since learned the value of silence. “I’ll cooperate, sir.”

“Good.” The officer nods at me. “Spread your legs and hold your arms out.”

I do as he asks and he looks me over while putting a pair of gloves on. The sight of gloves makes me shudder, as does the feeling of them on my skin. He’s clinical about it, feeling through my hair, behind my ears, and around my dick and balls. As thorough as he is, he doesn’t hurt me, and I appreciate that enough to want to comply.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, and when I do, he sticks one finger from each hand in there quickly, checking under my tongue and around my cheeks with startling efficiency. “Good.”

He takes a step back, catching my eye before issuing the next order. “Lean over, place your hands flat on the table, and spread your legs.”

I feel all my muscles tense, but I know I can’t fight it. I do as he asks. I’m mildly comforted to hear lube squirt from a tube, and a second later, I feel a hand on my hip. He holds me in place firmly and I feel his other hand going between my asscheeks.

“Breathe out,” he says quietly. As I do, he presses his fingers into me.

I grunt at the unexpected pain. It’s not like I don’t get fucked all the time, but I’m turned on when I’m fucked. I try to make myself relax as I feel his fingers probing insistently, checking for contraband. It’s barely started before it’s over, and I feel him withdrawing, more carefully than I would have expected. I stay positioned over the table, breathing shallowly as I listen to the sound of the gloves being removed.

A light touch on my shoulder brings me back to the present, and I stand again.

“Good,” the guard says, nodding at me. “You may kneel for the rest.”

I drop to my knees silently. I’m going to stay silent for as long as possible; I can’t get into as much trouble that way. They might let something slip, something that can help me or Cash.

Bulldog eyes me up. “Listen up, boy, here’s the situation: You are being detained as evidence at Leadview Slave Detention Facility until further notice. Your master has committed or is being held for questioning for a crime worthy of incarceration, and you will remain at Leadview until such time as he is released, unless a third party has been arranged for your safekeeping. Do you know of any such third party?”

I wrack my brain, hoping to come up with anyone who would vouch for me. My master doesn’t really keep close friends or associates, especially with our need for secrecy for the project. My mind briefly flickers to Abriel, but I realize I would rather stay in a detention facility than suffer through his wife ever again. My master’s business partner, Oliver Torenze would take me. He probably has the legal right to do so, and I don’t doubt that he would be eager to have me in his home again. It might even make his partnership with Cash look more legitimate, assuming he would take me, and assuming I could survive it. Last time I spent the day with him, he savored every minute of my torture, raping, beating, and humiliating me until I thought I would break. Just thinking about him brings the memories back, rushing in, almost too much to handle. Suddenly, the grey concrete of the detention facility looks appealing.

“No, sir,” I mumble, shaking my head.

Bulldog grins at that. “Well, then you’re ours for a while,” he announces, triumphant, like he’s just made a great discovery. “You will obey any and all guards immediately. Obstinacy, insolence, and defiance will be punished immediately. Physical violence or fighting will be punished immediately. Any attempt to start or participate in a riot will be punished. Punishments will consist primarily of lashes, but may include other physical correction, and difficulty interacting with others may result in solitary confinement. That clear, boy?”

He’s still looking triumphant, and I can’t help but feel appalled at the thought that this strange brute might lay hands on me, might actually whip me. Cash has gotten me too used to good treatment, to protection. Reality crashes back down as I’m reminded that I’m still a slave, no matter how well I’m treated at home. I stare at him, slack-jawed.

“I guess I’ll familiarize you with the punishment for insolence now,” he says, smiling as he takes a step toward me.

The other guard grabs him by his arm and jerks him back. “Reynolds, don’t be a hard-ass. You saw what he was wearing when he came in, and you saw the news report. We have to be careful with this one. The whole country’s got eyes on his master and the Demoted system—what do you think happens to us if we leave so much as one unnecessary mark on his spoiled little pet? Don’t ask for trouble. There are plenty of throwaways here.”

“Christ, Lanza, look at the boy!” Bulldog counters, pulling his arm away, “He’s scarred up all over. Think his master would notice a few more to add to the mix?”

I start to tremble, the reality of my situation becoming quickly clear. I forget what I look like, sometimes, with Cash, but in the rest of the world, the scars are a liability. They mark me as worthless, and they mark me as difficult.

“Yes, I see him, and I see the scars,” Lanza says. “But since I’m not nearly as keen on torturing the boy as you, I can also see that this one hasn’t been seriously harmed in months, if not years. A few from rough play, maybe, but the deep ones are old. New ones will be noticeable. His master will have your job or more.”

Bulldog grunts, and I can’t decide whether it’s at me or at his partner.

Lanza looks at me sternly. “Please respond when you are asked a direct question,” he orders. “Do you understand the rules that Officer Reynolds read to you?”

“Yes, sir,” I manage, relieved to be spoken to like a human being.

“You’ll be taken to shower and then given a jumpsuit,” Lanza informs me. “After that you’ll be released into the common room with the rest of the slaves. A word of advice—we are not babysitters. We exist to maintain a calm, safe environment, but we will not attend to the petty squabbles of slaves. It is recommended that you do not cause trouble—especially not a slave as delicate as you are.”

“Yes, sir.” I can’t tell if he wants an answer or not.

I’m nervous when Bulldog is the one who takes me to the showers, but he’s surprisingly professional. He sprays too hard and scrubs too vigorously, but he doesn’t molest me, and he doesn’t threaten me with anything but his looks. Cash would have his job if he heard him so much as threatening me, but that would depend on Cash coming for me sometime soon.

I can’t bring myself to consider the alternative.

I’m given a scratchy jumpsuit, which I pull on quickly, trying to look casual.

“Not as nice as your silk shirts,” Bulldog comments. “Ever wondered how the rest of the world lives?”

“No, sir,” I answer, just to have something to say. He knows nothing about me, nothing about what I suffered before my master bought me.

“Be grateful,” he mutters. “You’re getting food and clothes and a place to sleep. Better than what you deserve.”

“Yes, sir.” I walk behind him.

We reach a big, locked door, and he types in a series of numbers on the keypad. A few seconds later, we hear a click, and we walk through the door. It closes behind us before the next one opens, and once it does, I see the collection of intimidating men with whom I am to spend an indeterminate amount of time.

Bulldog gives me a shove, pushing me away from him. “Boys, meet your new playtoy. Officer Lanza and I will be busy until the dinnertime check, so make sure to show him a warm welcome!”

The bastard laughs as he walks off, and I try to swallow my dread as I hear the electronic locks on the doors activate as he walks back through them.

Chapter 2
Claimed

I recognize the boy the moment Reynolds brings him through the doors, but it takes me a few more moments to believe my good fortune.

It’s been months since I’ve seen the pretty boy, before I was brought to Leadview almost eight months ago. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him, then, just a few glances at an event my master took me to. He’s just another pretty slave boy. It’s the way he acts that makes me realize it’s him, the way he looks around the room like he’s committing every detail to memory, the way he studies and analyzes things. The way he looks down at the rest of us.

He should, probably. We are criminals, at least our masters are. I recall little about the pretty boy’s master, other than his partnership with Oliver Torenze, which made him somewhat relevant. The boy is here for some white-collar crime of his master’s, probably. If that crime is of interest to the 27th Street Gang, the organization my master belongs to, he might be of use to me. If the boy is of interest to the Argova family, the organized crime syndicate the 27th Street Gang answers to, he might be my saving grace.

One of the other men approaches the pretty boy and he stiffens. I can see him trying not to show fear, but it’s written all over his face. The others are drawn to it. The first time I was in a place like this, I probably looked the same. It’s intimidating; the detention facilities are housed in old prisons, metal bars and everything. The slaves in here take full advantage of the setting, trading favors with the guards and abusing those less powerful than themselves. Marvin is one of the more powerful. He’s the one whispering in the boy’s ear, even as he tries to pull away.

Two of Marvin’s associates join, and I can hear the boy’s voice changing to a whimper. He’s giving them exactly what they want. He’ll lose if he tries to fight them. The room goes quiet as we wait to see what happens, if the boy will cave and submit willingly, or if Marvin and his crew will force him. The guards won’t care either way, but I doubt I’ll be able to do anything with the boy once Marvin’s finished with him.

I watch as they force him to his knees. He’s silent, fighting back tears. I sigh. Time to cash in on the single favor I have left in Leadview.

“Leave him alone.”

The room was quiet before, just the low din of conversations competing with the buzzing of the lights. It goes silent when I speak. I walk toward Marvin and the boy.

“I want him,” I announce, keeping my voice just loud enough to be heard.

“Sy,” Marvin starts, not releasing his grip on the boy yet.

“You owe me,” I remind him calmly. For months, I’ve waited for the best opportunity to use the favor I earned when I first got here, the one that ended with me being locked in the tiny solitary confinement cell for weeks. Killing another slave for Marvin had not only secured my protection then, but would be my ticket to claiming this bargaining tool for myself. “I want him, and I don’t share. Give him to me.”

“Marvin, come on!” One of the others protests, his jumpsuit already unzipped and his dick out. “We haven’t had one this good looking in ages!”

“Leave it, or you can take his place!” Marvin snaps. He pulls the boy to his feet and gives him a shove, glaring at me. “Take him, then. And you better enjoy him, because we’re even after this.”

“Done.”

I catch the pretty boy as he stumbles toward me, glancing up at me in grateful terror. I’m repulsed by what I see in his eyes, what he expects from me. He sizes me up without even trying to hide it. I’m a giant compared to him, built and trained as professional muscle, with enough scars to illustrate my rough history. He’s attractive, but I’m far more interested in finding out what he can do for me. I have bigger ambitions than a cheap fuck.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Sascha.” His eyes lock on mine like nothing else matters. It’s unnerving, especially since we have an audience. He doesn’t seem to realize that.

“Syrus. Most people call me Sy.”

“Okay.”

“Come with me.”

I start walking immediately, certain he’ll follow. I lead him to a cell, and a small crowd follows a few steps behind. I don’t need to look to know that Marvin will be at the front, making sure I really do just want the pretty boy to fuck. If anyone knows he might have other value, I risk losing him. A fuck isn’t worth getting into a fight; the chance to please a master or provide useful information is worth fighting or even killing for. I’d rather not put myself or Sascha in that position.