Succession (25 page)

Cash announced thirty minutes ago that he had answered his last question, but when he sticks to his word, the crowd gets more aggressive, grabbing at Cash’s clothes and my skin in an attempt to slow us down.

“Who else is your master meeting with? Is he an abolitionist? Are you really even a slave?”

“Do you stupid Demoted whores think you can change anything?”

I pull away from the hands that reach out toward me, poking and grabbing, never long enough to hold on, but long enough to make me uncomfortable. Cash swats them away, and Sy struggles to block their access. He’s better at evading their touch—as a bodyguard, he was taught those skills.

“Where do you think you’re going? Off to play with your spoiled pets? Let’s see how well-behaved they really are!”

Maybe they’re not trying to separate Sy and me from our master, but they do.

The last order I hear Cash bark at Sy is “Take care of Sascha.” He speaks loudly enough for the cameras to pick it up, and I know it’s intentional.

Sy responds with military precision, shifting away from Cash and focusing on protecting just me. He places his hands around my waist, pulling me close in front of him so he can guide me through the crowd without losing me. Cash falls behind, cursing the press and calling for more security; paid security, free people who can brandish crowd control weapons. Sy might be a good human shield, but his ability to physically defend either me or Cash is limited by his status.

A microphone is jammed into my face, hitting me, and the overzealous reporter doesn’t seem to care.

“Does your master have ties with an abolitionist movement?” the man demands, his microphone jabbing into my lip. “Have you heard him discussing plans with foreign enemies?”

“Stop it!” I snap, forgetting my manners and my place. I backpedal. “Sir, you’re hurting me!”

Sy tries to shift me away, but the reporter is determined. He grabs my arm, twisting it until I cry out.

“Answer my question, boy!” he growls, refusing to let go. “I’ll beat you like a proper master should!”

The statement incites me. I’ve heard my master mocked too many times today. I struggle to wrench my arm away, furious when the man grabs me again.

“Let me go!” I yell, pulling away with one hand while striking out with the other.

My fist never connects, because the reporter simply isn’t there by the time it gets there. I stumble, startled to have connected with thin air, and I realize what I’ve just caused. Sy’s longer, faster arms were able to knock the man to the ground before I had a chance to even graze him.

Those arms are wrapped tightly around me, now, shielding me from the blows that other free people are directing at us as well as the things that are being thrown. I want to struggle, but he’s holding me too tightly. As I start to panic, he tightens his grip.

“Don’t fight me, Sascha,” Sy whispers. “You’ll make it worse for all of us.”

I sag in his arms, feeling the weight of that truth a moment later. The crowd calls for officers to take vengeance against the violent slave who dared to lay hands on a free person.

“Get on your knees,” Sy whispers, pulling me down with him. “Don’t touch me. If they tase me, it will pass to you.”

He stays close, kneeling perfectly, head bowed, waiting for commands or punishments. He’s still between me and the officers, and I don’t doubt that he’ll throw himself on top of me to protect me. I want Cash. Where the hell is he?

“That’s the one!” I hear the voice of the reporter accusing us. “That beast attacked me!”

“Hit him,” an officer orders. A moment later, I hear a popping noise, and I watch as Sy falls to the ground, his muscles twitching as the electricity passes through him. I bite back tears of helplessness.

“Enough!”

The sound of Cash’s voice calms me. He’ll fix this. He has to.

“The slave is subdued,” Cash points out. The crowd parts for him as he strides over to us. The altercation, combined with the sound of tasers, has prompted all but the most unruly of people to give us some space. “Harm him again and I’ll have the department for the medical bills.”

The threat of financial consequences makes the officers back down quickly.

“Your slave attacked me!” the reporter declares. “Pushed me right to the ground!”

Cash frowns, glancing at me, because Sy is on the ground. “Is this true?”

Sy rises to his knees again, still shaking, and looks at our master calmly. “Yes, master.”

The crowd roars, demanding he be killed, beaten, tased some more. A few people cheer him, probably because the reporter was equally as annoying to them as he was to us.

A bitter look crosses Cash’s face for a moment before he crushes it. “Come here, boy.”

He never calls Sy that, and it’s chilling to hear him do it so callously. Sy is on his feet and walking to our master in a second. I rise as well. Cash didn’t call me, but I want him. I run to his side, dropping to my knees again. I’m the pretty little pleasure slave; nobody is going to think twice about me hiding behind my master’s legs. If I had done so in the first place, none of this would have happened.

Cash glances at the officers. “I’ll need to talk to the chief of security.”

One nods, turning to fetch the person Cash requested. I look at Sy, kneeling just a few inches from me. He’s perfectly positioned, his face calm and serene. I’m not doing as well. Cash reaches down to run his finger through my hair, reassuring me in the only way that is proper in a setting like this. The kindness brings tears to my eyes, and I turn toward him, away from the crowd that will surely mock my affection.

The chief of security arrives in minutes, directing his team to push the crowd further away from where we wait, giving us the space to resolve the incident. “Mr. Michaud, would you care to explain the incident that your slaves have caused?”

“Of course,” Cash says smoothly. “First off, I want to make it know that this one is a registered bodyguard who has received appropriate training and documentation in this state. Further, I want to make it completely clear that any and all actions he took today were sanctioned by me and fell under his orders as my personal protection.”

“Noted.” The chief of security glances at Sy first, then at me. “I assume that you will send a copy of that documentation to the department?”

“Immediately,” Cash promises. “I can flash them from my wristband right now, if you need.”

The chief of security nods, then glances at me again. “What about that one?”

I cower, hoping it makes me look pathetic. I won’t let Sy’s protection be in vain.

“A pleasure slave,” Cash says. “A toy. He’s no more capable of doing harm than a purse dog.”

It was me who was about to hit the reporter. The only reason it didn’t come to pass was because Sy beat me to it.

“There are plenty of videos of the incident,” Cash says, dismissive. “I can guarantee that the only one of my slaves who dared to take action was my bodyguard, who was acting on my orders.”

I start to calm a little bit, holding onto hope that we might escape further harm.

“You were nowhere around when this incident occurred, correct?” the chief of security asks.

“Correct,” Cash admits. “We were separated by the crowd. The one your department failed to control.”

The chief doesn’t respond to that last comment, he just frowns at Cash a little. “You are aware that a slave, even a bodyguard, is prohibited from causing harm to a free person in order to defend another slave?”

Silence settles over the crowd as they wait for Cash’s response. I think I might throw up. I know the penalty for laying hands on a free person. While I didn’t know the laws about Sy protecting me, I assume Cash did, and I’m certain Sy did. It’s not worth it for Sy to risk his life for me like this. It wasn’t worth it for me to act so spoiled and uppity that I dared to even attempt to push a free person away. How could I put Sy in this position?

“I am quite aware of that,” Cash replies, maintaining his calm. “I am also aware that the statutes do not call for execution or re-training in the event that a bodyguard is defending his master’s personal property. They allow for mild correction at the master’s hand, given both parties involved can come to an agreement.”

The chief of security nods, looking surprised that Cash is as well-versed in the legal world as he is. A few crowd members cry out in protest, but they are quickly silenced by the security team or their fellow media. Those with cameras and microphones are subtly moving closer, eager to hear as much as they can of the exchange.

“Sascha, get up,” Cash orders.

It takes me far longer than it should to realize he’s talking to me, because I’m trying to think of any way to get Sy out of this. I’m failing him after he protected me again. I rise, shaking and scared, and look at Cash for further orders.

“The reporter Sy pushed, did he hurt you?” Cash asks, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, we are the only people in the world. If this can be fixed, he’ll fix it.

“Yes, master,” I whisper.

“Show me.”

I remove pull back my sleeve, displaying bright red marks that are already darkening into bruises. For once, I’m glad I mark easily. Cash puts a protective arm around me and glares at the reporter hatefully.

“I’ll be having the boy checked out by a medical professional later. Would you like me to file a property damage complaint against you, or would you like to settle this?”

The reporter flushes at the threat. “Um, I’ll settle,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” Cash’s tone is cold and demeaning, like one would use on a slave. “Speak loudly enough that the security officers can hear your answer.”

“I’d like to hear the terms and settle,” the reporter says, a little more loudly this time. He’s shaking. Cash can terrify a free man as easily as he can terrify me.

Cash nods. “I understand that the bodyguard exemptions do not cover personal property. The slave will be publicly beaten to remind him of his place. In return, I will refrain from pressing charges for destruction of property. I will not send you any bills, and you will be given top priority in reporting this incident.”

The reporter looks thrilled at that last statement. This incident could make his career.

“I want to administer the beating,” he demands.

Cash clenches his jaw, and I can feel him tense.

“You may assist,” he grinds out. “Under my terms. I assure you, I have more than adequate training to administer such a punishment, unlike you.”

The reporter looks like he might protest.

“Or we can make a formal case out of this and I can find someone else to give exclusive priority to,” Cash threatens. He glances out at the crowd. “I’m sure someone here would love to be the exclusive witness to a private punishment.”

The crowd cheers and the reporter quickly reconsiders.

“No, I’ll take it, I was just asking!” he rushes to correct himself. “I’ll assist.”

Cash stares him down for a few moments before answering. “Good,” he says, although his tone and his face suggest that he is anything but pleased with the man.

Cash pulls me along with him as he walks to Sy. He touches Sy lightly on the shoulder, indicating for him to rise, and when he does, Cash turns Sy to face us.

“Remove your clothes and lie on the ground,” he orders softly. “Face down. Arms above your head.”

“Yes, master,” Sy responds immediately, kneeling to remove his shoes.

I bite back tears. This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s my fault, I should do something to stop it, Cash should do something to stop it.

“Go help him undress, Sascha,” he says quietly, pushing me toward Sy. “Let’s get this over with.”

I obey silently, going to Sy with tears in my eyes and helping him to undress. As he steps out of his pants, he leans over, as if he’s using me for balance. I know the man would have perfect balance standing on one foot on the roof of a moving hov-car.

“Cause a scene and I’ll backhand you before Cash has a chance to,” Sy warns, his voice barely loud enough to hear. “I didn’t do this so you’d end up getting hurt, too.”

I look up at him, chastised. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not your fault,” Sy says kindly, his hand brushing over mine as he reaches up to remove his shirt. “Don’t make me regret it.”

I nod. Cash can order me to do things, and he can threaten with the best, but there is something about being given an order from Sy that makes me comply instantly. Perhaps it’s because he gives orders so infrequently; perhaps it’s because he’s been putting himself in danger for me on a regular basis. I respect him more than anyone I’ve ever met. I would do anything for him, but he won’t let me. Maybe that’s what makes me so willing to follow his lead.

Sy removes his clothes and hands them to me, reminding me of the detention facility. He goes to his knees, then lies flat on the ground, on his stomach, raising his arms above his head and resting his face between them. He looks proper, but not humbled. Sy looks proud even when lying in the dirt.

“Spread your legs,” Cash speaks, his voice chillingly cold.

As Sy complies, Cash reaches over to the pile of clothes I’m holding, grabbing the belt Sy had been wearing. I’m relieved that he’s not going to have someone fetch a whip. Maybe this is just for show.

My relief is killed when I see our master wrapping the leather around his fist, leaving the buckle out at the end. I realize what he’s about to do and I feel fresh tears on my cheeks.

“Please, master, no.” I’d rather he beat me than Sy.

Cash turns toward me for a moment, a resigned look on his face. “Get on your knees and stay there,” he orders. “You don’t have to watch.”

Cash isn’t really just telling me I don’t have to watch, he’s telling me that it’s not going to change. He’s giving me a simple order that looks good for the cameras, but he’s hidden a message: I can solve the other problems we face, but neither one of us can stop this. I don’t know why I thought we could in the first place; maybe I’m thinking too highly of myself. Maybe I’m thinking too highly of Cash.

“Are you ready?” Cash asks the reporter, who looks smug behind his camera and microphone.