Page 33 of His Pet

Giovanni taps away on his phone as I work. Bent over his back as I am, I can’t help but catch glimpses of his messages. Not that I’m trying. If I were the snooping type, I would have been six feet under years ago, but coming to clients’ homes, sometimes I can’t avoid seeing or hearing things I’m not supposed to. Like now. I catch several messages about arriving shipments, an order to take someone named Donnie out, and an invitation to a meeting at Indulgence.

That one gives me a pause. Not because I care about whatever Giovanni is up to, but because I haven’t visited Indulgence in way too long. Sin will be pissed, and pissing off the club owner is never a good idea. I just haven’t been in the right mood in the past few months. Now that I have Justin, though…

I could take him there. I’ve never taken a pet to the club, but Justin is different. I’m sure he’d be well-behaved, and even if he tried something, no one would care.

Indulgence is far from the usual legal kink clubs. No one worries about consent or safe words there. Sin’s only two rules are no minors and no dead bodies. Other than that, anything goes. I’m not really into the kind of torture other members like to engage in, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t participated in a gang rape or two. It’s always fun when they struggle and beg.

None of the people I’ve ever been with beg quite so sweetly as Justin does, though. Even thinking about him makes my cock grow half-hard, which is quite inconvenient when I’m working on a half-naked client. The last thing I need is Giovanni thinking I’m into him.

At last, I’m done with the outline. I could work on the details some more, but I’m too distracted. It’s better to leave it for the next session.

I carefully wipe the blood off Giovanni’s skin, spread healing ointment over it, and secure a protective layer in place. “Alright, we’re done here for today,” I say as I start packing up. “Leave the film on for 24 hours, then gently wash it with lukewarm water and mild, unscented soap. Pat it dry and apply a thin layer of the aftercare ointment a couple of times a day. Avoid soaking it or exposing it to direct sun while it heals. You’ll find the full aftercare instructions in the leaflet I gave you. If anything seems unusual, get in touch,” I recite my usual spiel from memory.

Giovanni isn’t listening to me, too busy twisting in front of a tall mirror to see his back. “I thought it would look better,” he says, scowling. “This looks like shit.”

I narrowly stop myself from rolling my eyes. The customer is always right, sure, but what if that customer is a complete idiot? “That’s just the linework, plus your skin is aggravated right now. Once it heals, we can schedule another session to work on shading and color, but I recommend waiting at least three or four weeks.”

“Weeks? That’s bullshit. I want it now.”

I’m surprised he doesn’t stomp his foot like an angry toddler. He certainly sounds like one.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. The skin’s already stressed, and if I work over it now, the ink won’t settle properly. It’ll blow out, heal patchy, and you’re more likely to scar. Letting it heal is the only way to make sure it looks right.” During our initial meeting, I told him that it would take a few months to get the full tattoo done, but I guess the stupid brat wasn’t listening. Really, times like this make me wish there was a way to be a tattoo artist without actually interacting with people. People suck.

All except Justin, who’s been amazing for these past days. He always looks excited to see me and is quick to kiss and cuddle me. He never protests or fights me or throws tantrums the way my previous pets did. He’s been a little quiet and distant lately, but that’s probably because I don’t spend enough time with him. I’ve been too busy with work, but I already made arrangements to make it up to him.

“Two weeks,” Giovanni interrupts my pleasant daydreaming. “I heal fast, and I won’t wait any longer. My assistant will be in touch.” He waves his hand magnanimously, like a king dismissing a filthy peasant, and only the way I’m grinding my teeth together stops a few choice insults from leaving my mouth. What an idiot. I bet he’ll ignore the aftercare instructions and end up with a nasty infection. You can guess twice who he’ll blame for it. I never should have accepted this job.

Reminding myself that life is great, I let the bored bodyguard escort me to my car and gun the engine on the way out, eager to get back home. I’ve rearranged my schedule to have a few uninterrupted days to spend with Justin, and I can’t wait to have some fun with him. I stop by the grocery store to pick up some food and two large pizzas from my favorite corner store. They’ll be cold by the time we get to them, but who cares? Pizza is good at any temperature.

By the time I get to my front gate, I’ve managed to shake off the annoyance from Giovanni’s bratty behavior, and I’m once again in the “everything is great” mood. Sadly, it vanishes the second I spot the person leaning against my fence. The moment I round the corner, he steps in front of the gate, effectively blocking my way unless I want to run him over. Which I do, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want this asshole’s blood on my front bumper.

I drive as close as I can without ramming into him and roll down my window. “Detective Tiny!” I call with fake cheer. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His jaw hardens so much I’m surprised his face doesn’t crack. “It’s Small.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. I’ve been getting emails about miraculous enlarging products that could help with that problem. I’ll forward them to you.” I probably shouldn’t needle the detective, but it’s too much fun to stop.

He scowls even harder. “Stop fucking around, Matthews.” In what’s probably supposed to be an intimidating move, he leans against my car, his jacket opening to show off his badge and gun holster. Unfortunately for him, I’m not easily intimidated, so I just keep on smiling.

“I wasn’t aware you were so interested in my sexual life, Detective. I admit I have a one-night stand here and there, but I wouldn’t call it ‘fucking around.’ Besides, are you certain a dignified police officer like you should be using such derogatory terms? You aren’t trying to slut-shame me, are you?”

Honest to God, Small growls like an animal. How am I supposed to not laugh at that? “Shut the fuck up. You visited Giovanni Ventresca today.”

I cock an eyebrow, keeping my expression smooth but quietly wondering if he’s having me followed. If that’s the case, taking Justin anywhere is out of the question.

The silence stretches, and I curiously watch Small’s face grow redder with every second. “Well?” he barks out when he reaches a shade somewhere between a tomato and a lipstick my mother used to wear when she went clubbing, which was practically every day. “You’ve got nothing to say?”

“You told me to shut up,” I reply innocently. “I was being a good citizen and following orders.”

Small’s fists clench and one jerks toward his gun before he catches himself. Honestly, I keep wondering how a person with such anger issues could have become a policeman, let alone a detective.

“Don’t make me laugh, Matthews. A good citizen? You’re filth, and you know it. Why else would you be covering up for this?”

He shoves some pictures into my face. I’ve seen them before, or ones similar to them. Tortured people, raped and strangled girls, stuff that assholes like Small use to entice people’s conscience and make them work with the police. Too bad I don’t have a conscience for him to use.

I fake an appropriately horrified gasp. “Oh dear lord, this is terrible,” I say, looking away from the pictures like they make me sick. “Perhaps you should be out there, stopping these criminals, rather than harassing innocent citizens, Detective.”

For a moment, it looks like he will pull the gun on me. I almost wish he did. I’d let him shoot my leg or something equally non-life-threatening, then snap his neck and call it self defense. A rookie lawyer would get me out of that if there were a prosecutor bold enough to even charge me. But no, Small manages to control himself, which means I’ll have to let him plague my life for a while longer.