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They began to build him into the man who gets emails like the one on his phone screen now.
Nathan forces himself to look at the pictures. Every single picture. Not just out of solidarity for what Maison has seen, but also because the Nathan persona he has created, the monster he has become, would look at them. The last thing he needs is one of his acquaintances making a comment about how pretty the boy looked in this or that shot and be caught off guard.
It also has the added benefit of being able to see what the boy has gone through. Carter isn’t going to come with a checklist when Nathan buys him. There won’t be a list of injuries and health issues. Nathan needs the clearest picture possible of what Carter has endured if he has any hope of taking care of him once he has him.
The pictures go in order.
Carter still in street clothes, lying in a trunk, wrists bound behind his back with zip ties, his eyes closed, his mouth slack, the poor boy probably drugged out of his mind.
Carter stripped naked, crammed tight into a wooden crate, his body bound in an impossible position.
Carter standing in a crude mockery of a shower room, trying to hide his genitals as a man off to the left laughs at him.
Carter in the same room, this time with his hands chained above his head, his genitals on full display.
Carter’s face up close, blue eyes red-rimmed and glassy, cheeks smeared with tears, fiery defiance in his gaze as he glares at the camera.
According to the email, Carter just arrived at the place where he will be held until the auction. There’s a promise for more pictures to come, as well as aTo Be Announcedas far as the date, time, and location of the auction is concerned.
Nathan has never been a patient man, but there’s only one thing he can do.
He waits.
???
1 hour and 28 minutes later, another email arrives. It’s a picture of Carter in a cell packed with at least a dozen other future slaves.
The caption reads:Home Sweet Home.
???
“I don’t like it,” Nathan says for the third time. He’s sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard, nursing an expensive bottle of scotch. “I don’t want to do that.”
“You think I want this?” Maison growls in return. “You think I like the idea of my baby brother being terrified and victimized for who knows how long?”
“Then,” Nathan says through gritted teeth. “Let. Me. Tell. Him.”
“It’s out of my fucking hands! Director says no. He says no fucking way.”
“Then tell the fucking director thatIsay no fucking way.”
There’s a long pause. Then, in a choked voice, “Are you saying you won’t buy him?”
“What?” Nathan sits up, his heart beating faster. “Of course not. No, Maison. Of course, I’m going to buy him. I’m saying that I won’tlieto him. I’m telling him as soon as he’s safe with me.”
Another long pause.
“He’s a shit liar, Nate, and an even worse actor. Kid practically ruined his high school’s production of Romeo and Juliet. It was cringe worthy.” He sighs. “I can’t… fuck, man. I can’t fully argue with the director on this. I’m not sure if Carter could handle the truth.”
“What does that even mean?”
“What happens if we tell him the truth and he begs to go free? What happens when he starts to freak the fuck out and demands you let him go? Or what happens when he makes a mistake? When he slips and calls you Travis? Hell, even if he called youNathanin front of people, you’d have to punish him harshly or they’d know something is up. He can’t use your name. He’s a slave. He has to play the part of the slave. Can you guarantee that Carter will be able to successfully switch between slave and Carter whenever necessary? Even though you’ve admitted to having trouble yourself juggling your Nathan persona with your identity as Travis? Can you guarantee that when he’s exhausted or hurting or in pain or whatever else he ends up feeling in moments when you’re doing things to him in front of your men that he won’t slip up? Even if he knew the truth, he’d still be getting traumatized every once in a while, because you have to use him in front of your men in order to keep from raising suspicion. You know even better than I do that when someone is traumatized, especially sexually assaulted like that, their minds tend to disconnect. What happens when he loses himself and calls you the wrong name, or begs you to stop in a way that isn’t slave-like, or does or says something else that gives everything away?”
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 werethis fucking closeto 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 – Ineedhim to know, Maison.”
