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Chapter One
The shackles irritated Luke’s wrists since he’d been left to stand on the balls of his feet by the rack for at least a good hour. The guards had stripped him after taking him to the prison that morning, but his constant trembling wasn’t from being chilled.
He knew they’d left him chained up to look at the rack as a reminder of what was to come if he didn’t confess. The discomfort he felt now was small compared to what he’d suffer on the device. When two guards had taken him out of the cell that he’d been locked in for a couple of hours, they had said that his roommate had been caught too.
That meant he was likely chained up in the same way in a different room where he could look at another rack.
Luke’s trembling renewed when the door opened. Two hooded men who would clearly be the ones to do the torturing entered. The actual one in charge of the torture entered afterward. With a word from his mouth, Luke could be taken down and tied to the rack.
He tried not to shiver while he looked at the man who would have complete control of him. The man who would make him scream.
With his shiny black boots and the gold stitching around the hem of his black coat that came below his knees, he almost looked too fancy to be in a prison dungeon room with its bleak stone walls and lack of windows. He appeared more like a lord, although the coiled whip at his belt rather ruined the image.
“Shall we take him down, Jagger?” asked one of the hooded men.
“No.” The senior guard adjusted his black leather gloves. “This one has been more compliant so far, so we’ll give him a chance before we get started.”
Luke assumed his roommate, being the asshole that he was, had been particularly nasty. If he was already being racked, maybe he’d break first. Luke had to hold out and hope his roommate broke first to stop his own pain.
Jagger looked the prisoner up and down, and something about his gaze made Luke feel like every single secret he had was laid out in the open. He had worked at a whorehouse for years, so he was no stranger to whips, chains, pain, or being naked, and he liked such activities. Still, he’d never felt so vulnerable or frightened as the questioner studied his bare body.
Unlike the whorehouse, no safety words existed here. The pain would go far beyond what he could enjoy, and the one doing it wouldn’t care.
“Feel free to start admitting what you did,” said Jagger. “But I expect you to be polite and address me as Sir when you speak.”
Luke hesitated as he tried to get comfortable, but it was impossible after this long. His wrists and shoulders ached, and his feet and calves were growing sore. “I-I didn’t do anything, Sir. The money wasn’t mine. My roommate must have hidden it there, and he didn’t tell me anything. I swear, Sir.”
“Hmm.” Jagger’s soft brown eyes studied him, and he brushed back a strip of his dark hair that had escaped its tie. “I already know what happened, but you need to confess. That’s the law here in this Kingdom, and once you’ve confessed, you’ll be sentenced and punished for the crime."
Not if his roommate broke first.
"If you try lying to me, I'll punish you for that," Jagger continued. "Since I already know everything, confess, and make it easier for yourself.”
Luke knew the whole thing about Jagger knowing what happened was a lie. He’d heard the questioners, who were usually known as senior guards, had a few tactics to try and make people start talking before the actual torture started.
“It’d be a pity to make you suffer so much when you can simply admit it," said Jagger. "It'll be faster and less painful.”
Considering the amount Luke had stolen, he knew he’d be sentenced to many whippings in prison. Any disobedience while he was serving his time could be further punished at the discretion of the prison guards. He’d also spend the rest of his life with a brand on his back.
If he was sentenced to the lirek mine…He wasn't sure if he'd stolen enough.
Jagger sighed as he stepped closer. The leather of his glove was soft on Luke’s waist as he was made to turn, and he felt a finger trail down the tattoos on his back that showed the outline of six, red birds in flight.
“Nice tattoos,” said Jagger. “Do they shift? Are you one of those fairies?”
“Yes, Sir. Once in a while.”
Some of Luke’s kind had far more moving tattoos, and they shifted around a lot, but his birds often preferred to stay still with their wings outstretched as if flying.
“When you’re branded, the letter P in a square will go here.” Jagger touched Luke’s right shoulder. “It’ll be about four inches high and quite painful.”
Luke’s stomach twisted. He’d heard of some fairies who liked being branded or burned in some form as a kink, but it had to be done with a healer on hand unless they wanted permanent markings. Even if his whorehouse had allowed that kink, he never would have participated in that.
He’d be stuck with the mark for life.
“Please, Sir, I haven’t done anything wrong. It was my roo-”
“You’ll tell me everything in a bit,” Jagger said as he turned Luke to face him. He teased out a strand of Luke's black, shoulder-length hair and studied his face. “You’ve got such nice, full lips.”
