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"Stop," Master says, raising a hand. I flinch, but… the hit never comes. Instead, Master just gently rests his hand on my shoulder. Despite the lack of pain - or maybe because of it - I begin to tremble violently. "Hey, breathe. It's okay. It's a valid fucking question."
I screw my eyes shut, hoping to keep the tears at bay. "It's not my place, Master. I'm so sorry. It's not my place."
"Casey…"
I jerk at the sound of my name, the movement as violent as the reaction it causes in my brain. Everything inside me lights up, an alarm system blaring, warning signs flashing, chaos ensuing. I’m not Casey.
"Yes, you are," Master says. Which means I must have accidentally spoken out loud. I trap my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from making the mistake again.
Master's phone starts buzzing. He hesitates, his eyes locked with mine, eyebrows pulled together like he’s trying to solve an important problem. Then he sighs heavily and pushes off the bed to grab his phone. His voice is angry and annoyed when he answers with a sharp, "What?"
I wince, knowing I’m probably the cause of Master being upset. I should have kept my mouth shut.
"Are you a fucking idiot? No, don't answer that. I already know you are. Fucking hell. I'll do it myself. Don't touch anything. I'll be right there."
A soft thud draws my attention toward Master despite me knowing it’s not smart to look at him right now. He's rifling through the drawer on the bedside table - the one that requires his thumbprint to open. He pulls a thick, heavy looking gun out. I swallow hard. I’ve seen plenty of guns before - my father was a cop, the guards for my time pre-auction kept them on their belts, and my old master and his men always had them nearby or concealed in a holster. But I haven’t noticed one on this man yet. For some reason, it bothers me now. Scares me more than any other gun has.
Should I apologize again? Did I just accidentally prove to Master that I’m useless and now Master is going to get rid of me? Should I have argued better when Master called me by my old name? Should I not have argued at all?
Will Master kill me in the bedroom, or somewhere else? I can't see the man wanting to make a mess in here. Maybe I will have time to fix this while we travel to wherever we're going?
Or maybe it's for the best that I let him end my misery?
"I have to go." I accidentally meet the man's eyes, startled by his words. "Like I said, my friend Nathan will be in to check on you. I'll be in at some point tonight to get some sleep. Don't wait up for me. Get some rest, alright? And remember the new rules I gave you. You’re meant to take care of yourself here. I’m trusting you to take care of yourself while I’m gone. Understood?”
I just nod, not trusting my voice.
Does this mean he isn't going to kill me?
I startle again when I feel his lips brush my forehead. I go perfectly still, not even allowing myself to breathe. Master's fingers run gently through my hair, the man's lips lingering on my skin for another moment before disappearing. What. The. Fuck?
"You're a good boy, little one." His fingers stroke the nape of my neck. "Master is very happy to have you. Don't worry about the rest. We’ll talk later. It’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. Okay?”
"Okay, Master," I whisper, the words so soft I worry the man might not even hear them.
It's not until Master has left the room, the sound of the lock echoing through the empty air around me, that I remember to breathe.
Chapter Ten
Jake
I’m so fucking done with this job.
I’m done with the filth. The despair. The whimpering victims. The grinning monsters. I’m done standing back and watching displays of evil. I’m done putting fires out left and fucking right while everyone keeps tossing matches behind my back. I’m done with having the fate of hundreds - fucking thousands, even - in my hands.
I’m done owning a human being who can’t feed or drink or piss without my permission.
And right this minute, as I stand staring at four men whom I have no fucking idea how they managed to get this high up on the food chain of one of the most powerful men in this region of the underground, I’m so fucking done with idiots.
“Someone needs to tell me right the fuck now how this happened.”
All four burst into excuses I actually don’t give two fucks about. I put up a hand - the hand conveniently holding my gun - and they fall silent. “Just fucking fix it.”
“Yes, sir!” they all chirp before hurrying off.
I pass a hand over my face, sighing heavily, then turn around to head to Travis’s office. I don’t make it far. There’s a slave kneeling a few feet away, his chin tucked to his chest. A single lock of blond hair is falling onto his forehead. Nolan. Or 3, if I was actually the kind of man who called humans by a number.
“Hello, little one.” I squat down in front of him, taking his chin in my hand and lifting it. “Eyes.”
