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Sweet boy.
I relax further into him, trying not to smile and failing miserably. I should probably suggest we take the cuddles to the bed at least, but I’m too afraid we won’t pick up where we left off. I’d rather sit here next to the toilet all night than be comfortable in bed but not in his arms.
Maybe he feels the same because he asks, “Can we stay close at the safehouse?”
“Close?”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it, about being there in that house and having to just… let you go. It’s driving me a little crazy, to be honest. Would it be okay if we checked in on each other? You know, just… keep in touch or whatever? Would you mind that?”
A warm, floaty feeling takes over my body. “I’d like that a lot. I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’re the safest place I’ve had in a while and I - I don’t want to lose that.”
I find myself very thankful he can’t see my face because I definitely didn’t mean to admit all of that.
Before I can feel too embarrassed, a soft, pleased rumble comes from his chest. “Looks like we’ll be sticking together then.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
And he always keeps those.
Travis and Jake planned a party so that everyone important enough could come celebrate the capture of the infamous Maison Beckett. To say it’s extravagant would be an understatement. The oversized venue is made to feel intimate with small tables covered in linen and half-circle leather couches and leather chairs grouped in two. Everything is cream or white, candles flickering all over to give the place a soft glow. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Twinkle lights are draped criss-cross through the air. It’s sickeningly beautiful.
Women walk around in silky gowns. Men in suits and tuxedos that cost more than a normal person’s monthly rent. Slaves are adorned in precious gemstones and dainty gold chains and engraved metal collars. Their bruised and broken bodies are covered in lotions that make their skin sparkle in the dim lighting.
Jake and Travis match the men. Carter and I match the slaves.
The stage is draped with silky curtains pulled to the sides, like we’ve arrived at the opera. Maison is bound to a chair in the center of it, his body sagging as much as it can in the restraints. He looks like he might be conscious, but like it’s a struggle to remain that way. At least, until he sets eyes on Carter. Then he’s jerking upright and making an awful, agonized sound through the ball gag shoved in his mouth.
Jake warned me this would happen, but it doesn’t make it any easier as Carter goes running forward, his leash catching when he reaches the end of its length. A heart-wrenching scream escapes his lips. His hands clutch at his collar as it chokes him. He sobs Maison’s name.
Travis grabs a fistful of Carter’s hair as the crowd begins closing in to enjoy the show. Jake steps forward and turns his body so I can no longer see them. His hand cups the crown of my head. I know I have to behave. I have to keep it together. We all have parts to play. Maison, Carter, and Travis are playing theirs. For Jake to be able to play his, for him to be able to control all of the chaos to make sure everything goes as it needs to, I have to play mine too.
But it’s hard. As I hear what Travis and the crowd say to Carter. As I hear his sobs. Hear the sound of him being hit. As I watch Travis lead him to the stage. As someone comes up to Jake and says something in his ear. As I hear Jake murmur under his breath, “Fuck,” and then, “Fuck,” again. As Jake gently pulls on my leash and starts walking, me crawling behind him as he hurries toward the stage. As Jake grabs Travis and whispers something in his ear that I know in my gut means we’ve had to resort to the back-up plan because something went wrong and we need more time.
It's hard as Carter is marched onto the stage and forced to his knees right in front of his brother, just as they all agreed would happen if more time was needed. As Travis taunts Maison. As Travis forces Carter to tell his brother he loves belonging to him as his slave. As he forces him to tell Maison he loves Travis’s cock. As he forces him to show him just how much. As he fucks Carter’s face to the soundtrack of a raucous crowd. As Maison screams and screams and screams.
It's so fucking hard as Travis finishes and looks over to meet Jake’s gaze. As Jake signals that they still need more time. As we move into the back-up to our back-up plan. As Travis invites the guests to come take pleasure in Carter’s mouth for his brother to watch. As Travis walks on deceptively steady legs, an evil smirk fixed on his lips even as his eyes give away his turmoil. As he whispers furiously with Jake, his hands shaking at his sides, one of them just inches from my face where I have it tilted toward the floor like a good little slave.
It goes on too long. So many men use Carter. Maison screams himself silent. Jake chats and laughs and waves men off when they say he should take Carter for a spin, claiming he’s enjoyed Carter’s mouth enough for now. People notice me. Compliment me. Someone mentions DuGray and I have to claw my way out of memories and remember how to breathe.
And then it’s finally over.
Or, at least, the worst of it is. Travis interrupts the line of men waiting to use Carter’s mouth for a champagne toast. He gives a speech, but I don’t listen. I do what Jake told me to. I start looking around, keeping my eyes peeled for any slaves that might be forced to ingest the drugged drink.
The people in the crowd waver on their feet. They begin to fall. Confused sounds erupt from their weakened bodies. Slaves begin to scream. Gunshots vibrate the air around us.
“Casey?” Jake asks, his hand warm and firm on the back of my neck.
“There.” I point to a slave that’s on his hands and knees, his body shaking hard. His owner is dead at his feet, a bullet through his forehead. He must have given his drink to the slave for god only knows what reason.
Jake hurries over, trusting me to be okay on my own as he pulls out the antidote to inject it in the slave’s arm. There’s movement on the stage - Maison out of his chair. He takes the microphone and begins talking. He’s so calm and collected, even as he stands with his weight to one side to alleviate whatever injuries he’s endured, blood dripping down the side of his face. Slaves listen to him, the screams turning to sobs and gasps and murmurs of fragile, confused hope.
“What the fuck is going on?” a slave asks. I recognize him from the compound. He’s openly gaping at Travis as he shoots a man that’s lying on his back.
Jake grabs my bicep, pulling me away from the slave before I can try to answer him. “Time to go, little one.”
“Carter-”
