Flesh Cartel, #8: Loyalties

oblivious to the seriousness of the conversation going on around him. His expression and posture were so at odds with the horrible markings all over his body. The bruising. Brutal.
    “He doesn’t enjoy being beaten, Douglas. He isn’t a masochist. But he is a good slave, so when I needed this from him, he undressed without being told to and stood still for me, and he did it with a kiss. He comforted me . And look at him now—look at us now. Look how happy we both are. Look how well I’m taking care of him.”
    Dougie studied Roger again, who did look undeniably happy. Didn’t even seem to be in pain, though like Mat or anyone else who made a living being hard on their bodies, he’d probably just learned to not express it or pay it much mind. Then again, he had just gotten an expert blowjob, if Dougie did say so himself. And was lounging in his master’s arms, a whole day of tasks and orders replaced with affection and pleasure. A day he’d probably only earned because he’d taken some random punishment like a champ.
    Still, that did little to ease Dougie’s fears. He needed rules . Needed logic and order in his life, needed to know that if he followed those rules he’d be fine, not just punished arbitrarily. How could he serve his master well if he was constantly afraid the next beating might be just around the corner, totally unavoidable? And could he really ever endure one with such grace? Be glad for it? Nikolai seemed to think so, and Dougie trusted Nikolai, knew he needed to trust Nikolai. But maybe Nikolai didn’t realize how paper-thin the membrane was between his old life and his new one. How easily damaged. And how much might spill from one side to the other if someone punched even the tiniest little hole in it.
    “S-sir . . .”
    Nikolai raised his eyebrows— Go on.
    But Dougie didn’t know what to say after that. Hadn’t meant to say even that much. He ducked his head, desperate to escape Nikolai’s probing, expectant gaze. Desperate to string his thoughts together in a way that would make sense to Nikolai without upsetting him, without making Dougie sound like a selfish child. I need you to reassure me. Hold my hand. Make it all better. Help me.
    “Can you . . . I mean, I need . . .” God, was he really trying to ask Nikolai to beat him so he could see for himself how this would all make sense? It kind of seemed like he was. And surely Nikolai would, now that he’d had the audacity to practically demand it of the man.
    From the look on Nikolai’s face, it was pretty clear he thought Dougie was overstepping, too. “Need me to prove it? Guide you? Show you?”
    Yes. Yes, God yes, please. Please, Master, yes.
    Nikolai very deliberately turned his face away from Dougie and buried it in Roger’s neck. Dougie felt his heart sink clear to his toes at that, couldn’t even breathe for a moment. “No. I’ve had enough of you now, and you’ve served your purpose. Back downstairs with you, and find Jeremy. Make yourself useful.”
    “Sir—”
    “ Dismissed , Douglas.”
    Somehow, Dougie managed to choke out a “Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” and back himself out the bedroom door, though he felt so numb with disappointment and dread and sadness and fear and a million other things that he couldn’t feel his hands or feet.
    He was halfway down the stairs, completely unaware of how he’d gotten there, before logic started crowding its way back into his head around the riot of emotion. There had to be a reason for Nikolai’s refusal to help him. Nikolai had never refused to help him before. And Nikolai didn’t make mistakes, at least not with things like this. Which meant Nikolai had a plan, knew exactly what he was doing, and it was Dougie who was wrong somehow. Or maybe Nikolai cared about him too much to beat him for no reason, trusted him enough to believe—no, to know —that when the time came for Dougie to take a random beating, he’d take it with pride and grace. Nikolai trusted him; he just needed to trust Nikolai in return.
    Except, this time, he really wasn’t sure he could.
    Fake it ’til you make it, Dougie.
    Yeah, okay. He could do that. Walk down the stairs and into the kitchen and take orders from Jeremy, and with any luck, get lost in some endless series of mindless chores that would let him take his mind off punishments and random violence and disappointing masters and being afraid and that cool, hard look in Nikolai’s eyes when he’d said I’ve had enough of