Flesh Cartel, #8: Loyalties

Yeah, he did. “So . . . so what, he buys us and trains us and sells us, and if he likes us enough, he buys us back again?”
    “Yep. That’s generally how the whole business works . . . well, except for that last part. Somebody finds you, somebody grabs you, somebody sells you, somebody buys you and trains you, somebody buys you again. Well, some sorry fucks don’t go to professional trainers like Nikolai. Some masters, they got a taste for breaking people themselves so they buy direct, whether they know what the fuck they’re doing or not.” Dougie shuddered to think of it, being with someone cruel, without Nikolai’s finesse and caring. Like if one of Madame’s guards had purchased him for day-in-day-out torture and humiliation, fucking him until he died. Jeremy continued on, unawares. “But Nikolai’s clients just want the finished product, all polished up and ready to suck dick like pros.”
    God, it all sounded so crass and awful when he put it like that. They were doing something beautiful here, something special , bringing out his best self. Weren’t they?
    “And he always sells us?” Dougie wrung the sponge in his hands, just to squeeze something, just to hold something and imagine never letting it go. The water ran free and clear and uncatchable over his hands and through his fingers. “He never . . . he never just chooses to keep someone?”
    “Aw, do you think the master’s gonna keep you all for his own? Dumbass fucking kid, you’re as bad as a girl with a crush, still in pigtails. Of course he’s going to sell you on. Don’t get me wrong, he likes you, likes you more than most if I’m honest, but you’re still a fucking meal ticket in the end. One day, you’re gonna walk out those doors and wind up at the feet of another man, and you’re gonna spend five, ten, maybe fifteen years there missing Nikolai for every fucking second of it, like your heart’s torn out of your goddamn chest.” If it was possible to cut vegetables bitterly, Jeremy was doing it, slamming his knife against the cutting board. “But you stick it out and do your damn job as best you can because you know he wants you to and you promised him you would and you’d die before you’d disappoint him. And maybe, if you’re real lucky, your new master reminds you a little of him and maybe even loves you a little like Nikolai did and maybe you even love him back a little like you love Nikolai. But of course it’s never the same. And then at the end of it all, when you’re too old or too tired or just too plain familiar and boring for your master and he’s had enough of you, Nikolai might buy you back on the cheap, or maybe your master’ll take you out back and Old Yeller you for kicks. Or worse. So like I said, don’t screw this up, kid. You give Nikolai everything , and then you give your new master everything, and maybe when it’s all over, Nikolai will give you everything in return.”
    Maybe . So many possibilities for a bleak and empty future if he wasn’t careful. Dougie didn’t want to picture it. Didn’t want to picture what Jeremy must know about it. He stared down at the sink, scrubbing furiously at a stubbornly filthy brass pot and trying not to cry.
    “Oh! Master!” Jeremy said. “We were just talking about you.”
    Dougie didn’t want to turn around.
    Dougie wanted to turn around more than he’d wanted anything else in his life.
    “I heard.” Nikolai’s voice was soft and calm, and those two words were punctuated by the sound of a chaste kiss. A kiss for Jeremy. Dougie’s shoulders stiffened, waiting for his own greeting, but it never came. “Roger’s asleep now. I told him to call you on the intercom when he wants lunch. And we’ll both be taking dinner in bed tonight.”
    “Of course, Sir. Luke killed one of the chickens today. Freshly plucked. I could roast it.”
    “With stuffing?” God, Nikolai sounded so affectionate .
    “Would I ever serve you a chicken without stuffing, Sir?”
    “There was that one time you gave me wild rice.” Dougie could actually hear the good-humored crinkle in Nikolai’s nose. He glared at the pot in his hands. That fleck of stuck-on whatever didn’t budge, so he scrubbed it harder.
    Jeremy laughed, a pure sound without any of his usual bitterness. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
    “You wouldn’t love me if I did,” Nikolai countered flirtatiously.
    “I would always love you, Sir.”
    Dougie’s stomach