The Flesh Cartel #1: Capture

yeah, he couldn’t find work for shit with a Master’s in social work right now, but he’d finish this Ph.D. in record time, and at best he’d do clinical counseling for $200 an hour and at worst he’d get a teaching job pulling in sixty grand a year, and he’d take care of Mat for once. Find a way to get him out of whatever trouble he’d gotten into for Dougie’s sake. Let him stop fighting, if he wanted to.
    Beg him to stop fighting, if he didn’t.
    The clock on the stove said 10:03 PM when he got in, and unsurprisingly, he was alone. He dumped his junk food on the kitchen counter and headed for the shower, stripping as he went down the hall and then, at the last second, stooping to collect his trail of discarded clothes. He wouldn’t enjoy his shower, knowing he’d left a mess like that.
    While he waited for the water to heat up, he checked the bags under his eyes in the bathroom mirror, scrubbed at a fleck of dried old toothpaste in the basin of the sink, and laid out a towel on the lid of the toilet. By which point the bathroom was overflowing with steam, hot and wonderful on his skin and he hadn’t even gotten into the spray yet.
    Determined to enjoy his solitude, he pointedly left the bathroom door open. He’d killed, what, five or six minutes? That left him fifteen or so before Colbert, which wasn’t as luxurious as he wanted, but was a hell of a lot better than this morning’s near-frigid three-and-a-half minute shower. He hopped in, pulling the curtain closed behind him, and let out a loud, completely self-indulgent groan. He was just fine without Mat here, he told himself. Better than fine. Amazing! Not worried at all.
    He gargled warm water. Scrubbed his scalp. Soaped himself up and maybe spent a smidgen too much time on the general groin area, not that he had anything to feel guilty for. Pictured Serena Chang (who worked in the campus bookstore and never seemed to wear a polo shirt big enough for her tits) while he did. Okay, so maybe he’d miss the first few minutes of Colbert.
    But then he heard the door that connected the house to the garage opening and closing.
    Shit. Shitshitshit.
    Of course Mat would come home early on the night he’d bought contraband food and left the shower door open and had a huge Serena Chang-inspired boner. At least he hadn’t left his laundry lying around. Not that Mat would ever complain, but just the thought of him bruised up from his fight and collecting Dougie’s underwear off the floor made his cock shrivel up in shame. Which, he supposed, solved one problem, at least.
    Heavy footsteps sounded halfway down the hall.
    Dougie hurriedly rinsed off the last of the soap, calling out, “Hey, just about done in here!” as he turned off the taps.
    Without the noise of the running water, he realized there was more than one set of footsteps. Had Mat finally decided Dougie was old enough to handle him bringing home company?
    He grabbed the towel off the toilet and scrubbed at his hair. “Should I make myself scarce?” he teased, rubbing brusquely down his chest and then across his back. “Mat? Mat, what are you—”
    He turned around, towel to his groin, and the smile fell off his face so fast he thought he heard it shatter against the tiles. He stumbled back a step at the sight of four strangers, all men big enough to make Mat look like the playground wimp. Bumped into and started to fall over the lip of the tub. One of the men darted forward—much, much faster than his size would suggest—and caught Dougie by the wrist before he could fall.
    “Wh—who are you?” The grip on his wrist was punishing. He looked at the men, gaze sliding from one inscrutable face to the next. Two filled the cramped bathroom. The others blocked the entire hall. His voice broke when he tried to speak again. “Mat? Mat , come on, man, this isn’t funny! I— Ow !” The guy holding him jerked him forward, spun him around to face the shower, and yanked his arm up behind his back like Mat sometimes did when they roughhoused. But this was no friendly, brotherly tease. This hurt . “ Mat! Help! You’re hurting me, stop it. Ma—! ”
    A giant paw clamped over his mouth, and the guy holding him wrenched him back flush against a massive, wall-like chest. Dropped Dougie’s wrist, but only so he could sling an arm around Dougie’s chest. Dougie struggled, screamed behind the restraining hand—they had neighbors, someone would hear, right?—and stomped as hard as he could on