The Flesh Cartel #1: Capture

to lube him up with. No way I’m fisting him dry. We tear his ass, it’ll be our asses torn next.”
    Thank God .
    But wait. They were clearly here to hurt him, so why did it matter how ?
    Someone got up and stomped into the kitchen. Cupboard doors opened and closed. And then, strangely, the front door.
    There was a sound like a side of ham hitting the kitchen floor, and then—
    “Shit! Shit!”
    The hand pulled out of his ass. The cock disappeared from in front of his face. A boot pounded him in the center of his chest, pinning him to the ground.
    He started to scream.

Dougie was screaming.
    Dougie was screaming, and he was naked, and he was lying on the floor naked with a big combat boot keeping him pinned and his face was covered in tears and snot and drool and Mat had thought this was a fucking robbery or someone from the underground ring come to rough him up or twist his arm into throwing a fight but it was so much fucking worse .
    He saw white.
    His exhausted, abused body, the body he’d been planning to collapse into bed with, exploded into fight rage, ready to take down each of the other three motherfuckers in front of him the way he’d taken down the one behind him.
    They’d hurt Dougie. They’d hurt Dougie and nothing else mattered and he ducked low and planted his shoulder into the belly of the first guy who rushed him and body-slammed him right into the fucking hardwood floor, dropping after him with an elbow to the solar plexus that would’ve done Darryl fucking proud . The guy was gasping, immobile, and Mat wasted no time rushing the sick fucking fuck with his still-hard cock hanging out from his unzipped pants, wet with Oh God that’s spit that’s Dougie’s spit the fucker I’m gonna kill him I’m gonna rip him apart with my bare fucking—
    Gun.
    Mat froze, and the world froze with him that way it did in the cage sometimes, when shit went so slow and so perfectly clear he could swear he’d hear his opponent’s heartbeat. Fucking bullet time. He could plot whole maneuvers in that frozen place. Entire fucking strategies. But all he saw now was a gun, and Dougie, Dougie pinned and sobbing on the floor and the gun wasn’t pointed at Mat it was pointed at Dougie and he couldn’t move .
    “What—” His throat locked, as frozen as the rest of him. He cleared it. Cleared it again. Swallowed hard. Raised his hands in surrender. “What do you want?”
    His submission earned smug smiles all around. The one with his boot on Dougie’s chest ground his heel, presumably just to watch Mat squirm. Dougie whined and then went quiet, eyes never leaving Mat’s face. Pleading.
    “Listen, whatever you want, we can talk about it. Dougie’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve to get tangled up in this, all right? You talk to me .”
    “What the hell would we do that for? We’re not here for you, we’re here for your little brother’s tight straight-boy ass. You wanna talk about that ? Although now that you’re here . . .”
    A grumble and a grunt behind him, and suddenly the man he thought he’d knocked out in the kitchen was up again and right at his back. “Stop being an idiot. Fucker’s dangerous.” Then, to Mat, “Hands behind your back. You try a goddamned thing and my colleague over there is gonna blow your brother’s nuts off, understand?”
    Mat nodded and put his hands behind his back. Had to fight with everything in him not to fight when he felt a careless fist close around his wrist. Then a sharp, high noise and a tight, unyielding pressure. A zip-tie. Not one of those little ones he used to keep his computer cables neat, either. He twisted his wrists, but stayed silent, staring at Dougie the whole time. I’m gonna fix all this for you, he tried to promise with his eyes, but fuck if he knew how .
    The man who’d bound his wrists came out from behind him and walked over to Dougie and the two lackeys still on their feet, stepping over the semi-conscious one along the way. He held out a hand and barked, “Gun.”
    Time slowed again as the man obeyed, taking the gun away from Dougie and Mat could risk it now, had time, and so what if his hands were tied behind his back; he could still take these fuckers on . . .
    He was running before he’d made the conscious decision to move, barreling headlong into the ringleader, roaring like an animal and charging like one too—
    And then he stopped. Everything stopped. His whole body seized, and he hit the ground, hardly feeling the