The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

Riptide Publishing
    PO Box 6652
    Hillsborough, NJ 08844
    http://www.riptidepublishing.com
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
    The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods
    Copyright © 2013 by Rachel Haimowitz and Heidi Belleau
    Cover Art by Imaliea, http://imaliea.deviantart.com
    Editor: Sarah Frantz
    Layout: L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm
    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com , or at [email protected] .
    ISBN: 978-1-937551-99-5
    First edition
    September, 2013
    ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:
    We thank you kindly for purchasing this title. Your non-refundable purchase legally allows you to replicate this file for your own personal reading only, on your own personal computer or device. Unlike paperback books, sharing ebooks is the same as stealing them. Please do not violate the author’s copyright and harm their livelihood by sharing or distributing this book, in part or whole, for fee or free, without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner. We love that you love to share the things you love, but sharing ebooks—whether with joyous or malicious intent—steals royalties from authors’ pockets and makes it difficult, if not impossible, for them to be able to afford to keep writing the stories you love. Piracy has sent more than one beloved series the way of the dodo. We appreciate your honesty and support.

Sublime service, made to order.
    With a wedge at last driven between Mat and Dougie Carmichael, courtesy of Nikolai Petrovic’s expert manipulations, the brothers must each accept their new path forward: Dougie, a perfect slave, sweet and obedient and loving. Mat, a tightly reined dog, snarling and snapping but never allowed to bite.
    Unfortunately, no transformation, however well planned, is without its growing pains. Mat’s leash is so tight it’s choking him. Dougie is tormented by a little voice inside his head—a fragment of his former self—that he cannot silence.
    And Nikolai’s most difficult tests for the brothers are still to come.
    The critical question isn’t whether they can pass those tests, but whether they even want to. Without each other to lean on and live for, a bleak future has become bleaker still. But Nikolai’s too good to let his slaves slip through his fingers—by death or by despair.
    A noose, a nighttime sky, a shared lover, an unexpected friend. A foreboding forest cabin. A lavish party with all the debauchery Nikolai’s clientele could want. It’s all coming in season 3 of the Flesh Cartel .

Mat had quite deliberately steered Dougie into the backseat rather than the front, despite the open passenger door. He didn’t know this person, this shadowed would-be rescuer with a knit cap pulled low over his forehead against the winter chill, and though he hoped , he couldn’t bring himself to trust. So he clung to Dougie as long as he could— safe, he’s safe, he’s finally safe, please let it be true —as they settled in the back of the car. Had to force himself to let go, turn away just for a moment, so he could close the door.
    “Slowly, now.”
    Mat froze, arm outstretched toward the open car door. Tried to swallow past his dry throat. Felt a fresh chill crawl up and down his clammy, frigid skin.
    He knew that voice.
    Of course he did.
    Roger. Turned around in the driver’s seat, arm extended, the muzzle of a handgun jabbed into Dougie’s cheek. Dougie, trembling and tear-streaked, so wide-eyed Mat could see the blue of them even in the dark car.
    “Close. The. Door.”
    Don’t hurt him. You’re supposed to be my friend. Please don’t hurt him.
    Very slowly, every inch of him fighting not to run like a fucking coward and leave Dougie behind, Mat reached for the door handle with one hand, the other hand palm up near his head. Pulled the door carefully