The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

front and center, and then and only then did he begin unbuckling the bindings at Dougie’s wrists and ankles and hips.
    “Up. Heel,” Luke said, and Dougie forced his aching body to move. “And don’t ever let me see you on your fucking feet, or I’ll stick nails in your heels. Dogs crawl. Got me?”
    “Yes, sir.” Crawling was easier anyway; he wasn’t actually convinced his legs could’ve held him. Besides, crawling reminded him of who he was—of what he was—and who he belonged to. He needed to remember that now. Needed it desperately. So he fell to his hands and knees. Winced at the scrape and press of the concrete floor, at the soreness in his muscles, at the fresh pain in his kneecaps.
    He thought that Luke would lead him upstairs; after all, as far as Dougie knew, that was the only way in or out of this place. And maybe, on the way, they’d see Nikolai, and Nikolai would see Dougie, would see how good Dougie was being, even as a dog instead of a boy, and maybe he’d put a stop to this whole thing, or maybe not, but at least the sight of his pleasure or even just his approval would give Dougie strength to endure.
    But they didn’t go upstairs. Luke led him on his taut leash at an exhaustive pace down a narrow basement hall, up to a heavy steel door.
    Three keys in three locks, all from a ring Luke kept in one battered denim pocket, and the door opened. Ice cold air hit Dougie head-on, knocking the breath out of him.
    He realized for the first time that Luke was wearing a heavy workman’s jacket. Steel-toed boots. A knit cap, even.
    And Dougie, of course, was naked. All my clothes—all Nikolai’s gifts of trust to me—burnt away.
    His nudity didn’t stop Luke from yanking him outside onto the frozen grass. It burned his knees and palms like fire, bumpy and gritty and so, so cold, but at least the path was free of snow and relatively clear of roots or twigs or sharp rocks. Luke led him down a trimmed path Dougie didn’t recognize, down a steep slope, down into the trees. Through the woods, then, although still on beaten ground, thank God, and suddenly the path opened up into a clearing.
    “This is the old cabin,” Luke said. “Back before Master’s mentor bought this property, the descendants of the original settlers lived here. Master fixed it up for me and the other guys working the property. Our own space, away from the pampered pets he keeps at the house.”
    Well, that didn’t sound too awful, at least. Dougie could endure it.
    “But before we let you in, we’re gonna have to clean you off. You reek of piss, and I don’t want any dog prints on my nice floor.” Dougie realized they’d gone clear past the door of the cabin, which looked as old and rustic as Luke claimed it was but seemed at least in good repair, and were now right in front of a rusty old pump well, complete with bucket.
    No. He wouldn’t . . . would he? Not out here in the biting wind and the freezing cold. Dougie was shivering hard already, despite the exertion of keeping up with Luke on all fours. Dousing him with icy water would kill him.
    “What, doggie afraid of a little cold? Well, there’s a nice warm fire in the cabin you can stretch out in front of . . . once you’re clean. Inside and out, dog. Master expects you to be well used while you’re here, and I am more than happy to oblige.”
    “Yes, sir,” Dougie mumbled, eyes locked on the pump. There was a layer of frost on the metal. Would Dougie’s palms stick to it?
    “Oh, one last thing. No need to waste all that energy with the Yes, sirs when you can just do what comes naturally to you and bark.”
    Dougie wanted to be out of the cold. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to be back with Nikolai, back in Nikolai’s good graces. He’d done a million humiliating things since he’d been taken, a million things so very much worse than acting like the animal he clearly was, the animal Nikolai had tried so hard to break him free of.
    So he barked. Didn’t even mind. A dog was all he was now—he knew that, understood that in his heart as well as his mind. And a dog was all he’d be until Luke was through with him, until he’d relearned all the tricks Nikolai had taught him. Until Nikolai loved him again.
    Luke didn’t bother warning him not to run. Didn’t need to. Just unclipped his leash, watched him crawl up to the old pump and bucket, watched him squat to clean his ass with frigid water, and then, satisfied that the job was being done,