The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

to guarantee my client’s safety is to send you along to watch over him.”
    Douglas looked fit for bursting with the need to speak, so Nikolai inclined his head, gestured with an open palm. Douglas jumped on the invitation before Nikolai had even finished moving. “But Master, I don’t—” His lips twisted into an ugly scowl. Nikolai couldn’t decide if he was disgusted with the thought of babysitting his brother or with the fact that he’d nearly argued with his master. Both, probably. The boy’s eyes closed for a long moment, and he took a deep breath through his nose, resettled into the perfect posture Nikolai had taught him. “I hate even looking at him,” he finally said, so soft it was nearly a whisper. It wasn’t fear that stole his voice; he simply didn’t feel entitled to ask of this for himself. “He makes me so angry . He . . . he reminds me of all the awful things I used to do and say and be. He reminds me of hurting you .”
    “Douglas. Douglas.” Nikolai took hold of the boy’s chin. “I’m not asking you to do this for him, I’m asking you to do it for me . Serve me in a way only you can. Mathias heels for no one else. No one but you. You’re stronger than him now, stronger than he’ll ever be. I need you to control him if he ever hints at going too far. I need you to protect my client, my investments, my very reputation. Do you understand how important this is? How much I’m trusting you with?”
    Douglas’s face fell, but when he raised his eyes again, they were full of resolute determination. Pride, too. Good boy. “Yes Master. Anything. Just tell me what to do.”

    Douglas crept down the hall, Nikolai’s tea balanced on the tray in his hands. It was hard to believe that in a few days, maybe a few weeks, he’d be carrying tea for someone else. Or coffee, maybe. Or whatever his new master might like. Assuming his new master would like anything at all from him beyond leash duty for a dangerous slave.
    No. Douglas wasn’t going to think like that. Whatever the new master wanted, he’d offer with pride and be glad for it. For the chance to serve a man Nikolai deemed worthy. For the chance to show the world Nikolai’s skill at training slaves, and for a chance to show Nikolai himself that Douglas was worth bringing back into the fold when the time came. Whenever that was. One year, five years, ten . . . No matter. He’d endure it. Even teach himself to enjoy it. For Nikolai.
    He just wished he could keep serving Nikolai here . He could hardly be faulted for loving his master too much, could he?
    Wait, hadn’t that been Lucifer’s “crime,” too?
    God, he’d even miss Jeremy. And Roger, of course. And that big antique piano in the parlor; he was getting pretty good, actually, and treasured his quiet time to practice. Would his new master have a piano too? Would he let him play?
    He realized he’d been standing outside the door of Nikolai’s study, tea tray growing heavy in his hands, for God knew how long while he’d moped and felt sorry for himself. Shit. He’d go in, and lay out Nikolai’s tea, and then he’d fetch the cane from the umbrella stand in the corner, the fat one that left bruises for days, and beg Nikolai to correct him for forgetting himself.
    Then everything would be okay again. Everything would be okay and maybe Nikolai would find someone else to keep his stupid awful brother in line and not make Douglas go.
    But when Douglas nudged the door open with his foot and rushed inside, Nikolai was too distracted to disturb with a request for discipline, so Douglas just set the tea tray at his desk, prepared Nikolai a cup—one sugar cube, tiny splash of milk—and settled silently onto his knees at Nikolai’s feet. Nikolai was on the phone, visibly bothered by whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying, but his tone was calm and even when he responded. “Yes, I understand,” he said, the crease between his brows deepening, “but you know my work, Allen, and you know that when I tell you he’ll make you happy, he’ll make you happy. He’s one of a kind, Allen.”
    Douglas closed his eyes, trying to let the words wash over him. Trying to ignore them outright; a good slave was invisible, after all, never spoke out of turn, never heard what he wasn’t supposed to hear. By holding this conversation in front of him, Nikolai was trusting him to behave like he should. So he wouldn’t let himself be upset, even knowing that right now,