The Flesh Cartel #3: Choices

back against the door, even as Nikolai crouched down in front of him, close enough to smell the fear-sweat, close enough to lick it away. But he knew better than to touch now. Soon, though.
“My name is Nikolai,” he said, laying the soiled pear at Mathias’s feet with a deliberate click against the tiles. “Though you may call me ‘sir’ or ‘master.’” The baleful look at that, so pathetic from such a weakened body, almost made Nikolai smile. He’d not been wrong about the fire in this one. “There will be many rules in this house, but one above all others you must understand. Are you listening?”
A slow, heavy, hate-filled blink.
“I am not a man who threatens; I find the whole business uncouth. But in life there are choices, and there are consequences. There are always consequences. And the one I think you fear most of all is harm to your brother, am I right?”
A wobble in that baleful glare. Ah, hello, truth.
“I think we both know who among us would win in a fight. So let me make this perfectly clear right from the start. If you ever harm me in any way—contemplate biting my prick off, perhaps, or my fingers, or even so much as swat a hand at me when I choose to touch you—I will kill your brother. I didn’t buy the pair of you for him. I have no use for him. I don’t particularly have time for him. And lest you get it into your head that death is preferable, understand that I will kill him slowly. Over months . I’ll pull out every tooth, every fingernail, every toenail. Gouge out his eyeballs. Cut off his ears, his nose, his tongue, his balls, his cock. Cauterize his wounds and leave him to die of sepsis. Do you understand?”
Mathias’s exhaustion and hatred left little room for expression, but Nikolai was an expert reader, and he watched them flash one by one across Mathias’s face: horror, fury, disgust, panic, comprehension . . . and yes, the inevitable resignation. Slowly, Mathias met his eyes and nodded.
“Do you believe me?”
Mathias nodded again. “So what do you want?” he gasped out. “You want me to suck your cock, is that it?”
Nikolai backhanded him. “Next rule. Don’t speak to me that way. I may do a job that seems . . . distasteful to the untrained eye, but I am not a crass man, and I don’t abide them, either. If ever you use language like that in my presence, it will be to serve a higher purpose and it will be on my terms.”
Another nod, as hateful as before. Not broken, simply biding his time. That was fine.
“And as for what I want? Only to teach you. You’ll not be with me long, Mathias. A month, two, perhaps four or six on the outside. Normally I would congratulate you—I’m very good at what I do, and every one of my charges has left my care very much in love. Your brother will too, one day. A gift for him. When he’s ready, he’ll find such contentment and peace and pleasure in service as he’s never known. A purpose in life. A direction. No more rolling in his own shit with the rest of the animals out there.”
“He already had a purpose,” Mathias growled, but his tone was belied by the shine of tears— more than mere physical pain—in his eyes. “ Has a purpose. He’s gonna be a doctor. You have to . . . Please. Just . . . Keep me. I’m worthless. But not him. He has his whole life ahead of him. Please.”
Nikolai smiled. “He does indeed. And unless you force my hand, my solemn promise to you is to make that life glorious . But . . .” He shrugged, in part to cover the rather inconvenient surge of pity he felt looking into Mathias’s earnest, aching eyes. “I regret that I cannot say the same for you. My client has particular . . . tastes , you see. Our work together these next however many weeks will be to teach you to fulfill them without breaking your spirit.” Nikolai preferred transformation and ascension to brute terms like “breaking,” but Mathias wouldn’t understand those words. Never would understand, unlike his brother.
He reached out and swiped a single tear from Mathias’s cheek with his thumb. Gentle. No call for force yet. “He does not want you broken, fighter. Do you understand?”
No, clearly he did not, from the confusion, the fear in his eyes.
“He desires the appearance of danger, but not danger itself. He wishes you to fight, but he must also be assured that he can win those fights if he so chooses. A good slave learns to love service. Crave it. You, on the other hand . . . you will hate it and never