The Flesh Cartel #6: Brotherhood

Nikolai, he’s your only choice, he’ll let you—and never look back. He wanted to be safe.
“Even after everything that’s happened, you still, in your way, worship your brother. You’re so in love with your vision of him, even the evidence of your own body isn’t enough to dissuade you. Maybe this will help. I hope it helps, Douglas. I really do. I only want what’s best for you.”
Nikolai hit play.
His voice flowed from the phone, a little on the tinny side but perfectly clear, perfectly identifiable. “What I would really like to talk about is your brother,” video-Nikolai said, in that same firm-but-gentle interrogative tone he used on Dougie. “Will you tell me about him?”
Mat shrugged, face screwed up like he found the mere thought of Dougie unpleasant. “He adapts. He does what he’s gotta to get by.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Judgmental, obviously. Disgusted. Just look at him.
For a moment, Dougie couldn’t. Had to turn away, it hurt so bad. He’d rather have faced another session with Nikolai’s client than any more of this.
Mat’s answer was perfectly candid, and all the more heartbreaking for it. “Makes me feel like . . . like I dunno him. Can’t know him. Scares me.”
“Do you think if it would save himself, he’d hurt you?”
“Done it already, hasn’e. You saw. At the auction. Fucking raped me with that . . .”
“Stop!” Dougie mashed his finger against the pause icon on the touchscreen. A fat tear splashed beside it, running down the phone. In his head, he saw that horrible metal plug, the way Mat’s body had struggled and then given in to its force. Opened up. Been taken. And Dougie had the audacity to be mad at Mat for watching him be tortured? As far as Mat knew, if it had been Dougie in that room with that sick client, and Mat bent over the bed, Dougie wouldn’t have just watched, he’d have used the bat himself. Mat obviously thought that’s what he would’ve done, obviously thought Dougie would’ve done it to save his own ass, and he had every fucking right to think that, didn’t he, every fucking right in the world—
“Stop, please, no more,” Dougie sobbed. “I can’t . . .”
“I’m sorry, Douglas, but I think you need to see all of this. You’re being brave for me, remember? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Nothing about this changes the way I feel about you, and it shouldn’t change the way you feel about yourself, either. You are a good man, Douglas. And you are worthy of love. If your brother can’t understand that, well, it’s his loss, not yours.” Nikolai curled a hand around Dougie’s head, pulled it to his shoulder, kissed his hair. “Trust me.”
He pressed play again. “—that thing,” video-Mat said, right where he’d left off. There was no misinterpreting his expression. Disgust. Horror. Fear. Remembered pain. But more than just that: Distrust. Loneliness. Betrayal. He looked like he’d bitten into a lemon as he added—no, spat, “Tortured me. Held me still while I begged him to stop. I can’t . . . I can’t trust. Him.”
“Do you think you give up too much for him?”
Mat’s face was suddenly hard and serious—when had he gotten so grave, anyway? It was so fragmented, like a nightmare—and without hesitation, he said, “Yes.”
The video ended.
True to his word, Nikolai held Dougie as he cried.
Whatever brother Dougie had once had, however that brother had felt about him, whatever love and loyalty and history had been between them, it was gone now. Just like everything else in his past, left there in the sand on the wrong side of the line between Before Madame and After Madame. Sure, Before Madame, Mat wouldn’t have stood by without coercion or drugs or something and watched Dougie be tortured, but the Mat of the video, the Mat Nikolai had just shown him?
The Mat I created the night of the auction. It was never Madame. It was me. My cowardice. My choices. My consequences. I drove him away.
That Mat needed no coercion.
And that Mat was a stranger. Not a hero. Not even a brother, not really. No, the only one left to love him now was Nikolai. Nikolai, holding him tight, stroking his hair, whispering gentle words in his ears. Nikolai, who loved him even after seeing him at his worst, even after everyone else had stopped loving him, given up on him.
He couldn’t lose Nikolai too. Couldn’t.
He sniffled, willed the tears to dry up—stop being such a baby stop being so weak stop crying over