The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

down to the front drive. He tried again. Drew a rectangle in the air with one finger, then mimed turning a doorknob— The front door, kiddo, where’s the front door? —and when Dougie just cocked his head at him like some confused dog, he tucked both sticks between his knees and wrapped his arms around his blanketed chest, shivering as if outside in the cold. Made a broad, expansive gesture for the sky.
    Then took a hold of the sticks again because he felt fucking naked standing here without a weapon, never mind that he’d been trained as one himself.
    And still Dougie didn’t seem to get it. God, how messed up was Dougie that he didn’t instinctively know where they needed to go? They were wasting fucking time here. If he didn’t figure it out soon, Mat would just have to pick a direction and hope. There had to be night guards or something prowling the halls, preventing slaves from escaping, preventing cops or even unwitting outsiders from getting in. They were running out of fucking time .
    “Front door,” he said, trying his best to whisper through the gag, but it came out as something a little closer to hrnt oor . Well, oor rhymed with door, at least. He tried again. Oor. Oor.
    Click , and Dougie’s addled fucking mind jumped into action. “You want to go out. A-are you sure that’s a good idea?”
    Good idea? Probably not, but it’s our only option now. I have to get you out of here, good idea or not, suicide mission or not. Mat nodded.
    “Follow me,” Dougie sighed. Sniffled. Stepped forward.
    Mat caught him by the arm and shook his head. No. Pointed. You stay behind me. He brandished his sticks. If we come up against anybody, I want them tasing me first.
    “Please don’t hurt anyone,” Dougie whispered, and Mat’s teeth dug so hard into the bit he hurt his fucking jaw, but Dougie slunk behind him and meekly pointed right. Like an obedient little slave, and that thought made Mat as sick with fury as Dougie’s twisted fucking concern for the members of this twisted fucking household. No room for anger now, though, no room—just like in a match, and God, he’d never fought one so important, except for maybe the one he’d lost against the bruisers who’d first brought them to Madame’s—so he forced it all down, buried it for later, and led Dougie right.
    The hall was mostly dark, thin slivers of light spilling in from somewhere—moonlight through a window, perhaps, or maybe a guard’s flashlight. His eyes had adjusted enough to see, but just barely, and every twitch and shadow sent his heart jumping, his hands jerking with the instinct to strike. He wouldn’t have even half a second to spare if they stumbled across someone; he’d need to knock them out before they could alert anyone else, make any noise, scream for help.
    But all the shadows were just shadows. No threat, no danger. Just an overactive limbic system in a house full of all-too-real horrors.
    At last, the hall opened up onto the broad, fancy foyer he remembered from his first day here. He froze in the shadows of the archway, put an arm out to tuck Dougie behind him, then raised both sticks and peered ahead. The foyer was brighter, moonlight spilling in through oversized windows and reflecting off white marble tile. It was also empty. He poked his head around the edge of the wall, looked in one direction, then the other. Still no sign of anyone. Where were all the guards? Wasn’t anyone on watch? Or was Nikolai so fucking certain of himself that he thought he didn’t need them? Or maybe he just didn’t want the unwashed masses polluting his house.
    No. This is a trap. It has to be. You’re missing something. Look again.
    Except he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary on second glance, either. Or on the third. And he couldn’t cower in this fucking hallway forever. He was the one wasting time now.
    He looked over his shoulder, locked eyes with Dougie, darted his gaze toward the front door and then back. Nodded once— Are you ready?
    Dougie’s chin wobbled, and the terror that bloomed in his eyes was so stark Mat was sure he’d rabbit. But he didn’t. Just canted his head up and held his ground despite his fear. It broke Mat’s fucking heart to think of how Nikolai had trained that discipline into him. He wished he knew what exactly Dougie was so afraid of right now. Was it the possibility of exposure, of being caught? Or was it the fear of leaving this place behind them for good?
    Worry about it later,