The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

have the balls to be indignant about it, just scared and small and sad.
    They scrambled their way back up the other side of the gulch. Sat to rest, just for a moment. Too long was dangerous—they’d freeze if they stopped moving. Dougie pulled the folded bedsheet from his down jacket with trembling fingers and wrapped it around his head and shoulders. Turned to Mat, eyes wet and luminous in the moonlight, and spoke his first words in what must’ve been hours: “I want to go home.”
    I know, kiddo. I’m doing my best. We’ll hit a town eventually, I promise. We’ll talk to the cops. Maybe we’ll get home, maybe they sold our home like Madame and Nikolai said, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll get a hotel, and then we’ll get an apartment, and home will be wherever we’re together. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never fail you again.
    Dougie just blinked at him, shivered, shook his head like maybe he’d read Mat’s thoughts right off his face. “Mat, I want to go home. ”
    Fucking gag. Mat nodded back instead. Hauled himself to his throbbing feet. Reached out to take Dougie by the shoulders and pull him into a gentle hug. God, he could barely stand to touch the kid right now; it all felt so twisted and sexual. He wanted to hug his little brother like a normal person, hug him and pet his hair and even kiss him, and know one hundred percent that there was nothing ominous or inappropriate in it.
    Damn Nikolai for taking that from them.
    Dougie tore himself out of Mat’s arms, hugged himself instead, tears streaking down a face twisted with grief and fury. “It’s cold out and I’m tired and you’re lost , Mat! It’s not safe out here and you’ve . . . you’ve ruined everything , damn you! Why did you do this? Take me back. Take me back and we can still fix this . Nikolai can fix this!”
    No stopping himself—Mat hauled back and slapped him.
    Regretted it the instant the sound of impact rang out in the silent woods. Dougie crumpled, falling to his knees in the frost-covered duff. He cradled his cheek in both hands, sobbing bitterly.
    God, what have I done?
    “Take me home. Take me b-back. I hate you. I hate you.” Dougie rocked himself, clutching his cheek. “Hate you. Hate you. Hate you.”
    Something in Mat’s chest seized so hard he couldn’t breathe for several long moments. He wanted to vomit. To scream. To rip Nikolai’s face off and shove it up the fucker’s ass.
    “I hate you ,” Dougie spat again.
    No , kiddo, no , you can’t mean that. You can’t mean that. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you, but damn it, what else am I supposed to fucking do?
    Mat couldn’t say any of it. He just crouched there, watching Dougie cry, repeating “Hate you” over and over until it stopped sounding like words. When Mat reached out to try to touch him, try to apologize by gesture at least, Dougie fell back, swinging wildly to knock Mat’s hands away.
    “Don’t you fucking touch me, don’t you fucking touch what’s not yours! You don’t get to touch me anymore. This is all your fucking fault! If you had protected me, if you hadn’t gotten into those underground fights, started meeting all the wrong people! If you hadn’t been so fucking stubborn, hadn’t fought everyone at Madame’s like a fucking animal and caught Nikolai’s eye for it! If you—” He hiccupped a sob, swallowed it down, clutched at a handful of duff and hurled it at Mat’s chest. “If you— If you hadn’t let me go to fucking foster care in the f-first place . . .”
    All true. All true. But none of that— none of that cut as deeply as what followed: “If you’d just left me back at Nikolai’s where I f-fucking belong !”
    Mat thumped to the ground, stunned senseless. It took him far too long to realize that awful keening noise wasn’t coming from Dougie.
    And fuck, but Dougie had shouted so loud they’d probably been heard for miles. How far had they gotten from the house? Would people be coming now? They needed to move . He stood back up, but when he tried to go, Dougie didn’t follow.
    Damn you. Get up. He grabbed Dougie by one wrist and yanked , not caring if he broke the kid’s arm if it would just get him fucking moving . Not caring how much Dougie hated him. Let him—they could fix this later. They would fix this later.
    As angry as Dougie was, that good slave-boy part of him responded to the harsh treatment; he let himself be pulled to his feet, and kept up when Mat took off at a