The Flesh Cartel #3: Choices Read Online Free
Author: Heidi Belleau
way or another. I need to go now, because I’m the driver on this pleasure trip and we’re already behind schedule. So here’s how it’s gonna work. When you’re done with this plate, licked-fucking-clean done, these associates of mine are gonna let you sleep it off in the bed at the back. Until then, they’re gonna hold you sitting here with that plug so far up your ass I can see it in the backs of your eyeballs. Fight them, and they’ll crank it so wide your damn colon will leak out. You took—excuse me, your brother gave you—seventeen turns of the screw at the auction without any damage. You’re only on six turns now. They’ve got plenty of room to go. Your choice.”
Mat nodded, for the moment defeated. “Where is my brother?” he tried.
“Exactly where he needs to be.”
He left. The RV rumbled to life.
Mat ate.
Dougie’s ears perked in the vacuum of black, heart jumping in his throat. For a second, he thought he’d heard something. A door slamming closed from three blocks away. There, again—a faint, nearly sub-audible whisper of voices. A sigh on the wind. Or maybe just in his head. God knew he was losing his mind. By the time they came for him again— if they came for him again, if they hadn’t forgotten him, abandoned him, left him here to die—there’d be nothing left of his mind. Nothing left of the person he used to be. Which was most certainly the plan; he’d read all about the use of sensory deprivation as torture. About how it increased suggestibility. And if it came to that, would he be able to resist them, or would he give in to their control over him completely, a slave in the truest sense?
Another sound. And a vibration now, too. Definitely not imagining it—or at least, if he was, the delusion was thorough. The floor lurched beneath him. He banged into the padded wall, felt acceleration in his belly. Oh, right—RV. He’d forgotten. He was in an RV. They must be going somewhere, the faint deep buzz and vibration coming from the engine. To his new owner’s house? Was Mat here somewhere? Maybe in another cell like this one? Had he seen another door in the RV when they’d shoved him inside? He closed his eyes—not that it made a difference; it was pitch-black either way—and tried to remember. Couldn’t.
He reached down, stroking his own body, trying to connect with something, anything , to prove he was still physical, still alive, that he really did exist. Maybe I’m a ghost , he thought, despite evidence to the contrary: the feel of his own heaving chest under his palm. They killed me and I’m a ghost and this is limbo, and they sent me here for hurting my own brother.
As if on cue, he thought he heard Mat scream. Distant again, so distant it all had to be in his head. Just guilt, that’s all. Guilt and insanity. Mat wasn’t here. Wouldn’t want to see him again anyway. Not after what he’d done to him, how he’d hurt him. Raped him, tore him open, made him scream and beg and held him still to make him scream and beg some more.
He’d become no better than the guards who’d hurt them. The men who’d taken them. The woman who’d sold them.
The man who’d bought them. What kind of person bought someone else?
What kind of person allowed themselves to be sold?
Maybe Mat was free right now. Maybe Dougie didn’t deserve to be.
They didn’t actually let Mat sleep it off. At least, not for a while. But then, he hadn’t exactly expected them to. Oh, they took him to bed, all right, and they strapped him down spread-eagle on his belly and removed the plug and fucked him six ways from Sunday. Had a break and a laugh and a game of cards, and then fucked him again. One guy came inside him and then replaced his cock with his fist, toying idly for what seemed like hours as Mat grunted and screamed. Didn’t beg, though, not this time. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, and maybe it was the real food, or the change of scenery, or the strange sort-of ally (or at least not-quite
Mat nodded, for the moment defeated. “Where is my brother?” he tried.
“Exactly where he needs to be.”
He left. The RV rumbled to life.
Mat ate.
Dougie’s ears perked in the vacuum of black, heart jumping in his throat. For a second, he thought he’d heard something. A door slamming closed from three blocks away. There, again—a faint, nearly sub-audible whisper of voices. A sigh on the wind. Or maybe just in his head. God knew he was losing his mind. By the time they came for him again— if they came for him again, if they hadn’t forgotten him, abandoned him, left him here to die—there’d be nothing left of his mind. Nothing left of the person he used to be. Which was most certainly the plan; he’d read all about the use of sensory deprivation as torture. About how it increased suggestibility. And if it came to that, would he be able to resist them, or would he give in to their control over him completely, a slave in the truest sense?
Another sound. And a vibration now, too. Definitely not imagining it—or at least, if he was, the delusion was thorough. The floor lurched beneath him. He banged into the padded wall, felt acceleration in his belly. Oh, right—RV. He’d forgotten. He was in an RV. They must be going somewhere, the faint deep buzz and vibration coming from the engine. To his new owner’s house? Was Mat here somewhere? Maybe in another cell like this one? Had he seen another door in the RV when they’d shoved him inside? He closed his eyes—not that it made a difference; it was pitch-black either way—and tried to remember. Couldn’t.
He reached down, stroking his own body, trying to connect with something, anything , to prove he was still physical, still alive, that he really did exist. Maybe I’m a ghost , he thought, despite evidence to the contrary: the feel of his own heaving chest under his palm. They killed me and I’m a ghost and this is limbo, and they sent me here for hurting my own brother.
As if on cue, he thought he heard Mat scream. Distant again, so distant it all had to be in his head. Just guilt, that’s all. Guilt and insanity. Mat wasn’t here. Wouldn’t want to see him again anyway. Not after what he’d done to him, how he’d hurt him. Raped him, tore him open, made him scream and beg and held him still to make him scream and beg some more.
He’d become no better than the guards who’d hurt them. The men who’d taken them. The woman who’d sold them.
The man who’d bought them. What kind of person bought someone else?
What kind of person allowed themselves to be sold?
Maybe Mat was free right now. Maybe Dougie didn’t deserve to be.
They didn’t actually let Mat sleep it off. At least, not for a while. But then, he hadn’t exactly expected them to. Oh, they took him to bed, all right, and they strapped him down spread-eagle on his belly and removed the plug and fucked him six ways from Sunday. Had a break and a laugh and a game of cards, and then fucked him again. One guy came inside him and then replaced his cock with his fist, toying idly for what seemed like hours as Mat grunted and screamed. Didn’t beg, though, not this time. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, and maybe it was the real food, or the change of scenery, or the strange sort-of ally (or at least not-quite
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