Sedition (21 page)

“It’s putting you in danger!” I protest, feeling weak for being unable to tell him the extent of that danger.

Sascha sighs, like I’m an overprotective lover. But he doesn’t know what Oliver is capable of. “Look, I won’t be in real danger,” he points out. “Do you really think he’d lose control and kill me or something? That’s not socially acceptable. It would reflect too poorly on
him
. Hell, I doubt he’d mind it if you waited right outside his door.”

“I
would
wait right outside his door,” I growl.

“He’s not going to kill me, and he’s not going to steal me away,” Sascha points out. “So what’s the worry?”

“There’s other things he can do,” I mutter.

“Yeah, and I’ve had them done before. I can take it, Cash.”

I fix my gaze down at the table, avoiding his eyes. I need to be strategic about this, to separate my feelings from my plans. “Go get me a drink.”

Sascha sits there, defying me. “You can’t just—”

“Sascha, get me a goddamned drink now or I’ll tie you to that chair and leave you there all night!”

He’s on his feet instantly, the hurt and anger clear on his face. We were supposed to discuss this, not fight about it, but the stakes are so much higher, now. I’m furious at myself for letting this be my only option.

He returns with my drink and slams it down in front of me, making it slosh over the edges.

I grab his wrist, twisting it until he cries out in pain.

“Like that?” I snarl. “That’s what he’ll do with you. He’ll hurt you and torture you from the moment I leave you with him until the moment I pick you up, and that’s if I can get him to agree to not do any permanent damage. I’ve seen him do it; he’s twisted and evil and doesn’t give a shit what he does to hurt someone else’s property, or his own. Do you understand what you’re volunteering for?”

I’m trying to scare him, and it’s working, but the look on his face is even more resolute.

“Let go of me,” he whispers, half-pleading. “Cash, you’re hurting me.”

I drop his arm and turn away, still fuming.

“I don’t want him to bring us down,” Sascha says, rubbing his wrist where my fingers bruised it. “I want him controlled, and I want to help to see this project go through. Let me, please.”

“Fine,” I mutter, shaking my head. I glance at him, the picture of a hurt slave. “Give me your hand.”

He obeys, despite the fact that I just hurt him. I wanted to scare him, wanted to have an excuse to stop this whole thing. I would rather abandon this project than see him hurt, but he’s so committed to it. I can’t deny him the opportunity, not if he wants it this bad. Telling him what Oliver will do to him will only make it worse.

I hold his hand gently, rubbing the spot I bruised. I lift my drink, pressing the cool glass against his skin. I’m too ashamed to look at him, or to speak. I should apologize, but I can’t, yet.

“One night, twelve hours, uninterrupted,” I say, still looking at his wrist. “I’ll stipulate that he is not to do anything that would cause permanent damage, disfiguration, or scarring. He is not to leave the house with you. Aside from that, you will be his to do as he pleases with—anything that he wants, fucking you, hurting you, humiliating you—for the time he has you.”

Sascha shudders.

“In exchange for borrowing you, he will join me on the project. He’ll sign the papers redirecting a quarter of the startup funds, sign the nondisclosure agreement, and take part ownership of any proceeds that come from it. He’ll be partially responsible for anything that comes from the research, so he’ll have motivation to keep it to himself. From then on, I’ll deal with him, and hopefully, you never have to see the bastard again. It will be exceedingly clear that this is a one-time offer.”

I finally set the glass down, allow Sascha to take his arm back. He cradles it to his chest, and I finally look up at him. “Sascha, you don’t know what this means to me. I could never ask you to do this.”

“That’s why I offered,” he reminds me. “And in the future, the polite way to say ‘thank you’ is
not
by almost breaking my wrist.”

I am utterly ashamed. I lift my drink and hand it to him. “Here, drink. Maybe it will help you forget that I can be an absolute asshole at times.”

He takes a sip, smiling. Alcohol isn’t really permitted for slaves, but, then, we’re breaking so many rules already.

“I’ve known you too long to forget that, sir. But stop trying to scare me. I’m scared enough already.”

“He’s the only one who can offset my mother’s influence,” I admit, still not revealing the extent of it. I don’t need Sascha any more terrified. “It’s unfortunate that I have to hand you over to him just to get on our side.”

“I’ll recover,” he says, finishing the drink. “But what happens after that? What do we do?”

“We wait,” I explain, shrugging. “I know, it’s a little anticlimactic, but we take the funds, find partners for research, and go from there. It won’t be a long wait—there are plenty of people interested in the project already, we just need a strong backer. That’s Oliver. Once he announces his support of the project, it will go quickly.”

“How long will it take?” He asks. “The research… whatever comes from the research?”

“Hard to say. Last time I did it, it took about a year for the research and analysis,” I recall. “It should be quicker, this time. It won’t just be me using my mother’s money on the side. Nice thing about slaves, they don’t need too much time to prepare and plan things. No other schedules to work around. The big point will be when the research is made public—after that, it will be a lot of media attention; news stations covering it, politicians debating it, that sort of thing. After that it should take on a life of its own. If the right people buy into it, the Miller System will get replaced by Michaud & Torenze.”

Sascha nods, looking pleased at the thought. “Do you think that it would go beyond the re-education centers? I mean, you said that you compared slaves from different re-education centers; did you ever compare them to free people? What if people were wrongly Demoted?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you
want
me to go to prison? What I’m doing is fringe research on a very specific business model. Nothing too subversive or radical. Stuff like that… no, I haven’t looked at it, and I won’t. Not officially. I’d be thrilled if someone else picked up and did it, but it would be far too risky for my liking. I’d lend them my research, you know, from an academic standpoint, but I wouldn’t risk getting involved any further. Policymakers love the Demoted system, it solved all their problems—poverty, crime, drug use—all those things dropped by huge percentages once the Demoted system was put in place.”

“The same would have happened if they just shot the same amount of people they Demoted every year and still counted them in the census,” he points out.

“Yes, but then where would wealthy people get free labor to make them more wealthy?”

Sascha grins at me, looking amused by my very realistic interpretation.

“I accept the Demoted system, Sascha. It’s law, and it’s deeply embraced by the people who matter. The only way to have any effect at all is to play by the rules and work within the framework, not against it. But then, you should know that, that’s how you got your brother free.”

He draws back, flinching a bit. It was intended as a casual statement, but he takes everything as criticism. I didn’t mean to scare him, not like earlier.

“Relax,” I say softly. “I’m impressed that you were able to do it. Your strategy was brilliant and amazingly selfless. I’d say he doesn’t deserve it, but maybe he did, then.” Of course, if it wasn’t for Abriel and his wife, Sascha wouldn’t be faced with Oliver’s torture methods.

I listen as Sascha explains the details of how he cheated the Assessment. I’m fascinated by his dedication and attention to detail. “Most people wouldn’t do that, someone still gets Demoted.”

He shrugs. “It was worth it.”

“Still?” I ask. “After how he treated you?

Sascha considers it for a few moments. “He would have been happier if I had left well enough alone. He’s married to that evil bitch, and our parents lost both their sons,” he admits. “But I’m still glad he didn’t get Demoted. I just wish he had never found me. He took a risk, contacting me. He cheated the Assessment; he could still be put in prison, even though he knew nothing about it. Or even if not, his life would be destroyed. Everyone knowing that? Wouldn’t sit well. He took that risk because he thought I was in danger.”

I nod. This is all true. And it is all exploitable. I don’t know how to tell Sascha that I might blackmail his brother. He will hate me for doing it, but I’d rather have him safe and hating me than confiscated.

“I’ll set up the deal with Torenze,” I tell him. I hope it’s enough.

Chapter 18
Trashed

Torenze requests me on a Saturday morning, because he wants to be “refreshed” when he gets to spend time with me. He manages to destroy any hopes of enjoying my weekend with Cash, but I don’t complain. I guess I did ask for this.

Over the past few days, my master and Torenze have commed back and forth, worked out the details. In the end, Torenze agreed to do no “permanent” damage—which was defined as something that wouldn’t heal in a month.

He can’t break any bones, but he can bruise and hurt and draw blood, as long it doesn’t scar. I don’t scar easily.

The ride over is tense, and Cash keeps cursing. Not at me, not to me, and he grips the steering wheel harder than he gripped my wrist the other day. I try talking to him, but he brushes me off.

No, I wouldn’t have appreciated some reassurance or anything.

We’re silent as we walk up to the house, and Torenze greets us with a greedy smile.

“Welcome, boys!” he teases, including my master in the statement.

Cash is not amused.

“Are we doing paperwork before or after you borrow the slave?” he asks, cold.

“Now, you don’t think I’d back out, do you?” Torenze laughs, ushering us inside. I fight the urge to cling to my master.

“I’m trying to plan my day.”

My master keeps his face emotionless, trying not to let on to Torenze how much this bothers him.

“I’m good for my word, Cash,” Torenze points out. “You’ve known me long enough to know that.”

My master nods. “Of course,” he agrees, looking down. “I just wanted to stay on top of things.”

Torenze laughs. “Your mother would be proud of you. I’ll sign now, that way you can pick up the boy tonight and head straight home. I expect he’ll be tired out!”

His laugh makes my stomach twist, threatening to throw up the light breakfast Cash forced on me this morning.

Cash just nods, waiting expectantly.

“Muffin,” Torenze calls, prompting a young man to come rushing out from another room. He looks like he’s fresh from the re-education center, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Yes, master?”

“Bring me what we discussed earlier.”

“You didn’t mention anyone else being involved,” Cash says, guarded.

I can hear the rage building inside of him and it frightens me.

“It’s a slave, Cash,” Torenze points out. “Muffin won’t hurt your boy. You wouldn’t question me using a pair of handcuffs on him, what does it matter that my new toy is human?”

I can tell Cash is seething, but he nods. “Of course.”

Muffin, god help the name, runs in with some tablets, and I tune out as the free men go over details and place signatures. I try not to think of the fact that my master is going to be leaving soon, and I try not to notice the heavy bruising that covers the other slave’s face, and I really try not to notice the way Torenze eyes me up. I fail on all accounts.

Suddenly, my master is gripping my arm, looking at me expectantly. “Master?” I question, missing what he said entirely.

He frowns. “I’ll be back to pick you up at ten tonight. Make me proud.”

I know I already have made him proud by agreeing to this, but I still need to carry out the agreement. “Yes, master,” I whisper, wanting to back out.

He doesn’t give me a chance, walking out without a word.

“Muffin, get the boy some water.”

I stand there awkward and afraid, wondering what he’s planning to do to me. At least he doesn’t plan on keeping me dehydrated.

The boy returns with a few bottles of water, looking terrified, but that’s the only way he’s looked since I first saw him.

Torenze takes one and opens it, handing it to me. “Drink,” he orders.

I obey, staring at him with uncertainty clear on my face. I won’t speak out of turn, but I’ll let my confusion show.

“All of it.”

I finish the bottle, still confused. Has he drugged it? It’s not like he needs to, but it might be a nice change. Alter my consciousness; maybe he’ll give me too much and I’ll pass out.

He opens another bottle and hands it to me. “This one, too.”

My breath catches as I get a clue of his game. I drink it all without stopping.

“Good boy,” he smiles at me. “Now, take those clothes off. Slaves in this house do not get to wear clothes.”

He’s like a walking cliché of a bad S&M novel.

I strip, reminding myself to keep my eyes down, not to glare at him like I’d glare at my master if he gave this order. I let my clothes fall to the floor, earning a backhand that sends me stumbling.

“Pick them up neatly, boy,” he growls. “Fold them and set them over there.”

My lip smarting and tasting of blood, I follow his orders silently. I return to stand in front of him, waiting.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

At least I won’t wait long. I comply instantly feeling a sharp, stinging pain as he slaps my ass. I stay still as a few more blows land, biting down on my lower lip to keep from crying out.

No amount of self-control can keep me from crying out when I feel something thrust into my ass, dry and without warning.

At Cashiel’s reluctant suggestion, I lubed up before coming here, and I’m grateful for it now. Whatever he’s forced into me is big and heavy and painful. I yelp as he works it in and out, deeper than is comfortable. I don’t turn to see what it is.