Succession (13 page)

“I heard him hitting you and I heard you screaming,” he points out.

Damn it. I was hoping to postpone this conversation indefinitely, but who knew the walls were so thin? “Look, Sy, I…” I struggle with the phrasing. “I like it, all right? I like him to hurt me in bed. I kind of need the pain to get off. He’s never… not for a really long time has he ever hurt me in ways that I didn’t want. And he’ll stop if I ask him to. Please, just trust me on this.”

Sy nods, looking doubtful but slightly relieved. He glances back, a little anxious. “We should probably get back, don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Cash is good at waiting,” I assure him.

Sy says nothing, he just takes the items I give him and heads through the door.

Cash sits in the dining room with his tablet. The table has been righted and the chairs replaced, but debris surrounds him. I assume he had Sy deal with the furniture while he ordered, putting his strength to use. I can only imagine all the other things Cash has to take care of, but his first priority is feeding us. I drop down in my usual seat next to him, feeling as natural as ever until I realize that Sy is standing off to one edge of the room, looking out of place again.

I want to tell him to sit down, but should I? Would that really be my place? I don’t think it would be, in fact, I think it would most definitely not be my place. I nudge Cash under the table instead.

Absently, he takes my hand, finishing whatever business he’s attending to, and only then glancing up at me. I look at Sy, rather pointedly, until he gets my point.

“Ah,” Cash sighs. “Syrus, come here. Have a seat.”

Sy approaches slowly, sitting to my right, across from Cash. He doesn’t look any less out of place.

“You may sit when we’re alone,” Cash says. “I’ll expect you to be standing most of the time in public, since you’re there as a bodyguard, not a pet. You won’t need to kneel unless the circumstances are very unusual, and I’ll tell you to do so then.”

“Yes, master,” Sy agrees, settling back into his chair.

There’s a momentary pause, and I hope my master plans to use it to do something nice, maybe to reassure Sy that he’s not going to be an absolute bastard.

No such luck.

“Did you fuck my boy?” he asks, glaring.

“Jesus Christ, Cash!” I protest, at the same time as Sy is calmly answering “No, master.”

“You claimed him as your own? Kept everyone else away from him? And you never fucked him?”

“Stop it! I told you earlier—”

“Hush, Sascha.” Cash raises an eyebrow at me, warning me.

I fume.

“No, master.”

“What did you do with him?” Cash asks, his face cold.

Sy takes a breath before answering. “I simulated having sex with him, master. I rubbed against him and gave the impression that I was raping him. I used his mouth, and I brought him to orgasm with my hand. It was what I thought was best to keep him safe, and keep the others away from him.”

Cash is still glaring, but he remains silent. He glances at me, both in search of verification, and with a possessive look in his eyes. He looks like he might grab me and throw me down on the table, prove that I’m his.

“Please, master,” Sy interrupts, bowing his head deferentially in acknowledgement. “Sascha complied with what I did to him, but if he hadn’t, I would have forced him. If you are displeased with the actions that occurred between us, I ask that you punish me. Don’t punish Sascha; he didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“You’d take punishment for him?” Cash asks, intrigued.

“He already has,” I mutter, not sure whether to be more pissed off at Cash for being such a monster, or more pissed off at Sy for offering himself up in my place again. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Most masters would object more strongly to some random slave using their pet,” Cash muses.

“This is bullshit!”

“Sascha, stop!” This time the warning and the hard look comes from Sy, and I stop for a moment.

“My god, you’re loyal,” my master observes.

“Yes, master,” Sy answers, seemingly unruffled by the statement.

“And your ties to the Argova family?” Cash demands.

If Sy’s surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. “The 27th Street Gang is a low-level associate of the Argova family. They’ve owned me for many years, and I know the 27s are interested in impressing Mr. Argova. I took an interest in Sascha because I wanted a bargaining chip. They were pleased that I was protecting him, but angry when I told them I had no information about him or you. There might be an order out to kill me, since I didn’t comply with their request for information, or they might think I arranged for you to purchase me so I could continue my mission.”

“Was that your plan?”

“I wasn’t trying to plan my own death, but I didn’t see a way to prevent it. If they wanted to kill me, they could have done it easily, either in Leadview or once I was sold. I didn’t see an alternative. I had no idea Sascha would ask you to purchase me.”

Cash glances from Sy to me, seemingly satisfied that I’m not manipulating him into anything.

“I can trust you to protect him.”

“Yes, master.” Sy hesitates before asking another question. “You’ve said that you want me to protect him—does that mean from you as well, master?”

Cash’s face darkens. “Sascha does not need protection from me.”

“I apologize, master, but on the off chance that he does, is that what you want from me?”

The glare progresses into a scowl. “It won’t.”

Sy keeps looking back, undeterred. “My loyalty stays with Sascha, master.”

They are both so ridiculously possessive. In another context, it could be hot, but right now I’m just getting anxious. I know that Cash will lash out if he’s pushed too far, and what’s more, I know he’s perfectly well within his rights to do so. I worry that Sy will end up hurt.

“Sascha belongs to me, Syrus,” Cash reminds him, his voice cold and smooth and sharp. He places a hand on my leg: obvious, intentional. “He is invaluable in my business, very dear to me, and my companion in bed. You will not interfere with that in any way.”

“No, master,” Sy agrees. “I won’t.”

Cash nods, his face softening a little. His hand relaxes on my thigh. “Thank you. For protecting Sascha, and for your respect.”

The doorbell rings, and Cash is already on his feet, leaving me and Sy both rather shocked. He couldn’t have timed that more perfectly if he had tried.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking nervously at Sy and feeling terrible for bringing him into this. “He’s not usually like this. I swear.”

“I can tell,” Sy smiles at me, filling me with a sense of relief that I had almost forgotten. “He’s proving a point, showing me my place. There’s worse ways he could do it. Don’t you think I’ve been involved in enough power plays to know what’s going on?”

I nod, still feeling awful. I feel responsible for them, for both of them, and yet I doubt I can make either of them act any differently.

Cash returns with our takeout orders and places them on the table, reaching into the bag to start dividing them up as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Chapter 12
Loyalty

I know it’s unfair to take out my frustrations on Sascha’s friend, but his presence reminds me of my own inadequacy, and the fact that he admitted to using Sascha as a bargaining chip grates on me. I should have been the one protecting Sascha. I try to watch my tone, but I still need to figure what his larger motivations are, what role he plays in this.

“Do you go by Sy or Syrus?” I ask as we start to eat.

“Whichever you prefer, master,” the big slave answers automatically.

I’m trying to be nicer, so I don’t speak. I just set my fork down and glare at him. I eye him up, taking in the way he sits low in his chair, as if he can downplay his height and muscles, noticing the meticulous way he’s trimmed his hair with only the most basic of grooming tools.

“Sy, master, that’s what people usually call me,” he corrects himself quickly. “But I don’t mind Syrus.”

I nod, pleased that he can at least answer when ordered. Sascha is stabbing at his food, looking nervously from me to Sy, like he’s waiting to step between us if we get out of line. I hope he didn’t expect me to warm to this stranger the same way I’ve warmed to him; Sascha is my exception. Sy holds a sort of rugged appeal, far more substantial and masculine than Sascha, but his looks are not enough to win my favor. The fact that he could probably pick me up like a child adds nothing to this assessment. Perhaps I could share Sascha’s attraction once I stop viewing him as a threat.

“When were you Demoted?” I ask, breaking the silence. I could have found out from the slave records that the detention facility provided, but that would involve reading through them.

“Nearly twenty years, master.”

“Were you always a part of organized crime?”

“No, master. Just the past twelve years. I became the property of the 27s after other more legitimate work. They’ve been associated with the Argova family for just a few years, moving their less legitimate merchandise. Before that, it was street drugs.”

It’s a long time to belong to criminals. It makes me nervous, especially when I don’t know what he’s told Sascha, or what Sascha’s told him.

“Sascha is rather familiar with me,” I point out. “He knows enough to refer to me properly in public, but at home, he’s free to use my name. I suppose it’s only fair that I extend the courtesy to you.”

“As you wish, master,” Sy answers, still formal.

“I assume you know who I am. You may call me Cashiel or Cash. You’ve been a slave long enough to judge the level of formality in public.”

“Yes, sir.” Sy nods, not missing a beat.

I’m starting to get frustrated with his instantaneous responses, but I realize he needs the rules laid out. “You don’t need to respond to every statement. For someone as closed-mouth as you seem, you are certainly attentive to that; I can only imagine what was done to you to make it such an ingrained habit.”

Sy doesn’t respond this time, he just sets his jaw. I wonder what was done to him.

“I don’t like being overly formal, but my public image is very important; more so now than ever. What has Sascha told you about our project?”

For the first time, he hesitates, glancing over at Sascha like he’s trying to verify their story. His loyalty does stay with Sascha.

“I told him about all of it,” Sascha confirms.

He tells me the details, all the things he’s confessed to his new protector, the connection that Sy has with the street gang and the Argova family and how it kept him safe. I listen, trying not to let my irritation show. After all, I was spilling secrets to the same people. I return the favor, detailing my interactions with Emile Argova, the arrangement I made with my lawyer, and the visits from my mother and Oliver. Sascha is furious when he realizes that Oliver played him, but neither of us had the information we needed at the time.

I glance back at Sy. “I didn’t just buy you to appease Sascha; I needed a bodyguard. I had no idea that you were the one protecting him. The Argova family is supposed to contact me; I’ll see what I can arrange for you, then.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sy says.

“My views, my research puts me in a rather awkward position. A bodyguard is perfect. You provide real physical protection as well as appearance. Owning more slaves improves my image. If you step out of line in public, even the slightest bit, I will not hesitate to beat you until you bleed. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yes, master,” Sy nods.

I see Sascha flinch, but Sy sits calmly, eating his food with no sign of intimidation. I’m starting to gain a little respect for the man. “I encourage you to talk to Sascha about the way things are around here. You probably deserve better explanations, but I’m exhausted and starting to realize how much work I’ll need to do to recover from the past few weeks. It doesn’t put me in the best of moods.”

Sy nods, as if it’s a good enough excuse. Sascha is looking at me like I’ve just committed a crime.

“And Sascha, if you don’t quit scowling at me I’m going to reach over there and shake you!” I snap.

He cowers away, still scowling. I’m frustrated, but I know this can’t be easy for him. I reach toward him, startled when he flinches. The look of relief on his face when I merely take his hand lets me know how on edge he is, how much I’m scaring him.

“Sorry,” I tell him, looking into his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll all settle down in a few days.”

Sascha nods, relaxing a little, but he doesn’t speak. I give his hand a gentle squeeze and we both pick at our food. Put us in threatening situations and we respond like we always do—Sascha withdraws and becomes terrified, I become a phenomenal asshole. What a pair. Sy is quietly observing us, eating quickly and efficiently. I almost envy him.

“Perhaps you should be protecting Sascha from me,” I admit, hoping to lighten the mood. Sy looks up at me, assessing my face before responding.

“You didn’t hurt him,” he says, but the implications are there. I didn’t hurt him this time. If Sascha’s told him about our project, he’s likely told him about our relationship’s rough start. A part of me wonders if Sy would really defend Sascha against me, against all his training. It’s more than his organized crime connections would ever demand.

“Did you enjoy it?” I ask Sy. “What you did with Sascha. Touching him. Using him. Did you enjoy it?”

Sy considers it a moment before answering. “Sascha is very attractive, and I am very fond of him. But I would never actually enjoy doing something like that to another person against their will.”

It’s only a partial answer, but it tells me more about him than I even asked. He’s smart enough to evade. I still don’t trust him.

“Do you want to fuck him?” I ask, ignoring the outraged look on Sascha’s face.

“That would be up to Sascha,” Sy defers.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to fuck to my slave?”

“I wouldn’t do anything to Sascha if he didn’t want me to,” Sy insists, looking up now. There it is, a hint of defiance. It’s nice to see him not so perfect for a minute.