Body Slave
Page 7
Ben grimaced then he made the effort to close his mouth and stop staring. He went to shut off the music before turning to face Oliver once more. The slave had not just his gaze down, but his whole head. Misery radiated off his body, although it was hard to tell if pain or shame motivated him. Both, probably. Carefully so as not to startle him, Ben walked up to Oliver and gently clasped the wrist of the hand holding up the towel. He tugged down at the same time his other hand urged Oliver’s chin up to give him a better look at the bruise. The slave still didn’t look at him, but that was nothing new.
Ben took in his father’s handiwork. “God damn!” Ben exclaimed in a harsh whisper. His father had walloped Oliver but good, and Ben’s stomach churned when he realized this was the hurt he could see. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you to watch that fucking movie with me if I’d known it’d make him angry with you.”
Oliver’s shoulders rose and fell on a hard shudder. When he lifted his eyes to gaze briefly at Ben, a quiet misery shined through. “Please,” he said in the same quiet voice Ben used. “Please don’t be sorry. I’m not.”
That response surprised Ben. By his reckoning, Oliver should be pissed at him for treating him as much as an amusing toy as his father did, albeit in a less exploitative way. Dropping his hold on the slave, he turned away. “How can you not be pissed?” he demanded.
“Because.” Oliver stopped until Ben circled back to face him again. “Because last night was the most fun I’ve had since....” He stopped and shrugged. “Since forever, I guess. The master’s anger was a more than fair trade for it.”
Ben couldn’t help but scoff at that assertion. “Watching a movie and eating popcorn can’t make it worth getting a beating for.” He didn’t add the other, worse things he imagined his father had done. He couldn’t even think about them without feeling sick to his stomach, let alone give voice to them.
Oliver offered up a small smile. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Seriously?” Jesus fucking Christ, how miserable had Oliver’s life been up to that moment that a beating rated low on his awful scale?
Oliver took a tentative step closer. “Please, don’t be angry, sir. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The simple plea nearly undid Ben as nothing else had so far. The last thing he wanted was to upset the kid. Closing the distance between them, Ben placed his hand carefully on top of the slave’s head. He had intended it to be soothing, but the slave shivered beneath his palm.
“It’s okay, I’m not mad. Well, I am, just not at you.” He stroked the fine hair down to the nape, pulling off the elastic that had held it in a ponytail. He teased the silky tips between thumb and forefinger for a few seconds before he realized what he was doing and pulled back. “My father had no right to take his anger out on you when I ordered you to stay with me. I’m going to make sure he understands what happened.”
Oliver drew in a startled breath and raised pleading eyes. “Please don’t say anything to the master, sir.”
Ben frowned. “Of course I’m going to say something. He needs to know it wasn’t your fault, which is frankly something he should already know. I don’t get what his problem is,” he added more to himself than to the slave.
“No, please!” To Ben’s utter horror, Oliver dropped down to his knees, head bent, and hands clasped behind his back. “Please, sir, I’m begging you not to say anything.”
“Shit! Oliver, stand up.” Ben clasped the slave as gingerly as he could and hauled him back up to a standing position. Tears formed at the corner of the boy’s eyes and Ben felt like a real dick. How fucked up was this situation when he ended up hurting Oliver more than his father had, simply by trying to help him?
“Shhh.” He dabbed at those threatening tears with the pads of his thumbs. “It’s okay, I won’t say anything to my father if you don’t want me to. I promise.”
Oliver let out a shuddering breath before nodding in understanding. Ben let go and stepped back, not wanting to be intimidating. Of course Oliver was scared. If Ben confronted his father about his treatment of his slave, no matter what his father said in response, he’d take it out on Oliver. There was nothing Ben could do to protect this boy. He belonged to his father, not Ben, as much as he might wish otherwise.
“Are you okay?” He kept his tone as soothing as he could.
Oliver sniffed. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
It was beyond twisted that a slave ended up thanking someone for earning him a beating and then ignoring the outcome. But that was the totally fucked-up world they lived in.
With a weary sigh, Ben waved at the door. “I’m going to work out now.” A ridiculous lie given that he wore street clothes. “I’d prefer it if you leave.”
“Yes, sir.” With a quick, shallow bow, the slave hurried out of the room.
Ben glared at the floor for long seconds until Oliver was clearly out of earshot. His breathing became harsh as he let his frustration and mounting fury out. With hard footsteps bordering on stomping, he went over to the punching bag. He swung his arm back and let his fist fly.
“Son of a goddamn bitch!” When his knuckles connected with the bag, a sharp pain shot up to his shoulder. “Fuck! Fuckity, fuck, fuck!” He cursed and danced around, cradling his aching hand.
Well, it was no more than he deserved, and less than Oliver had to cope with, and the slave did it with more grace. But God, the pain of the punch didn’t hurt so much as the pain of watching someone getting hurt and not being able to do a damn thing about it.
Chapter Six
“Thank you, Oliver,” Ben said in a flat voice, accepting the glass of beer.
Oliver merely nodded, not daring to speak to the object of his fast-growing obsession in front of the master. He knelt by his master’s feet in typical fashion, secretly happy to have been able to serve Ben at all. Knowing the master intended to have a meeting with his son after dinner, Oliver had made a point of putting a couple of glasses in the bar’s freezer because he’d learned that Ben liked his beer in a cold glass. He had also snagged a lime from Mary because Ben liked a small wedge of it to accent the taste. Pathetic as it may be, he wanted to give Ben anything and everything within his almost nonexistent power that made the other man happy. If Oliver could accomplish that even for a few weeks, it would make his life not just more bearable, but more meaningful.
He’d been careful to position himself so the bruise on his face didn’t show as much to Ben. God, the confrontation over it in the gym had been awful. He’d thought fear alone would burst his heart when Ben had vowed to talk to the master. The pain of his body was nothing like the fear of worrying over someone else. It reminded him of the way he’d fretted over the safety of his mother and sister once he’d become old enough to understand how the world worked. More than once, he’d deflected his old master’s anger onto himself to spare the females of his family from the man’s wrath. While Ben was a freeman and old enough to take care of himself, the urge to protect him rose anyway. Ben’s current aloofness toward Oliver eased his mind, too. The master already appeared keyed up. No sense in adding to his irritation.
An uncomfortable silence filled the room while each man sipped at his drink. The clinking of the ice in the master’s scotch was the only sound besides breathing to permeate the heavy lack of noise. It was a new and weird experience for Oliver to be in the company of free people who seemed unhappy to be together. He found it kind of sad, too. Obviously Ben and the master had an uneasy relationship. Perhaps the late mistress had served as the oil to keep them rubbing smoothly with each other. Too bad they’d lost her, and for sure Oliver wasn’t in a position to fill the role. He had already proven to be a source of even greater friction. He tried to be as unobtrusive as possible.
Finally, with a long swallow of his drink and an audible sigh, the master broke the silence, if not the tension. “I’ve put this conversation off for a few days to give you time to settle back in after your trip. But you know how I feel about your future plans.”
The master grunted, and not a happy sound. “Just what are you interested in then?”
“Computer games, actually. Not that I have any illusions about creating them,” he hastily added. “But I would love to work on the business side of promoting and distributing them.”
The master grunted again. “Games.” Even a lowly slave could hear the derision in that one word.
“It’s a multi-billion-dollar industry, Dad.”
Leaning forward, the master said, “I’m sorry my little multi-million-dollar company isn’t interesting enough for you, son.”
Ben groaned. “You know it’s not the money, Dad, or the prestige. Tanner Lumber and Design is a great company. I just told you how I feel about your success. The reason you and Mom did so well is because not only did you work hard, you felt passionate about your business, too. I want that for myself.”
“So what do you expect me to do, take on a new partner, sell out? Because I can’t keep it up on my own and I won’t live forever. Your mother didn’t,” he added in a low, pained tone. Despite everything, Oliver felt bad for the man.
“Oh, Dad. How about Deidre? It’s as much her legacy as mine.”
Shoving his glass in Oliver’s face, the master leaned back again. “Your sister has just finished her sophomore year and she’s majoring in art history.” He snorted.
“There’s a tie-in to interior design with that major.”
Oliver hurried to refill the master’s glass.
“Maybe. But it’s still two years away before she can help, and she’s not even here to offer up an opinion. Unlike you, she’s traveling the whole summer before starting her junior year abroad. We won’t see her until next Christmas.”
Oliver looked briefly at Ben after handing the master his drink to see if he wanted another beer. Ben wore such a look of misery, he wanted to go and comfort him. Knowing better, he returned to his kneeling position and wished heartily for the meeting to be over. It was making both men unhappy, which meant that the master would take that out on Oliver later. More importantly he hated seeing Ben sad.
“She’s had a hard time accepting Mom’s death,” Ben said in a quiet voice.
“We all have,” the master replied with a big gulp.
Reaching up with his free hand, he dug his fingers into Oliver’s scalp and pulled his hair for a few seconds. He winced at the relatively mild discomfort and mentally gave his master a pass for being so mean. The man’s psychic pain obviously exceeded Oliver’s physical one, and if manhandling Oliver gave him some peace, so be it. It was one way to be useful in life.
Ben took in a large breath and let it out loudly and slowly. “Okay, how about this; I come to work for you, learn the business, and fill the void left by Mom until Deidre comes home and the three of us can discuss the future of the company. I can’t guarantee either of us will end up taking over. Maybe you should take on a partner or plan on selling it at some point. But I’m willing to buy us some time. It’s too soon to be making any major decisions anyway.”
The master gave him a strained smile. “Not the answer I hoped for, but it’s a fair compromise.” Standing, he extended his hand and Ben rose to take it. “We leave at seven tomorrow morning. I like to get in early and stay late.”
“Fair enough,” Ben agreed with a quick shake. “I’m going to go up and turn in early then. You know I’m not a morning person, so I need my sleep.”
The master chuckled and patted his son on his back as he walked by. His gaze followed Ben out the door, which the young master closed quietly behind him. Then the master plopped back down on the couch and motioned to the spot between his legs. “Over here.”
His tone held more weariness than bite. Oliver couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He maneuvered himself into position, determined to raise the man’s spirits. And if in his mind, he comforted Ben instead? Well, who was to know? Who got hurt by the deception?
Except himself, of course.
****
Ben didn’t bother to hide his surprise when Oliver came out of the house with his father and climbed into the front seat of the car. The slave looked especially handsome in pressed jeans and a nice T-shirt. He didn’t look at Ben, simply kept his gaze down as usual, but it appeared the bruise on his face had faded and nothing showed on his pale skin. That eased Ben’s mind considerably. He knew his father wasn’t happy with the compromise solution about the business and had spent a restless night worrying that he’d taken his unhappiness out on the boy.
His father smiled broadly this morning, however. He clapped Ben on the shoulder in greeting before slipping into the back seat. With a quick nod of thanks to Joe, who held the door open, Ben joined him. On the ride to the office, he listened to his father’s enthusiastic recitation of the day’s agenda with only half of his attention. The other focused on the boy in the front seat. Of course Joe and Oliver kept silent, and because his father made no mention of it, Ben was still mystified as to what his father intended by bringing his body slave to work. It worried him a little that his father had an unpleasant plan involving the use of the slave for the day. But there was still no sign of what that might be throughout the morning.
While his father gave him an extensive tour to reacquaint Ben with the layout of the warehouse and the workshop, Oliver trailed behind them. Every person in the place, slave and free person alike, at least glanced at the body slave, although no one dared ask his father about him. By the time they were back in the main office, Ben felt more than at home again. He was confident of doing a more intensive survey of the inventory on his own, so he left his father sitting behind his massive desk. Oliver kneeled by his side in typical fashion, his father stroking the slave’s head.
Ben wasn’t sure if that conveyed a good thing or a bad thing, but knew there was nothing he could do about it one way or another. Instead, he concentrated on learning the details of the warehouse so that his father would be happy with the day’s progress. Keeping him in a good mood was the best way for Ben to protect Oliver. It sucked that he had to mollify his own father to prevent him from being hurtful to another human being.
Putting aside his concern, Ben sauntered through the huge stacks of lumber and other products being held for shipping to local retail sellers of lumber products. He inhaled deeply. He had always loved the smell of wood and could remember spending long days just running around the place when he was younger. This business might not be his passion, but it interested him to some degree and he really did admire how his parents had worked to make their small start-up business a large company.
They employed dozens of people and owned dozens more slaves. The two groups of people worked side by side, the slaves obvious only by their simpler clothing and metal collars. The sight of them dimmed his happiness a bit. He’d forgotten that part of his parents’ success was built on the cheap backs of slave labor. They didn’t have to be paid, of course, and only cost the company the lesser expense of room, board, and security to keep them in place. Still, there weren’t guards patrolling with cattle prods the way he’d seen in other companies and most people appeared to be at least well-fed and if not happy, content.
As he rounded the corner of one of the stacks, he heard a loud crash. He hurried to investigate and saw a slender teenage boy with olive skin and dark-brown hair. The boy, a slave, knelt on the ground. He was trying to pick up pieces of railing that had spilled out of a broken box lying nearby. A look of panic consumed the kid’s face. Before Ben could reach him, however, a supervisor ran over.
“Clumsy fucker,” the man yelled. “What have you done?”
The boy recoiled from the angry man a
nd stammered out a reply. “I’m s-sorry, sir. I dropped it.”
“I can see that.” The man grabbed the railing from the boy’s hand. “Fucking-A! This wood has chipped.” He peered at the mess on the floor. “There’s probably more that is damaged. This is coming out of your hide, boy,” he added, shaking the railing in front of the kid’s face.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” The slave’s voice wavered and he looked as if he were going to cry.
Ben rushed to join the two of them, wracking his brain for the supervisor’s name. Fuck, he’d just met him that morning. Ken, yeah that was it, rhymes with Ben. “Hey, Ken,” he said, keeping his voice light. “What’s up?” He shot the slave what he hoped was a reassuring look, not that the boy could see it with his head down. The kid shook already, though.
“Hey, Mr. Tanner.” The supervisor pasted a smile on his face.
“Ben, please.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked down at the broken box. “Looks like we have a cleanup in aisle….” He looked around for a sign. “Fifteen,” he concluded with a grin.
Ken chuckled. “Ah, yes, sir. This kid,” he said, nudging the slave’s leg with the toe of his heavy work boots, “Dropped the box. I’m afraid some of the contents are damaged.” He held the piece of railing out to Ben.
He took the offering and inspected it. The surface was marred in places, no doubt about it. They wouldn’t be able to sell it for its intended use. Squatting down, he poked at what lay on the floor and spotted at least one other damaged piece. There were likely more in the pile. It had been a big box and heavy, too, given the weight of the one railing in his hand. He glanced at the kid, who breathed rapidly, and was clearly scared to death of the consequences of his mistake.