These Monstrous Deeds

by T. J. Hamel

  “I-” Carter pauses, looking behind sir, then back at him again. “Listening to you… what? Shower?”

  “Answer the fucking question, Carter,” sir growls. He’s backing Carter up now. Pinning him against the wall. There’s nothing desirable about the position. Carter’s heart isn’t pounding in arousal or anticipation. It’s in fear.

  “I didn’t hear anything! I was just going to knock and see if – if I could…”

  Sir presses harder against him, making Carter perfectly aware of his size and muscle mass compared to Carter’s weak, underfed body. “If you could?”

  “I was going to ask to join you, like yesterday.” Carter drops his chin, feeling ashamed and stupid. “But it’s not yesterday, it’s today, and I’m just a slave, and I’m really sorry. I forgot my place, sir. I’m so sorry.”

  The longest pause in the history of pauses stretches between them, though Carter’s fully aware that if he subtracted his stirring panic, it was probably only a few seconds. Then sir takes a single step back and clears his throat. “I’m glad you’ve remembered your place. It’d be quite inconvenient to have to remind you of it this morning. We’re already running late. Go wash up. Bare minimum. Then come kneel in the closet. We need to talk.”

  We need to talk.

  That’s never very good…

  Not wanting to push his luck, Carter hurries through the motions of going to the bathroom and washing himself up for the day. He finds sir in his closet as expected, but before he can lower himself to his knees, he sees a flash of angry red on sir’s hand. He accidentally gasps. When sir whips around to look at him, Carter immediately takes a step back. Then, like an idiot, he asks, “What happened?”

  “Hmm?” Sir follows Carter’s gaze to where his hand is holding his phone, his jaw ticking when he sees what’s got his attention. “Oh. That.”

  “Are you okay?”

  The look sir gives him is annoyed. “I’m fine, pet. I’ve had much worse.”

  That doesn’t make Carter feel any better. At all.

  His worry overpowers his self-preservation. “You should ice it.”

  “Pet,” sir says warningly.

  But then Carter is seeing sir’s other hand, his knuckles just as bruised and cut up as the first, and his body is going cold. “Oh… sir.”

  “It’s not your concern.”

  “Were they like that last night? I – I don’t remember them being hurt when we-”

  “You were rather distracted, and the room was dark.” Sir levels him with a gaze that leaves no room for argument. “And you’re not kneeling.”

  Carter bites the inside of his cheek, warring with himself. He’s worried. Especially so. Sir had been in the chair instead of the bed last night. He had been drunk, smelling of scotch. And now Carter knows his hands had been injured.

  “What happened?”

  “Enough!” Sir snaps. He reaches forward and fists Carter’s hair, pushing him down to his knees. “Is this going to be our day? Because I have to say, I’m really fucking unimpressed with how it’s starting.”

  Carter immediately curves his shoulders forward, his gaze falling to his throbbing knees. He presses his hands against the floor hard enough to make his fingers ache. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. I won’t misbehave anymore. I’m done being bad.”

  Sir says nothing, but his gaze is heavy enough to speak on its own. Then he sighs. “We need to talk.”

  Considering sir’s bad mood, Carter doesn’t take any chances by speaking. He just remains quiet and still, trying not to panic as every agonizing second sends his anxiety ratcheting up to suffocating levels.

  Sir sighs again. Then Carter hears the soft thud of sir’s towel hitting the floor. A moment later, he’s getting a spectacular view of sir’s perfect ass as he walks over to the dresser at the very back of his large closet.

  “We’re going to an event tomorrow evening.” Sir pulls on a pair of tight black boxer briefs, followed by a pair of dress socks that stop mid-calf. “It’s a very important event for me.”

  Carter remains silent, but he lifts his chin to look at sir directly to show he’s listening. Sir moves over to his rack of blue suits. “I’ve spoiled you, something we’re both aware of, yes?”

  “Yes, sir. I-” Carter pauses, swallowing hard. “I’m thankful, sir.”

  Sir’s jaw ticks. He chooses a suit and starts to pull the pants on. “You’ll be expected to be on your best behavior tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir. I will be, I promise, sir.”

  “I know.” Sir’s lips twitch, almost like he’s trying to fight a smile. He grabs a white dress shirt and begins to put it on. Sir turns to face him, his fingers working the buttons on his shirt. His gaze is intense as it settles on Carter. “I told you yesterday that I was going to consider no longer sharing you.”

  Carter goes perfectly still, his mind racing.

  “I’ve decided to keep you to myself. You’re mine. Only mine. Understood?”

  “Oh,” Carter whispers, his exhale shaky. His chest feels warm. His entire body does, in fact. “I – thank you. Thank you, sir.”

  Sir shoots him a look as he tucks his shirt into his pants. “It’s not for you.”

  “Right. I – obviously, sir. I’m sorry.”

  “Just because I won’t be sharing you doesn’t mean I can’t make you miserable.” It dawns on Carter that he might still be in trouble. The fear only grows as he watches sir pick a belt. He doesn’t put it on, running his fingers over the smooth leather instead. Carter’s heart races. “If you misbehave at this event, the punishment you will receive will make what happened with Todd Henley seem like a rainy afternoon nap. Understood?”

  Carter’s stomach burns with acid. He won’t be misbehaving. No way in hell. “Understood, sir.”

  Sir puts the belt on. Carter nearly cries in relief.

  “Some behaviors that I usually allow to pass will not be acceptable tomorrow. I’m going to give you additional rules, which you will practice today.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That.” Sir points his finger at him, eyes narrowing. “That right there is one of them. Do not speak unless asked a question. Ever. Understood?”

  A question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you looking at me right now? Not okay. Eyes on the floor, always. Chin down as well.”

  Carter follows the instructions, biting his bottom lip to keep from speaking out of turn. His fingers itch when he sees sir choose a tie. It feels strange not helping him dress this morning. That’s always been their thing. The last time he was denied the privilege to do so was when he was in trouble.

  He realizes he’s looking at sir again and quickly drops his gaze.

  This is going to be hard.

  “Tell me your rules, pet. All of them.”

  Fuck. That wasn’t a question.

  That wasn’t a question. He said only questions.

  Do not speak unless asked a question. Ever.

  Is this what 7 meant when he talked about these men setting the slaves up for failure?

  “Are you being disobedient right now, or are you having an issue remembering the very few rules I’ve given you?”

  A question. Thank god.

  “I’m unsure of the new speaking rule, sir. I – I didn’t know if I could speak. It wasn’t a question. You said only questions.” Carter stops his rambling. Then, for good measure, he adds, “Sir.”

  Carter hates not being able to see sir right now. He can’t study his expression and movements. He can’t predict his mood or actions. It’s unsettling. Terrifying, even.

  He’s relieved when sir finally speaks. “Questions and orders. If I give you an order to say something or tell me something, you may also speak. An oversight on my part.”

  No question or order.

  Carter remains silent.

  “Tell me your rules.”

  An order.

  “I should always kneel for you, I should always call you sir, and I should a
lways obey you without hesitation.” Carter pauses, a flash of himself clinging to a bedpost filling his mind, sir’s men watching and laughing at his turmoil. He shudders at the memory. “I should never leave the bed unless going to the bathroom, and I have to get back in right after I’m finished. I shouldn’t look at you, and I should only speak when asked a question or given an order.”

  “Good.” Not good boy. It hurts in a way that Carter hates himself for. “As long as you follow those rules, we’ll have a successful evening.”

  The urge to say yes, sir is on the tip of Carter’s tongue. He catches it between his teeth to keep the words from spilling out.

  After a moment, sir sighs and walks away from Carter. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds like fucking ridiculous before snapping his fingers in a silent command for Carter to follow. Carter does.

  The sight of his collar in sir’s hands when they come to a halt at the foot of the bed again hurts Carter more than he should allow it to. Maybe this switching between Carter and slave isn’t such a good idea. It’s much harder than he anticipated.

  Sir encircles Carter’s throat with the collar, the simple accessory an overwhelming weight on his heart and soul.

  “You’ll have four verbal cues tomorrow night. We’ll practice those as well.”

  Carter bites his tongue harder. It feels as if the collar constricts, threatening to suffocate him, but he reminds himself that’s not the truth.

  “First is Show.” Sir’s fingers brush along the curve of Carter’s jaw before settling beneath his chin and guiding it upward. Carter’s eyes find sir’s. “Keep your eyes on the floor, pet. Show means I want to see your face. Understood?”

  A question. Carter averts his gaze and responds. “Yes, sir.”

  “When I say Eyes, it means you may look at me. Eyes, pet.”

  Carter looks at sir.

  Sir smiles, but it seems… sad.

  “Very good. Two more, and then you’ve learned all your new rules, alright?”

  A question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Eyes to the floor, chin down again.” Carter obeys. “Spread your knees a little wider and straighten your spine.” Carter obeys. “Both hands behind your back, the right hand grabbing the left wrist.” Carter obeys. “Good. This position is your resting position. The cue is Rest. If you’ve ever been taken out of this position, whether just to tilt your face for me or perhaps to crawl, you immediately get back to this exact position here and stay that way until told or moved otherwise again. This is your default setting. Understood?”

  A question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good boy.”

  Carter’s body practically hums with the praise. Maybe he can do this after all. It’s not so hard, if he stays focused. He just has to wait for questions, orders, or one of the cues. When he’s waiting, he needs to kneel a certain way. He can do that.

  Carter can totally fucking do that.

  Then sir says, “The last one is called Present,” and Carter doesn’t know if it’s the tone of sir’s voice when he says the last word, or if it’s just his common sense kicking in, but his heart sinks with the realization of what this position is going to be.

  He’s proved right when sir places a hand on his back and pushes him forward until Carter’s forehead is to the floor. Carter holds his breath, hoping this is as bad as it gets even though he knows deep down it’s not. Nothing important is presented. Not yet.

  Sir begins to move his body, treating Carter like a puppet. He puts Carter’s elbows to the floor on each side of his head, setting them wide, then brings Carter’s hands to cup the back of his neck, coaxing Carter’s fingers to intertwine once there. Carter squeezes his eyes shut as he feels sir’s hands move to his thighs, spreading them apart. Then the final movement, sir lifting his ass in the air, making it so anyone would be able to see Carter’s hole if they desired.

  “This is Present,” sir says in a rough voice. His hands linger on Carter’s hips for a moment longer before he quickly pulls them away as if he’s been burned. He clears his throat. Twice. “Rest.”

  The transition is clumsy, but Carter manages to move back into the Rest position.

  “You need practice. Present.”

  Carter pushes forward. Still clumsy.

  “Rest.”

  Still clumsy.

  “Present.”

  “Rest.”

  “Present.”

  “Rest.”

  “Present.”

  Smooth. Almost instinctual now. Everything settles into place as it should, no adjustments needed, no regaining of his balance required.

  “Good boy,” sir croons, running a hand along the curve of Carter’s back. It makes him feel like a show dog.

  What’s worse is that he likes it.

  Not the show dog part, obviously, but the part where sir pets him and praises him.

  He doesn’t let himself feel guilty about it. He refuses.

  And if he hears Casey’s voice echoing in his mind, if he sees Maison’s sneer every time he blinks, well… he just does his best to ignore them. They only exist in nightmares now. This is Carter’s real life. No one gets to judge him for how he survives it.

  ◆◆◆

  Carter is amazing with his new rules, only messing up once while he was alone with Nathan in his office. Nathan had asked him a question, something about lunch, and for just a moment, Carter had forgotten not to look at him when he answered. It was a single flicker of his eyes before he had remembered and quickly tucked his chin back to his chest, eyes on the ground. Nathan had pretended not to notice.

  The only real issue they’re having today is one Nathan hadn’t expected; Carter isn’t eating. He only ate a few bites of fruit at breakfast, and at lunch he had told Nathan he wasn’t hungry. Now they were seated for dinner, Carter kneeling between his legs, and Carter was taking a long enough time to chew a single piece of chicken that Nathan was starting to wonder if maybe the boy had already swallowed and was merely pretending. He presses a cooked baby carrot to Carter’s lips, holding it there until the boy finally opens his mouth to take it. Then there’s more slow, prolonged chewing.

  It doesn’t help that morale isn’t great at the dinner table tonight.

  It’s Jason.

  It’s always Jason, if Nathan is being honest. Jason is the only one in the organization to ever dare question Nathan. He will sometimes make faces when he thinks Nathan can’t see him, or he’ll comment under his breath when he thinks Nathan isn’t paying attention. The little shit has always been ever so slightly disobedient, challenging Nathan’s authority, but never enough for him to feel justified enough to do something about it.

  Nathan can tell that today’s issue originated with Jason because his men keep looking in his direction, as if waiting to see if he’ll say something. Instead, the little prick just stays quiet as the men bicker amongst themselves.

  When Carter is mentioned, Nathan finally forces himself to care about whatever has everyone so on edge. “Someone needs to tell me what’s going on right now.”

  Everyone goes quiet, avoiding eye contact with him. Nathan turns to Benny and raises an eyebrow. His friend sighs before gesturing to the rest of the table and explaining, “The men were all hoping to attend the party tomorrow evening.”

  “Oh?” Nathan scans the men. A lot of them look like they’re regretting their existence at the moment. Or at least their attendance at this particular meal. “Why? None of you cared much before. I asked for volunteers weeks ago.”

  “That was before, sir,” Jason explains.

  “Before?”

  Benny’s eyes flick to Carter. “Before the boy.”

  Nathan looks down at Carter as well, then at the table in confusion. “Someone is going to have to explain the logic here.”

  Jason looks around the room before lifting his chin defiantly at Nathan. “You’re letting people use him at the party.”

  A sharp rage spikes in Nathan’s che
st. He forces himself to breathe through it before responding. “Actually, I don't believe I am.”

  “You’re putting a show on for them, at least. Rumor has it, it’s going to be quite entertaining. And interactive.” Jason shrugs. “We’d like to be in on that.”

  Nathan looks down at Carter again. The boy is in the perfect rest position, his eyes on the floor, but every muscle is locked up impossibly tight. He’s practically vibrating.

  If Nathan was better at his job, he’d say something like, “Sure, then. Whatever. If you want to come, talk to Benny. He’ll sort out the details.”

  But Nathan is shit at his job lately, so he says, “Your intel is wrong. I have no intention of sharing him. If I play with him, it’ll be because the host invites me too, but there is no plan in place. If I do, in fact, play with him, it will not be elaborate or interactive. Tomorrow night is too fucking important to risk everything just so I can show him off and share him.”

  They all look extremely disappointed.

  Benny looks shocked and unsure.

  But Nathan looks down at Carter to find the boy relaxing in relief, and that’s enough to make the risk worth it.

  That’s enough to make it so Nathan can fucking breathe again.

  At least until he tucks Carter in for the night and goes to Benny’s office. Then his best friend pours him a stiff drink, double-checks that the locks on his office door are in place, and looks him directly in the eye to say, “That boy needs to be in a much deeper slave mindset tomorrow. Tell me what you’re going to do to make that happen,” and Nathan suddenly can’t quite breathe at all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Carter is still awake when sir comes back to the bedroom, having been unable to sleep as his mind raced with the possibilities of what this party will be like tomorrow. He tries to pretend to be asleep, holding still and breathing evenly. He’s not sure if it works or not, but sir doesn’t say anything to him, which is something at least.

  Something is off with sir, though. Carter can’t tell exactly what because he’s keeping his eyes closed, but sir is much louder than he usually is, and when he bumps into something and grunts an angry, “Fuck,” under his breath, he laughs right after.