Sedition (2 page)

The decision to have him call me by my name was spontaneous. I couldn’t reconcile the terrified slave I had brought home with the eager young man who I had started fucking, and hearing the word “master” on his lips dampened my excitement. The look on his face when he says my name is enough to bring me off, anyway. Even outside of bed, he seems to appreciate being able to call me by my name. The first time he ever called me “Cash” outside of bed shocked me, and the old habits and decorum made me consider smacking him for his insolence. But a bigger part of me liked it, and every time he says my name, even outside of bed, I can’t help but smile and laugh with him. He’s smart enough not to utter it in public, and it makes things seem more equitable, no matter how much they are not.

We don’t ever talk about him, or me, and that’s acceptable. I’d rather not have to make hard decisions about what to tell him. I can’t talk about my family without revealing my secrets, nor can I discuss certain parts of my research. My mother tried to destroy my life last time I attempted it; the fewer people who know about that, the safer it is. I can’t disclose my full history to a slave, even if he knows I’m conducting research on the re-education centers. I’m working from home more and more, and I find myself having to dismiss Sascha from my office regularly to keep my secrets. It’s safer, I tell myself, for him, and for me. I try to make up for it when I com the office, letting Sascha stick around, often muting my side of the com device so I can ask him something or give him an order.

But sometimes I receive a com message and I have to all but throw him out. I snap at him when he doesn’t listen or when he interrupts me, but he knows better than to ask. He lets me guard my secret, and I let him guard his, about how he got Demoted, about what happened with the Assessment, about his brother. Sascha is a mystery, but, I suppose, so am I.

Chapter 2
Auction

“I have a work function to attend tonight. You will attend with me.”

“Sure,” I reply, looking at Cash over his desk. I had just come in to bring him some materials, but I’m eager to see what else he has for me. I try hard to please him during the day, completing his projects to perfection. At night, he pleases me in return. I wake up every day with a sense of dedication, something to do, a reason to live for once. I’d do almost anything for him.

“It’s at a slave auction, a very high-class one.”

One of the worst things about being Demoted is the uncertainty. I should know better, but the words strike fear into my heart. I swallow, my throat suddenly too dry to speak.

“I’m not selling you,” my master informs me. He manages to look both apologetic and annoyed at once. “I need you to attend with me, and I need you to play the part of the perfect slave. That means no backtalk, no doing things without permission, no snide comments or dirty looks. Think you can manage that?”

“Yes, master,” I reply instantly. I’ve come to trust my master quite a lot, but I’ve had too many bad experiences in the past to not respond to threats.

“I’ll be networking with some people in the slave industry. It would seem out of place to not have a slave of my own in attendance,” he explains. “This auction is key. You are to stay by my side at all times and speak seriously to no one. You can flirt, answer questions about drinks or food, things like that, but nothing about me, or yourself, or where we live, or anything like that. Play dumb if you have to, but do it tactfully, or get my attention. Can I count on you for that?”

“Of course,” I answer instantly. “Is there something I should know about why—”

“That is none of your business.” His words are cold and dismissive again.

I hesitate for a moment. “Is it about your research?” I ask carefully.

He considers it for a moment before answering. “I’m officially there for work. For Dean & Chanu. But I am investigating some other interests as well. All you need to do is follow what I’ve told you. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask questions.

“Yes, master,” I reply. He’s not being cruel, but the dismissal hurts.

“Go make yourself look presentable and wear something modest.”

I nod, taking my leave and dressing quickly. I help him with his project, risk myself for him, but he still keeps me in the dark. It hurts to be reminded that I’m just a slave who can so easily be cut out of discussions.

As we drive to the auction, I catch my master looking over at me like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. I can’t get his odd mood shifts out of my mind, and I can’t explain the sudden increase in his usual secrecy.

When we arrive, I dare to look around to see exactly what kind of event this might be. The posh atmosphere and showy lights reek of money. I follow a few steps behind my master, demonstrating the standardized training the formal protocol demands.

“Don’t fall behind!” my master hisses, actually pausing and waiting for me to catch up before grabbing me roughly by the back of the neck.

I don’t say anything. I’m a slave. If he wants to do something other than act proper, then it’s his own goddamned choice.

Cash keeps me close, literally at his side, and while he lets up with the painful pressure at the back of my neck, he keeps his arm around my shoulders. We mingle for a while, my master making appropriate small talk and business conversation with a variety of people, most of whom I have not seen before. I’m surprised by the how many unfamiliar faces I see. I’ve met so many coworkers at the Peace Day Celebration and the work-related party that my master threw; I didn’t realize he was this well-connected. Perhaps my master’s business is expanding? He’s speaking in vague terms about “acquisitions” and “project” and “discreet,” and I give up trying to figure it out because it doesn’t seem to concern me. It sounds more like it’s a part of his secret research project, but we’re supposed to be working together on that. I don’t see why he would lie to me about it.

The auction itself is more of an exhibition than a sale, although there are certainly business transactions taking place. There are old-fashioned auctions, silent auctions, and what appear to be private arrangements as well. I’m amazed by the whole process. I’ve never seen a proper slave auction before, and certainly not one of this caliber.

The slaves are younger than me, and they are clearly of higher quality. Perfectly poised, they smile demurely and hold positions and tolerate inspections as if they love having strange hands all over them. At the request of various members of the crowd, and probably an exorbitant sum of money, two are brought out together and ordered to fuck, which both parties perform with grace and smiles and appropriate levels of moaning and happiness.

I wonder if someone has slipped them some sort of drug.

It’s hard to tear my eyes away from the perfectly formed and perfectly behaved bodies in front of me, but I do, if only because I have rarely seen Cash this uncomfortable. Unlike his usual detached coldness, he seems restless, shifting from one side to the other, occasionally even bumping me with his arm or leg as I rest on my knees next to him. He usually avoids fidgeting. He glances at his watch repeatedly, and around at the crowd.

He doesn’t bid, which isn’t out of place. Plenty of people are watching and enjoying, if one could enjoy this sort of thing. From the looks of it, many of the patrons do, their voyeurism displayed proudly. My master clearly doesn’t. The auction finishes, and I think we’ll leave, but there’s more mingling to be done. My master’s face is bitter as he mumbles something of the sort at me.

A slapping sound makes me jump, and a voice booms out too close to my head for comfort.

“Cashiel, my boy! I didn’t think I’d see you here!”

The man is older, probably in his fifties or sixties, and the fact that his suit manages to make him look good says a lot about its quality. He claps my master on the back again, not as hard this time, and smiles at him in an overly friendly manner.

“Oliver,” Cash replies, placing me behind him. So that’s where he wants me now.

“Don’t tell me you’ve actually decided to, how was it that you put it? ‘Lower’ yourself? Was that it? Or was it degrade?” The older man asks with a twinkle in his eye.

“If I recall correctly, the word I used at the time was ‘debase,’ but I may have been a bit misguided.” My master doesn’t blush or fidget, but I can see he’s humiliated. It’s a fascinating expression on him, reminding me of when his mother visited.

“Youthful ideals?” the other man prompts.

My master nods. “I was younger then, and I had a different view of business. Times change.”

“Yes, and that little spat at New Year’s didn’t have anything to do with it I’m sure!” Oliver laughs as he says it, but it’s clear that whichever “spat” he is referring to definitely has
everything
to do with whatever the hell they’re talking about. The laugh isn’t friendly, either.

“Oliver, you’re the only one other than family who was privy to the details of that exchange,” my master says quietly, almost pleading. “My family and I have come to an agreement about what I revealed that night. The arrangements we made… we have all moved on. I have a new life, and I prefer to keep it separate from old mistakes.”

“I know how to keep skeletons locked up, my boy,” Oliver says, a conspiratorial smile on his face. “After all, family can be chosen, and who can help you better than family? Perhaps you can be of help to me. I hear you’re looking to expand your company’s partnerships.”

Hatred. I see it for one second, maybe two, and then it’s gone.

Cash clears his face and forces a smile. “I am, actually. Companies like yours are our top recruitment goal. Trying to partner the best with the best. Would you like me to have my team get in touch with one of your representatives?”

“Cash, I’d rather deal with you!” the man says, still smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. “After all, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you—I was starting to wonder if you were actively trying to avoid seeing me.”

“I’d be happy to be your contact point.” Cash is the perfect picture of composure. “I’ll set up a meeting.”

“It’s amazing how such a trivial little thing can cause such a change,” Oliver muses.

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s staring at me, so I wonder if I have something to do with it.

“You should bring the boy with you when you visit,” Oliver decides. “It’s always nice to have one around, even if it’s a challenge to find one that you like. But of course, you always did like challenging things.”

“I’ll check my schedule,” my master says. “So nice seeing you again.”

I used to use that exact tone when I told my brothel customers that I loved them. They exchange information and a few more pleasantries before we exit. As much as I’m glad to be going home, I have a thousand questions that I can’t ask, and I try not to drive myself crazy thinking about too many of them.

The drive home is quiet, and my master is clearly fuming about something. He storms into the house quickly, leaving me trailing behind.

“Make me a drink!” he snaps, before I’m even through the door.

I don’t argue. I go to the kitchen as he goes to his office, and I debate for a moment about what to bring him.

“Put alcohol in it!” the order carries loudly through the house. I know better than to question it.

I mix him his drink and carry it into his office where he sits, looking pensive and a little angry. I should go. I should leave and go to bed and avoid any more awkward contact with him.

“Who was that man?” I ask, standing just far enough away that he’ll have to move to hit me. Old habits have served me well as a slave.

“Someone you should stay away from,” Cash replies, giving me a dark look.

“He seemed to know you pretty well,” I hint, wishing he would just tell me.

Instead, he goes silent for a moment before beckoning me over with his finger. Distance was safety, but I can’t just disobey an order. He surprises me by pulling out his tablet and handing it to me.

“This is Oliver Torenze’s business profile,” he says, pointing to the numbers I’m familiar with. “You can see for yourself just how much he’s worth, and how much his business is worth. He’s the only person who could really destroy me, professionally, and I knew that I had to risk seeing him today. Just like I knew that I had to risk making a deal with him, if I wanted things to look normal. I couldn’t let him go without a fight, even if it meant embarrassing myself and revealing all sorts of details I’d rather have forgotten by everyone involved. Someone in my position wouldn’t let someone like him get away. He knows that; that’s why he pushed it. I need him on my side. For a lot of things.”

“That’s a lot,” I say quietly, looking it over. I’m familiar enough with the finances of my master’s business to know that Torenze would be one of the top ten investors, if not one of the top five. I wonder what else my master needs him for.

“If you knew what it cost, you’d still say I was selling out.”

“Then tell me!” I blurt out without thinking.

“I’d tell you if you needed to know.”

I want to fight him, but he’s not angry with me. If anything, he looks sad, maybe even a little scared. I nod my acceptance, and he gives me a grateful look.

I’ve kept enough of my own secrets to know that sometimes, it’s safer to keep them than to let someone in.