Read The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods for Free Online Page A

watch at the door to this small room. “Well, not all of them come back as pleasant and even-tempered as Roger. Some come back to me . . . somewhat twisted by their experiences, and eager to take back their power by dominating those lesser than themselves when given the chance. Behind their well-trained facades lie feral beasts, but they’re partly my creation, so I love them nonetheless. And let them indulge their true natures when it suits me.” He paused. “Now you say whatever brilliant comeback you have for me.”
    Mat couldn’t speak. He could feel hot tears on his face, could hear nothing but Dougie’s sounds of pain. And God, not just that, he was . . . barking? Yes, that was definitely a tear-choked woof .
    “I think that’s Luke, who takes his pleasure from making men bark like dogs. I expect your poor brother will be getting his nutrition from kibble and table scraps instead of Jeremy’s cooking over the next while. Crawling on all fours. Urinating outside.”
    “Stop this,” Mat begged, his eyes squeezed shut. “Please, please just stop, go and get him, take him back, stop them hurting him. I’ll do whatever you want, I promise.”
    “What I want is for you to learn . To learn your place, and learn the price of your disobedience. But most of all, to learn that you do not know what is best for your brother. You are not his master anymore, Mathias; you are not his idol or his god. You are nothing but a deceiver, and you lead him to pain.”
    Mat lurched against the chair, desperate to mute the fucking computer, make it all stop , scoop Dougie up and get him out of here for real this time . “Fine, fine! Just . . . please. God, please stop this.”
    “You had a chance to prevent this, Mathias, and now that time has passed. I hope you remember the consequences of your actions next time you consider doing something so spectacularly foolish.”
    Yeah. Next time he’d cut out the fucking GPS chips. Because there would be a next time. There would . Because if the only other option was abandoning Dougie to this life for good . . . well, that wasn’t a choice he was willing to make, not anymore. Not when freedom had been so fucking close. Not when he knew now they could have it again.
    And if Mat couldn’t help him escape, Dougie would be better off dead. They both would.

That night, Dougie slept on the foot of the one named Graham’s bed. Graham liked having his feet licked, and his balls too, and decided halfway through the night that he was far too warm and cozy to venture out of his nest of blankets to use the toilet, so once again Dougie found himself standing in as a urinal. The man who slept in the bunk above Graham—Colin, Dougie thought his name was—must’ve woken to Dougie’s retching swallows, because he patted his mattress and whispered, “Here, doggie doggie,” and waited for Dougie to climb up and swallow his piss too. Then he fucked Dougie’s mouth, came all over his eyes and nose, smeared it into his skin and then scolded him for it— Filthy dog, you’re disgusting, get out of my bed. Didn’t even let him climb down the ladder, just shoved him right off the edge, and Dougie hit the hardwood floor with a very doglike yelp and a jarring thud that woke the other four occupants in the bedroom. Which meant no more sleep for Dougie that night as they passed him from bed to bed, pissing in him and fucking him and complaining about how dirty and disgusting he was. Which meant, in turn, that he got tossed out the front door to wash himself at the ice-cold water pump under the light of the moon and stars.
    He took the opportunity to vomit up every nasty fucking thing they’d shoved down his throat over the last couple hours.
    To think Dougie had ever been happy to see the night sky.
    When he was finished and shivering with cold again, he came up to the door—which stood ajar—and nosed it open wide enough to crawl through, then gently shut it behind him.
    Just snores greeted him,