Read The Flesh Cartel #2: Auction for Free Online

gag. He stared straight forward at the blank wall. Strange to be in a chair like this without a mirror, but then, it didn’t matter what he thought about his looks. They could put him in women’s makeup if they felt like it. Like one of the kidnappers had wanted to, that first night. But they didn’t do anything like that. Just brushed some sort of powder over his face, lined his eyes with a black pencil, and ran a mascara brush through his lashes.
    He thought of his friend Jeremy, who did community theater. Stage makeup. Men had to wear it too. It made their features stand out from a distance.
Somewhere over his shoulder, a razor buzzed, and he knew instinctively that they were shaving Mat’s head. To make him look like a thug. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.
“Hey . . .” Mat slurred, and like clockwork came the sound of a fist hitting flesh and a drug-loosened grunt from Mat. Strange time for him to get vain.
    “Hold his head still,” someone said, and then, presumably to Mat, “I’m about to put a razorblade half an inch from your eye, hole. Don’t move. ”
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    If anything merited Dougie taking the risk of turning his head, it was that terrifyingly ominous statement. The makeup lady seemed to be done with him anyway, so he craned his neck, saw a guard gripping either side of Mat’s face in two giant hands, saw another man with a razorblade leaning in close and oh my God what are you doing to him, stop! Realized to his horror he’d said it out loud when the man with the razor turned to Dougie and said, “Just a little cosmetic surgery, hole.” Then he dragged the razor at a diagonal through Mat’s left eyebrow, and even drugged half out of his head, Mat clenched his teeth and growled and there was blood everywhere , Jesus, why was it bleeding so much?
But then the man placed the razorblade on a tray near the sink and picked up a wad of gauze and pressed it to Mat’s brow, and someone else cleaned off the blood that’d run down his eye and cheek and chin, and if Mat was still in pain, it didn’t show on his face.
    Dougie realized he was tugging at his restraints, and forced himself to relax back into his chair. Nobody was paying attention to him anymore. That was good, that was the best he could ever hope for in this place. He tried to make himself small and quiet and kept his eyes on his brother, who still had a gauze pad held to his forehead while someone trimmed his nails and changed the bandages on his wrists.
    The door to the—what, salon? —opened and Dougie shifted his gaze without moving his head, assessing the new threat. The doctor, holding the door open for that woman from the first day, the one who’d almost killed them outside the van, who’d forced Mat to— Who’d tried to make Dougie— Fuck. He couldn’t even say it in his own head.
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    And oh God, she was coming straight for him. “Is this one done?” she asked the assistant, waving a casual hand in his direction.
    “Yes, Madame.” “Get him up, let me see.”
    Suddenly it was like processing all over again, like when he’d been forced to pose for those awful pictures. Except it wasn’t just Turn left or Smile or Bend over, show me that hole ; she was touching him, too, shoving her fingers in his mouth, weighing his cock and balls in her hand, spreading his ass cheeks and prodding at his hole. She made a humming noise that Dougie thought seemed pleased, but when she spoke, it was with almost painful indifference. “He’ll do,”
    she said. “Collar him and make sure he’s ready to go. One of the attractive collars, if you would. And don’t let anyone touch him.”
“Yes, Madame,” someone said, and he was strapped into the chair again to wait while the woman who’d cut his hair unlocked a nearby cabinet and started rummaging through it. While he waited, Dougie craned around to see how Mat was. Still drugged to the gills, by the looks of it. The doctor was bent over him, putting stitches in his eyebrow.