lies. Let me shun that.
Mat started awake to the sound of a . . . power tool? He lurched up in bed and spun toward the noise, saw two men installing a heavy punching bag at the same time he realized his bedroom door was wide open.
Run.
The thought had barely formed before the doorway was filled with two more men carrying a treadmill, and Nikolai, bringing up the rear, one hand stuffed casually in his pants pocket.
“Good morning, Mathias,” Nikolai said, grinning expansively, as if it really was a good morning.
Mat realized he was on his feet, though he couldn’t remember getting there, and that he was naked in front of a room full of very attractive men in their forties—the kinds of guys you’d see modeling suits in a Macy’s catalog—and that nobody but him seemed to think this was odd in the slightest. He forced himself not to cup his cock as one of the—servants? slaves? seriously discreet delivery guys?—turned eyes on him.
The treadmill guys left. The guys who’d been hanging the heavy bag moved on to mounting a speed bag beside it. Beside that, a chin-up bar was already screwed into the wall—how had he slept through that?—with a series of resistance band attachments for strength training. No free weights, though— obviously Nikolai didn’t trust him not to bludgeon someone.
“What is this?” he asked, trying very hard not to sound as suspicious as he felt. He added belatedly, “Sir?”
The treadmill guys came back carrying hand wraps, gloves, weighted gloves, sports tape, Power Punch cables, a medicine ball, a padded folding gym mat, an assortment of jump ropes, and—ohgodthankyou—workout shorts, socks, and sneakers. Was Nikolai planning to make him fight in an underground cage? Was that why he’d really bought him? Not for sex at all?
“A gift,” Nikolai said, grinning that same expansive grin. It fell a little when Mat did nothing, said nothing, just stood there no doubt looking as suspicious as he felt. “For you,” Nikolai added pointedly.
Mat nodded, forced himself to say “Thank you” and not sound too grudging about it, though all he really wanted to do was tell Nikolai to go fuck himself and fuck his gifts and let them go home. But Nikolai wouldn’t let them go home, and if Mat gave him lip about it now, Nikolai might just take his “gifts” away again, and Mat’s hands were already itching to be wrapped, his feet itching to run. He pictured drawing Nikolai’s face on the speed bag, hitting it so hard it burst.
Let me at it.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I need you fighting fit. I broke you a little. Now do what you do best—make yourself strong again. Put yourself back together.”
Mat was halfway across the room before he realized he’d moved. The four Macy’s guys formed a wall in front of Nikolai, faces hard, and Mat froze. They didn’t seem like hired muscle—not big enough, not holding themselves like fighters. If they had been, maybe he would have had the brass fucking balls to take them all on, if not to escape then just on principle, but he didn’t want to fight these guys regardless of the odds. Something about them triggered sympathy inside him, and he didn’t want to send them all to the hospital with rearranged faces.
“You didn’t break me,” he growled to Nikolai, who was gently pushing two of the men aside to clear the path between himself and Mat. Mat stood his ground, squared his shoulders, lifted his chin. “Do I look broken to y—”
Nikolai’s thrust his hand out, auto-injector clutched in his palm, ready to strike. Every last drop of moisture fled Mat’s mouth and migrated north to his eyes. “Please,” he whispered. He was trembling. No more squared shoulders, no more proud chin. “I’m sorry.”
Nikolai put the auto-injector back in his pocket with another grin—less expansive, more I told you so.
“As I was saying,” Nikolai said, “you need to take care of yourself. Because nobody else will, not anymore. I’ll help you when I
Mat started awake to the sound of a . . . power tool? He lurched up in bed and spun toward the noise, saw two men installing a heavy punching bag at the same time he realized his bedroom door was wide open.
Run.
The thought had barely formed before the doorway was filled with two more men carrying a treadmill, and Nikolai, bringing up the rear, one hand stuffed casually in his pants pocket.
“Good morning, Mathias,” Nikolai said, grinning expansively, as if it really was a good morning.
Mat realized he was on his feet, though he couldn’t remember getting there, and that he was naked in front of a room full of very attractive men in their forties—the kinds of guys you’d see modeling suits in a Macy’s catalog—and that nobody but him seemed to think this was odd in the slightest. He forced himself not to cup his cock as one of the—servants? slaves? seriously discreet delivery guys?—turned eyes on him.
The treadmill guys left. The guys who’d been hanging the heavy bag moved on to mounting a speed bag beside it. Beside that, a chin-up bar was already screwed into the wall—how had he slept through that?—with a series of resistance band attachments for strength training. No free weights, though— obviously Nikolai didn’t trust him not to bludgeon someone.
“What is this?” he asked, trying very hard not to sound as suspicious as he felt. He added belatedly, “Sir?”
The treadmill guys came back carrying hand wraps, gloves, weighted gloves, sports tape, Power Punch cables, a medicine ball, a padded folding gym mat, an assortment of jump ropes, and—ohgodthankyou—workout shorts, socks, and sneakers. Was Nikolai planning to make him fight in an underground cage? Was that why he’d really bought him? Not for sex at all?
“A gift,” Nikolai said, grinning that same expansive grin. It fell a little when Mat did nothing, said nothing, just stood there no doubt looking as suspicious as he felt. “For you,” Nikolai added pointedly.
Mat nodded, forced himself to say “Thank you” and not sound too grudging about it, though all he really wanted to do was tell Nikolai to go fuck himself and fuck his gifts and let them go home. But Nikolai wouldn’t let them go home, and if Mat gave him lip about it now, Nikolai might just take his “gifts” away again, and Mat’s hands were already itching to be wrapped, his feet itching to run. He pictured drawing Nikolai’s face on the speed bag, hitting it so hard it burst.
Let me at it.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I need you fighting fit. I broke you a little. Now do what you do best—make yourself strong again. Put yourself back together.”
Mat was halfway across the room before he realized he’d moved. The four Macy’s guys formed a wall in front of Nikolai, faces hard, and Mat froze. They didn’t seem like hired muscle—not big enough, not holding themselves like fighters. If they had been, maybe he would have had the brass fucking balls to take them all on, if not to escape then just on principle, but he didn’t want to fight these guys regardless of the odds. Something about them triggered sympathy inside him, and he didn’t want to send them all to the hospital with rearranged faces.
“You didn’t break me,” he growled to Nikolai, who was gently pushing two of the men aside to clear the path between himself and Mat. Mat stood his ground, squared his shoulders, lifted his chin. “Do I look broken to y—”
Nikolai’s thrust his hand out, auto-injector clutched in his palm, ready to strike. Every last drop of moisture fled Mat’s mouth and migrated north to his eyes. “Please,” he whispered. He was trembling. No more squared shoulders, no more proud chin. “I’m sorry.”
Nikolai put the auto-injector back in his pocket with another grin—less expansive, more I told you so.
“As I was saying,” Nikolai said, “you need to take care of yourself. Because nobody else will, not anymore. I’ll help you when I
Similar Books
