Page 14 of Body Slave

Ben took in his father’s handiwork. “God damn!” Ben exclaimed in a harsh whisper. His father had walloped Oliver but good, and Ben’s stomach churned when he realized this was the hurt he could see. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you to watch that fucking movie with me if I’d known it’d make him angry with you.”

Oliver’s shoulders rose and fell on a hard shudder. When he lifted his eyes to gaze briefly at Ben, a quiet misery shined through. “Please,” he said in the same quiet voice Ben used. “Please don’t be sorry. I’m not.”

That response surprised Ben. By his reckoning, Oliver should be pissed at him for treating him as much as an amusing toy as his father did, albeit in a less exploitative way. Dropping his hold on the slave, he turned away. “How can you not be pissed?” he demanded.

“Because.” Oliver stopped until Ben circled back to face him again. “Because last night was the most fun I’ve had since....” He stopped and shrugged. “Since forever, I guess. The master’s anger was a more than fair trade for it.”

Ben couldn’t help but scoff at that assertion. “Watching a movie and eating popcorn can’t make it worth getting a beating for.” He didn’t add the other, worse things he imagined his father had done. He couldn’t even think about them without feeling sick to his stomach, let alone give voice to them.

Oliver offered up a small smile. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Seriously?” Jesus fucking Christ, how miserable had Oliver’s life been up to that moment that a beating rated low on his awful scale?

Oliver took a tentative step closer. “Please, don’t be angry, sir. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The simple plea nearly undid Ben as nothing else had so far. The last thing he wanted was to upset the kid. Closing the distance between them, Ben placed his hand carefully on top of the slave’s head. He had intended it to be soothing, but the slave shivered beneath his palm.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad. Well, I am, just not at you.” He stroked the fine hair down to the nape, pulling off the elastic that had held it in a ponytail. He teased the silky tips between thumb and forefinger for a few seconds before he realized what he was doing and pulled back. “My father had no right to take his anger out on you when I ordered you to stay with me. I’m going to make sure he understands what happened.”

Oliver drew in a startled breath and raised pleading eyes. “Please don’t say anything to the master, sir.”

Ben frowned. “Of course I’m going to say something. He needs to know it wasn’t your fault, which is frankly something he should already know. I don’t get what his problem is,” he added more to himself than to the slave.

“No, please!” To Ben’s utter horror, Oliver dropped down to his knees, head bent, and hands clasped behind his back. “Please, sir, I’m begging you not to say anything.”

“Shit! Oliver, stand up.” Ben clasped the slave as gingerly as he could and hauled him back up to a standing position. Tears formed at the corner of the boy’s eyes and Ben felt like a real dick. How fucked up was this situation when he ended up hurting Oliver more than his father had, simply by trying to help him?

“Shhh.” He dabbed at those threatening tears with the pads of his thumbs. “It’s okay, I won’t say anything to my father if you don’t want me to. I promise.”

Oliver let out a shuddering breath before nodding in understanding. Ben let go and stepped back, not wanting to be intimidating. Of course Oliver was scared. If Ben confronted his father about his treatment of his slave, no matter what his father said in response, he’d take it out on Oliver. There was nothing Ben could do to protect this boy. He belonged to his father, not Ben, as much as he might wish otherwise.

“Are you okay?” He kept his tone as soothing as he could.

Oliver sniffed. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

It was beyond twisted that a slave ended up thanking someone for earning him a beating and then ignoring the outcome. But that was the totally fucked-up world they lived in.

With a weary sigh, Ben waved at the door. “I’m going to work out now.” A ridiculous lie given that he wore street clothes. “I’d prefer it if you leave.”

“Yes, sir.” With a quick, shallow bow, the slave hurried out of the room.

Ben glared at the floor for long seconds until Oliver was clearly out of earshot. His breathing became harsh as he let his frustration and mounting fury out. With hard footsteps bordering on stomping, he went over to the punching bag. He swung his arm back and let his fist fly.

“Son of a goddamn bitch!” When his knuckles connected with the bag, a sharp pain shot up to his shoulder. “Fuck! Fuckity, fuck, fuck!” He cursed and danced around, cradling his aching hand.

Well, it was no more than he deserved, and less than Oliver had to cope with, and the slave did it with more grace. But God, the pain of the punch didn’t hurt so much as the pain of watching someone getting hurt and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Chapter Six

“Thank you, Oliver,” Ben said in a flat voice, accepting the glass of beer.

Oliver merely nodded, not daring to speak to the object of his fast-growing obsession in front of the master. He knelt by his master’s feet in typical fashion, secretly happy to have been able to serve Ben at all. Knowing the master intended to have a meeting with his son after dinner, Oliver had made a point of putting a couple of glasses in the bar’s freezer because he’d learned that Ben liked his beer in a cold glass. He had also snagged a lime from Mary because Ben liked a small wedge of it to accent the taste. Pathetic as it may be, he wanted to give Ben anything and everything within his almost nonexistent power that made the other man happy. If Oliver could accomplish that even for a few weeks, it would make his life not just more bearable, but more meaningful.

He’d been careful to position himself so the bruise on his face didn’t show as much to Ben. God, the confrontation over it in the gym had been awful. He’d thought fear alone would burst his heart when Ben had vowed to talk to the master. The pain of his body was nothing like the fear of worrying over someone else. It reminded him of the way he’d fretted over the safety of his mother and sister once he’d become old enough to understand how the world worked. More than once, he’d deflected his old master’s anger onto himself to spare the females of his family from the man’s wrath. While Ben was a freeman and old enough to take care of himself, the urge to protect him rose anyway. Ben’s current aloofness toward Oliver eased his mind, too. The master already appeared keyed up. No sense in adding to his irritation.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room while each man sipped at his drink. The clinking of the ice in the master’s scotch was the only sound besides breathing to permeate the heavy lack of noise. It was a new and weird experience for Oliver to be in the company of free people who seemed unhappy to be together. He found it kind of sad, too. Obviously Ben and the master had an uneasy relationship. Perhaps the late mistress had served as the oil to keep them rubbing smoothly with each other. Too bad they’d lost her, and for sure Oliver wasn’t in a position to fill the role. He had already proven to be a source of even greater friction. He tried to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Finally, with a long swallow of his drink and an audible sigh, the master broke the silence, if not the tension. “I’ve put this conversation off for a few days to give you time to settle back in after your trip. But you know how I feel about your future plans.”

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