Page 98 of Under His Heel

A heavy beam ran vertically down the middle of the room, with hooks attached at various heights.

Tracht grabbed Parson’s shoulder and shoved him roughly to the floor.

“You have some gall, Mr. Parsons.” Tracht’s voice held not a single hint of emotion, and fuck, Alex was terrified. He didn’t want to be in the room in case Tracht’s anger turned his way.

“I paid you generously. I gave you benefits and bonuses. I even put up with your open disapproval. And you repay me with this?” Tracht held up the device. “Who sent you?”

Parsons struggled to sit up with his arms still cuffed behind his back. “Some guy.” He sneered openly. “And don’t pretend you’ve got some fucking moral high ground, you rapist.”

Alex flinched back. Tracht laughed loudly.

“Shall we ask Alex what he thinks?” Tracht ran his hand along the scar on Alex’s face. “Have I been raping you, Alex?”

Fucking Parsons. Rape was something that happened to chicks and weaklings, and Alex was neither of those. He growled out, “No.”

Parsons shook his head, pity in his eyes. “Yeah, I know you think that.”

Cold rage washed over Alex, and he took a few menacing steps closer. “I know my feelings, you asshole. This is you being my friend? This is you not sticking your nose where it’s not wanted?”

“No,” Parsons’ expression hardened, “this was me thinking I could actually trust you.” He turned his attention back to Tracht. “So what now? If I tell you everything, you’ll let me go?”

“You’ll tell me everything, yes.” Tracht pushed Alex lightly to the side, and he finally took the cat-o-nine tails from where it was looped around his belt. “But I won’t let you go. Alex, strip his shirt and cuff him to the beam.”

If Parsons would at least fight—but no, he again just sat passively and let Alex uncuff him, pull his shirt off, and then recuff him to one of the hooks on the large beam running down the center of the room.

Working on the ship and regular gym time meant that Parsons had a well-muscled back. He was leaner than Alex, which Alex had vaguely already known, but still attractive enough that Alex might have stopped to stare if he’d ever seen him shirtless. His skin glistened in the low light, a thin layer of sweat covering it. Maybe that was from his work earlier, maybe it was from fear.

“What did this person want?” Tracht asked. He casually flicked the cat-o-nine off to the side, and it made a loud crack.

“To spoof your subdermal chip, I think.” Parsons’ shoulders shook lightly. “If I had to guess, whoever hired him to approach me wanted to hack into your network and steal the new route we’re on.”

He didn’t even sound like Parsons anymore. Alex was so used to Parsons being optimistic and happy that this new, subdued version of him was completely alien. Maybe this was the real Parsons, and the old one had been an act all along.

“When were you contacted? Before I hired you?”

“No. In Atalanta, just before we left. No clue how they knew I needed cash or that I’d be open for it.” Parsons’ hands tightened on the beam. “If you’re going to do it, just do it already.”

Tracht ran his fingers through the tails of the flogger. “I heard that thousands of years ago, sea captains on Earth flogged their crew to keep them in line. Punishable offenses included drunkenness, laziness, and insubordination.” Tracht scowled. “I want you to know that I’m not doing this to keep you in line. I’m doing this to hurt you. I’m doing this because you tried to steal from me. You tried to turn Alex against me.”

When Tracht had said he planned on flogging Parsons, Alex had thought it seemed a bit tame. He’d taken a flogging, and he would honestly rather take the pain than the breasts or the piss or the public humiliation.

But watching Tracht now, Alex had to admit that he’d had no idea what a real flogging was.

Tracht didn’t spend any time with softer blows: he went straight to the real thing, putting his full force into that initial lash. The knots on the cat hit squarely on Parsons’ shoulders with a loud crack, and Parsons cried out in pain.

The second lash wasn’t any softer. By the third, Parsons was starting to shiver.

The fourth drew blood.

Alex didn’t keep track after that. He simply watched as Tracht raised his arm again and again. One slice on Parsons’ back turned into two. Cracks and cries filled the room in alternating beats, drowning out everything but the rushing in Alex’s own ears.

Fuck.

It was brutal.

It there was no other way to describe it. What Tracht had done to Alex was nothing in comparison to this.

Parsons deserves it, Alex tried to remind himself. It was Parsons’ own fault for trying to screw Tracht over. But he got queasy, seeing the blood flow down Parsons’ back, hearing him cry out in pain. He would have been fine if this had been Messner or one of the Nilsens or just about anybody else.

---