Page 7 of Under His Heel: A Kidnapping

They all turned to look at him.

“Alex is my bondservant. And I absolutely do not consent to using him as your whipping boy for Johan.”

Anna waved at him dismissively. “I’ll compensate you for the loss. Get you another one, one that looks better.”

“This is really the best way we can keep Johan relatively unharmed,” Koteas added. “Surely your nephew’s safety is more important.”

No. Absolutely not.

Tracht stood and looked straight at Anna. “If you go through with this—”

“Johannes, be reasonable. Your bondservant is already broken and scarred. A few more scars won’t kill him. And if they do, it’ll be a good opportunity to finally let go of that unnatural attachment you have to him.” She flipped her hair, a sure sign that she was irritated.

One of his life mottos was to weigh the consequences of a fight carefully. It was easy to give Alex his revenge on Nick, because Nick was a nobody who would never be able to retaliate.

If Tracht burned his bridges with Anna, it would affect not just his personal life, but also his business. He was certain his relationship with Vasilis would be strained, and he’d find himself receiving fewer contracts and fewer routes. It would also impinge on his ability to pay off Alex’s debt.

It would be so, so satisfying to tell Anna off.

Tracht walked out of the room.

[Chapter 3]

Fuck, fuck, fuck, his hand hurt. Alex tried to clench it, but no, that was not happening. That was seriously the worst pain he’d felt in a while. Even getting whipped by Tracht wasn’t that bad.

Heh, he’d kind of figured that Tracht was taking it easy on him. Maybe the electro-shocks to his dick were worse, except they tended to fade after a few minutes and he was pretty sure he’d been in pain for way longer than that now.

“Did you sell it?”

“I dunno, I broke his fucking fingers, is that enough?”

So, at least two dickbags in the room. One male, one female. No way to tell how many were being quiet. Alex wasn’t so sure on his chances against even just the two of them though, not with his nose stuffed with blood and his hand the way it was.

Shit, was his nose going to get even more crooked? He hoped he hadn’t broken it again.

A bit closer to him, he heard whimpering. That was Tracht’s nephew then. Johan.

Fuck, Alex was starting to regret getting mixed up in all of this. But he’d been going down the stairs to the washroom, and then he’d heard the kid yelling and crying. Anna would probably have been pissed at Alex if he’d told her he’d seen her brat getting grabbed and not done anything about it.

Plus, okay, a fight had sounded way more interesting than whatever the fuck Tracht’s niece was going on about. There was only so much Alex could handle being around a bunch of kids ten years younger who were smarter than him.

“Who is the big guy anyway?” The male voice asked.

“Their bondservant? I did a quick check before I destroyed the bondcollar, registered to ‘Tracht,’ and he came to the kid’s defense. They probably don’t give a shit about him, but I figure it’d give them a scare.”

He couldn’t believe the chick had broken his fingers. Alex hoped she was ugly as hell. He decided that she probably was, and that her face was covered in like, scabs and pus.

He startled when the blindfold and gag were removed. The bitch and her partner were both wearing masks over their faces, but he didn’t think she’d been one of the people he’d fought at the school. He was pretty sure he’d only fought dudes. Probably. His head was still a bit woozy.

He was in a dingy little room with peeling wallpaper and very little furniture: the two chairs he and Johan were tied to, the camera set up opposite of them, and an office chair and desk. There were no windows either, but one door on each side of the room. An exit, and a bathroom? Alex hoped it was a bathroom, because he was also starting to remember that he’d never gotten to use the washroom before he’d picked that fight.

“So, what’s your name? You think the Lysanders are gonna pay extra for you?”

Alex was pretty sure Anna hated his guts. “Tracht.”

“Huh?”

“Ms. Tracht. She didn’t change her last name.”

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