Page 23 of Under Control

“My name is Captain Johannes Tracht, and I’m carrying a container from Paris & Lyons. I was told that you would be the one to pick it up,” Tracht said. “I’m currently making arrangements with all my clients to ensure shipments are offloaded in a timely and efficient manner.”

“Ah, yeah, I heard about you,” Iglesias responded, his voice giving nothing away. Tracht wished he had a vid feed so he could see the man’s expression.

“I assume you’ve made arrangements to pick up shipments before?”

“Yep, won’t be an issue. Just give me the deets.”

The man spoke in an even less refined manner than Alex. Tracht curled his lips in distaste, since he didn’t have to worry about Iglesias seeing him. They exchanged all the necessary information, and then Tracht hesitated.

“There is one small issue,” he said, trying to sound as apologetic as he could.

“An issue?”

“Yes. During our pre-docking preparations, another container ended up ramming into yours. The lock is completely mangled. You’ll probably need to saw or laser-cut the container open.”

On the other end, Iglesias cursed loudly. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you look inside?”

“No, as I said, the door is well and truly shut tight. There’s no getting in there without destroying the container itself, which I was sure you wouldn’t want me to do. I value my clients’ privacy.” Tracht had to admit the lie sounded flimsy to his ears, but he and Alex had tested the container door enough to be sure that there really was no way to open it at this point. The electronic lock was similarly beyond repair.

“What about customs? They’re not gonna want to look inside? That’s fucking suspicious, man!” Iglesias continued to curse, for a solid thirty seconds. Tracht timed it.

When Iglesias was done, Tracht sighed loudly in a show of impatience. “I can assure you, the container won’t be searched. I have enough clout here, and I’ll be sure to divert their attention elsewhere.”

He wasn’t particularly worried about customs, in any case. The real issue would be keeping Espinosa from realizing something was wrong.

===

Tracht led the customs officials around the cargo bay. They inspected a container from a newer client, as Tracht suspected they would, while completely bypassing any of the containers registered to the Lysander Corporation. Alex trotted along behind them, biting on his lip. Most probably to prevent himself from smiling; it would have been better to leave Alex behind, but then Espinosa might have insisted on being there. What a headache. Tracht couldn’t wait to be done with this entire container business.

“What’s with this one?” the taller of the customs officials—her name tag read Lucassen—asked, knocking her hand against the dented container.

Tracht gave a long-suffering sigh. “An accident, thanks to my bondservant.” Tracht glared at Alex, who ducked his head in pretend contrition. “I’ve already contacted the client, Paris & Lyons. I’m going to have to pay the cost of the container, which is infuriating.”

“I said I was sorry!” Alex growled out. “Hey, tell ‘im that he can’t hurt me, okay? That shit’s against the rules.”

The two customs workers startled. “Um—” the other one, Bayer, said, looking down at her tablet. “I’m not sure what your arrangement is. It might be within the rules. But,” she said, addressing Tracht, “you might be well within your rights to renegotiate the contract to take a cost like this into consideration. You might be able to get another month of service, if that’s desirable to you.”

“Another month of service? I’ve taken on the responsibility of paying off his debt, but I’m going to be quite honest—he’s so useless around the ship, I don’t believe I’d want him for a single extra day.”

“Hey!” Alex shouted, in real anger this time. Tracht watched with fascination as Alex’s fists clenched and his breathing got heavier. “I’m helping! I’ve been f-fucking helping, you—”

And apparently even with the permission to cuss, just this once, Alex couldn’t extend it to cussing out Tracht. Heat pooled in Tracht’s stomach. He’d done that to Alex. He’d gotten Alex so well-trained, that what had once been natural to him now could barely even be forced out.

He knew Alex still cussed when Tracht wasn’t present, but that didn’t matter. Here, now, Tracht’s orders were so absolute that they’d been etched into Alex’s very being.

“Yes, do shut up. We’re working here, and neither Ms. Bayer nor Ms. Lucassen need to be exposed to that kind of language.” Tracht focused on the customs workers. “I’m terribly sorry about him. If you’d like me to punish him for this, do let me know. I’m keeping a running tally of his indiscretions and am happy to add to it, or simply whip him right here.”

To demonstrate, he pulled the thin whip out of his pocket. He hadn’t discussed this part with Alex, and he could see the surprise—and the small hint of betrayal—in his eyes.

“The fuck? You were just carrying that around?” Alex said, a tad too loud. His voice echoed in the cargo hold.

“What will it be, Ms. Lucassen, Ms. Bayer? I’m happy to go either way. Alex, why don’t you stand right in front of this container you ruined, so that this lesson gets burned into your mind.”

Alex slammed his hand into the closest container, creating a sound so loud that even Tracht jumped.

“No. Fuck that. Both of them will back me up on this, right? You don’t want to see me whipped.” Alex’s glare was absolutely terrifying, the deepened creases on his face highlighting the scar and broken nose in such a way that he appeared almost demonic. Monstrous.

Tracht resisted the urge to call Alex over and pull him into a kiss.

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