The Flesh Cartel #1: Capture Read Online Free PDF Page A

The arch of his spine touched the cage’s roof, crushing his bound hands against it, and the top of his head brushed the front. If he looked to his left, he’d be able to see the interior of the van. He’d be able to see Dougie.
    What they did to Dougie.
    He tried not to think about it, pulling his knees forward so somebody could shut and lock the cage door behind him.
    “Looking a little cramped! Well, we did bring it along for your brother.” The idea of that horrified Mat all over again. Yeah, Dougie was four inches shorter and probably six inches narrower across the chest, but it still would’ve been torture for him to be stuck in here for more than a few minutes. “Oh well, you’ll have to live with it. It’s only an eight-hour drive, isn’t it?”
    “Ten if we hit morning traffic,” someone else corrected conversationally.
    Just the thought made Mat’s body throb. As if it hadn’t been throbbing already.
    “Ten hours,” someone said. “Fuck, I could get off five times in ten hours. Might as well start now.”
    A thud—quite distinctly a body hitting the floor against its will—followed by a short, sharp shout from Dougie. Another thud as the van doors slammed shut and the garage doors opened. “No!” Dougie cried, and then someone must’ve covered his mouth because the next No was muffled, a wordless, desperate plea that hurt Mat more than anything he’d ever endured in the ring, more than anything he’d endured so far at these men’s hands. More sounds of scrabbling as the van backed out of the garage and onto the street, more muffled No s, and then a grunt, and a scream, an honest-to-God being-killed-by-an-ax-murderer fucking scream , and Mat hurled himself against the cage, fought the zip-ties until his wrists bled and banged and banged and banged until he’d worn himself down into a bruised, bleeding, panting puddle and gotten no closer to free. But at least, for a little while, it’d drowned out the awful cries and moans and whimpers, the steady slap slap of flesh on flesh, and the satisfied grunts of one man after another as they took their sick pleasures from a bound frightened boy in the back of a goddamned rape van.

They left him lying sprawled on his back on the rubber floor of the van, panting and weeping and oozing a slow dribble of cum.
    Done using him for now, they ignored him, talking amongst themselves and pointedly not looking at him, like he was a dog who’d shit the carpet. Even Mat had turned his head away at some point, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Not that Dougie could blame him.
    It must have been horrible to watch. Dougie, crying and begging and twisting while they pinned him down and all took a turn. Up until the last two, that was, who’d given him a few impatient slaps to get him up and moving into the position they wanted—one underneath him on his back, one looming over him face-to-face—and pushed into him together , two big horrible cocks tearing him open, moving out of sync inside him, lubricated by leftover cum from everyone who’d fucked him before.
    But it was over now. He rolled onto his side and curled in on himself, irrationally protecting his belly, as if that were the most sensitive part of himself. At his back, Mat moaned like a man dying of fever. Dougie wanted to comfort him, but, God, he couldn’t—he couldn’t turn his back on their captors, even if for now they seemed sated.
    He wished he could talk to Mat, wished he could at least whisper Mat’s name, or touch him, just let him know somehow that he was okay, not to worry, they’d get through this. He couldn’t stand the thought of Mat being so distraught on his account. But he was afraid that any attempt to get Mat’s attention might draw the men’s as well. So far, Mat had gone mostly unscathed, and Dougie would let them rape him a hundred times over to keep Mat that way.
    So he stayed quiet, and soon his sobs slowed until all that was left was a silent trickle of tears.
    He hated