This story was inspired by Taranea's Daredevil Slave!AU Devil For Sale. It's fantastic, I'd totally recommend it.
This is a planned two-shot, but I really like this universe. There's a good chance of it becoming a full story at some point in the future.
Warnings: It's a slave AU, so expect dehumanization and a few indications of non-con.
Prompt: Silence is Golden
Additional A/N: The longfic is started now! Some extra warnings for that: There will be some violence and mentions of noncon. There will also be regular flashbacks, so apply those warnings to a teenager. Electrocution will show up constantly, otherwise keep an eye out for specific chapter warnings in the A/Ns.
Burton slouched in the back seat of the car as he sighed loudly, making sure it could be heard up in the front seat. God, parents were dumb.
"Dear, stop pouting," his mother chided him without turning around.
He slumped even further down and glared out the window with his arms crossed; he wasn't pouting, he was protesting their decision like a grown man. He was an adult, but his parents still insisted on treating him like a child. And his parents were So. Dumb.
He couldn't believe they had made this decision without asking him.
"Burton, stop it," his father chimed in, layering authority into his voice. Burton set his jaw and glared even harder at a small dirt speck on the window. His father ignored his silent protest and continued, "I just earned an amazing promotion, and your mother has been doing really well with selling her pies. We're moving up in the world, and this is part of it."
Burton scoffed quietly and continued to give his parents the silent treatment. He knew damn well that his mother hadn't made that much money by selling pies. She'd been gambling again and had gotten lucky. And his father was too dumb to see it.
Why was he the only smart one in the family?
He sighed; he couldn't do Joy dirty like that. He amended his thought; why was he the only smart one in the family who still lived at home?
His father pulled into a parking lot and Burton rolled his eyes; they were 'moving up in the world', but they still wouldn't shell out for the closer parking spots. His father turned off the car before turning around with a glare. "Now listen here, young man. I know you don't approve, but we're doing this. So cut the emo act and be part of the family."
"Whatever," Burton grumbled as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. This was what happened when he was always a good kid; his parents just expected him to go along with their decisions without any fuss. His dark mood darkened even further as he realized he was still just going along with their decision as he trailed behind them and glared at the back of their heads.
"This will be good for us, you'll see," his mother called back to him with exaggerated cheer. "Your father will be bringing home big clients, and it's important to give them a good impression. And it will be nice to not have to clean or do the dishes after I cook…"
Burton shook his head in disgust. A person. She was talking about buying a person to make a good impression.
He'd never had any strong opinions about slaves; they existed, he ignored them, everyone was happy. But now there was going to be one in his house. All of the time. Just living there and being weird. Why did his parents think this was a good idea?
More people joined them on the sidewalk as they made their way down to the market on the pier. Market day was always the big day of the month; vendors would set up stalls, theater troupes would put on plays, and kids would run around completely unsupervised. It was a whole big community event. All centered around the multitude of people kneeling on the ground with collars around their necks.
Burton had always avoided markets if he could; there were too many people and it was loud and messy. His opinion of them didn't change as they drew closer to the main selling area.
Slaves were on display everywhere. Slave women in scant clothing lounged on cushions with rhinestones decorating their standard-issue metal collars. Next to them, a few shirtless slave men threw heavy bags back and forth, showing off their glistening muscles. Vendors closer to the center of the market sold food and crafts, proudly declaring they were made by the ready-to-purchase slaves kneeling next to the tables. Further back, groups of slaves were lined up, all on their knees with their hands pulled behind their backs, all with small signs in front of them declaring their tracking number and their most useful training certificates.
Burton wrinkled his nose; it smelled terrible.
"I think we should look for a female, don't you?" His mother asked as she eyed up the nearest stall. "Maybe we could even afford a red-head! Talk about good first impressions, am I right?"
"Don't you think we should maybe look at one of the stalls further back?" His father asked as he pointed further off the beaten track. "These will probably be too expensive…"
"Nonsense!" His mother declared. "We have fifty thousand dollars to spend, I'm sure we can find something just right for us here. Just look at how clean and nice they all are!"
"Oh my god, Mom! You can't just go out and say how much money you want to spend!" Burton groaned as he hid his face in the palm of his hand.
"Excuse me, hello young man," His mother loudly ignored him as she called out to the vendor of the stall. "We're here to buy a slave and you seem to have some nice stock. It's our first time and I was wondering... what would you recommend we look for?"
Burton's groan grew into a manly growl as he quickly walked away and pretended like he had no idea who his parents were. It wasn't like they were going to ask his opinion anyway. Besides, he was eighteen; he could go wherever the damn hell he wanted.
He knew better than to wander too far; his mother would probably call the police and think he'd been kidnapped or some such nonsense.
He sighed loudly and slouched through the rows of vendors, everything blending together in a busy bustle of cloth and colors and skin and food. He headed towards the edge of the market, hoping the open ocean air would be able to dampen some of the smells of sweat and fear. The further from the center he went, the less thought went into the slave's displays. Collared people lined the edge of the pier, a huddled mass of bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with little to distinguish them from their neighbors. These slaves showed more signs of discipline with scars, raised welts, bruises, and dark clothes to hide signs of bleeding. Some of the slaves silently wept while others stared at the ground with a vacant expression. The lights were on, but nobody was home.
Burton's skin crawled and he looked away, not knowing why his feet were taking him further into the discount area instead of going back to the more acceptable displays. At least he could be glad for the law that stated public market places couldn't sell slaves that were younger than fifteen; this was definitely the area that crying children would have been kept.
An image of his five-year-old cousin suddenly popped into his mind. If she'd been a slave, then she would never be allowed to whine for her favorite food, or play without a care in the world, or talk without permission. He swallowed down a rush of nausea and wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his pants. There had been blood dripping under some of the slaves at the last stall; blood always made him queasy. That was all his reaction was, just a natural response to bodily fluid.
Burton almost made it to the end of the pier before finally deciding he'd seen enough. His mother was the type to ask over every single piece of merchandise before picking one, but she had to be close to done by now. It was time to meet back up with his parents before they started to worry.
He turned to go back when a slave caught his attention, and he stopped to stare as he tried to understand what made this slave different. The leather gag was the first thing that came to mind; even he knew that a slave learned early on to never talk out of turn. There'd only been a few gags in the entire market, and most of those had been catering to a much different crowd.
This gag was a thick black strap that was pulled tightly around the slave's head, completely covering his mouth. It didn't seem to be for display purposes, especially considering how he was set aside from the other slaves and tucked away next to the vendor's table. The only indication that he was even for sale was the typical sign in front of him with his tracking number. There weren't any other skills listed.
Burton watched, intrigued despite himself, as the slave's eyes flicked up to quickly scan the sparse crowd before looking back down at the ground, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was processing what he'd seen. Which was ridiculous; he'd only looked for a second, there was no way he actually saw anything. As Burton watched, the slave's eyes flicked up and down again.
He couldn't help but step closer; why he was drawn to this slave? He didn't look particularly interesting, aside from the gag. He was kneeling like every other slave with his hands pulled behind his back, his brown hair was shaggy and looked like it had been roughly hacked short before being allowed to grow out again, his dark clothes were the typical cheap t-shirt and sweatpants that most slaves were sold in, and the large strap around his face made it hard to tell exactly what he looked like. Burton took another step towards him.
He looked closer and decided that it was the slave's eyes that made him different. They were interesting enough on their own, clear, hazel, and intelligent. But it was more than that. His eyes still held a spark of life; he hadn't been broken yet.
The vendor returned from making a sale and dropped down into the chair next to the strange slave. Burton couldn't put his finger on it, but something immediately changed in the slave's demeanor. He stopped looking around, his eyes unfocused, and he even seemed to be breathing slower, as if he hoped he could go unnoticed if he didn't move. The vendor reached out and mindlessly ran his hand through the slave's hair, twisting several strands around his fingers before pulling up cruelly. The slave didn't react and the vendor didn't seem to mind as he smiled lewdly and reached out, running his other hand under the slave's shirt. He whispered something in the slave's ear and Burton saw a flicker of fear cross the slave's face before he said something into his gag with a small wince.
Burton wasn't sure why, but the display set his veins on fire. He needed to get that slave away from the vendor; no one should take that spark of life from his eyes. He marched up to the vendor's table and did something he never, ever, did.
He acted without thinking.
"I want to buy him."
The vendor looked up in shock before quickly schooling his features into a greasy smile. "Sorry, kid. But we don't sell to minors."
"I'm eighteen," Burton said firmly, "and I want to buy that slave."
The slave in question didn't move as his fate was discussed over his head, but Burton could almost feel an intense gaze on him, even though he knew the slave's eyes would be properly downcast if he checked.
The vendor's eyes narrowed, but his smile stayed the same. "You don't want this slave, kid, it's useless, it's mouthy, and it can't be trained. Now, if you'd be interested in looking at the rest of my stock…"
Burton's resolve hardened with every word and he shook his head stubbornly. "Nope. I want this one. He's for sale, so give me a price."
The vendor snorted and the smile fell off of his face as he drawled, "Fine. A hundred grand."
"You must be out of your damn mind! There's slaves in the front that sell for less than that!" Burton argued.
"Whelp, I guess you just can't afford it," the vendor said as he reached around the slave and stroked the black strap while staring Burton down, clearly daring him to say anything.
Burton narrowed his eyes, refusing to back down from the challenge. He was young, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that discount slaves like this would be sold to the docks to live a short and hard life if they weren't bought at the market. The vendor clearly had a different destination in mind for this slave, and Burton wished he'd paid more attention to his Social Studies lessons about the rules and regulations regarding slaves and their sellers.
Burton spoke up, aiming for an innocently curious tone. "Would your merchant's guild be interested to know about you stealing from them?"
"Excuse me?!" The vendor asked with venom as the slave cocked his head slightly to the side.
"This slave. You're wanting to keep him before selling him to the docks right?" Burton asked, staring down the vendor as he kept his tone light. "You're not taking my money now, and I'm sure he'll be worth less once you're done with him… That sure seems like stealing to me."
"I gave you a price," the vendor growled.
"You gave me a joke," Burton stated, "and no one would see it as anything except that. Twenty grand is more than fair."
"Fourty, and I'll throw in all of its accessories," the vendor countered, looking like he was sucking on a lemon.
"Thirty and I don't tell the guild that you tried to sell a slave without his accessories," Burton said recklessly, taking a shot in the dark.
The vendor's jaw twitched and Burton knew he'd won. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the debit card that was linked to his parent's bank account. Being a good kid had its advantages too.
He probably wasn't a good kid after this…
The vendor took his card with a grumble and Burton watched carefully as the information was typed into the kiosk, making sure an extra zero wasn't 'accidentally' added. The vendor handed the card back, looking disgruntled that the transaction had cleared. "Would you like to take your purchase home with you now or have it shipped to you?"
"I'm taking him now," Burton answered firmly. He wasn't leaving the slave alone with the vendor for even one more second.
The vendor let out a long-suffering sigh and dug around under his table before bringing out a leash. He clipped it to the front of the slave's collar before yanking it roughly, pulling him to the ground so his face was right in front of Burton's feet. The vendor sneered down, "Say hello to your new master."
The slave made a small sound and the vendor kicked his hip as he ordered, "Say it right."
The slave stayed on the ground and made a longer series of noises into his gag, wincing as he reached the end of the phrase. Burton frowned; the words sounded more garbled than he'd expect from just a strap over the lips. The vendor reached down towards the slave's head and Burton acted again without thinking, smacking the offending hand aside.
"He's mine now, right?" Burton asked, not bothering to hide the challenge in his voice.
The vendor shook out his hand as he answered, "Yes, it's yours. We just have to transfer the collar's controls."
"Then stop touching him." Burton crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating.
The vendor rolled his eyes and pulled out a box from under the table. He sorted through the pile of remotes before pulling one out and pressing down on the largest button. The slave jerked with a yelp and the vendor smirked. At Burton's glare he explained in an oily voice, "I had to make sure I had the right one, didn't I?"
Burton held out his hand and the vendor sighed again before flipping the remote over and pulling back the cover. He pressed his finger into the glass underneath and clicked one of the small buttons next to it before holding the remote out. Burton pressed his finger to the screen and a cheerful chime confirmed that ownership had been passed on and the slave now belonged to him.
The vendor reluctantly let go of the remote and seemed to speak from memory as he recited, "The collar's coded to you, it'll follow your orders. You can add family members as secondary owners online. The tag on the remote is its lot number, take it to the people over there and they'll give you its accessories."
Burton frowned again; he hadn't realized the collars actually controlled who the slave would listen to. He needed to go home and do some research… He looked down and realized the slave -his slave- was still laying at his feet. He cleared his throat and awkwardly gave his first order, "Uh, you can stand up now."
The slave pulled his knees back under his body and sat up before climbing the rest of the way to his feet. He swayed and Burton reached out to steady him, but the slave flinched away before freezing and standing as still as a statue, his eyes never leaving the ground. Burton looked at his hand still hanging in the air and looked back at the slave as a terrifying realization broke through his haze of victory. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
"All sales are final," the vendor added with a cruel sneer. "I'd be happy to buy it back from you though -for a discount of course- if you're having buyer's remorse."
Burton clenched his jaw and tried to hide his hesitance as he reached out and picked up the leash, holding it at the looped end so his slave would have some slack to move.
He had bought a person. He had bought a person.
He never did crazy things. He was a straight-A student, he was the head of his debate team, he was going into sales just like his father, and he never, ever, did anything crazier than pouting when he didn't get his way.
And now, he had just bought a person.
Burton let out a quiet breath. He probably shouldn't have a panic attack right in front of the creepy vendor, or in front of the slave that he'd just bought. He forced himself to take a step away from the stall and looked back to make sure his slave was able to follow. Once he saw his slave take a step forward, he turned to walk slowly towards the smiling lady manning the kiosk for his slave's accessories.
"Uh, hi. I'd like to get my… uh, my slave's …stuff?"
"Okey dokey," the cheerful lady answered as she held out a hand. Burton looked at it in confusion for a moment before remembering the tag with the lot number. He quickly pulled the paper slip off and handed it over, being very careful to not accidentally press any buttons on the remote as he dropped his hand back down to his side. The lady checked the number and began to sort through the boxes behind her.
He eyed up the boxes as his hand fidgeted with the end of the leash, looping it around his wrist before shaking it off again. What exactly did a slave have, anyways? 'Accessories' sounded like something a Barbie would have, not a person. Maybe they were things from his past. Or different clothes.
Or more things like the gag.
"Here ya go, I hope you enjoy your new purchase!" the lady cheerfully told him as she handed over a medium-sized box. It looked big enough for a couple of changes of clothes, or a few Harry Potter books. Did slaves know how to read?
"...Thanks." Burton looped the leash around his wrist to free his hand to take the box. He tucked it under his arm to deal with later. He could still feel the creepy vendor's gaze on him, or more specifically on his slave, and he wanted to get as far away from that jerk as possible.
He also had to find his parents and tell them he had just spent thirty thousand dollars on an impulse buy…
Burton walked away from the stalls and headed towards the middle of the market where his parents had been last. He started off slow before gradually picking up his pace to a brisk walk, always checking behind him to make sure his slave wasn't having any troubles keeping up. His slave matched his pace perfectly, always keeping himself exactly two steps behind Burton's right shoulder.
His slave. Jesus.
Walking his slave -walking a person- through a crowd was strange. Slaves in public had to be leashed, it was the law, and it wasn't an uncommon sight. But the cloth strap around his wrist seemed to be burning a brand into his skin as he realized just how much control he had actually been given. His slave had to follow him, no matter how hurt or tired. His slave had to follow his speed, had to watch him carefully and always match which direction he turned, had go exactly where he said. He could walk right over to the whipping post and rent his slave out to be beat up for a few hours, and his slave wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop him. Burton's heart pounded in his chest and he clenched his hand around the leash, hoping to hide how it was shaking.
Burton noticed the little details as the crowds grew thicker. Like the fact that his slave was the same height as him. It shouldn't surprise him -slaves were people, after all- but they'd always seemed smaller in his mind. It was hard to tell, but the slave looked like he was about the same age as Burton too. Once he had a few solid meals in him, they'd probably even wear the same clothes sizes.
His slave was just like him. Except with a collar.
The thought disturbed him, and he looked around for a distraction. A stall of local produce caught his eye and he scanned the rows of apples and grapes and pineapples. He loved pineapples. Maybe his slave liked pineapples too. Were slaves allowed to have favorite foods?
Burton shook his head and looked away in annoyance. Distractions were supposed to actually distract him, not make him think even more about how similar and different he and his slave were.
"Burton Gahlen Guster!" A loud voice shrieked through the crowd.
"Crap," Burton muttered. He was so not ready for this conversation. He quickly tried to psych himself up. "It's ok, it's ok, just act natural…"
He pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin in the air as his palms sweated, soaking the cloth leash in his hand.
He looked towards the yell and saw his mother stalking towards him like a lioness homing in on a kill; sparks practically flew out of her eyes as she saw the slave tethered to him. She stopped in front of them, and Burton forgot he was a head taller than her when she pinned him down with her glare. "Burton, dear, would you mind explaining to me why our card was just declined when we tried to make a purchase?"
Venom dripped from her words and Burton shook at her fury, but he remembered the spark in his slave's eye and mustered up the courage to answer, "It's probably because I already bought a slave."
His mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and Burton realized he was clutching the leash like a lifeline as he waited for the oncoming storm. She spoke slowly and deliberately with her eyes still closed. "You did not just say. That you bought a slave. Without even asking me or your father."
Burton felt his slave's gaze on his back and another burst of recklessness drove him to say, "You guys didn't ask me if we should buy a slave. I figured it was my turn to make a decision without asking."
His mother's eyes snapped open and she glared at him before looking his slave over. Disgust colored her voice as she snapped out, "I wanted a female. One who knew how to cook and clean. One who would look nice for your father's clients." She looked back at Burton and asked pointedly, "Does he look like he matches that description?"
The vendor's voice echoed in Burton's memory, 'It's useless, it's mouthy, and it can't be trained.' He clenched his jaw and sidestepped the question. "The sale's final, no refunds."
His mother looked like she was about to explode before she suddenly noticed all of the people watching their drama unfold. She smoothed out her shirt and pasted on a smile as she hissed through her clenched teeth, "We will be discussing this later."
Burton was so relieved that she wasn't insisting on seeing the vendor herself, he didn't bother fighting as she grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd. His slave adjusted quickly and stayed in his designated spot just a few steps behind them.
His mother towed them to the front of the market, and people parted before her quiet fury like the red sea. His father stood next to the original vendor, chatting with a large salesman-smile as a red-headed woman knelt at their feet. Burton was suddenly thrown forward as his mother spoke with false cheer. "Bill, you won't believe what our son just bought. Why don't you tell him, Burton?"
Burton answered rebelliously as he stared at a spot just over his father's shoulder. "I decided to be 'part of the family' and bought a slave."
"You… decided. To buy a slave," his father reiterated as he stared at the slave in question. He turned back to the vendor and his salesman smile stretched across his face again as he said, "I am so sorry for taking up your time. You know how rebellious teenagers can be… Just give me a moment to clean up this little snafu, ok? Ok."
He chuckled as he walked away before locking eyes with Burton. His smile grew more patronizing as he laid a hand on Burton's shoulder. "Ok, son, I hear you. We should have told you we were getting a slave sooner. But this isn't the way to get our attention. Now, let's go see about returning this little guy, yeah?"
"No," Burton said as he planted his feet into the ground. His heart raced at the thought of having to walk the slave back to that vendor, and the slave having to follow him. "The sale's final, the vendor said no refunds."
"There's no such thing as no refunds," his father said as he wrapped an arm around Burton's shoulders. "That's just something salesmen say so you think you have to walk away with a defective product. And, well… look at him. He clearly has issues if he has to be gagged like that."
"He's probably not even housebroken," his mother added with a disdainful sniff.
"Mother!" Burton snapped at her, appalled.
Slaves were housebroken, right? Oh god, was he going to have to tell his slave when to go to the bathroom?!
He looked back to see his slave still standing still with no emotions on his face to show that he heard or cared about what was being said about him. The only indicator that he was even aware of the conversation was a small line between his eyebrows.
"It's ok, we can get this all fixed up and we won't ever have to mention it again," his father said as he tried to steer Burton back into the crowd.
Burton pulled against the arm, the memory of the vendor kicking his slave giving him the courage to argue back. "The vendor said that he'd only buy him back at a discount, you won't be able to afford any other slave after that. This one's smart, I know he is, just give him a chance." His father hesitated and Burton swallowed his pride as he played his last card. "Please, Dad, I've never asked for anything before. Please let me keep him."
His father looked at him intensely and seemed to deflate at what he saw. He sighed as he looked back at the slave again. "This is really what you want?"
"Yes," Burton answered immediately. He'd never been more sure of anything in his life.
"He'll be your slave," his father informed him seriously. "That is a lot of responsibility. You have to make sure he's fed, and clean, and exercised. You'll be in charge of making sure he does his part around the house, and you'll be in charge of any discipline he might need. Do you think you can do that?"
Burton thought of the raised welts he'd seen on several slave's backs and legs as he nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak.
"Bill!" His mother stood still with her mouth open in shock.
"Winnie, we were going to buy him a car. This is probably cheaper." His father leaned in closer and asked out of the corner of his mouth, "He was cheaper than a car, right?"
Burton winced as he answered, "Thirty thousand…"
His father took a deep breath through his nose before smiling widely. "See Winnie? Cheaper than we were expecting to pay. And now we aren't buying a car." He muttered quietly to Burton, "Don't make me regret this."
Burton nodded again as relief crashed over him. He'd won. His slave was staying with him. That was so much better than a car.
His father walked over and whispered something to his mother, and her face softened slightly as she glared back fondly. Her eyes shifted over to the slave and the look hardened again before she turned with a flair and walked away from the market. Burton sighed and followed her. His mother was the queen of holding grudges; they hadn't heard that last from her.
He looked back to check on his slave as they walked down the sidewalk. Nothing seemed to have changed; he was still scruffy looking, he was still keeping perfect pace, and he was still looking down at the pavement without any emotion in his eyes. Burton swallowed nervously and looked forward again, hoping he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.
They walked in awkward silence to the car; his mother fuming, his father trying to keep the peace, and Burton's stomach tying itself into knots. His mother dropped into the car with a dramatic flounce and immediately reached over to pop open the trunk. Burton looked down at the box under his arm and looked back up in confusion. It was plenty small enough to stay in the backseat with him.
His mother looked at him with an expectant look and realization slammed into him as he understood what she expected to go into the trunk. Or, rather, who.
"Oh my god, Mom. No," Burton immediately argued.
"I am not having him in this car," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "He's dirty, we don't know where he's been, and we don't know how well he can control himself."
His slave started to walk towards the trunk, but Burton quickly ordered, "Stop."
His slave froze as a small light blinked on his collar, and Burton could see his cuffed hands twitching with nervous energy. He swallowed down a small bubble of guilt as he glared at his mother. "If he doesn't get to ride in the car, then I won't either. We'll just walk home."
"Burton, that's all of the way across town, don't be ridiculous," his mother answered with an exaggerated eye roll.
"Fine, then we'll take the bus," Burton said, setting his jaw in determination. "And if anyone asks, I'll tell them you were angry at me and wouldn't let me ride in the car with you."
His mother stared daggers at him before slamming the door closed. She yelled through the closed window, "If he makes a mess then you're cleaning it up!"
His father walked up and squeezed his shoulder. "It's ok, son…" he smiled conspiratorially and continued, "you have a slave for that now."
His father walked to the car, oozing satisfaction at a job well done, and Burton groaned at how dumb his family was. He walked past his slave and slammed the trunk closed before jerking his head to the side, "Come on, you're sitting in the back with me."
His slave ducked his head slightly before following him to the car. Burton opened the car door and waited, but his slave just stood there, his eyes flicking quickly between the car bench, the floor of the car and the remote to his collar. Burton frowned and waved at the bench as he said, "It's ok, just sit."
His slave's eyes flicked over the remote one last time before ducking his head and awkwardly climbing into the car with his hands still held behind his back with standard-issue cuffs. He sat at the very edge of the seat, as though expecting to be thrown out immediately, and Burton reached in to push him back. His slave flinched at the touch, and Burton found himself noticing how warm and solid he was, how real he was. It was so much different, feeling a slave under his hand instead of just ignoring them across the room.
Slaves were just people.
He buckled his slave in and untangled his hand from the leash as he realized, yet again, that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
He quickly climbed into the other side of the car and looked over, noticing that his slave was sitting stiffly at attention, his back not touching the seat cushion behind him. His father pulled out of the parking spot as his mother dug passive-aggressively through her purse, muttering under her breath, "This is not how we do things…"
"Yeah, well, this is how I do things," Burton said as he crossed his arms and glared at the back of her head.
It was going to be a long ride home.
(To be continued)