Page 47 of Freak Camp (A Monster By Any Other Name #1)
When Tobias didn’t move to obey quickly enough—he wasn’t thinking right, couldn’t get his brain and his body to work together, or maybe it was that his brain had stopped thinking and all his body could remember was to clutch the chair—the Director shoved him forward, hard, over the curved wood and kicked his feet apart.
Tobias gasped, and the Director jerked his head up roughly.
The Director’s voice was calm, clear, as though reciting an instruction manual.
“When I tell you to do something, you will do it promptly and without question. Hesitations will be punished. Mistakes will be punished. Any sign of disrespect or rebellion will be punished, because a monster without obedience is a plague-carrying vermin, consuming resources it does not deserve and existing only as a threat to humankind. Do you understand, or will you require more explicit instruction?”
“I und-d-derstand, s-sir.”
The Director used his grip on Tobias’s hair to shove him forward, then let him go. “Good. You will not move your legs, you will not let go of the chair, and please keep your noise to a minimum.”
Tobias swallowed, gritted his teeth together, and closed his eyes as both of the Director’s hands settled on his waist. This time, there was nothing casual or gradual about the touch.
The Director’s hands moved over his body like he was inspecting a beast in an auction.
He squeezed Tobias’s arms, ran a hand up his chest, and then jerked his shirt up.
Tobias flinched, but managed to stop himself from making a noise as he felt the cool office air against his bare back, and the even cooler caress of the Director’s fingertips.
“Fascinating scar pattern,” he said, half to himself.
“On any other monster, I’d say you were a piece of shit that ought to be burned.
But of course, most monsters don’t survive for ten and a half years in our facility.
You’re quite an anomaly, 89UI. With the exception of certain individuals in Intensive Containment, you are our longest surviving monster. I find that fascinating.”
When the Director hooked his thumbs in Tobias’s pants and pulled them as far down as they would go with his legs spread apart, Tobias couldn’t keep back a choked cry, which he repeated when the Director began touching him below the waist, even though he handled Tobias’s hips and ass with the same dispassionate thoroughness with which he had examined Tobias’s shoulders and back.
The Director paused behind Tobias, his hand on Tobias’s inner thigh. His fingers clenched hard, like they had earlier on his hip, and Tobias sobbed again. “89UI, do you honestly expect me to be aroused by touching you?”
Tobias tried to remember how to breathe. It was hard to force air into his lungs when a hand was right there , when there was a real human behind him. The Director didn’t fuck monsters.
But maybe the Director just didn’t let it get out.
Few men were like Crusher, willing to pull their dicks out during a filmed interrogation, with the freaks in the shower, or in the barracks with the lights on.
Maybe the Director fucked things, but when he did, they were never seen again.
The Director of the ASC would have ways to clean up the mess so that no one asked questions.
The Director’s hand closed like a vise and dragged his unexpectedly sharp nails upward, cutting into Tobias’s skin. He stifled another sound, barely remembering in time to keep his legs spread, his hands on the chair. His fingers were so tightly clenched that he couldn’t feel them anymore.
But the Director’s voice was calm, smooth, with a hint of warning. “When I ask you a question, you will answer. Do I need to repeat myself?”
Tobias shook his head. “No, sir. No, sir.” He could feel wetness dripping down his leg, but he couldn’t tell if the Director had drawn blood or if it was just sweat.
The hand didn’t loosen. “Are you responding to my directive about not making me repeat myself, or are you answering my original question? I expect you to be specific and clear in your responses, 89UI.”
“I d-d-don’t . . . I d-don’t expect anything, sir. I don’t know . . . I can’t . . . I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Tobias shook and dropped his head, trying to control himself, trying not to beg, because he didn’t know what he would be begging for.
The hand withdrew. The Director stepped back.
“You may remove your hands from the chair.” He walked back to his desk.
Tobias released the wood slowly, his fingers aching.
The Director withdrew a tissue from a box on his desk and fastidiously cleaned his hand.
Tobias didn’t look at him directly, but he thought he caught a hint of red.
“Put your clothing back on,” the Director said.
“I have no sexual interest in monsters. But I do have a deep, practical interest in making them useful for humans, instead of the scourge they naturally are. To that end, you will report to me every Wednesday at 6:30 p.m. so that you may be trained, educated, and conditioned into the kind of monster that deserves the food and air you consume. Mr. Todd will bring you next week so you know where to go, but I expect you to arrive promptly and on your own after that. Is that understood, 89UI?”
Tobias pulled his pants up and tugged his shirt down. “Y-y-yes, sir.”
The Director came back, and he was smiling. A real smile that reached his eyes. “Good.” He unlocked the padlock holding Tobias to the table and unwound the leash. “You may go now.”
Tobias left with his head down, walking past Victor and Karl without pausing to look at them. He kept his eyes on the ground all the way to the barracks. He couldn’t stop shaking, even when he was in the safety of the night air.
***
A s he jerked the wheel through the last few turns on the winding road to Freak Camp, Jake had to acknowledge that he was acting more like a drug addict minutes from his next hit than an upstanding member of the hunting community.
But according to Roger (as well as Leon, though Jake didn’t think of that anymore), “upstanding member of the hunting community” meant Dixons and Dixon kiss-asses.
At any rate, Jake’s paperwork looked as good as two crafty bastards and a desperate twenty-year-old could make it.
Turned out that Roger could stretch the truth better than even Dad had.
He pulled into the FREACS parking lot, slammed the Eldorado’s door shut harder than he usually would, and pushed through the entrance.
Sometimes he felt he was losing control, and other times he knew he was losing control, but right now he badly needed a reminder of why he was doing this: cutting open his life to display it to the ASC, leaving behind the rock he’d built his life on.
If he could get Toby to look him in the eye for a few seconds, if he could break the barriers between them—they seemed both more impenetrable and more brittle every time he came—the shitstorm that had become his life would fall into perspective.
If he could get Toby to give him even a half smile, Jake could find solid ground under his feet again.
Yeah, seeing Toby would be some kind of hit.
His anticipation slammed headfirst into a wall at the reception desk.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hawthorne— Jake, ” Madison said, smiling at him through her lashes. “But with your withdrawal permit pending, I can’t allow you access to the facility.”
Jake blinked at her. “What?” He felt dazed and stupid, head ringing like he’d just gotten slammed by a poltergeist.
“Your monster withdrawal permit? For” —she glanced down at the computer— “permanent removal of 89UI6703 from the facility. Until that is either approved or denied, I cannot allow you access.”
They hadn’t mentioned that at Headquarters. They had just taken his information and told him they would be in contact. Leah Dixon had handled the process, and she hadn’t said one damn thing about Jake not being allowed back in fucking Freak Camp.
Jake groped for a response. “Any idea why?”
She shrugged. “It’s a security measure. The separation helps the review committee determine if the hunter’s desire to remove the monster has been influenced by any supernatural ability, like those possessed by sirens and psychics.
It’s just safer if the hunter does not have access to any monster for the period of review. We’re all susceptible.”
He hadn’t told Toby that he was doing this now.
He had wanted it to be a surprise, or maybe he just wanted to be sure it would actually work before he got Toby’s hopes up.
The idea of disappointing Toby hurt too much to risk.
And now that indecision had made it so that Toby wouldn’t know that Jake was coming for him, wouldn’t know why he had vanished.
“Do you know how long this usually takes?”
“For a permanent removal? I honestly have no idea, but my best guess is six to twelve months.” She interpreted Jake’s strangled noise as criticism and bristled.
“We take containment very seriously. The background check alone can take months. Any hunter requesting to remove a monster has to be considered absolutely unimpeachable, with a record of successful hunts and no hint of mental instability or supernatural contamination. As a hunter, I’m sure you understand how hard it is to get an accurate profile.
Plus, the monster’s history and psychological profile must be examined to make sure that when released, the hunter will be able to keep it under control.
The committee has to determine if any additional measures—such as fang removal for a vampire or a bone harness for a shapeshifter—are needed to ensure the safety of both the hunter and the civilian population if a once-contained monster escapes its handler’s control.
The process is involved and can’t be rushed. ”