TWENTY-FOUR
Oz stared at his boss and the Vetruvian before him. And stared. And stared some more.
Finally, he said, “You want me to what?”
Benedict waved a paw, and Oz tried not to get distracted, thinking about how those thick fingers had been wrapped around him, those claws digging into him just the day before.
“You know,” the felid drawled, “masquerade as a human.”
It took a moment for the words to filter through Oz’s brain. He pursed his lips. “Why?”
Benedict gave him an exasperated look. Mugs grinned and wrapped an arm around Oz’s shoulders. “La Chef owes Vito a human.”
“Right,” Oz drawled, still not quite seeing where this was going.
“And, if you recall correctly, Andrew flew the coop.”
“Yeah …”
“Which meant La Chef lost her bargaining chip. She was trying to convince me to deliver another human—after she so carelessly lost the one my team had brought her—but you know how hard humans are to come by?”
Oz frowned, and Mugs waved a hand. “There aren’t that many of ’em left, and everyone wants one. Bit of a rarity—I could get one, but it would take time.”
“Time we don’t have,” Benedict chipped in.
“Exactly,” Mugs said.
“If you knew La Chef needed a human to buy Vito off, though, why haven’t you been working at getting one this whole time?” Oz asked, still wondering what the hell any of this had to do with him.
“Who’s to say I haven’t?” Mugs asked, batting his eyelashes, and Oz felt his lip curl. “But never mind that—point is we don’t have a human, and you’re outta time to find one anyway.”
“Which is where you come in,” Benedict added.
Oz let his brow crunch. “So you want me to pretend I’m a human, so you can give me to Vito and pay off La Chef’s debt?” He didn’t like where this was going, not at all.
“About the size of it,” Mugs agreed.
Oz waited, but neither of them said anything more. “And then what?” he asked, glancing between the two of them.
Benedict and Mugs looked at each other. Then they turned back to Oz. Benedict held up his paws, saying, “Then you … escape?”
Mugs nodded sagely, like that was the most reasonable thing anyone had ever said.
“Escape,” Oz repeated. “You want me to go to Vito—a notorious crime boss, with stars-knows how many squadrons of goons and lackeys at his disposal—and then … escape.”
Another glance passed between the other two aliens. “Yes,” Benedict said, nodding.
Oz folded his arms. “And neither of you see any potential issues with that plan?”
“Like what?” Benedict had that adorably clueless look on his face again, and Oz almost pitied him. Almost.
“Oh, I don’t know, like … I get killed during an escape attempt? I get stuck there for the rest of my life?”
“Oh,” Benedict said, his eyes wide and his mouth a little round “o,” indicating he hadn’t thought of either of those possibilities.
“Oz,” Mugs wheedled, sidling up to him and putting an arm around his shoulders, “Ozzie, baby.”
“Don’t call me that,” Oz sniped, trying to shrug the other Vetruvian’s hand off him.
“Speaking as one Vetruvian to another,” Mugs went on, as though Oz hadn’t said anything, “you got this. You’re gonna walk in there as one thing, then poof! Disappear. You turn into a different thing and walk—or slide or slither or whatever you need to do to get out, right?”
Oz hummed impatiently. Mugs had a point, but that didn’t mean he liked the plan any more than he had when they first presented it.
Mugs gave him a wide grin. “They’re gonna think you’re a human, Ozzie. They’re not gonna put you in a cell meant to hold a Vetruvian. You’re gonna have plenty of chances to escape, trust me. Vito and his boys … they don’t know what they’re dealing with.”
Oz narrowed his eyes. “If you’re so confident this is gonna work, why don’t you do it yourself?”
Mugs’s grin turned sly. “One, it ain’t my fault La Chef lost the human I got her in the first place.”
“It isn’t my fault either!” Oz protested.
“Two,” Mugs continued, “it ain’t like I like La Chef, right? And three, I may have already pulled this trick on Vito and the boys.”
Anger flared in Oz’s throat. “What?” he snapped. “You already did this to them?”
Mugs waved a hand. “Oh, maybe once or twice.”
“Then what the hell makes you think they won’t suspect it’s happening again?! Even if it’s not you , they might think, hey, this might be one of them Vetruvians, and then they’ll start poking and prodding me and I’ll lose my shape or they’ll lock me up in a Vetruvian-proof cage or?—”
“Relax!” Mugs cried. “You’re overthinking this!”
“You’re underplaying it!” Oz snapped. “I’m not doing it.”
“What?”
“I said, I’m not doing it. You can find some other Vetruvian mook, but it ain’t gonna be me.” He folded his arms and turned away, fuming.
“Well,” Mugs said, turning to Benedict. “You just gonna take that from him?”
“Huh?” Benedict sounded completely lost.
“The refusal to do your bidding!”
“Well, if he doesn’t want to do it, I can’t make him.”
“Sure you can! You own him!”
“Oh!” Benedict sounded startled, like he’d completely forgotten about that.
In fact, Oz had kinda forgotten about it too. His stomach curdled, and he slowly turned to peer over his shoulder.
Benedict did own him, and he could technically make Oz do anything he wanted, upon pain of death. It wasn’t like Vetruvians were highly prized or anything; most people saw them as being completely replaceable.
It had been easy to forget that Benedict could have forced him any time in the last few days. Could have forced him to do anything he wanted, at any point.
And he hadn’t. He’d waited, and he’d asked what Oz wanted. And Oz had thought the felid maybe respected him, saw him as something other than a slave, maybe as … as a person.
He waited now, hoping Benedict wouldn’t do what anyone else in his shoes would do.
Benedict’s expression was pinched, and he tilted his head to the side, like looking at Oz from another angle might make him change his mind. “Don’t you think you could just …”
“No,” Oz said. “Benedict, no .”
More pain bled into the felid’s expression. “Please, Oz. It will get us out of this mess, and?—”
“ No ,” Oz repeated, like putting more force behind the word could make it sink in.
Benedict sighed heavily, and Mugs looked … almost triumphant as the felid’s expression steeled. “It’s the only way,” he said as he straightened up. “I’m sorry, Oz, but I need you to do this, and one way or another, you’re going to go to Vito to pay off this debt.”
Oz wanted to argue, wanted to tell Benedict he couldn’t force him to shapeshift, wanted to shout that he could simply wait until the last minute and betray Benedict by changing back and exposing the lie. Instead, he pressed his lips together and turned away, trying to hold back the brimming devastation of realizing that even Benedict didn’t see him as a person .
How foolish he’d been to even hope that someone could see him as anything other than he was. A slave to be ordered around. A tool to be used as Benedict saw fit. A means to an end.
That was all he’d ever been, wasn’t it? The fact Benedict had asked him if he wanted it, the fact he had waited … it all meant nothing, in the end.
Benedict’s voice was like steel when next he spoke. “Get ready,” he said sternly. “We’re going to meet Vito at the Cellar Hotel tonight.”
Oz almost shuddered at the name. He’d been there before, when he’d been bought and sold. He barely remembered that night, barely remembered the hotel at all, but he knew that was where he’d been.
What a fitting place for another slave exchange , he thought bitterly.
“Oz,” Benedict said, but Oz shook his head and stormed out of the room.
He’d get ready for tonight. He’d get ready for the rest of his miserable life, and he’d start by crushing all his hopes and dreams into dust, so he could never be betrayed again.