Chapter 7:

The first thing Kurt was aware of when he blinked his eyes back into consciousness the following morning was a deep, painful ache inside him and he winced as he stretched his weary leg muscles. The second thing he was aware of was the fact he was completely alone. Blaine was nowhere to be seen and the side of the bed he had previously occupied was cold. Kurt couldn't decide if he was relieved that they would avoid having to confront the so very obvious change in Blaine and his relationship after the night before, or hurt at the rejection that Blaine's absence signalled.

He wasn't stupid; he understood his role and position in the house and somewhere in the logical part of his brain, Kurt recognised that sex was just an inevitable conclusion of his Subordinate job specification. But despite this, Kurt couldn't help his inexperienced heart from yearning for the man who had taken his virginity; the man who had whispered apologies into his neck when he'd been too rough and who'd kissed soothing words into his skin.

Rolling over to look at the clock above the mantle, the cupids this time winking at him in understanding, Kurt registered that he had only half an hour before he was supposed to breakfast with Lord Anderson and hauled himself out of bed. He sucked in a quick breath as his sore ass burned with the movement, before grabbing his discarded clothes from the evening before and heading back to his own bedroom.

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Kurt's heart sank as he pushed into the dining room and was greeted by the sight of Seth rather than Blaine sitting at the head of the table. A flash of irritation surged through him at the man occupying Lord Anderson's position and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Attempting to pull himself up to his full height, the effect diminished slightly by his pained flinch, Kurt walked forward, inwardly seething at Seth's knowing, sardonic smirk. He slid himself gingerly into the seat alongside the Advisor and feigned nonchalance as he reached for a croissant from the selection laid out on the table. Seth watched him coolly, not speaking.

"Is Blaine working this morning?"

Seth's smile grew slightly wider, reminding Kurt of the Cheshire Cat in his Alice in Wonderland children's book, his eyes becoming darker at Kurt's words. The younger man mentally kicked himself for using Blaine's first name and showing his weakness. He watched as Seth slowly reached for his coffee, taking a measured sip before replacing it with a sharp clink. He let his eyes drift lazily across Kurt's face before he spoke,

"You know Kurt, Lord Anderson" he stressed the name, punctuating it with a sneer. "is your employer, not your boyfriend." He laughed mockingly, "His whereabouts are not your concern Kurt. You are only to do as he instructs, not ask questions."

Kurt's face flushed, embarrassed and irritated by his own transparency and how pathetic it made him look in the other man's eyes. He swallowed the now tasteless croissant and gulped down some orange juice in an attempt to avoid the penetrative gaze of the Advisor.

"I see he used you properly last night." Seth laughed, puncturing the stale air and twisting his mouth in ill-concealed disgust. "It's expected that a Lord break in new Subordinates quickly and I'm pleased to see Lord Anderson took full advantage of your position." His eyebrow quirked at the suggestiveness of his last words and he seemed amused by his own joke. Kurt squirmed in his seat, trying not to wince but finding it impossible and making Seth laugh cruelly again. "Oh and I see he really did break you in didn't he? Tell me Kurt, did you enjoy it? Did you whine and beg for more?" he sat back in his chair, running his contemptuous eyes over Kurt with utter disdain for the pale boy, physically withering in front of him. He clicked his tongue slightly, fully emphasising his next words and relishing their effect. "Do you like being his paid whore Kurt?"

Tears stung Kurt's eyes at the disgust and shame that surged through him as the other man's words assaulted his ears. He knew it wasn't like that. He'd been there with Blaine and it hadn't been the debased, vulgar thing that Seth was trying to portray it as and yet the small part of Kurt, the part that niggled constantly in the back of his insecurities was screaming at him that he was an idiot. That he was exactly what Seth was saying he was.

Watching Kurt retreat into himself, Seth felt the smug satisfaction settle back over his body, calming the unease that had been wrestling there ever since he'd seen Blaine scurry, furtively from his bedchamber early that morning. The flustered appearance of his little protégée had made Seth's skin crawl in disgust; after four years of careful tutelage he thought he'd created a beast of his own reflection but seeing the unravelled boy that had emerged after only one night with this nymph in front of him had cemented Seth's need for intervention.

But Blaine Anderson could wait. Kurt was proving far easier to break.

Standing up and stretching deliberately, Seth wandered to the window, still cradling his coffee and casually admiring the frost covered grounds of the manor.

"Do you know how long I've been with this family Kurt?" His change in conversation startled the other boy from his pit of self-loathing, drawing his eyes up to stare at the broad shoulders of the black suit, silhouetted against the untouched snow of the gardens. Seth carried on despite the silence; he knew he had his attention.

"I remember when Lord Anderson was, hmm ...he must have been about seven years old." He flicked his eyes upwards as if trying to recall the memory. "He came striding over to me one morning and declared that his governess needed to be fired. He was all serious faced and clenched little fists." He chuckled and Kurt's skin crawled again. "So I asked him why he wanted to get rid of his governess and he said very clearly and without hesitation because she had answered him back. You see it transpired that Blaine had been asked to produce a piece of writing on the topic, ‘My Ambition' and had simply written a one worded response of ‘Power' in his assessment. She had admonished him for his insolence, entirely missing the delicious irony that was about to befall her." He turned round then and smiled with raised eyebrows at Kurt who was sitting pale faced and immobile.

"What happened to her?" Kurt whispered, not wanting to speak but appalled by the twisted childhood memory.

"Blaine's father thought it a valuable lesson in power to have the younger Lord fire her himself." He smiled proudly and Kurt stomach turned. "Blaine conducted himself marvellously for one so young; face impassive and disdainful as he dismissed the sobbing woman before him."  

Kurt felt an ache in his chest for the damaged little boy forced to grow up too fast in this household utterly devoid of love or kindness. He saw a flash of the clear hazel eyes that had rested on the pillow, inches from his face the night before and the arms that had cocooned him, stroking his back softly in the half-light. Neither version of Blaine seemed entirely real to him now. He was dragged back into the room by Seth's voice, threatening and cold. 

"You see Kurt. Blaine Anderson is used to power. It is all he has ever known and he will ruthlessly ensure he maintains it. Whatever you think happened last night, however you want to see it, it was just another exercise in power for him. You're a business contract Kurt. Nothing more. You are nothing to him. Understand that. You are nothing."

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The icy wind bit into his skin and whipped up fresh tears as Kurt wondered aimlessly around the little rose garden situated at the back of the West wing. He'd stumbled out of the dining room moments after Seth had swept out, leaving Kurt's crumpled and worthless body disintegrating on the floor, gasping for the need for air in his lungs and for a way out. Bitterness descended over his heart as he realised he'd sought freedom, something he would never have again, in this tiny, manicured space within his walled prison.

Frost coated the delicate petals, preserving them in its frozen embrace and his boots crunched heavily in the freshly fallen snow as he weaved in and out of the thorny bushes and soft folds. Brushing the light dusting of snow off the bench that was situated deep within the centre of the garden, Kurt gingerly sat down, hissing with relief at the numbing cold that seeped into his leather trousers.  He shivered uncontrollably; the degrading ‘uniform' he was required to wear served little protection from the wintery elements and Kurt had been forced to grab a fur blanket from the foot of his bed to wrap ineffectually around his exposed arms and torso. He hugged it tighter now, feeling the cold invading his skin and freezing the blood in his veins, suffocating the airways. He closed his eyes, savouring the delicious numbness. Removing all feeling, all shame.

"Kurt can I come in for a moment?"

His father's voice was hesitant, a timid knock accompanying the gentle tone, and Kurt was immediately nervous. His father had always been so gruff and together and to hear the hitch in his voice, seemed to only indicate bad news to Kurt. Memories from years before when a similar hesitant knock had jolted him awake and transformed their lives forever, surged into his head and he swallowed heavily.

The familiar bald head appeared around the doorframe and a tight smile was offered before Burt Hummel finally steeled himself and entered his son's bedroom. Kurt was sitting cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by papers and text books and he pushed some of them aside and indicated that his father could join him. Burt perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed his head bowed and staring at his fingers, restless in his lap.

"What's up dad?" Kurt's voice came out a little strangled, more breathy than normal betraying his nerves and Burt Hummel looked up sharply, his grey eyes meeting Kurt's in what he hopped was a reassuring look. He coughed uncomfortably and forced himself to continue.

"Kurt. Well. I've...um....you're getting older now and, well I guess I need to umm... your mother always said she'd do this but .... she's not here and so well,  ... I think it's time we had a chat about" he cleared his throat again. "well, about sex."

Kurt flushed crimson at his father's words, instantly hugging his legs a little tighter to his chest and spluttering out a stream of protests as to how unnecessary it was, how he'd already read the pamphlets his father had picked out the year before, outlining the ‘science' of gay sex; he tried desperately to look anywhere except at the older man in front of him.

"Kurt the world's not the place you believe it to be." His father interjected a little more fiercely than he'd intended, running his hand over his face and suddenly looking very weary and tired of everything. "I know you want to bury your head in the snow and just live in this little bubble we've created but you can't Kurt. I'm.....Well I'm not going to be here forever bud."

Kurt looked away, embarrassed and nervous at the sudden serious turn in the conversation and felt a coldness settle over his heart at his father's words. He knew that the world outside of their little sphere was cruel and harsh. He knew that from the desperate pleas of the homeless people he passed on the way to the grocery store and he knew it from the hard, bitter faces of the women that populated the darkened street corners when they drove by late at night. He knew it from the peeling paint and violent graffiti that seeped over the cracks of the town and he knew it from the broken faces of the workers as they trudged to the factories. He knew that power had corrupted the cities and that he lived in a world where a privilege few lorded over the masses.

But Burt had always allowed him to block it all out. Had helped to create a sanctuary between their home and the garage and they'd built pretty strong defences against the outside world. Why was he now trying to knock them all down and why did any of it have to do with a discussion on sex?

Burt watched the fear descend over his son and reached for his hands. He squeezed them tightly and softened his voice slightly. This wasn't going to be easy but he needed his son to be prepared. "Look buddy, this isn't THAT sort of a chat ok. Like you said, we did that a while ago and I know you are...um...informed on the specifics of all that." He waved his hand around dismissively and forced himself onwards. "But I need you to know how the world operates. How the Lord's operate."

Kurt looked up intrigued at the mention of the Lords. They weren't a subject often broached in the Hummel household and he watched his father flinch as he said the word through clenched teeth. "What have the Lords got to do with me dad? With our lives? With sex?" he said levelly, fixing his eyes on his father.

Burt shifted again a little uncomfortably. "Kurt, you're special. Of course I'm going to say that, I'm your father, but Kurt you need to listen to this. You're pretty unique" he laughed a little with soft pride, "in every way, and well, people are going to want to take advantage of that. In this world, beauty is worshipped, a commodity, a prize to be obtained or bought and you're going to be coveted Kurt. People will want you." He shifted again awkwardly at the words and Kurt flushed a little darker.

"But dad, I'm not going to be mixing with those people. I live here, with you and the garage and if I'm lucky I'll maybe meet some average guy in town one night who'll work in the factories and....."

"...... no Kurt. You don't understand. Once you're out there. In the real world, as an adult. You won't be protected." His father interrupted aggressively, his voice rising slightly. Kurt flinched, shocked at the outburst.

"I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say here Kurt" he continued a little more gently. "When you're out there. When you're facing all those dark figures that lurk and prey, you need to be strong Kurt. In this world, people will take advantage and they'll offer you everything tempting to bite that fruit. Once they see you Kurt, they'll use every trick in their power to ensnare you and you need to resist them. You need to know you matter more than what they're offering. Every time they make you do something, you'll be losing a little piece of yourself. Always remember that Kurt." He shook his head sadly, squeezing his son's hands again. "I don't want you to be scared of the world" he paused "but I also don't want you thinking that everyone is like you. Not everyone is as good or as pure of heart as you bud"

Tears had begun to sting Kurt's eyes at his father's words, fear of being left alone someday, fear of not being able to trust people around him and somewhere deep down a fear that he wasn't going to be able to be as strong as his father thought he was. He looked up again as his father pulled him into a tight hug.

"Power and wealth is a sickness and it sucks people under Kurt. Don't let them make you nothing. Don't let them take you with them."

A tear trickled from the corner of Kurt's lashes, sliding silently down his porcelain cheek and dripping off his chin into the white snow below. His father's face swam before his closed lids and he shivered once again. Reaching out his fingers he stretched towards the nearest flower, a deep violet rose with heavy set thorns adorning the stem. His father would be so disgusted with him. He'd barely lasted twenty-four hours before he had succumbed to all that he'd been warned of. He'd not let them drag him down; he'd jumped, a full body leap into the yawning chasm of power and lies and lust and sex.

Sliding his hand along the brutal stem, Kurt sliced a deep scratch into his palm, watching the blood pool, dark and ominous against the white flesh. It looked black against his skin, against the virgin snow at his feet, where it splashed like tears.

Kurt Hummel watched the black ink inside him seep to the surface and allowed the numbness to shroud his pain. Inside the beast waited.

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Blaine slammed the safe door, listening with grim satisfaction as the heavy metal lock clanged back into place and the alarm beeped on again. His jaw was clenched tight and the muscles in his neck were taught and painful as he took the papers he'd removed and slumped back into the leather chair behind the mahogany desk. Placing the documents on the table, he pushed his hand through his unruly curls which he'd forgotten to gel down his morning, such was his hurry to leave Kurt, and sighed. The pale eyes swum into his head again and he closed himself to them, clenching his fists in frustration. The sounds of Kurt breathing his name in panted whispers, clamoured at his ears and he felt the telltale twitch of feeling stirring his stomach again. Pressing his palms more forcefully into his eye sockets, he tried to block out everything he'd done and said the night before.

Blaine Anderson had never lost control.

And yet he had. He'd lost control when he'd heard the darkly wanton words of need spilling from Kurt's lips; he'd lost control when he'd forced his way into that tight heat and felt the delicious clench of the other boy around him, clutching at him despite the torturous pain he'd so obviously caused.  He'd lost control when he'd whispered murmurs of apologises into the fragile back of the boy quivering beneath him, his own heart aching with something unfamiliar and unwelcome.

But mostly he'd lost control when he had asked Kurt to stay with him. 

Blaine groaned in irritation at his own weakness. He was a Lord. He had a Subordinate and as such was supposed to exhibit absolute power and pursue only his own needs and desires. Blaine had felt nothing; for years he'd felt utterly numb when faced with pleas of workers and sobbing employees. No decision had been difficult, regardless of the morality, because each one benefited him and until last night Blaine had never asked for something from another in his life.

For the last eighteen years, Lord Anderson had been entirely numb and had drowned in the delicious nothingness.

But something was awakening inside him and Blaine didn't know what to do about it or how to close it off again. Once again he felt his eyes drift shut and the beautiful image of Kurt, head resting peacefully against the silk pillow of his bed, arms curled around him, flashed behind his closed lids. He'd woken to the soft downy tickle of Kurt's hair brushing against his shoulder, the other boy holding tightly to Blaine's body as he slept on gently, his naked skin pressed warmly against his side. For a fleeting moment something painful had constricted Blaine's chest as the young boy had nuzzled further into his neck, before the cold horror of what he'd allowed to happen sunk in. He'd been gasping for air when he'd finally clicked the door shut behind him, leaving Kurt curled around a pillow instead of his own burning body.

Growling and shaking his head forcefully, Blaine returned his attention back to the files resting on the desk. His father had been dead several months now but Blaine had yet to get round to sorting out his paperwork, too much of his day spent having to deal with minor problems in his inherited workforce instead. Seth had waved his hand dismissively whenever the young Lord had brought up the subject of reading through all of his father's personal files, always seeming to find some more pressing matter for Blaine to have to contend with immediately and leaving the aforementioned task forgotten.  For some reason that morning, Blaine had felt drawn to the safe tucked behind the eighteenth century painting in the study and he'd resolutely settled himself to a morning of legalities and financial documents.

Richard Anderson had been an enigma to his son, rarely present and unconcerned with the expected role of a father. His mother was equally as absent, preferring to spend her time with the other wives of the Lords or at the various functions she was obliged to attend and Blaine had spent all of his young life with a string of governesses and nanny's and maids.

At fourteen, when his mother had tragically fallen to her death down the marbled staircase and Blaine had discovered her crumpled body, head split open and spilling crimson paint across the floor, the situation changed again. The young Lord's later development had become the property of Seth. Governesses were no longer required and the final stages of Blaine's transformation had been scrupulously monitored by his father's advisor.  Seth, while completely devoid of sympathy or affection had been the closest thing Blaine had come to a father figure his whole life and as such, the young Lord felt a strange loyalty to the man, despite being increasingly suspicious of his character in the last few months.

Drifting back to Kurt involuntarily, Blaine felt a buzz in the back of his brain, the beginnings of a headache thudding monotonously through his thoughts. He wondered briefly if his father had had a Subordinate. He assumed he must have had, since all of the Lords did, regardless of their marital status, but he'd never recalled any additional female present in the house, his father always being fiercely private and discreet. Until now, he'd thought little of the private affairs of his parents, both being such absently hollow figures in his own life, but suddenly Blaine was intrigued about their situation. How had it worked? Where had the Subordinate been kept in the wandering corridors of the vast house?

Lifting the telephone, Blaine rang for Quinn, asking for the pretty young maid to deliver a continuous stream of coffee throughout the morning; he was going to need it if the thickness of the manila folder before him was anything to go by.    

Opening the first page of the heavy document, Blaine settled back against the leather and began to read.

It was time to discover who his father really was.

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Two hours into rifling through the deluge of paper his father had left behind had given Blaine little more knowledge of the Lord other than the fact that he was extremely disorganised with his financial records. This disorganisation, Blaine suspected was a little more enlightening about the man than it would appear, as most of the chaos seemed deliberate; a way to cover up what Blaine could see was actually a rather complicated history of embezzlement and criminality. He casually brushed aside another document pertaining to the laundering of a rather considerable sum of money from another of the Lord's companies and fell back against the chair, irritated. He'd thought maybe these files might hold the key to his father and what he'd been like as a man but Blaine had learnt nothing more than he already knew; Richard Anderson was a corrupt and unscrupulous liar of a business man.

Reaching for another sip of coffee, Blaine felt the precariously balanced papers on his lap dislodge, and the contents scattered across the floor. He slammed his cup down in annoyance and got down on his hands and knees to reorganise them before pausing as something caught his eye. A pocket of the manila folder had sprung open, revealing another compartment of the file and holding several new sheets of paper. The word ‘contract' leapt out from the corner of one piece and Blaine settled himself down, resting his back against the desk to read over them.

***

When Quinn entered half an hour later, she found the young Lord agitated and pale and was shocked at the change in his normally so composed exterior. As far as she could see he'd been sat on the floor of the study, behind the desk and had scrambled up nervously when she'd knocked and come in, sending papers flying in several directions with his sudden movement. He stared at her open mouthed, a look of disgust and horror descending over his features before he spoke to her in a grim and dark voice.

"Close the door Quinn, and come and sit down."

She started a little at the use of her name and his acknowledgement of her, so unused to direct address, and hesitated before sinking gingerly into the seat, back upright and ram-rod straight. She stared at her hands as she felt the air in the room drop considerably and close around her. She could feel his eyes boring into her and picked uncomfortably at a piece of dry, cracked skin beside her fingernail, waiting for him to speak.

"How long ago did you come to work here, Quinn?" He said levelly, his jaw clenched tight. She didn't look up but answered in a barely-there whisper.

"Two years, Lord Anderson."

He couldn't help the twist of disgust that distorted his features as the realisation of what he'd learnt fully sank in. He ran his eyes over the pale blond pony-tail, bobbing a little as she trembled with her head down, and watched her fragile and very young shoulders hunch over as if in silent self-preservation. His voice was cold when he spoke next and he watched as a tear dripped onto her knuckle.

"And how old were you when you became my father's sex toy, Quinn?"

The words were unreasonably harsh and he knew it, chosen carefully to elicit just the broken reaction he got out of the girl sat opposite him. Her whole body visibly shrank in on itself in shame and humiliation, and she sobbed out a strangled cry. Something twitched again inside him uncomfortably at her gasped anguish, but he surged on, ignoring it.

"It's all in here," he continued. "Every sordid little part of your contract as his Subordinate. You must have been what - fifteen? Sixteen?" he laughed incredulously. "I didn't realise my father had such specific tastes."

She was sobbing uncontrollably now, her face blotched and etched with the pain of relived memories but still she said nothing, knowing her position. His face changed slightly as he began to piece things together gradually, dawn lighting on his cold eyes.

"He bought you, didn't he? From your father? You were sold by your own father to become a symbol of power. Tell me Quinn, how did my mother feel about this? Did she help conceal you?" he watched her flinch at the mention of his mother, but pushed it aside. "I must say, taking you on as a ‘maid' was a stroke of genius. I never suspected my father was hiding his whore in our own servant quarters."

He didn't understand the emotions that were struggling through him; couldn't make sense of the throbbing in his head and the ache in his stomach at the thought of his father with this woman ... this girl. The haunting image of his mother, bent at a grotesque angle, neck unnaturally turned towards him and eyes blankly staring, shot into his brain like electricity. A steely tone crept into his voice, one of bitterness mixed with the sour taste in his mouth which he couldn't explain and he had to force the numbness back over him.  Without waiting for a response he stood up, looming over the tiny creature curled up in the chair.

"I want you gone. Now!"

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Kurt was just entering, shivering from the garden when a blur of blond hair crashed past him, sobbing uncontrollably and stumbling towards the servants wing of the house. Instinctively he reached out his hands to grab her before she fell and held her firmly in front of him, forcing her to look at him,

"Whoa, Quinn what's wrong? Hey ... steady ... hey ... come here. Look at me." One look at her broken and utterly destroyed face had him pulling her roughly and protectively in to his strong arms, her mild struggles useless until she collapsed against his chest. Her body shuddered with the force of her heart-breaking cries as she slumped into his weight. While Kurt hadn't been in the household long, he knew that the pair of them stood in the hallway was leaving them open and vulnerable to prying eyes, and he attempted to manoeuvre the now utterly pliant girl into his room.

Positioning her gently on the bed, Kurt watched as she curled up on her side in the foetal position and continued to shiver, letting out every last shred of pain. He took hold of the blanket he'd had slung around his shoulders and placed it softly over her, lying alongside her body but not touching. He knew he didn't know her very well but in this house he also knew she was the closest thing he'd come to a friend or confidant and her clear anguish was tugging painfully at Kurt's already fragile heart. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers resting on the bed sheet and waited.

White flurries of snow had begun to fall outside the large windows when Quinn finally stopped crying, her body exhausted and limp. He stroked her hair softly back from her face and watched her dead eyes raise to meet his own.

"Quinn sweetheart, please tell me what's wrong. I know I don't know you very well but please ... I ... I want to help."

He was surprised at the bitter laugh that echoed harshly out of her mouth, "I think we know each other better than you'd think." She said hollowly.

Kurt's brow furrowed with confusion but he just squeezed her fingers tighter. "What happened?"

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly, she swallowed before fixing her watery gaze on his. "I have to leave, Kurt. Lord Anderson fired me."

"But, why?" Kurt interjected, surprised at the revelation; despite knowing Blaine's ruthlessness, he couldn't think of anything that the young girl could have done wrong. She'd seemed almost happy to be working for Blaine when he'd last spoken to her. She pressed a shaking finger to his lips, holding it there as she watched him with empty eyes.

"Shhh. Kurt. Just listen. There are things you don't know about me. Things about what I was when I came here. About Richard Anderson. Blaine found out something about me and he wants me gone." At the whispered words, she started to shake again and Kurt wrapped himself more tightly around her, pulling her against him protectively. She continued, speaking into the crook of his neck.   

"I was a Sub, Kurt. When I came here, I was Richard Anderson's Sub." A small gasp escaped his lips before he had time to check himself but she seemed to ignore it. "I was only fifteen at the time; well about two months before my sixteenth birthday actually ... and ... he bought me. I came to live here under the pretext of being a new maid because he said he didn't want his son knowing about me." She looked on the verge of tears again and Kurt murmured something unintelligible but soothing into her ear, encouraging her to continue.

"She knew about me. Hated me and went out of her way to make my life hell but she couldn't do anything about it. None of the wives can. This isn't their world as much as it isn't ours. I was hidden away most of the time and then just wheeled out in the evenings to accompany him. I only ever saw Blaine in my capacity as maid. He rarely saw his parents anyway and they were completely indifferent towards him so paths never crossed. I wasn't even sure he knew what Subordinates were until his father died and Seth started to make noises on the subject." 

"What was he like to you?" Kurt asked in a whisper, not wanting to disturb her further but needing desperately to know the answer for some reason; parallels to his own life now starting to forge painfully close to the bone. "Richard Anderson." He said to her confused expression. "What was he like?"

The memories seemed to stir something dark inside her and she pushed Kurt away from her roughly, standing up and storming over to the window, turning away from him.

"What was he like to me? What was he like? Shit, Kurt ...how can you - you of all people ask me something like that? You know what they're like for god's sake. You've fucking seen it." He flinched painfully at the words as if he'd been punched, moving to stand up behind her as she reeled round on him again.

"What do you want to know, Kurt? Huh? What? That he took me out with him that first night in nothing but PVC boots. That he made me wear a chain around my neck as he paraded me around Lord Rutherford's ballroom while everyone was allowed to touch and paw at me! Is that what you want? Or do you want to hear how he fucked me that first night on all fours and how my screams of pain only made him do it harder! Was that what you wanted?" The effort of her harrowing outburst sent her desperately to her knees, body finally giving up the fight and surrendering to the howl of despair that she screamed out. Kurt stood, distraught and utterly immobile as he listened to the stream of anger and pain and hate pour out of her.

Without thinking he sank to the floor, positioning himself behind her and pulling her tightly back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her protectively and rocking her gently, whispering over and over "I'm sorry, I'm sorry ... shhh honey, I'm sorry ... shhh."

His heart ached. A tight pain constricted against his ribcage and he wanted to escape. To fight away from this disgusting world of rape and pain and humiliation and just smash his way out. His blood boiled as rage began to bubble under the surface, blotting out the sounds of Quinn's steadying sobs again. How could Blaine fire her? He knew that he had traits of his father but so far Kurt thought he'd seen some meagre shred of goodness in the man. If not goodness, then certainly a tiny sliver of morality. He'd certainly not raped Kurt. He hadn't allowed others to touch and abuse him when they were at the Buckley's house and had even protected him to some extent, in his own twisted way; so how could he fire her for something she had no control over.

He'd done the same thing as his father when he'd bought Kurt.

Something puzzled the young man though as he turned the girl to face him again. He pushed her hair back off her face which had become dislodged from the pony-tail, cupping her tear-stained cheeks between his hands. "But Quinn, you can escape this." He said gently. "You've been let free from this place. What he's done ... it's ... Quinn, you're free."

He thought the words would bring hope into her sad eyes but instead the same dull sheen settled over them and his stomach filled with dread.

"I'm not free Kurt." She said bitterly. "Where would I go? At least here I had a roof. I had a job that finally I wasn't ashamed of. Since he died, things had gotten better. Where do I go now?"

"You could get a job out there. You've got skills now. You could work for someone else." Even as he said it Kurt knew he was speaking lies. Their world was one of corruption and power and there would be no work for the shunned ex-Subordinate of a dead Lord.

She laughed coldly and Kurt's stomach clenched again, his own eyes stinging with tears at the realisation of his own life, his own tragedy playing out to the beat of the same tune. 

"My father sold me, Kurt. He sold me to him. To this. The only work I'll get is selling myself in the brothels and on the corners of this dead city. I've been ruined, Kurt. They've taken all of me. You can't ever be free of that."

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Blaine had his head in his hands when the door flew open and crashed into the wall, shaking the pictures that hung there. Kurt stood, furious, face bright red and eyes seething with uncontained anger on the threshold. Before he had time to react, the Subordinate had marched up to the table and banged both fists heavily down on the mahogany, leaning over and glaring at Blaine, who for the first time seemed to have been rendered entirely speechless. Kurt took the advantage.

"You are such a fucking hypocrite, Blaine Anderson!" he screamed in the other man's face. "You sacked her. You just got rid of her for no goddamn reason! Your father buys a fucking child and rapes her at his will and you fucking sack her for it! What the hell is wrong with you?" Kurt stood there panting after his explosion, hands now clenched at his sides and chest rising and falling heavily as he finally allowed himself to look the other man properly in the eye.

He hadn't been thinking when he'd marched down to the office, not about consequences; his mind could only focus on the crumpled figure curled child-like on his bedroom carpet and it was enough to send the red fire surging through him. He hadn't really considered the danger it would put him in, hadn't fully registered the idiocy of what he was about to do until he stood there now, the anger still simmering under the surface but face to face with his Master.

Lord Anderson's initial reaction had been shock at seeing the typically placid and meek Kurt so violently enraged, but this was quickly replaced with his own seething temper. How dare he? How dare his Subordinate speak to him, challenge him in the way he had. Seth had been right when he'd spoken to him earlier about being too soft on the other man. Last night had been a mistake, a moment of weakness shown, but which could just as rapidly be extinguished again with renewed control. New rules. While the rage throbbed in his veins, Blaine Anderson was able to temper it, swallow it down under his domination. Never show anger, always remain calm and numb. He fixed his face in to its usual narrow-eyed stare.

"Sit down." He said, teeth gritted and voice darkly threatening.

Defiance flashed across Kurt's face before he surrendered, sinking into the chair opposite but still with fight blazing behind his eyes. He remained quiet, his opinion already hanging so ominously in the air.

"You will never, never, speak to me in that way again." He began, running his eyes over Kurt and feeling something tighten in his gut at the cruel words he was about to say. "You are voiceless. Do you hear me? You are nothing, Kurt Hummel. Nobody. What I do with my employees is entirely my business. I will not justify or explain my actions to anyone. Anyone!" he repeated, the force of his words making Kurt flinch.

The other boy was now trembling slightly. His rage had all but disappeared and once again he was entirely powerless under the control of the Lord. Fear prickled his skin as he thought of what punishments he had now encouraged with his momentary madness and he thought back to the hideous treatment Quinn had faced at the hands of the senior Anderson with mounting horror. Blaine could do anything with him now.  

Blaine was watching him closely, his eyebrows drawn tight at the buzzing that was stinging the back of his head. His lungs felt tight in his chest and his eyes were burning, but he couldn't explain it. Something about the entirely limp and dejected body of Kurt was having a physical effect on him and it twisted somewhere deep inside. A flash of the body wrapped around him the previous evening made his jaw clench again. No. No weakness, no kindness. Kurt had asked for this. He'd done it. It was his fault.

"Quinn will leave immediately as I instructed. You will not speak to her before she leaves." Kurt's heart sank a little further as Blaine turned his attention back to him. "You will go upstairs and get ready for tonight's private function at the Rutherford's. Your clothes will be sent up and you will be called when you're needed." He turned away then, dismissing Kurt without a second glance and shuffling through some papers stacked on the desk. Kurt noticed Quinn's name inked into the top sheet and swallowed painfully. Tears stung his eyes and he felt renewed fear course through him at what he was to face that evening. Clearly the arrangement between them had changed. He'd watched the change in Blaine's face as he finally rejected Kurt fully, the utter disgust and disdain so much more painful than anything he could physically do to him and dousing him in further shame.

Rising unsteadily from the chair and heading towards the door, Kurt paused to look back at the young Lord. He wanted to see it, wanted to find the flash of the man he'd seen the night before, but what he saw made his heart freeze again in his chest.

This man he was now looking at now was simply a beast. No emotion, no empathy, no feeling. Blaine Anderson was as lost and inhuman as the rest of them.