He pointed. "What the fuck is that?"

Bryant glanced at his feet. "I think you mean what the fuck are those--plural."

"You gonna correct me, punk? I'd slap your head around backward if I wasn't in such a good mood. Now, again, what the fuck is that?"

"Those are sneakers. Remember? You gave me money to pick up a new pair because those stains weren't coming out of the other ones."

"But those are fucking black sneakers!"

Bryant made a show of looking down, then glanced at him with mock surprise. "Why, so they are!"

"Bryant, they're black! You know I don't want you wearing anything but white."

"Look, Pri," his voice was wearily patient, as if he was explaining something for the hundredth time to a cranky toddler. "This was all they had in my size for the price I could afford. You only gave me twenty dollars, remember?"

"Are you trying to kid me? They have specials at the Shoe Bin all the time."

"They sell crap at the Shoe Bin! The soles would have parted company with the canvas the second time I washed them."

Bryant knew that there was going to be some reaction, but it came so abruptly that he couldn't avoid it. Priory grabbed him, hauling him down across his lap and laid a smack on his butt before he realized what was going on. Bryant squirmed, but Priory tightened his arm and continued to spank him. "Stop it, Pri! I haven't done anything wrong."

His hand fell harder, and more rapidly. "The fuck you haven't! Your attitude stinks, mister, and you're lucky I don't pull my belt and stripe you good!" He was really slamming Bryant now, his palm cracking against the taut, denim clad buttocks.

Bryant was disgusted to feel a nudge at his abdomen--Priory was getting excited, damn him. He thrashed--hard.

It took Priory unawares. Bryant always took his discipline quietly, only moving when the pain became too great for him to stay still. His sudden, violent motion broke the coach's hold, and Bryant rolled off the sofa. His elbow cracked against the edge of the coffee table, and he cried out with the sudden burst of pain. It felt like a red-hot spike had been jabbed into the joint and up along his forearm.

The flare of agony stunned him for a moment, long enough for Priory to grab him. He caught a handful of Bryant's hair and slapped him, then slapped him again. "What is this shit?" he bellowed. "First the shoes, now you try to get away from an ass whipping you deserve!" This time he backhanded Bryant. His hand came away smeared with blood, and he saw that there was a crimson trickle running from Bryant's nose.

He hesitated. This was the first time he'd drawn blood, but the kid was really pushing the envelope, and he deserved more. He drew back his hand, and Bryant said, "My face, Pri! You'll leave marks, and I have to go to school tomorrow."

Priory lowered his hand slowly. He let go of Bryant's hair with a shove, so that he fell back against the coffee table again. He stood over Bryant, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You're getting too big for your britches, young man. I think I'm gonna have to look into that collar I talked about. Maybe if you have leather around your neck it'll remind you of your place in the world."

He stomped off to his room. Bryant curled on the floor between the sofa and the table for a moment, fighting back nausea and tears. The nausea was from the adrenaline rush, and the pain, but the tears were from anger and a sense of helplessness. He cradled his injured arm close to his body and poked at the elbow gently, trying to assess the damage.

Another sharp pain made him hiss. The least movement of the joint was agony. Priory came back into the room, grabbing his keys off the table. "Pri? My arm is hurt."

"That'll teach you to fight." He started toward the door. "They have a prize fight on at the sports bar. I'll be late."

"Pri, I mean it--it's really hurt. I need to see a doctor. I may have broken something."

The older man sneered. "Bullshit! You didn't fall more than a few inches. Don't be more of a pussy than you have to, Bryant. Put a compress on it." He left.

Bryant tried, but he couldn't get the ice out of the trays with his arm injured. He tried rapping the trays on the counter to break the ice loose. It came loose, all right. It came loose and flew all over the floor. He started to pick it up, squatting gingerly for each cube, then stopped. Disgusted with himself and the situation, he kicked a cube across the floor and went into the living room.

It wasn't easy to make the call--he had to lay down the receiver to dial. It rang a couple of times before it was picked up. "You have Clive, you lucky devil."

"It's Bryant, Clive."

His voice was pleased. "Bri, good to hear from you! I've spoken to a few of the other guests at the party last weekend and they asked after you. You made a very good impression, and..."

"Clive, please. I hate to interrupt, but..."

Clive's voice was immediately sober. "What is it, pet? What's wrong?"

"I need to ask a favor. Could you drive me to the emergency room?"

"I'll have an ambulance and the police there in no time flat. Just hang up and..."

"No! No, please, it isn't necessary."

There was silence for a moment. "Is he there? Are you afraid to talk because he's watching you?"

"No, he's gone. He'll be gone for a while. That's the only reason I could call. Please, Clive. You've said you're my friend. Just help me out here, okay?"

"I'll be right there."

"But no police."

Another silence, then a sigh. "All right, dear. I won't be long."

"Thanks, Clive."

In less time than he would have expected, Clive's car pulled up in front of the house. Before Bryant could get the door open, Clive exited the car and was halfway up the walk. The hairdresser stepped inside, sharp eyes quickly assessing Bryant. His expression hardened, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, gently wiping Bryant's upper lip. The ache in his nose intensified, and Bryant said quietly, "Ow."

"I'm sorry, pet, but you don't want to go driving around looking like that. Any traffic cop who pulled alongside would pull us over for an explanation." He showed the blot of blood to Bryant, who looked surprised.

"I didn't think it bled that much."

"Come on." Clive took Bryant's arm, but released him quickly when the boy stiffened and gave a small grunt of pain. "Your arm?"

Bryant nodded. "Maybe it's just a sprain."

Clive looked skeptical, but he opened the car door and helped Bryant into his seat. When he got into the car the younger man was struggling to fasten his seatbelt. Clive pushed his hands away and snapped the belt in place, then started the car.

On the way Clive said, "How did this happen?"

"I fell."

"Oh, God, darling!"

"No, really, I did. I fell and hit my elbow on the coffee table."

"Mhm. And how did you come to fall?" Bryant said nothing. "I thought so. Not that people like him need an excuse, but what was his excuse this time?"

Bryant sighed. "It started out with the sneakers."

Clive glanced down quickly, and a smile ghosted across his lips. "I do believe that is the first speck of any shade of color I've seen on you, pet. I take it he was displeased?"

"Pissed. Maybe he'd have been satisfied with making me throw them away if I hadn't smarted off to him. I was sarcastic, and I more or less called him cheap, so he started to spank me." He frowned. "I don't know what came over me. I've never fought him before, but I just couldn't take it this time."

"Everyone has limits, pet."

"And I reached mine?"

They were pulling into the hospital parking lot. "Oh, no, precious--you haven't reached your limit yet. If you had, Priory would need a trip here, too.

Bryant refused Clive's offer of a place to stay overnight. They were driving back to the house, Bryant's left arm splinted and in a sling. The elbow was sprained, and there was a fracture of the ulna. "I have to get back. He'll have cooled down by now, but if I'm not there when he gets back he could go crazy."

"And beat you even more severely," Clive said grimly. "Or kill you."

Bryant shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "He wouldn't kill me."

"Bri, love, that's hardly a recommendation for the man. Besides, you never can tell. People who lose their tempers like this asshole are unpredictable. Sometimes in domestic abuse cases murders are set off by tiny things."

"You're making me sound like a beaten wife." Bryant winced, slipping lower in the seat. His voice was pained. "I guess I am."

"How young were you when Priory got his hooks in you?"

"I was seventeen when I moved in with him."

"And you hadn't been out in the world much, being in the system. He was looking for a bitch, Bri, and he picked out someone he thought he could control and mold. I think he made a bad mistake."

Bryant laughed harshly. "Yeah? I cook, I clean, I do what he says, I bend over or get on my knees any time he says..." His voice was rising in frustration.

"And you hate it. You're not a natural submissive, Bryant, no matter how Lowell has tried to convince you. Despite his attempts at brainwashing, you know that this life isn't right for you. You've finally been exposed to a real Dom/sub relationship, and you've recognized exactly how bogus what Priory is practicing is. He may have intimidated you when you were younger, but you're starting to see him more clearly now, aren't you?"

"He's a bully," Bryant said. "A bully and a coward."

"All bullies are cowards, dear, deep down inside. Can you see now that you can not only survive without him, but also thrive? Because I'm positive that you can. You could fly, Bryant."

They'd pulled up in front of the house. Priory's car was still gone. Bryant sat for a moment, shaking his head. "It's complicated, Clive. I'm so dependent on him financially."

"I've already told you, son..."

"I know, I know. But I'm not sure that a bartending job would provide all I'd need. If I lost my scholarship it wouldn't be enough to support me and pay for school."

"Why should you lose your scholarship? Certainly you won't be able to swim for awhile with that fracture, but it's not a permanent injury."

Bryant smiled sourly. "You don't think he'd let me stay on the team if I left him, do you?"

Clive sat back, indignant. "I can't imagine he'd be allowed to cut you for that!"

Now Bryant's voice was sad. "He's a winning coach, Clive. Sure, the swim team doesn't bring in the cash like football or basketball, but it's still a prestige sport. He has more pull than you'd imagine."

"Bryant, you need to get out of there."

"I know." His voice was low. "You know, when he took me out of the group home to live with him, I was so excited. I already knew he was a little..." he cut a glance at Clive, who shrugged. "But he made it sound so great--like I'd finally be living my own life, wouldn't have to answer to anyone. Then he took down the door to my room, and one day I came home to find that he'd thrown away all my clothes and replaced them with..." he picked at his white T-shirt, "with this monochrome wardrobe. I got a drop of blood on this. If I can't get it out, I'll have to throw it away." He opened the car door.

"How are you going to explain this to him?"

"I'll tell him that Mister Bellows drove me to the hospital. He won't bother to check up on that, because he hates Mister Bellows. He's been giving Pri dirty looks ever since he chased me out into the yard. And I'll tell him that the hospital is going to mail the bill. I'll find a way to pay you back, Clive."

Since Bryant was without insurance the hospital had wanted cash. Clive had paid, muttering about 'where the hell has all that money that we raised for free clinics gone'? Clive waved away his promise. "Don't worry about that, dear--I trust you. Will you be able to make the appointment tomorrow?"

"I'm not about to pass it up. Priory didn't like the idea of it being in the evening, but my natural hair color offends him so much that he was willing to make an exception."

Clive's smile was a little nasty. "In that case perhaps I can help you toward your freedom without taking direct action."

"How so?"

"When Priory gets a look at what I have planned for you, he may very well die of apoplexy."