Remy

For somebody who owned a horse, you were notoriously bad at horse-riding. And with horses in general. You visited Remy's horse-riding school every week out in the Farmlands, but the horses could always sense your nervous energy and, more often than not, would buck you off or take control and drag you around, gripping on for dear life.

Still, despite this knowledge, you were surprised when the teacher, Remy, had offered you private horse-riding lessons after hours. And how could you say 'no'? The fact you needed to learn aside, there was no denying that Remy was handsome, and you weren't going to pass up the chance to spend time with him.

Remy had been waiting patiently for you as everybody left for the day, the riding school officially closing up. Instead of sending you on your way, he led you to his own horse, offering you a friendly, practiced smile. You didn't notice how it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"We'll start with the very basics. Up you go."

Remy helped you onto his horse, and you gripped onto the reins already expecting the worst. You thought Remy was going to just guide you, but then he was hopping up onto the horse behind you. His arms wrapped around you as he grabbed the reins, his hands enveloping your own. His chest pressed against your back, his presence practically engulfing you as he began to guide his horse to a slow trot.

"Relax," he commanded, hot breath washing over your ear. "Horses—and many other predators—can sense that nervous energy from miles away."

He would know—he was one of those predators.

Parties like these weren't your scene.

Remy's manor was nice, but it was filled with plenty of upper class people that mingled. It was hard to tell who was who—considered a masquerade, everybody wore a mask. You noticed those of higher power wore elk masks, while their dates—some looking even more anxious and uncomfortable than yourself—wore fox masks. There was a similar fox mask adorning your own face, covering your features.

You were dressed to the nines at Remy's request. At first, you had been thrilled when Remy held you back after riding school to invite you to something so extravagant. You weren't of upper class, so being at a lavish masquerade ball was like a dream... at first.

But there was something off, here. Perhaps it was the way those in elk masks stared at the foxes as if they were nothing but meat, or the way each fox was somebody of lower class or no social standing. Those that were easily taken advantage of. You recognized some kids from the orphanage.

Every cell inside your body was screaming to get out of there.

"Relax. You look like you're about to bolt."

Remy's commanding voice cut through your thoughts. It was hard to discern what he was thinking; the elk mask covered most of his facial features, but you'd recognize that voice from anywhere.

"You're my guest. As long as you stay by my side, nothing bad will happen to you... but that means you don't wander off."

Yeah—something was definitely up here.

You knew from the get-go that what you were doing was dangerous—but you felt like you had no choice. After months of helping Alex on her farm, it was frustrating to see Remy—a man you thought was generally friendly and reasonable—send his goons to set fire to the fields and sabotage her farm. The two of you worked so hard, only for Remy to try and tear it all down.

All because you and Alex refused to sell the farm—and your souls and loyalty—to Remy.

Alex was too nice. You weren't sure she'd approve of you sneaking onto Remy's estate to sabotage things in return, but if Remy played dirty, you were going to play dirty.

You had gotten away with it the first few times. Playing Blackjack with Wren and daring him to sabotage things on your behalf when he lost certainly helped... but Wren and his colleagues were away tonight, meaning it was on your own.

You had gotten a lot done. You disabled Remy's vehicles by messing up the car batteries (Wren made it look so easy—your first time was a struggle), and then began to agitate the steeds.

You had figured that was all you were going to get done without Wren—but then, light was flooding you as you were surrounding by six different men with flashlights and batons. Walking through the men confidently, a hand on his whip, was none other than Remy himself.

And he did not look amused.

"Well, well. I should have known the rat scurrying about lately was you," he said leisurely, not at all threatened by you. "Unfortunately, you're not going to get out of this unscathed. Are you going to come with me willingly, or am I going to have to force you?"

Nothing good could come of this—something told you a fate worse than death probably awaited you if you wound up following Remy.

This had to be a nightmare.

It was one thing to just be kidnapped. You had already expected the worst when you were bound and gagged, shoved into the back of some nondescript van that quickly peeled down the streets. Thoughts of being trafficked, of being killed, ran through your head as you struggled to escape.

Somehow, this was worse than either.

You thrashed and struggled as you were stripped and hosed down—and when you bit a farmhand in retaliation, you were quickly muzzled. Soon, though, your struggling died down when you finally saw a familiar face. You recognized him—Remy, from the riding school. He knew you, too. The two of you had interacted multiple times. And yet, if he recognized you, he didn't show it.

Remy was not here to save you.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to your life here as cattle." Any curses or pleas you had fell on deaf ears as you were forced to your hands and knees, forced to crawl as you were forced to stables. It was humiliating and demeaning, but nobody bat an eye, as if this were a normal occurence.

Force into a stall, you were dismayed to see Remy following you in. His grip was rough as he forced your arms up, attaching them to a bar; next were your legs, keeping you on your knees with your limbs spread. He then squirted a pink gel onto his bare hands, rubbing the gel over your chest and genitals. The pink gel made your skin feel tingly, a lewd warmth washing over you and clouding your mind.

"We'll have you being a productive member of the herd in no time," he reassured you. As if you had been worried about that in the first place.

You watched as he began to set up some sort of machine with various glass suction cups, before turning back to you, a malicious glint in his eyes that screamed nothing good.

"Now let's get you started."