And I wasn't supposed to start a new fic... But this has been poking me for too damn long to be ignored! So, I'm just going to give it a try.

Warnings: Whores (especially a certain albino), human trafficing, cursing, sex, probably some violence, sort of a master/slave -relationship and that kind of a stuff. It's also yaoi and Yullen, so if you don't like those two, back of now.

Rating: M (starting from third or fourth chapter)

Pairing: Yullen, maybe some other minor pairings later.

Disclaimer: Just thank the lord that I don't own DGM.

EDIT/27.11.2012 Fixed the grammar mistakes and rewrote some of the worst parts. It's a bit better now.

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PROPERTY

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Chapter 1

The Delivery

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With a quiet ping the elevator stopped at 81. floor and its polished, metallic doors slid open. Three men stepped in to the large entrance hall, the last one of them watching a white-haired teenager who was walking in front of him. The boy kept his eyes attentively on the floor and seemingly tried to look as tame as he could.

The quartet proceeded across the minimalistically decorated hall, past the empty secretarial desk and through a dark wooden door into a modern office, until they stopped right in front of oriental pair doors. The groomed American who was in the lead extended his hand to press the buzzer attached to the wall. It caused a voice recording to play out. A very short and rude one.

"Your business?"

The man leaned closer to the device while making a small gesture with his hand. The last one of the men, a rather large Latino, took a hold of the albino's shoulders and yanked him farther away from the door. The group's fourth member, a tanned youngster, shifted his weight from one leg to another and fixed his glasses.

"We have you're delivery, sir."

A soft click echoed clearly in the silent room as someone switched the recording off. Almost instantly cool – nearly cold – voice broke out, and it was obvious that the owner of it had also made the recording. The tone hadn't changed.

"You're late."

"We got stuck in the backlog", the American answered, forcing an apologizing grimace to his face. "Morning traffic surprised. In case you're in a hurry, I'd suggest we do this right away, sir."

"Wait."

It wasn't a request. Another click emanated from the device and the leader turned to look straight at the albino, who felt the grip on his shoulder tighten slightly. The glare pierced through the teenager even if the eyes were covered by a pair of sunglasses.

"You, brat – you stay quiet and don't cause any trouble at all. Answer politely if he asks something from you, and play your part without any mutters. Is that understood, boy?"

The "boy", one Allen Walker, even if he hadn't been called that for the last two years, nodded. The look on the man's face would've scared him five years ago when all of this had barely begun and he hadn't known the direction of the rest of his life. Now, however, it didn't have any effect. This man, who Allen only knew as Rodney, didn't really interest him – he was only a deliverer, not the one to decide about his life. Therefore he didn't mattered.

Instead the customer they were waiting did matter, and life would be ten times easier to him if he acted right. And Allen didn't have any intentions of making problems on his first day – in his position, he just couldn't afford them.

He was here only to serve the customer.

The other half of the decorated doors opened, revealing a stern-looking Asian man with long dark hair that had been pulled up to a high ponytail. Rodney spun around quickly and drew an overly polite smile on his face, taking his sunglasses off. The Asian just eyed them skeptically before returning his gaze to the American in front of him.

There was a moment of silence as everyone waited for someone else to say something. The hold on Allen's shoulder tightened again, as if the Latino was expecting troubles, and Rodney's left hand twitched a bit. Only the dark-haired youngster stayed calm behind his glasses – besides the Asian, of course. Seconds seemed to stretch on and on, until Rodney finally opened his mouth to speak.

"Well, what if we take care of the payment now, if that's fine with you, sir. The delivery fills your requirements and, furthermore, the boy is used to the routines and knows how to behave."

Allen tore his gaze hurriedly away from the Asian man's face and laid it down as a pair of dark eyes turned to examine him. The man was probably in his early twenties, taller than him – though there wasn't anything to be surprised about that – and very confident. Even if the simple clothing spoke against it, Allen could tell that the man wasn't just some insignificant intermediate.

No, the Asian was the payer.

And he paid a lot. Allen had been told to put on clothes whose quality was better than anything else he had worn for three years, he had been given an ice pack for the bruise on his cheek before it had been covered with makeup, he had even had a chance to wash himself properly – and above all, he had been brought to another country. All of it just for the sake of this man's order. Allen didn't even want to know how much money was being transferred in this trade – how much he cost this time.

"Look up."

Instinctively Allen raised his head when he heard the command, and almost answered to the man's gaze. Almost. Both reactions came from the subconscious, and he seriously doubted that he would ever be able to root them out of his behavior. Not that he even tried. Following commands without questioning anything – or at least keeping it completely inside – was simply protecting oneself from unnecessarily damage, and what came to looking in the eyes… He just couldn't throw away the last bits of his human dignity, not even if it meant something so petty as holding onto a common habit.

No matter how unconscious that habit might be.

The Asian's eyes surveyed him systematically, and even from the corner of his eye Allen could see how he frowned. It wasn't a good thing. It was never a good thing. Luckily – or maybe not – he wasn't the only one who realized that the situation had taken a bad course.

"We can do nothing if the boy doesn't please. You didn't rise the standards about his looks very high, and what comes to the other qualifications he was the best available option", Rodney said, managing to somehow sound like both the town's leading drug lord and a salesman making the deal of his life.

The man turned his piercing gaze to the American, who suddenly seemed much more nervous than before and could only barely make himself answer to the look. Allen ignored Rodney and kept his attention on the customer – most likely his soon-to-be owner - , whose growing annoyance wasn't covered by the few tresses that had been left out of the ponytail. Despite the quickly deepening frown he had to note that the man wasn't all that bad looking.

At least he didn't have to give himself to someone physically unpleasant. Not that it mattered much.

Judging from everything Allen had learned during these couple of minutes, the Asian had either an abnormally bad day or his personality really wasn't the best possible. Both of the options could mean hell to him, and hell was the exact thing Allen was hoping to avoid. He had already gone through it once, and a second time didn't exactly sound appealing.

Somehow this felt like his typical luck again.

"The scar isn't the problem." The man didn't even look at the rough line that ran down Allen's left cheek. "You are."

"Excuse me?"

"Che. You're lying."

Allen had to admit that he was somewhat surprised. Or no, not surprised, it wasn't the best word to use – more like curious about the millionaire's reaction. At least he thought the man was a one. Normally customers didn't start complaining about traffickers' insincerity unless it was related to the payment or the quality of the delivery. And his scar didn't bother the Asian, as he had clearly pointed out.

Once again the grip on Allen's shoulder tensed, telling him that the Latino was getting more nervous. He nearly rolled his eyes. What first timers were these? His escorts had always shown about as much of their emotions as rocks, and now the whole group nearly jumped from every word the Asian said. Seriously.

It was Rodney's turn to frown – though he was more confused than angry. "Lying? About what? He isn't an American, no one has searched for him in over three years and all of the other criteria you've placed are filled."

The man's eyes narrowed, and Allen didn't have time to even wince as that piercing glare turned to him. Praying for the non-existing god to stop things on their tracks before they went from bad to worse, he tried to keep his breathing – as well as his appearance – composed. Nevertheless both trembled when the Asian's hand suddenly grabbed a bundle of his hair, yanking his head up and forcing him to meet the other's annoyed glare.

"Age."

Allen stared, eyes wide and heart beating rapidly. Why did these things always happen to him? Why did he get the customers who caused trouble? Why did they ask things from him when he didn't know the answers? How the hell was he supposed to know what age group the man had wanted?!

The Asian's expression got couple of degrees darker and Allen realized that he had been hesitating a bit too long. Parting his lips and forcing his voice to function, he wished that the man forgot easily. Unforgiving was the worst type.

"Seventeen."

"Che. Lie."

Allen would've shaken his head if the hand on his head hadn't been holding him still. In stead he just made his eyes couple of millimeters wider and tried to look even more scared. It wasn't very hard. "No. I am seventeen."

The man stared at him right in the eyes for a moment longer, before swiftly yanking him out of the Latino's grasp. Head bent down Allen stumbled behind the man as he pulled him to the doors and forced him even lower. A simple sports bag was lying on the floor right inside the apartment.

"Take it."

He didn't need to ask what the other meant. Not wasting any time Allen obeyed, just barely having enough time to lift the bag before the man jerked him back to the office and pulled him up. Although it wasn't tender in anyway, he could take the pain rather easily.

"There, your payment. I don't have anymore time, so if you're going to count them, do it quickly."

The youngster who had stayed on the side during everything stepped closer and took the bag. Opening it's zipper he started systematically to count the money, and after a couple of moments he gave a nod to Rodney. The American smiled too sweetly, putting his sunglasses back on.

"It was pleasure to do business with you."

"Che."

Allen watched expressionlessly as the three men departed from the office. None of them looked back, and why should've they? It's not like they cared, and it's not like he had expected them to care. Things didn't work like that. So when he was once again pulled by his hair and dragged inside the apartment, he didn't let his composure falter. It changed nothing.

The Asian let go of him, disappearing further into the unfurnished hallway and leaving Allen behind. He stood on his tracks, thinking franticly. Just making the wrong decision between staying or following could cause something worse than unpleasant to happen to him. And his new owner didn't really appear to him as a very forgiving person. At least not right now.

Biting his bottom lip, Allen stared at the retreating back – covered by a plain white shirt – and hurried farther into the apartment as the man turned to another room. He paused at the doorway, head already bowed lightly down, and searched cautiously for any signs of displeasure or anger. The Asian, however, just bent down to pick something from the fridge.

"Name?" He didn't even glance up before asking, and Allen sighed in relief. Following had been the right choice.

"Allen."

"Age."

Still? The man really didn't believe him. "Seventeen."

"Che. How long?"

Allen blinked as the man straightened up and turned around to face him. Feeling nervous, he swallowed with some difficulty. "Excuse me? I…I don't understand what you mean."

His current owner frowned, getting seemingly more annoyed. "How fucking long have you done this?" the man asked with a scowl, lips pressed to a thin line.

"Five years."

"How many owners have you had?"

"Six", Allen answered forcing his voice to stay neutral. He didn't get what the other was aiming at. Why did the Asian want to know? Nothing that had happened in the past should concern him as long as Allen behaved like the man wished.

"Which countries?"

Which countries? Why did he ask that? This interrogation just kept getting weirder and weirder, and he had no other choice but to answer. "Italy, India and China."

"With who?"

Allen's gaze flickered up to the man's dark eyes, and he could hardly stop himself from staring at the other in blatant confusion and disbelief. He didn't understand this. Was the man seriously asking names? "W…with who?" The question was barely any stronger than a whisper.

Dark eyebrows furrowed even more, almost touching each others, and with just a little bit of an imagination he could hear the Asian gritting his teeth. Allen swallowed again and lowered his eyes back to the expensive carpet underneath his feet, opening his mouth. Why was everything going so wrong?

"I…I'm sorry. I…" He inhaled shakily and shut his eyes for a moment. "Do you mean names or…?" Wishing anything, absolutely anything else than names, Allen forced himself to stay put and wait.

"Che. Should've know that the obedient one was also the idiot", the Asian mocked with a cold voice as he begun to walk towards him, pace ominously even. "With who? Occasional customers? Your owners? Other fucking whores?" The man's tone was almost murderous as he stopped right in front of Allen, bending down fractionally. "Well? Answer, damn it!"

"Only with my owners."

Without a warning the other's hand was in his hair again, yanking his head up. The black glare cut into his eyes, leaving Allen with no other choice than to look back and hold onto his falling facade. Vague intuition told him that his new owner wouldn't like it if he acted too weak – though, the man wouldn't probably like it either if he was too confident. Allen tried to breath as steadily as he could.

"So you weren't a common whore?"

"No."

"Good", the Asian snapped to him, shoving him backwards. His voice wasn't happy at all. "Then you should have at least some sense of manners, no matter how fucking brainless son of a bitch you are."

Allen lowered his gaze to his feet. It seemed like he was going to face continuously more mocking and had no way to tell which were the right moves to avoid it. He had to stay on guard; bad terms with the long-haired man were the last thing he wanted.

"Rules are simple", the Asian stated, apparently trying to kill him with his eyes. "You don't touch my things without a fucking permission, disturb me, try to leave this apartment or make a call. If you cause any trouble, you suffer from it. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Che. You sleep in the room at the end of the corridor and you fucking stay there, if there isn't any reason to do otherwise." The man stopped for a second to take in Allen's outfit. His eyes narrowed. "And change your clothes. Those are disgusting."

"Yes", he answered even though the Asian hadn't actually asked anything. Glancing critically at his clothing Allen attempted to perceive his owners taste. Shorts and one-sleeved shirts were out of question then. Or maybe it was the girly style. Hard to say. He raised his eyes up and saw the man walking back to the kitchen area. Talking appeared to be over. Intending to find his room, since staying on his tracks wasn't the best idea, Allen took the first step before coming to an abrupt halt.

He didn't know the Asian's name.

He didn't know how the man wanted to be called.

Bad thing.

Gray eyes fixed their gaze to the black tresses that were swaying against the white dress shirt. Lump in the throat made breathing difficult and hands clenched to tight fits. Teeth sunk into the bottom lip.

He didn't want another hell.

"Ex…excuse me? May I… ask something?"

The man turned halfway around, glaring at him with angry eyes. "What?" he snapped, clearly loosing his patience.

"How would you like to be called?" Allen could hardly force the words out of his mouth and for a moment there was only silence.

"Kanda."