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Especially when Ace delivers the news that Carter isn’t doing very well. He refused all medical attention and additional care Ace offered, then locked himself in his room.
“I’ll go talk to him,” I tell the guys, deciding I’ll keep my glass of Scotch to give to him. I have a feeling he could use it more than me.
“He won’t let you,” Jake says with a huffed laugh. “Don’t waste your time. He’ll want Travis.”
He’ll want Travis.
Travis, who purchased Carter at an auction and raped him on stage for the crowd to see.
Travis, who tormented Carter for weeks to keep up appearances.
Travis, who raped Carter even when they weren’t around his men because he couldn’t fucking stay away from him.
Travis, who shared Carter with a business associate.
Travis, who hurt Carter so badly he begged for death.
Travis, who Carter still loves after all of that.
Travis, who has apparently gained Carter’s forgiveness when I haven’t even been able to get him on the phone since he found out the truth.
He’ll want Travis.
“I’ll go,” Travis says, clearly struggling not to just sprint away from us. He’s already taking steps toward the hall where Carter’s room is. He won’t even look me in the fucking eye. “If you guys can handle the arrival of the survivors, that is?”
I grip my drink tight, wondering how it would feel if I broke it. Wondering if the pain of glass cutting into my palm would be better than the pain of my heart shredding inside my chest.
“Sure,” I say when I realize they’re all waiting for me. For my permission. As if what I want even fucking matters. “Of course.”
I turn away from them, facing the kitchen counter covered with food and medical supplies. I can’t watch Travis leave. I can’t physically see him go be my baby brother’s hero. Even the sound of his shoes on the floor makes me want to scream. I down my drink in a single go, not bothering to taste it.
“Let’s get you to the doc before the others get here,” Jake says carefully, placing a hand on my shoulder that isn’t mangled and bruised.
I step away from his touch. “I’ll see him later. Let’s get things ready. First SUV is only twenty minutes out.”
“Go see the fucking doctor,” Ace orders, raising an eyebrow at me. “Or I go knock on Carter’s door and inform him that his brother isn’t taking care of himself. How do you think that’d make him feel, huh?”
Honestly, he’d probably say good. He’d probably say I don’t deserve the help.
He’d be right, too.
“Just go, Mais. You look ready to pass out.” Jake adds. “You’ll just be in the way here.”
I shake my head, but I can’t argue anymore. I’m too fucking tired. Soul-deep tired. If I stay here, I’m pretty sure I’ll cry or scream or pass out—maybe all of the above. None of that is a great way to greet a bunch of terrified sex-trafficking survivors.
“Alright, fine. But come get me if you need me. Or if Carter…”
I don’t finish the sentence. It doesn’t matter. All three of us know that Carter won’t come looking for me. Carter won’t need me. He’s got Travis.
I don’t deserve to be in his life anymore and he knows it.
I don’t go to the doctor.
I don’t deserve that either.
A shower though… I could use a shower. I’ll even make it burning hot so it hurts like a bitch. That, I deserve.
I pause when I get into the bathroom, frozen as I stare at the towel hook by the door. My dog tags are hanging from it, silver chain glinting in the light. I touch my last name etched on one of the metal pieces. Beckett. The name I share with the brother who hates me now. The brother I let down. The brother I didn’t save in time.
