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Chapter Two
“How may I serve you, Master?” a slave asks in that same low, subdued voice they all use. He’s kneeling in the proper resting position, his chin lowered, his eyes on the floor. The sight of him makes Nathan sick.
Nathan hadn’t summoned him, having just been lounging in one of the leather chairs in the entertainment room, sipping a glass of his favorite scotch while listening to his men talk amongst themselves. This particular slave has been here long enough to know better than to approach without invite, which means one of Nathan’s men had encouraged the slave to come cater to him.
Nathan scans his eyes over the slave, weighing the pros and cons of dismissing him. Only one other man in the room is using a slave right now. The rest are just relaxing. Sending him off wouldn’t be suspicious.
With a flick of his wrist, Nathan says, “You’re not needed by me tonight. Go on.”
The slave’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. They always pretend they’re happy to be used, but it’s never the truth. Nathan sending the slave away this late at night means that, as long as the slave makes it to the basement without anyone grabbing him, he’ll be finished for the night. Nathan can’t imagine a life like that.
Then again, part of Nathan wishes he got to quit this job at night. He hasn’t had a minute off in 8 fucking years.
“Thank you, Master,” the slave says quietly, eyes averted. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, 7.”
As Nathan watches the slave crawl away from him, he thinksBryce. Bryce Jacobson. 19 years old. Slave for 2 years. Never graduated high school.
Bryce Jacobson. Not 7. Not slave.Bryce.
Nathan closes his eyes and breathes, reminding himself why he’s doing this.
This operation has been hell from the start. It’s beaten Nathan down into something less than human, making him damn close to the kind of person he began hunting in the first place. But it’s ending soon. They’re so fucking close. This international trafficking ring will be brought down from the inside byhim, the man he’s become, the man he’s replaced his true self – Travis Kenton – with; Nathan Roarke, one of the wealthiest, most ruthless, powerful men in the human trafficking underground. He may have had to spend years tearing at the foundation brick by fucking brick, but this world is finally coming down.
Nathan just hopes it doesn’t take much longer. Not just for himself, but for the slaves too. He has to bring this thing down so Bryce can go back to being Bryce. So all the others can be themselves again too.
He has to bring this thing to an end before he loses the final shreds of his own true identity – ofTravis– that he’s managed to hold on to.
???
It’s late, nearly 3 in the morning, when Nathan’s phone begins to play the opening chords ofStairway to Heaven.He jerks awake. There’s only one number with that as the ringtone, all others set to some generic shit instead. The number calling him is for emergencies only. To be receiving a call from it means that shit has hit the fucking fan.
To receive a call from it means life or death.
Nathan’s hand trembles as he hurries to get the phone to his ear. “Maison?”
“Travis,” his best friend, and operation commander, says in a thick, shaky voice that’s so unlike him Nathan briefly wonders if he’s dreaming. “Trav, they – fuck, man. They fucking took him. They took him!”
“Who? Who took who?”
“They fucking – I don’t even - some – some son of a bitch fucking took Carter!”
Sitting up, Nathan tries to understand exactly what’s going on. There’s a chance he’s still half-asleep because the information is not computing. Carter is Maison’s little brother, but Nathan has no idea what that has to do with anything.
“Back up, buddy. You’ve lost me.”
“Someone from your fucking world took Carter!” Maison shouts. Nathan tries not to flinch too hard at the comment about this beinghisworld. He knows Maison is just upset right now. “Someone I don’t even fucking know. I – some shithead named Quinton?”
Nathan slides off the bed, realizing just how big this is. “Quinton. Okay. I know him. He’s part of the European markets. He – you’re saying he took Carter? That’s what you’re saying?”
“Yes!”
“Just – okay. I’m not understanding, you’re saying that Quinton just… took Carter? Like by coincidence, Quinton took your brother?”
“Not fucking coincidence. He found out who I am.”
This is when the world screeches to a halt. Up until now, everyone in the underground knew that a small elite group of Americans were trying to track down traffickers. They also knew the leader of this group. A man named Mathew Davis. Maison Beckett’s cover.
