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Chapter One
Maison
I’m a selfish bastard. It’s the only explanation for why I’ve spent nearly a decade tangled in guilt and self-hatred. Nearly a decade struggling to sleep, haunted by nightmares that leave me soaked in sweat and screaming myself awake. I’ve never once laid a hand on an innocent. Never once had to rape someone in order to save them. Never once had to smile and pretend to be a monster. And yet, the guilt, the self-hatred, the nightmares—all still there. Like I even deserve to feel bad. Like I even deserve to have any feelings about it at all. The closest I’ve gotten to any of it? Photos. Videos. Incident reports and late-night phone calls from my operatives.
Don’t even get me fucking started on the near-decade of missing out on special moments in my little brother Carter’s life, too busy with my work to really be there for him like he needed.
Selfish. Bastard.
And now, Carter has been kidnapped by the men I’ve been working for years to take down. He’s been sold into sexual slavery, engulfed by the very thing that haunts me every waking—and sleeping—moment, and I’m being selfish all over again. Two panic attacks. Throwing up. A fist through a wall. Me, on the phone, begging the man who pulls the strings to please, please let us buy him, let us save him. Me putting the lives of thousands at risk by threatening to take it all down if he doesn’t give me permission to have my lead operative buy and save my baby brother.
He agrees, finally. With a condition—Carter can’t find out the truth. He has to believe he’s really a slave. He has to believe my operative is really the monster he’s pretending to be. I beg him not to do that, explaining the dangers to Carter’s head, to his heart, to his fucking spirit. He tells me he could just as easily put a bullet through my brother’s head if I’d like to complain some more. Selfish. Going to get Carter fucking killed because I’m so fucking selfish.
“No,” I tell him—nearly beg him. “No, I’ll—I’ll fix him. After this is over. I can handle it. I’ll be able to help him. We can lie. We can…we can make him a slave. As long as he’s alive, I can handle whatever this turns him into.”
Selfish bastard.
Travis, the operative who buys Carter, begs me not to force him to lie, not to force him to be Carter’s monster, not to force him to become what he’s been fighting for nearly a decade to avoid. He’s close to tears. He’s desperate. He trusts me. I’m in charge, I’m the one meant to keep him safe, and I’m letting him down. I’m choosing Carter over him. All I keep picturing is a bullet in Carter’s forehead. All I keep thinking is there’s a chance I’ll never hold my baby brother in my arms again.
I tell Travis to suck it up, spinning some lie that it’s for the best.
It’s not for the best—not for Travis. Probably not even for Carter, in the long run. This may fuck him up enough where he would have chosen that bullet in his forehead. But I’m a selfish fucking bastard, so I’m not giving him the choice.
Carter becomes a slave, raped and beaten and emotionally manipulated day in and day out. I’m selfish, I’m so fucking selfish, because I’m still making it all about me. The nightmares are so bad I have to drug myself to sleep, giving Ace—my partner—a warning beforehand so he knows I won’t wake to the sound of my phone. I only do it every four days. I don’t deserve more than that.
Carter becomes suicidal. I finally let him find out the truth, terrified he’ll hurt himself otherwise. I made them lie to him, to keep that bullet out of his forehead, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Not if there’s a chance the kid will put a bullet there himself.
He hates me when he finds out. He fucking despises me. Blames me. “How could you?” The words echo in my mind, haunting me every second I breathe.
I’m so fucking selfish, drowning in guilt and self-hatred, desperate for his forgiveness, desperate for his understanding, when my focus should be on what he wants. If hating me makes him feel better, I should let him hate me. So, I do.
Or… I try.
Carter begs to be allowed to save his friend, Casey. My second operative, a man named Jake, who lives with Travis, is willing to buy him as his own slave. I allow it, not even getting the boss’s permission first, and knowing it could ruin everything. Because Carter asked and I’m desperate to make him happy. To fix him. To save him.
I’m selfish.
I lose fifteen pounds. Ace tries to make me eat more, concerned for my health. I brush him off at first. Then I realize how selfish that is, too. Carter needs me at my best. He needs me to be able to endure when the time comes. To be able to fight. To get him to a safe house across the country.
I force myself to take bite after bite of my meals. As long as my panic attacks aren’t too bad after, I even manage to keep the food down.
I tell Travis that when the time comes for me to pretend to be caught breaking into his mansion—resulting in a big-ass party celebrating my capture—that he’ll have to let his men rape me. This event will give us the opportunity to kill over a hundred of the biggest players in the human trafficking world on this side of the globe, causing the whole network to collapse and saving thousands of slaves. He’s managed to keep Carter safe from them, pretending to be selfish and wanting his slave all to himself. He can’t get away with that again. If he denies them access to me after denying them Carter, they could turn on him. I refuse to risk that when we’re only days from the whole operation coming to an end.
I refuse to let that happen when Carter’s life is on the line.
I’m captured and Travis whips me bloody, spitting taunts at me about my brother as he does. Then he leaves me to his men, shouting over his shoulder that he’s leaving to go fuck Carter.
Jake rapes me, going first as a kindness, because the men didn’t plan on prepping me beforehand. He struggles, almost not going through with it. I’m selfish. I don’t want to be raped dry. I beg him to please do it. To please rape me. Selfish, selfish, selfish.
I drown in pain as the men descend on me after, raining down their fists and boots and cocks. My body is on fire. My mind is splintering. I try to take it bravely, try to stay stoic, but I break.
I cry.
I beg.
They laugh.
For a little while—as they begin shoving two cocks inside me without any extra lube or stretching first, another cock down my throat to keep me from breathing, clamps on my nipples so tight they’re bleeding, something on my balls I can’t even see but makes me wish they’d just fucking fall off—I forget why I’m doing it. I forget about the slaves. I forget about Carter. All I know, all I can think, is that I want it to stop. That I’d do anything to get them to please stop.
