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So, I’m being… rescued?
And Master Roarke—Travis—is… a part of it?
“There’s a safe house where I’m bringing all of my—all of the men and women I had as slaves at my compound,” he murmurs. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re confused. We’ll explain everything to you soon, but for now, just know that you’re safe, you’re free, and it’s going to be okay.”
When I still don’t say anything, his expression pinches like he’s upset. Every cell in my body demands I fix that. Demands that I make him happy. But that’s apparently not my job anymore. Never really was. The last few years have been nothing but a lie. All those times I was good for him, all those times I was hurt and terrorized as one of his precious slaves, it was for nothing.
It was all for nothing.
Do I even fucking love him?
Did Master Roarke—fucking Travis—ever even mean it when he told me I was good? When he told me I was perfect? Had he just felt bad for me, a victim who he was responsible for because of his stupid fucking job?
“It’s over, Nolan.” He gives me a sad smile and pulls me off the bench, his strong hands steadying me while my legs get used to being legs again. The man who initially helped me is nowhere to be found. “It’s really over now. All of it. You’re not a slave anymore. Come on, let me show you. The SUVs are waiting outside.”
But if it’s over, if I’m not a slave anymore, not his slave anymore, then… what the fuck am I?
I’m not sure I even want to know.
After I was first kidnapped and sold as a sex slave, I let myself cling to the hope of an escape. I’d soothe myself at night with scenarios. A police raid. A slave rebellion. A sneaky slip out a window.
The hope dwindled over time. It became too dangerous. Too devastating to keep around. It was easier to focus on that decay inside of me, blooming into twisted love that made me feel safe, made me feel sane. It was easier to love a man I now know never even existed.
But in the beginning, I had hoped. In the beginning, I had thought a lot about what it’d be like to be free.
I never imagined it’d be like this.
A long drive in an oversized vehicle with two other slaves from the Roarke compound—Darian and my best friend, Matt. Then a helicopter ride with them. Then another drive. All with an agent sitting among us, answering our questions—well, answering Darian’s questions, since I still haven’t quite wrapped my mind around my new reality and Matt hasn’t talked in almost a year. An agent, who gave us body wipes to clean ourselves with and matching sweatpants and crewnecks. An agent who gave us bottled water and pain medicine and meal bars. An agent who keeps reiterating that we’re safe now.
A safe house in the middle of nowhere, the glow of lights warm and welcoming as it spills between tree branches. The group of us getting funneled inside like cows into a chute for slaughter, my legs shaking, knees knocking together, Matt holding my hand so tight my fingers throb. Master Benny—“Actually, it’s Jake, please call me Jake, I was undercover with Travis”—welcoming us alongside a man he introduces as Ace. A black backpack full of food, medicine, a reusable water bottle, toiletries, extra clothes, and a… small stuffed frog? Information about a doctor, appointment times, and an in-house therapist who’s always available for individual sessions on top of the group therapy we will have.
A room with two beds, the pillows fluffy, the blankets a soft blue. “All of the slaves from the Roarke compound will be here,” Jake explains, “but usually after something like this, at least half leave within the first few days, so you won’t be doubled up for long.” Matt sitting across from me on his own bed, eyes wide, fingers twitching around the stuffed bunny in his hands. Someone screaming from down the hall, others starting to cry as they witness whatever’s happening. Footsteps running. Me going to the door, watching with my heart in my throat as Jake approaches Kelsey where she’s been backed into a corner by Ace and a man I don’t know. Matt pressing up behind me with his hand clutching my sweatshirt. Jake promising Kelsey that all she has to do is see the doctor and she’s free to leave.
Matt and I huddling in bed together, the light still on so I can see the words he signs to me. Me promising him that I’ll ask someone if we can get a sign language book since he didn’t know any before I taught him, and all I remembered was the alphabet and a handful of other words from when I had a friend who was deaf in high school. Him signing with trembling fingers to ask if I believe this is all real, if we’re really safe now. Me forcing a smile as I tell him, “Yes, I do” without telling him I’m not quite as happy about it as he is.
Lying in bed with Matt asleep on my chest, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. The walls closing in. My lungs fighting to function. An ache in my bones to go find someone—anyone—and kneel for them. A slow, crawling terror thrumming through my veins that this isn’t who I am, this isn’t what I was made for, that I was more myself in that fucking compound than I’ll ever be now that I’m free. Tears streaming down my cheeks as I consider the possibility that I may never kneel for another man again, never have him rest a hand on my head, never have him smile and tell me how good I’m being, those words making up for every ounce of terror and brutality I had to suffer to earn them.
Yeah, I imagined freedom a lot in those early days.
I never imagined it’d be like this.
Chapter Three
Maison
The only thing I want to do when I finally get to the safehouse is see my baby brother.
I’m going on two days of no sleep, I definitely have a concussion, and about a dozen places on my body won’t stop bleeding—including my ass.
The adrenaline from helping all the panicked survivors and taking down any party guests who didn’t go down with the spiked champagne wore off as we were pouring gasoline over everything, sending me into a crash. I couldn’t crash, though. Not at the party location. Not during transport, either. There were too many things to do. I had a dislocated shoulder Jake insisted on setting for me, a newly adjusted broken nose that I set myself, and ribs that were at least bruised, if not broken. There were calls to make and people to check on. There was an update on Carter that needed to be obtained.
Anytime I had a moment to just fucking sit still, Carter getting slapped and dragged and face-fucked by a man I consider a brother would play through my mind, sometimes broken up with images of the strangers who used his mouth after.
Suffice to say, it was impossible to get anywhere near comfortable enough to sleep.
Jake offered me pills again, but I turned them down. Travis had gotten Carter safely out of the party right away. It’s something I’m obviously thankful for, but it means I didn’t get a chance to see him first. Before I take anything that might fuck with my head, I’m going to set eyes on my brother. I’m going to make sure he’s okay.
I don’t care that there’s a tray of expensive Scotch waiting for us when we arrive. I don’t care that the first wave of survivors will be here any second, needing our care and support. I don’t care that all of the guys have told me repeatedly I should head straight to the doctor. I just want to see my fucking brother.
