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“Fuck. You.”
“Nah.” Travis tilts his head, letting every sadistic bone in his body come to life. “But maybe I’ll fuck you. With a gun. Or a knife. We’ll see how things go.”
Mica sneers at him. “Act all high and mighty all you want, Roarke - you forget I watched you. How does Beckett feel about all the things you did to his baby brother?”
“I was doing my job.”
“Did your job require you to like it?” Mica asks, his eyes knowing. “Does Beckett know how much you enjoyed raping the boy? Beating him? Does he know you loved it when he cried?”
Guilt and shame burns in Travis’s chest. “It’s called acting, fuckface. Now shut up or-”
“Try to lie to yourself all you want, buddy. I know the truth.”
Travis drops Mica’s head, letting it bounce off the floor. He walks away in search of something - anything - to use to gag him.
“Did you keep him, Roarke?” Mica yells across the room. “Is Carter waiting for you at home? Ready to call you sir and suck your cock?”
“Shut up!” Travis roars, turning around and kicking Mica in the ribs. “Don’t say his name! Don’t you ever say his fucking name!”
Mica coughs and wheezes, but he’s laughing through the pain. His grin is manic when he looks up at Travis. “Holy shit. You kept him, didn’t you? You fucking kept him!”
All of Travis’s plans go right out the window. The payback. The torture. The wanting Mica to beg for death.
He pulls out his handgun from its holster and puts two bullets right in Mica’s forehead.
“I didn’t keep him,” Travis growls to the dead body on the floor. His hand holding the gun is shaking furiously. Even to his own ears, the words sound like a lie. “I let him go. He’s free.”
Travis didn’t fucking keep him.
He set him free.
Didn’t he?
Carter wakes up to something touching his face. Someone.
Carter knows who it is before he even opens his eyes. "Travis?"
"Hey you." The man runs a finger across Carter's cheek again. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you. I just needed to see you for a second."
"You're okay." Carter squints through the dim lighting of the room, thankful he still needs to sleep with the lamp on its lowest setting. “Is it over? Did you finally get him?”
“Yeah. He’s gone now.“
“Good.” When Travis doesn’t say anything, Carter asks, “That’s good, right?”
“Sure.”
Frowning, Carter pushes himself up on the bed until he’s sitting. He reaches over and turns his lamp to a higher setting. His breath hitches in his chest when he sees the man crouched beside his bed.
Travis looks… terrible. Sexy as hell - per usual - but terrible. His hair is a wreck like he’s been yanking on it constantly, his close shave from the other day has grown into stubble that’s too long for a shadow and too short for a beard, his eyes are red-rimmed and glazed, and there’s something splattered across his black shirt.
“Travis…”
“You should get some rest.” Travis pushes to his feet, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I woke you. I promise, I didn’t mean to.”
“Travis,” Carter says again, firmly this time. “Don’t leave. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
The man fidgets, clearly agitated. His hands flex at his sides.
