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“That was perfect,” I whisper, my words feeling a little slurred. “You’re perfect, daddy.”
He hums, turning the lights out and pulling me into his big, safe arms. “You’re the perfect one. I can’t believe I found you.”
My chest warms with the words. I nuzzle into his chest, squeezing David tight. “Never let me go then,” I half-beg, half-demand.
His laugh is warm. “Oh, baby boy. That won’t be a problem.”
Chapter Fifty
Jake
Travis and I are in the kitchen enjoying coffee and quiet time while our two boys sleep in after being fucked nice and good – no, we don’t actually share that information with each other, but it’s pretty obvious – when Dr. Singh approaches us. “Jake, Travis, I was hoping to speak with the two of you for a moment.”
We exchange a look before Travis nods. “Of course.”
“The survivors have decided they’d like for the two of you to attend the next group therapy session.” He doesn’t wait for us to ask questions, even putting up a hand to keep us quiet before we can. “They’ve been floating around the idea for a while now. I think Bryce and Nolan need it most, if you ask me. And I think they need it before they’ll agree to the safehouse. But it’s up to the two of you.”
“Of course,” I say easily.
Travis hesitates though. I don’t exactly blame him. I may have spent more time with slaves, may have had to hurt them more often, but he was the man in charge. It’s no secret that the slaves see it that way. We all know by now how badly that first group therapy session went. The survivors were pissed.
But Travis is a damn good man and would do just about anything for these guys, so he eventually swallows hard and says, “Yeah. Okay.”
No one is looking at us. Even Carter and Casey - sitting together on the couch with Nolan - are avoiding eye contact. Travis and I exchange a nervous look before sitting together on the ledge of the fireplace. Dr. Singh is already seated in a chair to the left of us, across from the couch. Matt is in the chair beside that. Bryce is pacing beside the sliding glass door, his gaze never leaving the outdoors even when he turns to start a new lap. Max is on the floor by the entrance to the room, knees drawn to his chest.
Dr. Singh clears his throat after letting us all sit in tense silence for a minute. “Travis asked if he could start us off. Does anyone have an issue with that?”
I eye Travis, not having known that. He has his head ducked low, his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped white-knuckle tight between his spread knees. When no one argues, Dr. Singh says, “Travis, take it away.”
“Thank you.” He clears his throat before slowly lifting his chin. His gaze scans the room, giving attention to every person in there for a few seconds before moving on to the next. When he finishes, it’s with his gaze settled on the coffee table in the center of everyone. “I just wanted to make it clear that whatever is said here, whatever happens, the house we bought will still be open to each and every one of you. Yell at me and Jake. Call us every fucking name in the book. Throw shit at us. Hit us. Whatever you-”
“No throwing or hitting,” Dr. Singh says, wagging a finger at the others in the room before winking at Travis. “But continue.”
Travis releases a shaky sort of laugh. “Right. Sorry. Um - well, whatever is allowed according to the doc, do it. You don’t have to hold back. When this is over, the offer for a safe place to call home still stands.”
“Couldn’t say it better myself,” I tell them.
The survivors exchange looks with each other. I’m not sure if it’s them trying to decide if they believe us, or trying to decide who will talk first. It doesn’t matter. We said our pieces. It’s their turn now. Travis is right. Whatever these guys need, we’ll give it to them.
Bryce speaks first. I had a feeling that might be the case. Surprisingly, though, it’s not Travis he addresses. It’s me. “What did you do to us?”
“I'm… sorry?” I shake my head, not understanding.
“We have blanks in our memories about you. All of us. We’d talk about it, when we were still at the compound. We’d worry when one of us went missing to your room. It’d make us sick. What the fuck would you do?”
I have to fight not to look over at Casey. “One of the first things I would do is give you water. It was always drugged with a sedative. Then I’d give you antibiotics and any other medical care I could while you were out. I’d clean you up and then let you sleep in my bed, safe and untouched.”
“And you had to drug us for that? You couldn’t just fucking tell us we were safe?”
“And risk everything if one of you told someone?” I tilt my head at him, trying not to be annoyed. “No fucking way.”
“We wouldn’t have done that.”
“I might have,” Nolan whispers. Bryce’s head snaps to the side, his eyes narrowing on Nolan. But Nolan is looking at Travis, his cheeks bright red. “If you had admitted to being a good guy or to taking care of us like that, I might have gone to Travis. To… Master Roarke. God, I was willing to do anything to make him want me. To make him choose me to be his. I would have told him. I - I know that makes me a fucking awful person, but-” He presses his fingertips to his mouth, ducking his head. A tear falls down one cheek. "It took everything in me not to tell him that the slaves were trying to gather information and plan a revolt. But I refused to betray them." Nolan lifts his chin, another tear falling as he settles his gaze on me. "But I would have betrayed you."
"That doesn't make you awful," Bryce mumbles, slumping down on the arm of Nolan's chair. He runs a hand through his hair affectionately. "What does the doc always say? Never be ashamed of what you did to survive."
Nolan nods, looking relieved that his friend is upset.
