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I became someone else years ago. Benny Rivera.
As a highly decorated special forces operative, I was plucked off the field and given the opportunity to go undercover inside a human trafficking operation. Playing the role of best friend and right-hand man to another operative - Travis Kenton, pretending to be Nathan Roarke - we would unravel one of the biggest sex trafficking networks in the Americas. Travis was already embedded weeks before me, pretending to be the nephew that would inherit everything when his uncle - our operation’s rat - passed away from cancer. After his death, it was my turn to show up and take my place at Nathan Roarke’s side as Benny Rivera.
The night before I left, our operation’s team commander came to visit and sat me down. Maison was a man I deeply respected. Despite having never even met him in person before, I had already developed trust and confidence in him. He was level-headed, highly skilled, and mission-oriented.
So, when Maison sat me down and spoke to me that night, I fucking listened.
“These men wrap their sex lives around fear. It’s fucking ecstasy to them. They’ll smell it on you immediately. You have to walk in there confident and casual. I’m not too worried about that part with you.” He had paused then, his blue eyes growing intense. “You’re the man just beneath the boss. If they have problems, they should come to you. That’s how it works in these dynamics. They have to trust you. They have to like you. Travis can make Nathan Roarke a man who is eccentric and moody and private. He can turn offers down and skip poker games and leave halfway through a party. But you? You have to win the hearts and minds of these men. You have to become one of them. You have to immerse yourself in their filth, and you have to look like you’re fucking loving it. When he leaves a party, you make the party more fun. When he turns down the poker game, you offer to bring the party favors. This operation lies on your shoulders, Jake. Not Travis’s. You have to keep him afloat. You have to keep the men happy. You have to hear every rumor, smooth every ripple, and make the hard decisions. And I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry for everything you will see and hear and do in the coming years. But I need you to tell me right now that you can handle it. That you can handle becoming a monster tomorrow.”
I hadn’t hesitated.
But I had told myself one thing - I couldn’t lose myself. Underneath all the filth, I’d make sure Jake Holt remained intact.
My biggest test came this year, when Maison’s identity was found out and shit hit the fan. Nearly all of his secrets were kept safe, including the operation and Travis and I’s identities. Everything was set up so they’d believe Maison was working with law enforcement and paramilitary to try and take the network down. No one ever suspected that two of his men were among them.
But one secret slipped through the cracks. They found his little brother Carter. Snatched him right from his college campus and sold him as a slave to the highest bidder as a fuck you to Maison. Travis bought him – as Nathan Roarke, of course. That night, Maison had called me, his voice thick with grief.
“I need you more than ever now, Jake,” he had said. “Travis is going to unravel. This is going to kill him. He begged me not to do this, not to make him be a monster. I need you to help him be one, Jake. You’ve learned how. Teach him. Push him. Make him do whatever has to be done so the three of you get back to me safely. Promise me.”
I had promised him. Promised myself too.
And I’ve done a damn good job of it, I think. Even though Travis went and fucking fell in love with the young man. And then told him the truth about everything, exposing us and the operation and giving Carter a fucking nervous breakdown. Even though Travis is barely hanging on by a thread these days, his heart breaking just a little more every time he has to hurt the man he loves.
But now I’ve been asked to do even more. To take things a step further. Carter made a friend before he was sold. Another young man who helped Carter cope. Who promised Carter they would find a way to win in the end. Who pushed Carter to try and survive. A man named Casey. A man we saw at a party last week, he and Carter forgetting their rules for a moment as they flung themselves toward each other. A man who was brutally beaten and raped in the background as I helped Travis punish Carter in front of a crowd of cheering monsters. A man who is barely alive, according to his current owner, William DuGray.
A man I’m about to buy as my slave.
I tell myself one thing as I step off the airplane in France, my eyes locking onto DuGray’s right-hand man as he stands waiting for me. No matter what happens, I won’t make Travis’s mistake.
I will not fall in love with Casey St. James.
DuGray greets me at the door of his château after me and his right hand, two of his guards, and two of my guards have driven the short distance there from the private airfield. He offers me a hand, his smile polite and professional. We’re not necessarily allies, but we’re not enemies either. This deal should go smoothly.
“It’s excellent to see you,” he says as we shake hands. “The slave is upstairs in a private room. The doctor that you hired is here to give you an update.”
It’s been 16 hours since the last update, when I was told that Casey was in the early stages of sepsis. DuGray had made it clear that once the money was exchanged, he was keeping it. Even if Casey dies before I can get the slave out of his house. I had wanted to tell him to go fucking die in a hole. Instead, I had told him that sounds perfectly reasonable.
“How is the slave?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
“The doctor believes he has the sepsis under control.” The man chuckles like the situation amuses him. It probably does, the sick fucking bastard. “The dog’s behavior at the party was quite a surprise. He’s well-trained, I assure you. It was very out of character for him. The pup just needed a little reminder of what he is. Where he belongs.”
“Do you have him trained as your pet? Or as a more standard slave?”
“Both.” He flashes me a grin. “It depends on my mood. Sometimes, I just want a mutt to kick around. Other times, I want a good little slave.”
I grin in return, allowing a little bit of evil to seep into it. Years of practice have made it easy. “It’s always good when a toy can be versatile.”
“Isn’t it?”
“May I ask why you’re willing to get rid of him?”
“Honestly?” The man pauses, turning to look at me with a more serious expression. “I’ve broken him. I thought maybe I had before but turns out he was still hanging on by a thread. I could see it in his eyes sometimes. But now? Now he’s shattered. He’s beautiful like this, I assure you, but once they’re broken, I’m bored. If he survives, he’ll serve you very well.”
Now he’s shattered.
My throat aches, emotions welling up inside of me that I haven’t let myself properly feel in a very long time. I swallow it all down. “I can’t wait.”
“You’re sure you want a used one?” he asks. “It really is more fun to break them yourself.”
