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He’s been working this job for nearly ten years. Just because he’s not going to rape Maison doesn’t mean he hasn’t raped anyone. If the compound runs anything like DuGray’s house, the men who work for the boss tend to get even more action than the actual boss. DuGray’s men fucked me at least twenty times more often than DuGray himself.
He’s not a rapist. He can’t be. It must be like… against the rules, right? Like a moral code? Undercover cops can’t do drugs and shit like that, so he must not be able to do anything… right?
Except Travis raped Carter. Repeatedly. And he probably raped others too.
I press my fingers to my lips, bile burning the back of my throat.
“Travis will throw a party to celebrate catching Maison,” Jake says, unaware of my current panic spiral. “He’ll be able to invite the most powerful people he’s spent the last decade allying himself with. All of his friends and business partners. And they’ll all bring their slaves. We’ll drug the champagne for the toast, then save the slaves and start a wave of takedowns across the region using our satellite teams by utilizing all the information we’ve collected over the years.”
“What if the slaves drink the champagne?” I ask, remembering a time when DuGray forced me to guzzle his whiskey, not letting me stop until I vomited so much that blood started coming up.
“We’re planning for that, don’t worry. We’ll have an anecdote. The drug won’t kill them right away, it puts them to sleep first. We’ll have time to get to any slaves that have gone down. They’ll be taken care of, Case. I promise. We’ll keep them safe.”
We’ll keep them safe.
But at what cost?
I pick at the blanket covering my legs, my hands shaking just like his had been a minute ago. How many slaves have slept in this bed? How many has he raped before covering their abused bodies with this very blanket? Or did he rape them and kick them out, not even bothering to let them rest after?
“How many?” I ask.
“How many what?”
I lift my chin to glare at him. If I don’t glare, I’ll cry. “How many slaves have you raped?”
Jake takes a slow, even breath through his nose before dropping his gaze to his feet. “If we’re speaking anally? Only one.”
Only.
One is fucking enough.
He’s a rapist.
He’s raped slaves just like DuGray and his men raped me.
I cover my mouth to keep in a sob. Or maybe vomit. Or both. Tears fall freely down my cheeks.
“It was my welcome party,” he murmurs. “Travis was here before me, getting set up as Nathan Roarke. He was pretending to be the nephew of the man who was in charge of all of this. That’s a long fucking story, but basically the man was legitimate, a real criminal that got caught and decided to flip to the good side with some… incentive. He also had cancer, so he was on a clock. A convenient one. When the man died, Travis took over. His first act as the new boss was to bring me on as his second. The men were wary of him, to say the least. And they weren’t happy that he didn’t pick one of them as his second. But I was his childhood best friend, according to his story, so they were willing to give me a chance. They threw me a party. I could not, under any circumstance, seem unwilling to be friends with them. It would have ruined everything. I had to get them to like me. To fucking love me. So, when they dragged a slave over to me, I finished my line of coke, mentally thanked Travis for warning me to take Viagra beforehand, and did what was expected of me.”
I swallow twice before managing to whisper, “You raped him.”
Jake keeps his head down. “Yes.”
“Who was he? Do you even know his name? Carter mentioned they’re known as numbers here. Hell, do you even remember his number, Jake? Or was he just some slut you fucked for fun at your welcome party?”
“Don’t,” Jake growls, his chin snapping up. His entire body is shaking now. “Don’t call him a slut. And don’t you dare say I had fun doing it.”
I almost feel bad enough to apologize.
I feel bad enough to at least not argue.
“His name is Bryant. He's a house slave now. A cook in our kitchen.”
Bryant.
“And he was your one anal rape?”
“Yes.”
