Page 114 of Piece Us Together

“It doesn’t matter,” I remind him. Remindmyself. “It’s over.”

“Mmm.” He taps his thumbs on the rim of his glass. “Well, nosy bastard that I am, I’ve got one more thing, alright?”

I huff. “Sure.”

“There’s someone I think you should talk to about all of this. Someone who can help a hell of a lot more than I can.” He finishes his drink and stands. I frown at him, trying to figure out who he could be talking about. If it’s Hunter, I’m going to tell him to fuck off.

He puts a piece of paper down in front of me, a series of numbers written neatly across it. Above the numbers are two words. A name.Ash Miller.

I just blink at it for a moment, trying to understand. I’m either much drunker than I thought or I don’t know who this person is.

“It’s Hyde,” he says before I can ask. I look up at him, startled. He smirks. “He gave me the okay to share it with you. For the op. But I know him—he won’t mind being called for something else. Something personal. He’s fond of you. Ash Miller isn’t fond of many. I don’t know how well you got to know him, outside of his work, but if you won’t talk to Hunter about what’s going on, he’s the next best thing.”

Because he’s a dom.

Keats doesn’t know if I know that, but I do. Of course I do.

Hyde—Ash Miller—was the first person I ever handed control over to. He was just like Hunter. He exuded calm and control. He was dominant in everything he said, everything he did. It wasn’t a switch he flipped on and off. It wasn’t something purely sexual.

The nosy fucker is right, if anyone could help me sort out this mess I’ve found myself in, anyone other than the two men I’m in the mess with, it’d be Ash.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Keats adds as he pulls his coat on. “I stole your keys. You aren’t in any condition to be driving anyway. Call me if you need a ride. Or, you know, call your boyfriend. Or your dom. Whoever.”

He leaves before I can tell him to go fuck himself.

I spend a long time after just staring at the number.

“Refill?” the bartender asks at some point.

“No, actually.” I carefully fold the number, sliding it into my pocket, and stand up to pull out my wallet. “I think I’m done.”

In my line of work, trust is as valuable as the air you breathe. You don’t give it out freely and you don’t break it if someone else hands theirs to you. It’s why people like me usually have a very small circle, but within that circle is a bond that’s nearly unbreakable. It’s why we all wanted to stick together after the operation. It’s why there’s no fucking way Keats could be the head after all we’ve been through. It’s why when a guy like Hyde—Ash—asks for you specifically, you show up.

It’s why when I decide to call Ash, standing in the alley where Hunter first promised to take care of me, his hand on my shoulder, my knuckles just as bloodied as they are now, I don’t doubt he’ll answer. I don’t doubt he’ll help.

The issue now is whether it’ll matter.Would Hunter even be willing to take us—me—back after what I did? Or did I truly ruin everything?

Worse, what if I didn’t ruin everything and he does take us back and then later he finds out the truth, finds out the secrets, and realizes I’m not the kind of man he wants in his life? Finds out I’m a fucking monster?

Would I survive him walking away from us? Would Nolan?

Would it just be better to leave things how they are now instead of letting ourselves fall that last little bit, until absolute heartbreak is inevitable?

I could try to explain it all to him. I could tell him I’m a bad man, but I’m trying so fucking hard to be good. I could tell him about the op with Keats I have planned and all the ones I promise to participate in. I could tell him about the box of files I have of the ones I lost, the ones I couldn’t save, that I make myself read anytime I start to forget about them. I could tell him all of the ways I’ve punished myself, all of the ways I plan to make amends, all of the good I’ve tried to do to outweigh the bad.

Maybe Hunter wouldn’t hate me for what I’ve done. Maybe he’d be able to love me anyway, like Nolan. Maybe the three of us could really be together, be happy, even with all my darkness out in the open.

Yeah, right,a voice that sounds eerily like Carter says in my head.

I can’t blame him.

What would Hunter say if he found out I sat in a chair, pretending to be tied up, just watching while my little brother was humiliated and violated repeatedly? What would his face look like if he found out I had the exact location of his auction and did nothing but wait for my friend to buy him? What would he think of me if he knew I got a phone call every night with updates on his rape and torture and did nothing but drink myself to sleep after each one?

I force myself to make the call.

Despite what Keats said, Ash must have been expecting me because he answers after a single ring with, “Maison, you motherfucker. Glad to hear you’re still alive.”

I crack a smile. It’s hard not to with this guy. “Glad to hear you still have a filthy mouth.”

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