Page 121 of A Mistake of Worth
Michael’s hand came up, ripping the blindfold away. Henri blinked against the sudden light, pupils struggling to adjust. When his gaze finally focused on Michael’s face hovering above him, something cracked wide open in his expression.Recognition confirmed, visual proof of what his body had already known.
“Michael,” he whispered again, this time seeing him, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. “You came.”
Michael pulled him into a fierce embrace, crushing him close. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Marc’s face twisted, control shattering. He surged to his feet, fury igniting in his eyes. “What did you say?”
Henri’s voice came stronger now, certain. “Michael. I belong to Michael.”
Marc’s hand shot out, but before it could connect, the door opened.
David stepped through, moving with careful purpose. He crossed directly to Marc and placed one hand on his chest. “Marc,” he said quietly, but with absolute certainty.
Marc’s attention snapped to him, rage burning. “He’s mine. He doesn’t get to—”
“Marc.” David’s voice stayed level, his hand firm. “Look at me.”
Marc did. Something passed between them, silent and intense. David’s expression was calm but immovable, his presence somehow both yielding and unyielding. Marc stared at him, chest heaving, fury and something else warring across his face.
Michael didn’t wait to see the outcome. He pulled his shirt off and shoved it over Henri’s head, wrapping him in it. “We’re leaving.”
Henri clung to him, confused, trembling. “Michael...?”
“I’ve got you.” Michael hauled him up, supporting his weight as Henri’s legs threatened to give out.
They made it to the door. Michael glanced back once.
Marc stood frozen, David’s hand still on his chest, David speaking in low urgent tones Michael couldn’t hear. Marc’s eyes tracked them, burning with rage, but he didn’t move. Didn’tfollow. Just stood there staring with terrible intensity while David kept him anchored in place.
Michael didn’t care why. Didn’t care about David’s motives or Marc’s reasons or any of it. He just tightened his grip on Henri and kept moving, down the stairs, across the foyer.
They reached the elevator. Michael hit the call button hard enough to hurt his thumb. The doors opened immediately, and Michael ushered them inside before hitting the button for the private garage level.
“Wait,” Henri whispered, his voice small and broken. He turned back toward the hall they’d come from, as if pulled by invisible strings. “I should... did I do something wrong? Marc will be angry if I—”
Michael caught his face in both hands, forcing Henri to look at him. “No. You’re done. You’re never going back.”
Henri’s eyes searched his, confusion and hope warring in equal measure. “Promise?”
The word nearly broke Michael’s heart. “I promise.”
The elevator descended, and Henri started to shake. Small tremors at first, barely noticeable, then growing stronger until his whole body was vibrating with it. His breathing went shallow and fast, each inhale catching on something in his chest.
“Michael,” he whispered, the word breaking. “Michael, I can’t—I don’t—”
“I’ve got you.” Michael pulled him close, one hand cradling the back of his head. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”
But Henri couldn’t seem to hear him. His hands came up to clutch at Michael’s shirt, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. “He’s going to come after me. He’ll find me. He always finds me when I—”
“No.” Michael’s voice was firm, certain. “He won’t.”
The elevator doors opened onto the garage, and the sight of the waiting car seemed to break something in Henri. He made a sound, small and wounded, and his legs started to give out.
Michael caught him, taking his full weight. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
By the time they reached the car, Henri was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. His face was buried against Michael’s shoulder, and Michael could feel hot tears soaking through his shirt. He guided Henri inside, settling them both in the backseat with Henri practically in his lap. Michael tapped the “Return Home” icon, then spun back to Henri.
He pulled the weighted blanket Ellis had packed around Henri’s shoulders, having to gently pry Henri’s desperate grip from his shirt to do it, then tucked it tight around him. Henri’s hands immediately clutched at the fabric, fingers white-knuckled, then reached for Michael again as if he couldn’t decide what to hold onto.
