Page 141 of Piece Us Together

That’s easier. Much easier.

“I want to be able to talk to whoever I want, whenever I want. To have privacy for my phone. And to be able to leave. To go see friends. To maybe—to maybe go to school, I think. I think I’d like it.”

“Those are all things I’d want you to have, so that’s perfect. What else?”

“Um. Clothes? Most of the time? I like being able to pick out my own clothes, but sometimes…sometimes I overthink it. Get anxious about all the options.”

“Will you tell me, when you feel that way? I would love to help.” I nibble on my bottom lip, nodding in a way I hope doesn’t come off as ridiculously eager. His smile turns into a smirk that makes me think he’s onto me. “I’m assuming you want to control the menu and groceries.”

I laugh. “God, yes.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Okay, okay. Speaking of food, though—you said in your packets there were no allergies and no relevant health issues.”

I nod slowly, not sure where he’s going with this. “Yes, sir.”

“Nolan, your frame…” he hesitates, his eyes falling to scan my body before flicking to Maison. “I think it’d be healthy for you to put on some weight.”

My face goes hot immediately. Maison tenses, something Hunter clearly picks up on. “I don’t mean to offend,” Hunter says carefully, his eyes back on me. “I just want you to be healthy. Is there—do you need help with that, darling? You know I’d never judge you if you needed that help.”

God, he’s such a good man. A good dom. Good partner.I manage a smile, because of that. Because of him.

“I want to be healthy, sir. I just look like this because…” I trail off, but I don’t let myself look at Maison. I meant what I said before—I won’t tell his story, but I’m telling mine. I keep my eyes on Hunter and tell him the truth. “Because I wasn’t allowed to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I’m getting better, now that I’m—now that I get to decide for myself. I’ve put on weight. I’m not done doing so. If you want to help with that, you can, but I’m on the job.”

Hunter’s fingers curl into fists. “Who?”

“Sir?”

“Who did that to you?”

A man named Nathan Roarke.

Benny Lafitte.

Other men.

So many men.

“They’re dead,” Maison says, his voice whisper soft, yet still somehow booming. I jolt with the force of the truth. Hunter seems just as affected, his eyes wide as he turns to look at Maison. His face is serious. Cold. Angry.

Hunter looks at him for a moment, wheels turning. Then, “Did you kill him?”

It wasn’t just one, but telling him that gives too much away. I can see the moment Maison realizes that. The moment he has to weigh the options of what to say.

He looks at me, and I realize he’s asking permission. I grab the edges of the counter behind me to keep from collapsing. I nod.

Maison looks back at Hunter. “Some of them. Not enough of them, but some of them.”

There’s a moment, a single moment, where Hunter doesn’t understand.

Then he does.

And oh, how ithurtsto see that realization wash over him. To see my reality become his own.

He ducks his chin, hiding in a way I’ve never seen him do before. His eyes close.

Maison places a hand on his shoulder. I itch to walk forward, to do or say something, but I feel frozen in place.

“Are there any left?” he asks in a gravelly, thick voice.

---