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Chapter 7

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lawson slid into the seat by Curtis at the bar, jaw ticking, eyes blazing. “Since when do you send a sub—any sub—alone and scared to the dungeon?”

Well on his way to drunk, Curtis lifted his glass and saluted Lawson with it before draining the contents in one swallow. He’d stopped feeling the burn after the third. Turning the glass upside down, he slammed it on the bar next to the other empties. Six down, six to go.

He frowned at the glasses. If he could still count, he wasn’t nearly obliterated.

“Did he safeword?” Curtis asked the question he knew he didn’t want the answer to.

Motioning to Doc for a beer, Lawson leaned back, one arm over the back of his seat. “Do you care?”

Forehead in his hand, Curtis rolled his head to take in Lawson’s superior mug. “Of course, I fucking care.”

If the kid had said lollipop, Curtis would go upstairs and kill Kovit. Preferably in a way that involved the man’s balls being shoved so far up his ass they spilled from between his teeth. If Reed’s sweet mouth hadn’t uttered the candy shop equivalent of cuss word?

Well…

It meant he’d enjoyed whatever fucked up shit had been done to him. In which case, either Curtis didn’t know jack about Reed anymore, or he never had. The idea that the man, whose entire being once seemed to light up when Curtis entered the room, might’ve been broken over the back of The Asylum had him lifting another shot glass.

Lawson grabbed Curtis’s wrist, his hold telling Curtis he’d break his bones if he tried to sink the drink. “You’re done, Curtis.”

“Like hell.” Switching hands, he brought the glass to his lips.

Lawson knocked the drink upward so the whiskey sloshed down Curtis’s front. He fumbled the shot glass and its remaining contents puddled on the bar’s surface.

“What the fuck, man?” Standing, Curtis leaned over the bar to grab a towel and dried himself off. He was going to stink like a fucking distillery, but fuck Lawson if he thought he could cut him off before the whiskey burned the visuals of Reed submitting to Kovit’s brutality from his head. He grabbed the bottle with his other hand, forgoing a glass altogether.

“All right. That’s it.” Jaw working overtime, Lawson rushed him.

The white bar towel was still sailing to the ground when Curtis’s head knocked The Asylum’s liquor license off the wall. Glass shattered, splintering across the floor.

Gripping Curtis’s throat, Lawson pressed a thumb into his jugular so his vision spotted. There was a time when Noah would have made them fight it out in the ring. Not this time.

Because Noah was on a cot, in a cell, in his very own hell.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” It was the only warning Curtis would give.

A cold smile ghosted Lawson’s lips. “You’re going to go upstairs and take care of Reed, or so help me God, I’m going to make you wish you’d never crawled out of that penthouse on the Upper East Side.”

Curtis blinked.

“How…” Secrets he’d thought had been safe with Noah spilled out on the floor between him and Lawson. “He told you?”

Letting go of Curtis’s throat, Lawson stepped back. “This isn’t about you, you narcissistic fuck.”

The few remaining members Curtis almost forgot were there quieted, eyes trained on him and Lawson. They couldn’t afford to have this argument here. For many, many reasons.

Curtis glowered, drunken haze clearing. “Then who is it about, Law? Because as far as I can tell, you made it pretty clear this has everything to do with me.”

Fist impacting the wall next to Curtis’s head so hard the plaster cracked, Lawson leaned in. “Get upstairs. Now. I won’t tell you again.”

Holding Lawson’s livid gaze, Curtis felt his own harden. “So we’re back to this?”

Lawson’s jaw ticked. “I guess so.”

“Figured having your good opinion was a short-lived thing anyway.” Curtis forced a sardonic grin across his lips. Let the man think he didn’t care. “But in case you wondered? Your shit stinks just as much as mine.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Ducking under Law’s arm, Curtis shoved past a surprised Dallas, who watched him go. Three flights of stairs commanded his attention just enough to cool his anger, and he realized Lawson had said something about Reed. Stopping outside of the man’s apartment, he wrapped his hand around the knob and put the flat of his palm against the door.

Darkness pooled underneath. Everything was hushed, which meant the man probably slept. He almost turned away, remembered what Lawson had said about Reed being alone and scared, and frowned. The kid had been all but begging for months to have Curtis smack his ass, and suddenly he’d been worried enough to be scared?

Tasting the alcohol on his tongue, Curtis worked it around his mouth and knew this was all going to make more sense tomorrow. Right now, he’d just check to make sure Reed was okay and then go shower. Sleep this off and pray that when he peeked out from between the fingers of his inevitable hangover he didn’t regret whatever it was Lawson believed he’d done.

Inside the loft, he paused and struggled to remember where the switch was. Feeling around on the wall, he found the bank and flicked on the nearest. Soft lights flooded downward, lighting Ezran’s art pieces and some paintings Noah had done of the Green Mountains at sunrise. Standing before them, Curtis breathed deep.

Noah had ratted him out, humiliated him to Lawson. “Fuck, man. Why’d you do it?”

It had been nearly impossible to keep up a pretense of pride with ‘The Law’ before. Shaking his head, he shoved down this new bit of information, swallowing it like all of the other bitter pills that had spread their poison through his system.

Padding across the smooth wood floors, he realized he’d never put his boots back on after the fight with Kovit. For some reason he’d thought there were carpets in here, but he’d only been in Reed and Ez’s place when he pried the teen away from some video game for chores and school.

A ceiling fan twirled lazily above, ruffling Curtis’s hair as he passed underneath. The door to the left was open, the room empty—Ez’s bedroom. The bathroom to the right, and then another door. Reed’s. He raised his knuckles to knock and stilled. If Reed was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him.

As quietly as he could, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Moonbeams streamed in through the window, lighting the room’s low furniture in blue-black hues. He made out a dresser to his right, the bed on the opposite wall, its wide expanse an oasis in the otherwise barren room. He forced himself to step inside and tiptoed to the bed. Huddled in the middle, Reed lay curled on top of the covers, shirtless. Harsh red welts layered one over the other, marring his once velvet-smooth skin. Knees to his chest, head on his knees, he appeared impossibly small, and…alone.

Lawson? What the fuck? How did you let this happen?

Recalling the way Reed had looked at him from his stance near the spanking bench, Curtis swallowed hard.

How did I let this happen?

Fists clenching, he nearly left to find Kovit. Instead, he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed. Not wanting to startle Reed, he reached out a hand, tried to find a piece of skin he could touch without causing pain, and settled on Reed’s hair. “Hey.”

Inhaling sharply, Reed rolled toward him and cried out.

“Fuck. It’s okay. It’s just me. I’m sorry.” Curtis brushed his fingers soothingly through Reed’s impossibly soft curls. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Rolling away, Reed took himself out of reach. “Go away.”

“Sure. I’ll send Matt in.” Someone had to take care of him, and if he didn’t want Curtis then maybe his best friend would be able to do something to help him.

“I don’t want anyone. Just fuck off.” Through clenched teeth, Reed’s words spoke volumes.

Remembering a time when he’d visited a hardcore club against Noah’s wishes, and the aftermath, how Noah hadn’t taken no for an answer when he’d only wanted to hide his hurt and shame, Curtis stilled. This was definitely a WWND, What would Noah do, situation. Getting up, he went to the kitchen, got a couple bottles of water and a handful of the lollipops Reed always seemed to have sticking out of his sassy mouth.

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