It’s Erik’s turn to look disgruntled. “What is it with these hookups? I’ve tried to convince Charlie you need a fucking curfew, and he won’t hear it. This is insanity.”
Ant slides a look my way, and…yeah, I know.
Thankfully, Bram takes over.
“Erik, he’s twenty years old. He’ll be twenty-one soon enough. He’s under the care of a highly qualified therapist, and he is in the middle of reintegrating into ‘normal’ life after living a nightmare for years. You and I don’t get to say how he does that. That is between him and his therapist.”
“I can worry about the little dude, can’t I?” Erik asks, disgruntled.
I go to say something, knowing Ant doesn’t like to be treated like alittle dude, but Bram’s got it covered.
“The problem here is that you keep seeing him as he was the night you rescued him, and that’s not fair. He wasn’t even himself that night. He was an avatar for a young, underaged prostitute. So, as a mental health professional, I’m telling you that you need to respect the very brave, very headstrong man he is.”
Ant looks shocked by Bram’s words, but I’m not. I’ve been going to him more and more to make sure I’m doing and saying the right things with Ant. He’s the one who pointed out his recovery patterns.
“Thank you, Bram,” he says quietly.
“You’re welcome, Ant. But maybe have a little respect for the people who love you and worry about you, okay? Nobody’s trying to hold you back, at least not purposefully.”
Ant makes a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat and tosses his thumb back at Erik. “He is.”
“You’ve got me there, but we’re working on him too.”
Now it’s Erik’s turn to make a disgruntled sound. Bram and I exchange a quick smile in the rearview mirror.These guys.
Bram and I drop off Erik and Ant at the bunkhouse, then head next door. We discovered that one of the ways Charlie and Erik make money is that Wimberley takes over the holdings of whoever they take down. It’s a neat trick, and when they sell off those holdings, whoever was on that op gets a cut.
In this case, Charlie, Erik, and Anders refused their cuts, instead having Wimberley split the large property three ways between me, Bram, and Levy.
Bram and I got the front half with the trafficker’s house, and Levy got the back half with the wooded area and creek access. He’s staying in the bunkhouse for now, but we recently moved my Airstream onto his part of the property. As soon as he figures out the utilities, he’ll move in.
Sorting out the issues with the newly postpartum and pregnant survivors was difficult and emotional but ultimately very satisfying. All the babies were placed in the situation best for them, the person who carried them, and the potential adoptive couples, who were devastated to find out they’d been working with a surrogacy front and not a legitimate business.
We’ve since taken down the security fence and the insta-building, donating them to two local businesses.
“Home sweet home,” Bram says as I pull into the driveway.
He and I have spent the better part of the last two months renovating the house together before moving in last week. You learn a lot when you work on a big project with someone, and it turns out Bram has a bit of a competency kink. He fucked me against the reupholstered chair in my living room when he found out I’d done it myself, and since then, I’ve enjoyed showing off everything I learned in prison.
What can I say? He’s really good at showing appreciation for a job well done.
Now that the house is mostly done, we’ve started going to used furniture shops. We find a good piece with great bones, make it ours, then christen it however Dr. Barlowe sees fit.
Which reminds me…
“Oh, Dr. Barlowe. I forgot to tell you,” I say, getting down from the truck. “I finished that settee last night.”
“Did you now?” he asks, coming around the truck to put his hand on my waist. I automatically straighten my posture.
“Good boy,” he whispers, nuzzling into my neck.
“Yes,” I choke out as he pulls me into the house. “I used that green velvet upholstery fabric we picked out.”
He takes me by the hand, leading me to the piece in question. Palming his growing cock, he lets out an uneven breath.
“This is exquisite, Ignacio.”
“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”
