Gabriel
The steady beep of medical equipment pierced ’s consciousness. He hadn’t moved from his vigil beside the guest suite bed, one hand resting carefully between the IV lines and bruises that marked Ellis’ pale arm. Dr. Nguyen’s earlier words echoed in his mind: dehydration, malnutrition, infections, and various illegal substances that would take time to clear his system. But with proper care, she’d assured him, Ellis would recover.
Physically, at least.
The bourbon in his glass remained untouched. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Ellis’ face, peaceful now in medicated sleep. Every mark, every shadow beneath those closed eyes, every place where that already slim frame had grown gaunt fed the icy rage building in his chest.
#
Twenty-four hours earlier
#
Diesel fumes and stagnant water had saturated the abandoned warehouse in The Docks. fought to keep his expression neutral as the Bratva lieutenant’s scarred face hardened at their explanation.
“Human trafficking?” The Russian’s accent was thick with disgust. “We do not touch this trade.”
“Criminals with hearts of gold?” The words slipped from ’s mouth before he could stop them, dry despite the tension crackling in the air.
Nika cut in, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s too much hassle. Easier ways to make money.” The casual indifference in his voice made ’s skin crawl. Alain’s sharp elbow caught Nika in the ribs, and for just a moment, something cold and empty flickered behind Nika’s eyes before his usual predatory smile slid back into place.
Nika’s blank stare settled on Alain until the security chief shifted uncomfortably and added, “The Bratva do have a code. Loose as it may be.”
The lieutenant jabbed a thick finger at the map. “Here, our warehouse. Here, three blocks away, these idiots with their human cargo. And here,” his finger stabbed several more locations, “federal surveillance. Task force. They see this operation, they tear apart everything nearby. Don’t care what belongs to who.”
“We will help remove rats,” the lieutenant continued, switching the map for blueprints. “Three floors. Basement for the merchandise. Ground floor, guards, more cargo. Top floor, operations. “
’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening at the casual way they referred to human beings as ‘merchandise.’ Somewhere in that basement, Ellis was waiting. Suffering. His little bird reduced to inventory in their cold assessment. But five million dollars had bought their help, along with whatever dark promises Nika had made, and wasn’t about to jeopardize the rescue by objecting to their terminology. No one with any sense questioned the Bratva’s methods, not when you needed their particular expertise.
“Sooner done, sooner back to business,” the lieutenant concluded, folding the blueprints. “Your people are ready?”
Nika nodded, and they were moving.
The raid proceeded with unexpected precision. watched the Russians clear floors like a well-oiled machine. No wasted motion. No unnecessary violence. Though, he noted with grim satisfaction, that the traffickers received no gentle treatment.
But the basement...
He’d thought himself prepared.
The stench slammed into him first. Sweat, blood, human misery. Then the sounds. Whimpers, rattling chains, broken sobs. Row after row of hospital curtains, each concealing another body.
Chained. Naked. Eyes unseeing.
He forced the horror down. Compartmentalized. Find Ellis. Focus on Ellis.
“We’ll need arrangements for the others,” Alain said quietly at his shoulder.
“The shelters in Fourth Cat,” Nika replied. “They have experience with trafficking victims, protocols for family notification, a few non-profits.”
“We’ll coordinate everything,” Alain said, clapping Nika on the shoulder with slightly more force than necessary.
“Excuse me, but my billing rate for humanitarian work is—” Nika stopped mid-sentence, catching Alain’s expression. He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Is... exactly zero dollars. Pro bono. How unexpectedly charitable of me.” His smile showed too many teeth. “Though I should warn you, my pro bono work typically involves significantly more paperwork and considerably fewer positive outcomes for all involved.”
“Nika.” Alain’s voice carried a warning.
“Fine. Shelters. Paperwork. Happy endings. Got it.”
barely registered their exchange, his focus drawn to the rows of curtained areas ahead. The dim lights cast sickly shadows through the thin fabric.
Then he saw him. Ellis’ skin was almost gray. Raw, bleeding wrists bound by metal restraints. Those usually bright eyes glazed with drugs and defeat.
“Did you...” Ellis’ voice emerged as barely a whisper, “Did you really come?”
“Yes, mon petit oiseau.” couldn’t stop his fingers from trembling as they brushed Ellis’ cheek. “Mon coeur. Je suis là.”
#
Present
#
A small sound of distress pulled from the memory. He leaned forward instantly, running gentle fingers through Ellis’ hair until the younger man settled again.
“Shhh, mon coeur,” he soothed. “You’re home now. You’re safe.”
He watched the shallow rise and fall of Ellis’ chest, studied the bruises already fading under regular applications of Smooth. The medical-grade cream was working—the abrasions on Ellis’ wrists were healing, the brutal marks on his skin slowly diminishing—but not fast enough. Never fast enough.
The quiet click of the door announced Dr. Nguyen’s arrival for her hourly check. didn’t look up from where his thumb traced careful circles on Ellis’ palm, but he asked the question burning in his mind: “When will he wake?”
“Not yet.” Her tone was gentle but firm. “The first course of treatment is aggressive. This new combination therapy has only been available for the last decade, and while its effectiveness is remarkable, the interaction between the compounds causes severe physical distress as they work. We need to flush the cocktail of drugs they used to keep him compliant from his system, and that process alone...” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “The withdrawal would be excruciating if he were conscious. Keeping him in a medically induced coma for this initial three-day course is kindest. We’ve barely finished day one.”
watched her check the IV drip rates with her usual efficiency, though her movements seemed gentler than her typical brisk manner. She turned to face him, her professional mask firmly in place.
“Along with the detox therapy, he’s on an aggressive course of antibiotics and antivirals,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Two weeks of forced contact with multiple unknown partners means we’re treating him for every possible exposure. These medications need time to work through his system properly. We can’t rush this, .”
’s jaw clenched. “And after?”
“Five more days of oral medication while awake. Then, we run another full panel. He was lucky,” she added, checking Ellis’ IV lines with practiced efficiency. “No surgical repairs were needed, but the trauma was still extensive. I’m prescribing complete bed rest for a minimum of one week after he wakes, followed by at least a month of minimal physical activity.” Her dark eyes met his. “And I will be monitoring his recovery closely.”
“Understood.” The word came out rougher than he intended.
Dr. Nguyen nodded, made a few notes on her tablet, and quietly left them alone.
turned back to Ellis, taking in how vulnerable he looked against the white sheets. The untouched bourbon forgotten, he took Ellis’ hand again, carefully, mindful of the healing skin.
He would find every person responsible for this. Would dismantle their operation piece by piece. Would ensure they suffered as Ellis had suffered, and then some.
But that was for later. For now, there was only this, Ellis’ cold fingers gradually warming in his grasp, the quiet beep of monitoring equipment, the knowledge that his petit oiseau was home and safe and his.
pressed a gentle kiss to Ellis’ palm. “Je suis là,” he whispered again. “Je serai toujours là.”
The room darkened gradually as evening crept in, broken only by the soft glow of medical monitors and a small lamp in the corner. A plate of food Annabelle had insisted on bringing sat mostly untouched on the side table, his fork occasionally pushing a piece of chicken from one side to the other.
The quiet knock at the door revealed Alain. His security chief entered silently, waiting until nodded before speaking.
“Twenty-three total, including Ellis.” Alain’s voice was soft but clear. “Two were already dead when we found them. Another didn’t make it to the hospital.”
’s hand tightened fractionally around Ellis’ before he forced himself to relax.
“The police are questioning survivors, but the Trafficking Survivor Advocates stepped in quickly. They’re mediating, keeping the more zealous officers in check.” Alain moved to stand by the window, his reflection barely visible in the darkened glass. “Most victims were as heavily drugged as Ellis. The few coherent enough to speak only mentioned Russian rescuers.”
A slight smile touched Alain’s lips. “The Bratva are already being hailed as heroes in the press. Word is they’re trying to leverage this ‘humanitarian intervention’ to get federal surveillance moved from their territory. No idea how that will play out.”
He shifted, and recognized the posture that meant there was more.
“Nika and I secured rooms in Fourth Cat shelters for those without immediate family connections. Nika is...” Alain’s smile widened slightly. “Well, he’s complaining extensively about pro bono work, finding families, arranging travel home, dealing with people in general. But he’s satisfied this should fulfill his annual pro bono requirements.”
A soft exhale that might have been a laugh. “He’s also apparently appointed himself efficiency expert for the Survivor Advocates organization. They’re overworked, underfunded, and while well-intentioned...” Alain shook his head with what looked suspiciously like fondness. “Nika’s already reorganizing their entire management structure. They seem too relieved for the help to question his methods.”
Alain checked his watch, then looked pointedly at the untouched food tray beside . “You should try to rest. Dr. Nguyen said she’ll keep him under for at least two more days.” When didn’t respond, Alain added quietly, “I’ll stay with him. He won’t be alone.”
knew he should move, should attempt to sleep in something other than the chair he’d occupied for the past eighteen hours. But the thought of leaving Ellis, even with Alain’s watchful presence...
“.” Alain’s voice was firm but gentle. “You won’t do him any good if you collapse. Four hours. That’s all I’m asking.”
Reluctantly, nodded. He pressed a soft kiss to Ellis’ palm before laying it carefully back on the bed.
The next three days blurred together in a cycle of quiet vigils and reluctant departures.
“Sir.” Jacob appeared at ’s shoulder late the next night, as silent as ever. “The shower has been prepared, and fresh clothes laid out.”
“I’m fine—”
“And Annabelle has threatened to force-feed you herself if you don’t eat a proper meal.” The butler’s tone remained impeccable, but could have sworn he heard amusement. “Mr. Moreau has already offered to sit with Ellis.”
Lucas did indeed take the chair by Ellis’ bed, already pulling out his tablet. “Go. Rest. You’re no good to him exhausted.”
The pattern repeated. Alain’s quiet presence while handled unavoidable calls. Jean curled in the bedside chair reading aloud from some novel, voice soft but steady. Dr. Nguyen’s efficient visits, changing IV bags and noting Ellis’ improving color with satisfaction.
On her final check before Ellis was due to wake, she handed a business card. “Dr. Sarah Chen. She specializes in trauma recovery, particularly for survivors of trafficking. I’ve already briefed her on Ellis’ case.”
studied the card. “Thank you.”
“She’s excellent, . After the bed rest period—”
“I’ll make sure he goes.”
The morning Ellis was scheduled to wake, sat in his usual place, holding Ellis’ hand. The bruises had faded significantly under repeated applications of Smooth, though the memory of them still made ’s jaw clench.
A flutter of eyelashes. A slight increase in pressure against his fingers.
“Ellis?” leaned forward, heart pounding. “Mon coeur?”
Brown eyes opened slowly, confusion giving way to recognition. Then tears.
“Not...not a dream?” Ellis’ voice was rough from disuse.
“No, petit oiseau.” carefully shifted onto the bed, gathering Ellis into his arms as the younger man began to sob. “You’re home. You’re safe.”
“I’m sorry,” Ellis choked out, fingers twisting in ’s shirt. “I’m so sorry, I tried to fight but they—”
“Shhh.” pressed his lips to Ellis’ temple. “None of this was your fault. None of it.”
Ellis’ grip tightened. “I thought...I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I will always find you.” ’s voice was fierce. “Always. Je t’aime, mon coeur. And when you’re better?” He pulled back just enough to meet Ellis’ tearful gaze. “We’re taking that beautiful boat of yours around the world.”
A watery laugh escaped Ellis. “Promise?”
“Promise.” pulled him close again, feeling Ellis’ tears soak into his shirt. But these tears would heal, not harm. These tears meant Ellis was home, was safe, was his.