Tate stared down the pristine triple black diamond trail, savoring the adrenaline rush that he always felt before starting a challenge to his skills and mortality. The resort had advertised this run as the ultimate skiing experience, for experts only. Now, as he scanned what he could see through the trees, taking in the near vertical slope, large moguls and even cliffs in the distance, he was delighted to see first-hand that the trail was as advertised. Only the best and even craziest skiers would risk a run like this. And because people meeting that description were few and far between, he had it all to himself. Perfect. Whether he was racing cars, surfing monster waves, free solo climbing, base jumping, or any other extreme sport, he preferred to be on his own, allowing his adrenal gland to do its thing in private. And when he reached the bottom, he’d feel—just for a little while—what it was like to be alive and happy again.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, inhaling the scents of the woods and listening to the hearty bits of nature that stirred in the bitter cold, then launched himself down the trail.

The run started out perfectly. His surroundings blurred as he sped past the first stand of trees. The cold air slapped at what little of his face was bare. It was almost too easy for him to maneuver his way. His body knew what to do, how to twist with the turns. His skis were extensions of his feet and his poles of his hands. He let his instincts control his movements while his brain enjoyed the sensation of flying down the mountain side. The first mogul he hit was a piece of cake, and he laughed out loud as he briefly left the ground. He absorbed the impact on landing as if his legs were made of springs. Looking ahead, he spied the cliff coming up and his heart rate kicked up to an eleven. He didn’t even try to slow before taking it.

For a few glorious seconds, he sailed through the air, unfettered and no longer weighed down by the heaviness of being Tate Graham, scion to two of the wealthiest families in the world, not the chosen son but now the only son, destined to take the reins of the two conglomerates that would one day pass into his hands. However unwilling he was to take them. No, as he flew toward the slope, he was simply himself, with no one there to press upon him his heavy responsibilities.

The moment he landed on the untouched powdery snow, he knew he’d made a mistake. He’d miscalculated by some fraction where and how his body should be. He didn’t panic—he never did. Instead, he corrected his stance and steered himself in the right direction. Except it didn’t work. Rare as it was, his instincts in controlling his body and his environment were off, just a bit, which was enough. He couldn’t get himself heading back on the trail again. A large tree loomed in front of him.

Tate made one last effort in the milliseconds he had to avoid disaster. He failed, and ran head on into the unyielding bark.

* * * *

“The only surprising thing is that this hasn’t happened before now.”

Tate opened his eyes to narrow slits at the sound of his mother’s voice. Her tone dripped with disgust more than worry. In the dim light of his hospital room, he saw his parents standing at the end of his bed. Their body language screamed impatience, outrage and exasperation.

His father put his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Think of it this way, Liz, at least he’ll be incapacitated for a while and won’t be able to take any more risks. This isn’t an injury he can simply shake off.”

His mother grimaced before saying, “There is that, I suppose. Silver linings and whatnot.”

Tate wasn’t bothered by their lack of sympathy or worry that their son was… He took stock of how he’d been hurt. The skiing accident was fresh in his mind, so he wasn’t confused about why he was lying in a hospital. But for his parents to have been summoned and to actually have come to his bedside, it had to be bad. His head ached dully, muted by the fuzziness of painkillers. His right arm was in a sling, as was his right leg. Enough discomfort broke through the meds for him to understand he’d broken something in each location. His mouth was as dry as it had been during that car race across the Sahara, which made him think he might have had surgery.

He must have made some kind of noise because good old Mom and Dad turned in unison, frowning. It would have been comical if their demeanor didn’t make him want to cry, throw up and scream in any and all orders. God, he was so sick of their judgment and disapproval. If he could have sat up and left, he would. But he was weak as a kitten and not a little disoriented.

His mother did all the talking, as usual. “You’re awake, finally. Thank God for that. The doctor said your concussion was severe but at least you didn’t fracture your skull.”

Tate forced a word past his dry lips. “Helmet.”

“Yes, well, you’ve always been a safety-first kind of boy.” She walked to the side of his bed near his head and picked up a cup on the nightstand. She held the straw to his lips so that he could drink some of the tepid water inside.

When he pulled away, his mother set it back down and glared at him. “Do you want a catalog of your various injuries?”

Not really.

It was a rhetorical question. “In addition to the concussion, you broke your collarbone and right femur.” She leaned a little closer to him. “There was bone sticking out of your leg when they cut off your ski pants.” The way she relayed that information, there was a certain amount of relish with a subtext of this is no more than you deserved. “And somehow, despite the injuries being mainly on your right side, you also ruptured your spleen. Congratulations, Tate, you’ve managed to scare your father and me half to death. It’s been just like…” She turned and shook her head.

Now Tate really felt like crap. His parents were nearly psychopathic in nature, but every once in a while, they showed slivers of real caring, and he did feel shitty about scaring them into thinking they were going to lose another son.

“Sorry,” he managed to rasp out. Of course that one show of weakness gave them the opening they wanted.

His mother turned to him again, the look in her eyes warning him he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. “As soon as the doctors clear you to leave, we’re taking you to Fils-Aime for recovery. It’s going to be months before you fully heal.”

Tate struggled to sit up, failing. “No. Mom, I don’t need to go to the island. I’ll go home and hire a nurse, or whatever, to help.” Yeah, because with his right arm out of condition, he wasn’t going to be able to even wipe his own ass. Christ.

Both his parents were shaking their heads before he’d even finished his last sentence. And now his father added his voice to the decision. “Your townhouse isn’t big enough for the hospital bed and all of the other things you’ll need to recuperate. The island affords a lot more room and is already fully staffed.” The man tried for a reassuring smile. “We’ll get you a nurse and you can spend time out in the sunny fresh air. It’s the perfect place to recuperate. Your mother and I won’t be staying, of course.”

And wasn’t that just the saddest part of this whole damn thing—his parents knew that their not being with him would be a selling point. Still, the idea of being isolated, at the mercy of caretakers on their private island set a wave of near panic over him. He needed to be in control of himself, even though so much in his life was beyond it.

“It’s really not necessary.” As he once more tried to lift his head, he scanned for his phone and found none of his stuff within reach. Fuck, they had made sure he was completely dependent on them. “I’ll be fine at home.” Where he would have his phone and could use his friends and his own servants as a shield against his parents until he recovered.

“It’s all been decided, Tate.” His mother’s tone and expression told him he was wasting his breath. Liz and Cliff Graham ruled their domain with ruthless determination. They had the money and the means to bully the hospital staff and even the police if they wanted to.

He was helpless—for the time being. Shutting his eyes, he said, “Fine.” This was a temporary imprisonment. With time and effort, he’d be back on his feet and back in command of his own self. He just had to be patient.

* * * *

Caden stood as still as he could, trying not to cringe at the scrutiny of his naked body. The couple sat judging his physical worthiness with the same intensity he imagined they employed with all their acquisitions. From what he could see of their opulent home, they had excellent taste. He couldn’t fault the situation he’d landed in. While he’d once been rich, the Grahams were wealthy. Whatever else his next ten years were going to be like, at least he’d be living in luxury. And his new master was of an age that he preferred, fit and handsome in the typical country-club way of men like him. It shouldn’t be hard to spend time in the man’s bed, even though he suspected the wife would at least be watching, if not participating. That was okay. He had no interest in sex with women, but with the husband as a source of arousal, he should manage to get the job done.

“Turn around.” It was his mistress who ran the show. That was obvious. Her shrewd gaze took in every bit of him.

Caden proudly showed them his butt, which is what he assumed they were interested in. Asshole Andrew had loved that part of him, always fondling it and even biting it before fucking him blind. The guy had been hung and horny, and that was what had brought Caden’s downfall. He’d been kept in a constant state of pleasure and had been ignorant of everything else.

“Hmm,” the master murmured. “He’s a bit short and skinny. But I don’t suppose any of that matters if he knows how to use his mouth and has a tight ass.”

“Really, Cliff. Don’t be so vulgar. I don’t need to know the details of his appeal. We just have to decide if he’s right for Tate in the short term.”

Tate? Who the hell is Tate? Something tickled the back of his brain. He’d heard of a Tate Graham, hadn’t he?

“Right enough,” the master said. “He was the best we could get on such short notice, and God knows he’s expensive enough. He must be brainless to have gotten himself in such deep debt at his age.”

Caden took the criticism without flinching. Mr. Graham was right, after all. Caden had been naïve to the point of imbecility to have missed what Andrew had been doing.

The mistress sighed. “Very well. Get dressed.”

It took Caden a few seconds to realize she was giving him an order. He slowly turned to the table where he’d folded his clothes and gasped at the sting of a slap. Blinking at his mistress with shock, he tried to stutter out an apology without really understanding what he’d done wrong.

Mrs. Graham narrowed her gaze. “When you’re given an order, you snap to it. Do you understand?”

Caden nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.” He forced back the tears that threatened to leak out. It was clear now that his life really was in tatters. As a debt slave, he not only had to do what he was told without question, he had to take any abuse meted out. Whatever guardrails the law imposed on such conduct, he wasn’t so foolish to believe they were followed. The Grahams could do whatever they liked, knowing that they would never be held to account for their actions.

His mistress left the room with a dismissive toss of her head.

The master came over just as Caden was buttoning up his shirt. The man brushed against him, grabbing Caden’s dick with one hand and squeezing his ass with the other. “I’d like to have you myself, but my wife would never tolerate that.” He pulled and squeezed hard enough to make Caden wince. “You’re a present for our son. He’s been badly injured. It’s your job to take care of him in all ways. You’ll play both nursemaid and whore, keeping him happy and reporting back to us about how entertained he is by you. If you don’t do your job well, I’ll pass you off to a friend of mine who’d love to have a pretty boy like you in his bed.” Graham leaned in closer to whisper against Caden’s ear, “You won’t like being there, though. I can promise you that.” His master released him and walked away. “Finish getting dressed and go out front. My assistant will take you to Tate. I doubt you’ll like my son much, either,” he added as a parting shot.

Feeling scared and sorrier for himself than he had since his world had fallen apart, Caden hurried to obey.