It was to help him, Marco had convinced himself. This treatment – the slapping of flesh, the pulling of hair, the sex, the sex after loving another so completely that Marco had sworn he would die without touching anyone again, the most disgusting of hate hissed into the ear of a man who was already so tormented by his own self-loathing – this was to save Deuce. Twisted, it was, and demented. Yes, it was to set the young man free of his own sorrow, to break him out of whatever shell had formed upon Ace’s tragic death, to help him get back to who he had been before it had all gone wrong.
Marco was healing Deuce in his own vile way.