Page 53 of The Club

“Let’s not pretend I didn’t do you a favor, personally and financially, and let’s not pretend Rafael wasn’t involved too. Besides, we weren’t the only ones there to take him out.”

That’s true. When Tristan was kidnapped, Dante, Noah, and I swept in on the heels of a mobster who had a bone to pick with Dominic’s father.

That was the mobster that Dante and I captured and tortured for information on the Collector. All we got was that the Collector is in New York and still in business. Just enough information to fuck up my head, not enough to do anything with. My inquiries have gone nowhere.

I’m getting bored with this argument. Mentally, I’ve already half withdrawn from it before my phone vibrates against my stomach. I pull it out from where it’s wedged between my silver corset vest and black shirt.

I check the alert. Shit.

“I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Don’t kill each other, and don’t fuck up my bar.”

“What do you mean, you’ve got to go?” Dante objects.

“I’ve got to go,” I emphasize. “You two assholes might be off the clock, but I’m working right now. Sort it the fuck out—I don’t have time for this.”

Everyone stares at me as I leave abruptly, but I meant what I said. I don’t have time for their pissing contest.

There’s a guy I flagged a while ago, and he’s back. Last time he was here, he didn’t use a private play room. I spotted him in the main room. There was something about him, the way he fixated on all the youngest twinks, the look in his eye, that bothered me. He made my skin crawl.

When I IDed him, he came up as suspected mafia. I let it go at the time because there’s plenty of that shit in New York. It wasn’t enough to go on, and I had other priorities.

But now he’s in one of my play rooms, and I need to see what he’s doing there.

I’m barely aware of traveling from the lounge through the nightclub to the stairwell. It spirals down to the sex club, where Nyx looks up from her work at my entrance. She sees I’m set on business and doesn’t fuck with me. I go straight to the office.

When I pull up the camera feed from the play room, it’s already over. The twink, who has to be at least 21 but looks about 16, is curled up in the bed, the sheet to his neck. My mark, Anton Silva, leans over and kisses him goodnight.

I have to move fast. I start downloading the footage to my phone while I get out of the corset vest, change into boots, and grab my jacket, knives, and gun. I glance at the screen. Silva is at the door, so I grab my phone and stuff it in my jacket.

I hurry through the club and go through the elevator into the garage. Snatching up my helmet, I get on my Ducati and roll out.

The Saturday night traffic makes it easy to hide that I’m tailing him, but it also makes it hard to stay with him. I weave where I can and manage to keep him in sight.

He leads me into a sketchy neighborhood, where he goes into a strip club that screams mafia. I find an alley from which I can see his car. I kill my lights and back in with my bike.

Flipping up my visor, I pull out my phone, intending to watch the scene I missed in the play room. I have two missed texts.

Controlling Asshole: where the fuck are you?

Then four minutes later,Answer me.

I can’t get distracted, so I don’t reply. I start watching the video.

Lush has eight private play rooms. Two accommodate serious BDSM, four are damned kinky, one has a basic hotel room style,and then there’s this one. It’s the coziest room, meant to look and feel like a bedroom in a house. Generally speaking, it’s the most vanilla space that Lush offers.

But what is usually pretty boring can be disturbing as fuck when it gets inverted like in this scene.

It’s a fourteen minute scene, but it takes me almost an hour to get through it.

It’s the fond smiles I can’t handle. The petting and gentleness and sweet words. It’s the twink’s innocent, adoring eyes as he kneels before Silva and takes his cock in his mouth while Silva gazes down past his paunchy belly and strokes the blond hair.

I’m off my bike, pacing the alley. I have to take off my helmet so I can breathe.

Once they start having sex, it’s even worse. I’m shaking and sick to my stomach. I almost throw up. But my cock stays hard as fuck.

The prostate massager doesn’t help, but for some reason, I don’t want to take it out.

My phone keeps buzzing with text alerts, but I don’t look at them. I sit on the ground with my back to the brick wall and try to remember what I’m doing here.