CHAPTER ONE

Jordan sat at the conference table, dispassionately watching a certain Mr. Havers fall apart. He, Allen, and their father had just finished taking over a very small family-owned chain of boutiques they'd been watching for a while now.

The owner hadn't wanted to sell—the business had been in his family for several generations. It hadn't mattered in the end. Jordan and Allen wanted the chain, so they used their wealth and power to take it. He and Allen planned to run it themselves and run it the way they wanted.

Which hadn't gone over well with the previous owner. The brothers needed a hobby to occupy their time, and this was it. Neither man cared that there were people's livelihoods tied to that business.

"You're going to what? But you don't understand,"

Mr. Havers nearly yelled, drawing Allen's attention from a stack of papers that sat before him. "These people have families to support. If you fire them, in this economy, it's unlikely they'll find jobs anytime soon. Please, they're good, hardworking, and loyal workers. The best you could ask for."

Allen looked to Jordan and rolled his eyes. "Not our problem."

"We don't want them. They're loyal to you, not us."

Jordan sipped his coffee, completely unconcerned that over five hundred people would be out of a job in two weeks. "We're restructuring from the ground up. End of story. Out with the old and in with the new, if you will."

Mr. Havers pounded his fist on the table. "These are people with bills to pay, children to take care of, college fees to deal with, mortgages. Please don't do this. It's bad enough you forced me to sell, but don't punish them. Most of my workers are close to the core group of our customers."

Allen hooted. "After we're done, we'll be targeting a better class of customers. That's another reason your employees aren't needed."

Mr. Havers gaped at the insult.

Jordan stood. "It's a done deal, Mr. Havers. You no longer have a say, and frankly, I couldn't care less what happens to your employees. Or, for that matter, you. We made you a damn good offer for your chain in the beginning. It's not my fault you didn't take it, and you ended up with less and your people lost their jobs. With their skill sets, maybe they can flip hamburgers at some fast-food place. They'll find something, I'm sure. Regardless, as Allen said, it's not our problem. It's nothing personal, just business. You understand, surely? And this meeting is now over."

Allen gathered all the papers together and looked at his watch. "We've spent enough time on this. Good day, Mr. Havers."

Mr. Havers rose so swiftly that his chair flew back, hitting the wall. "You bastards. You don't give a shit about anyone but your own kind. It's the average working man that keeps this country—"

"Oh lord, here we go singing the praises of the working man."

Allen sneered as he stood up. "I'm calling security."

"Good idea,"

Jordan said. "We have somewhere else we need to be."

Mr. Havers picked up his coffee and threw the lukewarm beverage at Jordan. He stormed to the door, yanking it open so hard it left a dent in the wall. "Don't bother; I'm leaving. You both are nothing more than animals. If there's any justice in this world, you'll meet someone who will ruin the both of you the way you've ruined so many others."

The door slammed shut behind him.

"Yeah, right."

Allen looked at Jordan. "He got you good, didn't he?"

"He's nobody, less important than the dirt under my feet."

Jordan shrugged, annoyed. He used a napkin to blot his shirt. "Damn shirt probably costs more than everything he wore to this meeting."

"I'd have to say he especially didn't like you."

"Now the feeling is mutual."

Jordan rolled his eyes as he tossed the napkin. "Like we care what happens to those employees. Come on, let's get out of here. I'm going to have to change before we party."

* * *

Jordan leaned on the railing, looking down at the wiggling mass below him. Lights flashed and music thumped as bodies writhed on the dance floor of Night Moves, a trendy upscale bar. The floor was crowded. It was Friday night, after all, and time to celebrate. "Do you see him, Allen?"

"No, I lost… wait. There he is. Yes, I got him now. Damn, can we pick 'em or what? Fuck, Jordan, I can't wait to see him on his knees with my cock buried in his ass while he sucks you."

Jordan scanned the crowd down on the dance floor until he found the one they wanted. There he was. Poor Allen. He might want the guy, but he was just going to have to wait. Jordan planned on having that redhead's ass first. He was, after all, the older brother.

Jordan's smile faded. He'd hoped this one would be different. Over the last several months the hunt he and Allen had taken part in had become boring. He was bored. And how ludicrous was that? He got all the ass he wanted, and still he was bored.

Maybe he was jaded, but the thrill was fading. The guys he and Allen picked up were all the same. They fell into their beds with hardly a whimper, got fucked, then went home.

He wanted… Jordan exhaled silently. He didn't know what he wanted. But he damn sure knew this lifestyle was getting old. It would be nice if he could find someone who fit his needs; someone who could stand on his own as easily as he did but would give up control when he demanded. That was his idea of the perfect ideal man, right?

"So?"

Allen nudged him, interrupting his thoughts.

The roving lights of the club wandered over their choice, his red hair shining for just that moment, and Jordan's cock hardened. Both he and his brother had a thing for redheads.

A smirk tilted his lips as he watched the male's body grind on the dance floor. He sincerely hoped their guy had freckles. He loved tracing those sexy little brown dots with his tongue while their chosen piece of ass cried out in pleasure.

Their friends, Hugh and Kain, didn't get their fascination with gingers. They didn't understand how well that pale skin showed marks, like those from his hand slapping down on an upturned ass.

"So…? What?"

Jordan so enjoyed winding his brother up.

He rested his elbows on the railing. For VIPs, the club had a decadent, kinky side. The second level was members only, and membership was awarded on the basis of money, power, and prestige.

The second level was where other jaded predators like he and his friends roamed. The bottom level—the dance floor—was where the fresh meat was displayed.

"Don't start that shit with me, Jordan. I'm not in the mood for games tonight,"

Allen snarled. "We've scored once today, and I'm ready to celebrate."

"Really? But isn't that what this is? A game?"

"You're in a mood, aren't you?"

Jordan tracked the pretty little redhead's movements. The guy didn't look to be very tall, thank fuck, and had wavy, shoulder-length, deep red hair. Both he and Allen liked their bottoms to be slightly smaller than they were and slender.

This guy appeared to be perfect. It was hard to tell with his clothes on, but he moved with a grace that called to him, and he was sure it called to Allen too. The guy had a swimmer's build—long and sleek. He had to be in pretty good shape; he'd been dancing nonstop for some time.

Jordan stood a few inches over six feet, and Allen was an inch under him. They were both muscular but without the bulk that signified serious body builders. They both had excellent tone and were ripped in all the right places. Neither of them had much hair on their bodies and kept what little they had on a tight rein. Control was the name of their game.

"Are we just going to stare at him all night, or what?"

Allen complained as he flipped his dark, sable brown hair out of his face.

Jordan took his eyes off their quarry for a moment and looked at his brother. Annoyed chocolate brown eyes stared back at him. Jordan mentally sighed. His younger brother really was handsome.

The lights of the club brought out the caramel highlights in his brother's hair, made them shine. He'd made fun of the idea at first, but after seeing the results, he'd had his hair done. Of course, Allen had teased him for two weeks straight over that one.

"You really need to learn some patience, to enjoy the hunt, to let the anticipation build."

The song ended and a new one started, this one with the dark overtones that Jordan liked.

They weren't twins, but they did look a lot alike. Same build, same hair color, pretty much the same facial features. It was almost like looking in the mirror. Well, except for the fact Allen had dimples, and Jordan had a dent in his chin.

And they both liked redheaded men, liked to dominate them. They shared the men they picked up, often placing bets beforehand on who would get the guy's ass first.

To put it mildly, they were extremely wealthy. They had the means to obtain whatever or whomever they desired, whether it meant purchasing it or simply taking it.

They had no regard for the laws that applied to ordinary citizens; those rules were beneath them, only meant for the lower class. They lived in a world of privilege where consequences did not exist.

"Right."

Allen rolled his eyes. "And while you're up here practicing your stupid patience, someone else is going to make off with our target."

Even their friends, Hugh and Kain, got in on these bets. They had one going on right now, as a matter of fact. Hugh had bet five thousand dollars Allen would get the redhead's ass first.

Jordan couldn't resist taunting Hugh about his bad pick. If they struck out, then he and Allen owed Hugh and Kain five thousand dollars apiece. Pocket change, really, but it made things more interesting.

Jordan chuckled softly. "Settle down. Our guy will be there when we get ready."

From the corner of his eye Jordan saw Allen cross his arms over his chest and shake his head. Allen was only eighteen months younger, but damn, he was impatient.

That was why he was the COO of the world-famous high-end department stores their father owned and Allen was the CFO. They both had business degrees from Harvard.

The next song started, and Allen leaned closer. "I'm ready, Jordan. Come on, man."

He glanced over at Allen, who vibrated with the need to start their hunt. It wasn't any wonder he won most of the bets he and Allen placed—Allen couldn't contain himself once he wanted something. Of the two of them, Allen was the weaker. Jordan frowned. Maybe weaker wasn't the right word, but Allen sure didn't have his iron control.

Jordan turned his attention back to the dance floor and spotted Kain moving in on someone. Kain's every step spoke of annoyance and determination. "Looks like Kain scored for the night too."

Allen followed the direction of Jordan's gaze. "Huh. He doesn't seem very pleased with something, though."

"No, he doesn't."

Jordan wondered if Kain had struck out with his first choice, then laughed wordlessly.

It really didn't matter. A piece of ass was a piece of ass. The day Ice goes home alone will be a cold day in hell. Hmm, don't see Hugh, either. Maybe he's gotten lucky too.

Speaking of getting lucky—he straightened up. He'd needled his brother enough for the moment, so let the fun begin. He nudged Allen and grinned. "Shall we?"

Allen all but bounced in place. "Absolutely."

* * *

Allen fell in behind Jordan as they descended to the bottom floor. Over the last six months whenever they were fucking a guy together, he'd noticed something about his big brother.

Jordan watched him.

There was always a competitive spirit that sprang up between them as they egged each other on while fucking some guy. That had always been there. They taunted each other while in bed—who was fucking their mark harder, who could last longer, who made their guy scream the loudest—things like that.

They also encouraged each other as they used some warm body to get off. They weren't overly concerned with whether their target got off. Whoever he was usually did come because they were just that good.

He looked up to Jordan and strove to be more like him. They'd always been close—none of that insane sibling rivalry had gone on between them. Sure, they argued, but nothing and no one ever came between them.

As they grew older, their bond became tighter. They spent all their time together, even rooming together in college. Jordan was truly the only person on this Earth Allen cared about.

Allen smirked at Jordan's back. He might care for his brother, but nothing pleased him more than seeing that iron will of Jordan's shaken. If he envied anything about Jordan, it was his unshakable control.

Jordan stopped as they reached the ground floor. "See him?"

Allen scanned the crowd, searching for that red hair that called to them like a beacon. "Yes. He's in the middle of the floor."

Jordan nodded. "Good, he's still out there. So, ready to do a little hunting?"

"Always."

"Same plan as usual?"

Allen waited until Jordan turned and looked at him. "Why mess with what works? I'll move in first, then you come in after I set him up. We'll get him all hot and bothered, then take his ass home. I bet we have him in bed before the hour is out."

Jordan slapped Allen on the back. "I agree. If it isn't broke, why fix it? Although it would be nice, for once, if our marks didn't just fall to the floor in puddle at our feet."

"Are you nuts? Besides, what do you expect out of these sluts?"

Allen shrugged. "And by the way, I will fuck him first."

"Keep telling yourself that. Got a feeling he's going to beg me to do him first."

Allen rolled his eyes. They'd just see about that. "My place or yours this time?"

They lived just a block apart. Allen had tried to buy an apartment in the same building as Jordan, but there had been nothing available that was as nice. Allen ended up purchasing his own place as close as he could to Jordan.

Jordan shrugged as he searched the dance floor. "Doesn't matter to me, but my place is probably cleaner. The maid came yesterday."

"Fine by me, we'll do him at your place then. Besides, you have more toys. And a bigger bed."

"Thought you took care of that little oversight?"

"My new bed will be arriving next week. Plus, I want you to go with me to check out some of the toys I found at this new place that just opened up. You have a better feel for things like that."

"Competitive asshole."

Allen chuckled. "Pot, meet kettle. You went out and bought a new BMW just because I got one. I'm not even going to mention the hair."

Jordan shrugged, then stepped aside as a tiny blond, who looked entirely too young to be allowed in the club, passed him. "I liked yours better. Hey Allen, did you see that little blond twink?"

Allen raised an eyebrow as he looked in the direction Jordan indicated. "Hmm? No, I didn't. But a blond? Really? Are you feeling okay?"

"Not for us, you shit. I was thinking that was more along the line of what Hugh likes—young, sweet, and innocent. Even though he doesn't look old enough to be in here."

"Playing matchmaker now, are you?"

"Fuck off."

Jordan laughed as he pushed Allen toward the dance floor.

"Matchmaker, indeed. Like any one of us would be interested in someone we picked up here. These guys are nothing more than easy screws. Warm bodies so we can get our rocks off. I just thought I'd point him out to Hugh, but he's probably already spotted the little twink. Go work your magic, brother. I'll be along shortly and play clean up."

"The sooner, the better."

Allen flashed a grin then stalked toward the spot where he'd last seen the redhead.