Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Scotland

Leather pants were something that he’d never been able to squeeze his thighs into, but jeans were fucking money. It didn’t seem to matter which brand he tried, his thighs always maxed them out, the muscle straining against the fabric. It made up for his slight lack of ass, at least.

He ran his hands over his thighs one last time, digging his fingertips into the thick material that didn’t have an ounce of wear on them. Most of his things got stained so quickly with ink that they didn’t last long in the closet. It was too bad he looked like shit in black—like an emotional black hole.

It was the same reason he kept his hair colorful. The tips of his black hair were neon blue at the moment, and he liked it better than the previous purple. He tried going blond once, but he was not going down that road again. It wasn’t a good look for him.

None of the colors seemed to catch Clint’s eye, though. He’d tried rainbow shirts, high boots and aviators, and Clint had only asked him what he wanted to drink at the old bar. A getup made of entirely leather straps that showed off his assets a little more than he was comfortable with had had a similar response at the kink house.

So tonight, he’d gone with a salmon shirt and light blue jeans to prowl the halls. He’d already had two conversations and gotten someone’s phone number, but he hadn’t spotted Clint anywhere. Not that I’m looking for him. It was easier to tell himself that than face the inevitable heartbreak.

“Scotland!”

He turned to the voice, grinning at Keady, who was dragging Cutler along with an excessive amount of enthusiasm. Keady had been a completely different person when Scotland had first met him in his tattoo chair, tasked with making swirling designs around a few fresh scars. Cutler had been there, too, and it had been hot as fuck to watch him take control of the scene.

If only.That heady experience was nothing compared to what it would have been like for him to be in the chair with the needle buzzing against his flesh. It was one thing to tattoo someone’s sub, but it would be completely different to be the Dom ordering it done—or the sub whimpering under the needle with a sharp gaze on him.

Puffing out a breath of air, he held his arms wide, pulling Keady into a brief hug when he closed the distance. Cutler grinned at him, all teeth and predatory glee. Scotland had almost fallen for that gaze when he’d been balls-deep in Keady’s ass, but a pair of blue eyes was where his heart really was.

“You look like you’re trying to impress someone,” said Keady, throwing his arms around Cutler’s neck as soon as he stepped back. He raked his gaze over Scotland’s form and lifted one brow. You used to be shy.

“I knew you’d be here,” said Scotland, grinning wider as Cutler smirked. “I dreamed of your ass this morning, so I wondered if Cutler was willing to share again.”

Keady flushed, ducking his head before he cast his gaze around. “Do you have to say it so loud?”

Scotland snorted, hiding his chuckle behind his hand. It was amazing how Keady could be a mix of an exhibitionist and shy at the same time. The first time they’d met, Keady had hardly been able to speak to him at all.

“I’m always willing,” said Cutler, the grip on Keady tightening, despite his words. “I don’t think a hundred cocks would keep my slut satisfied, so I’m open to helpers.”

Oh, you poor, sweet boy.Keady couldn’t possibly get any redder.

“SB, what the hell?” asked Keady, letting out a little groan as his eyes sparkled.

These two were so cute together. And somehow, Cutler let Keady get away with the nickname SB, which stood for ‘sadistic bastard’. It was a great name, though. Sadists were the best.

“You going to get another piece?” asked Scotland, glancing to Keady’s arm where his first tattoo was. He’d been great for a virgin, not even asking for any breaks for the entire thing. Arms were a good place to start—not like the crazy bastards who got the top of their feet done…or their neck.

“I think so,” said Keady, shuffling his feet as he clung tighter to his Dom. “Just waiting on orders.” He gave Cutler a pointed look, who responded with one raised brow.

Maybe cute hadn’t been a good way to describe them. Intense was much more accurate. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for those scenes. He’d heard some rumors.

“Have you seen Clint around?” asked Scotland, letting out a sigh as he scanned over the room again. He was still fairly new to the community, having become a member just before the big move. He’d stumbled upon the place during an open house and had instantly fallen in love. His last community hadn’t been nearly as welcoming to people like him, and by the end, he’d had enough.

He shook his head. Kink to him had always been second nature, but he didn’t exactly devote every moment of his life to it, nor did he care if he fit into certain boxes or not. And the gossipers could go fuck themselves.

Cutler had breezed through the same community as him, not staying long before the whispers started, and he’d moved on. They’d been wrong about Cutler, anyway, and that was reason enough for Scotland not to believe a single other word they said.

“So you are on the prowl.” Keady grinned, his previous nervousness apparently forgotten. “I thought Maddy was pulling my leg when he said he’d called you here to the rescue. But if anyone can rescue Clint, it’s you.”

Where was this vote of confidence coming from? Clint had hardly spoken to him, and he doubted that was going to change any time soon. He wasn’t much for the matchmaking scheme.

“I’m not going to be any help at all if I can’t find him,” said Scotland, craning his head back to look at the door. He’d thought he’d heard some commotion earlier, but the Dungeon Master must’ve taken care of it.

“Did you check the recovery room?” asked Keady, his gaze straying away as something presumably caught his eye. “He hangs out there and chats with people sometimes like he used to do at the bar.”

Scotland followed Keady’s gaze, widening his eyes at the extreme display of restraint that Keady was looking at. It was too close to mummification to tick his boxes, but the sex that had just begun was nice.

Maybe the recovery room would do him good. It had been so long since he’d scened that he was probably feeling lower than normal. The gangbang with Keady and Cutler had been awesome, but it hadn’t been nearly enough to get Scotland to fly.

“Thanks,” said Scotland, already starting to turn away. On second thought. “I was serious, though. If you need an extra hand tonight—or cock—I’m game.” It was always a good idea to have a backup plan.

The place was fairly busy, but it was so much bigger than the old club that it almost had an empty feel to it. He wasn’t sure if he’d preferred the loud music and press of bodies or this calmer version.

It was a good thing that the people hadn’t changed. They were still kinky as fuck and most were out for a good time. It was easy enough to avoid the few assholes. He’d be able to hold his own in a fight, but Scotland detested getting his hands dirty like that. If he broke his hands, his business would go bust.

Most of the doors to the specialized kink rooms were closed when he ducked around the corner. His membership included access, but they had to be booked ahead of time. Some of them were booked for weeks ahead on the weekends but open Tuesday afternoons for people who apparently had no day jobs. He still hadn’t managed to see the inside of most of them.

He had, however, had the privilege of Nightmare. His skin prickled just thinking about it, the memories making his cock twitch.

He shook his head, smiling as he walked past the notorious room. Keady probably had an even fonder memory of it. The only thing that had dampened Scotland’s time that night had been when Clint hadn’t made his promised appearance.

Something that was getting a little too frequent.

The door to the recovery room was open, but he tapped on it gently anyway before he stepped inside. Soothing peppermint and lavender scents struck him first, then the murmur of conversation.

It was the perfect spot for couples to regroup after a scene in relative peace and privacy.

He paused in the doorway. Derreck was on one couch, a bawling Maddy in his lap, with Clint across from them, his face ashen. He was cradling his hands to his chest, the skin on his knuckles hidden behind bits of colored wax.

Derreck flashed his gaze to the door, and Scotland struggled not to take a step back. If there was one man in the world he’d never be able to top, it was Derreck. Maddy seemed to have him wrapped around his little finger, though.

Why is Maddy crying?There didn’t seem to be any fresh marks on him that he could see, even if he was mostly clothed, but pain rarely made Maddy cry. In fact, Scotland couldn’t think of a single moment that he’d ever seen Maddy more than a little upset. He was shy, more than anything, and innocent in a way that was rare when it came to kink.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Scotland softly, preparing to retreat until Clint turned his face toward him. Oh, baby.

Clint’s eyes were bloodshot and dark, the tip of his nose red to match his splotchy cheeks. Scotland caught a look at his hands as he moved, gasping at what he saw.

He was across the room in moments, kneeling on the floor in front of Clint. He grasped one of Clint’s hands, pulling it to him. His skin was hot to the touch with a few blisters surrounded by wax in the center of his palms that looked like he should be in agony. It was the type of burn someone could get when they were fucking around with fire.

His thoughts turned to the scars he knew were hidden beneath Clint’s clothes.

“Jesus, what happened?” Scotland grasped Clint’s other hand, hissing at what he found. The blisters were raw and fresh, the skin shiny and stretched thin over his frame.

“Nothing,” said Clint, drawing his hands back before tucking them under his thighs. He didn’t flinch, even though it must have been agony. That type of wound would have stung and throbbed in the worst way.

Scotland rocked back on his heels before standing to cross the room. Every nook and cranny in the place was well stocked, and he wasn’t disappointed when he found some aftercare cream in one of the drawers. It was a small tube, probably meant for a couple to take along with them after an impact scene, but it was full and sealed, so it would have to work.

“Give me your hand.” He lowered himself next to Clint, twisting off the cap with his teeth and dragging off the thin aluminum film. Bitter and spicy peppermint struck him, a tiny bit getting on his teeth and filling his senses with a medicinal taint. He rarely used cream unless his partner asked for it, preferring the stretch of sensation that lasted long after a scene.

Clint shook his head, forcing his hands farther under his legs, his shoulders straining from the angle. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“You are not fine,” said Scotland, tugging at Clint’s elbow. If the fucker wanted to play hard to get, now was not the time. With the tears on Clint’s cheeks and the faraway look in his eyes, Scotland doubted that Clint had any idea about his current state. “Give me your hand, Clint. I’m not fucking around.”

Clint narrowed his eyes, his jaw ticking as he clenched it tight. I would kill to have that look in any other situation. “Just leave it. I told you I’m fine.”

His voice rose to one that Scotland recognized. Clint could break up a bar fight and bring a wayward scene to a halt with that voice, but it rolled off Scotland without striking true.

He couldn’t just throw Clint over his shoulder and bind him to the closest cross, could he? Some of the paste seeped from the tube as he squeezed it, the greasy liquid dripping down his fingers. It tingled everywhere it touched, a strange numbness settling in.

Derreck cleared his throat and Scotland jumped, almost falling on his ass as he whipped around. He’d been so focused on Clint that he’d forgotten there was a much more intimidating man at his back.

“The way I see it, Clint, you’ve got two choices,” said Derreck, running his hand down Maddy’s arm. Maddy leaned into Derreck’s chest before he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. There were splotches on his shirt as if he’d been crying for quite some time, a tiredness to his expression that Scotland had never seen. The innocence was shattered.

“Here it comes,” mumbled Clint, jerking himself off the couch. Scotland did fall back at that, landing on his ass with an oomph. For a shorter guy, Clint was still pushy as hell when he wanted to be. Usually, he didn’t have to be because people moved for him.

“I’m guessing Maddy gets an apology or you make sure I end up six feet under,” said Clint, ticking off his finger despite how sore they must’ve been. Did he not even notice the burns? “You don’t intimidate me, Derreck, and I have every intention of apologizing to Maddy. I was tired, I lashed out and said things I didn’t mean. Maddy didn’t deserve that.”

“Sit down.” Derreck’s voice was like a dark pit, ready to suck his soul dry. Scotland swallowed as Clint slowly lowered himself back into his seat, his face pale. There were so many holes in his shirt that Scotland couldn’t count them. Every part of the house was perfect, with high-end finishings that spared no expense. It didn’t fit.

Is he going to pass out?

“You were close with option one,” said Derreck, his hands tracing patterns over Maddy’s skin. “No one would find the body, Clint. They wouldn’t even know where to look.” Scotland believed him. “But as for the apology—that one’s not voluntary.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Option two,” said Derreck, cutting off Clint’s hushed words. “You take some time. I don’t care if it’s a week or a month, but I don’t want to see your face in the building until you figure your shit out.”

Whoa.He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d walked in on, but death threats seemed a little extreme, even for Derreck. Maddy huffed out a small sob, and Derreck tightened his grip, his eyes unfathomably dark. Or maybe not.

“You can’t force me out of my home,” said Clint as he jerked back to his feet. Scotland failed to scramble to his feet, squashing the tube of cream as he tried. It spurted over his hand, the cooling gel instantly numbing him.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything,” said Derreck calmly. “You have a choice, like I said.”

He had to be joking. Will I die too if I laugh? Clint owned the building. Derreck couldn’t trump that.

“You need time to process, Clint, and to grieve. Ross is gone—”

“Don’t say his fucking name right now,” Clint snarled, whirling on Derreck. His lips were drawn over his teeth in a vicious grimace, his eyes wild. “Don’t blame him for this, too.”

Blame?

Derreck blinked, seemingly as shocked as Scotland. Scotland had heard the rumors of what had happened. People always talked, no matter the community. It had been years.

“I’m fine.” Clint crossed his arms. He clenched his fists, a few flakes of wax breaking off and dropping to the floor, immediately lost in the plush carpet.

“It wasn’t that long ago that you were walking through the rain with a polka dot umbrella to find me when Maddy was dropping. You weren’t happy that day, but you were calm. You knew who you were and what you wanted. Where is that man today?” asked Derreck, his voice breathtakingly cool.

What?Picturing Clint in polka dots was hilarious and ridiculous. Scotland had only ever seen him in tattered shirts and ragged jeans.

“And before that—before everything,” said Maddy, sniffing, “Nikita told me you used to patch him up at the hospital. He had a nickname for you there—Jester. You never let anyone leave before they laughed, even if you were sewing stitches into their skin. He’d pick fights, just to go see you.”

Scotland quirked his lips. Clint was funny, but in that subtle way of someone who didn’t know it. He never seemed to try to make people laugh. He just seemed too tired to accomplish that all the time.

Clint took a step back, his eyes wide. More wax dropped from him as his hands went slack. They were almost clean now, except for the burns that appeared even brighter. “I didn’t know—I mean—that can’t be right.”

Scotland didn’t blame his disbelief. The Nikita he knew was a badass mob enforcer with a twin brother who didn’t give two fucks.

“Everyone in this building is here because of you, one way or another,” said Maddy, taking the tissue that Derreck passed him. “But I feel like you haven’t been here for a long time. I can still see you, but it’s not really you. I didn’t know you when Ross was alive, but every story I hear, it’s like you were a different person back then.”

Can you blame him?Scotland could only imagine the sorrow of losing a close partner. Sometimes there was no moving on from that.

“You haven’t grieved,” said Derreck with utter finality. “And you are about to snap and lose everyone you love. I know because I’ve been there.”

Maddy sent Derreck a soft look, snuggling in closer. Scotland had heard all about them too and how they had come so close to breaking each other.

“I’m not,” Clint mumbled, his eyes shiny. “Maddy, I’m sorry I yelled at you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to this place.” He looked away, dropping his gaze.

“No, I’m not,” said Maddy, laying his head against Derreck’s chest. “You are, Clint.”

Silence hung in the air, only broken by Maddy’s sniffles as he wiped his nose. Clint bit his lip as he clenched and unclenched his hands. The wax was nearly gone, his skin flared red and painful-looking. “You’re wrong.”

“No, he’s not,” said Scotland, pushing himself off the ground. His ass twinged as he moved, a reminder that he wasn’t in his twenties anymore.

Clint narrowed his eyes. “Stay out of this, punk. I’m not sceneing with you and I’m certainly not going to fuck you. Get that through your head.”

Ouch. Is that all Clint thinks I want?He was so, so wrong. “If you won’t take care of yourself, someone has to.”

It was a low blow, even for him. Clint was a grown-ass, independent man, and Scotland knew well enough that he wasn’t needed.

Clint brought up one hand, pushing a single finger into Scotland’s chest. He wanted to grab that hand and kiss the soft, delicate spot on his wrist, but he was frozen, too caught to hope to move.

Clint was the only one who had ever made him feel that way.

“You know what? Fuck you, punk. Get out of my fucking club. I don’t want to see your face here ever again.” Clint’s eyes were blazing, rage carved into his features as Scotland’s heart sank. His friends and people he considered family were all here and Clint had the power to take that all away in a heartbeat. He just never thought he would.

Well, shit.