Chapter 9

9

Gage

I didn’t expect to see her back so soon.

But there’s no denying I’m absolutely delighted.

A low, sensuous beat fills the club. I picked this track, and many others. Some, I commissioned directly from the artists, wanting suggestive slow-downs of old favorites.

Members might come to Low Vice for the power exchange, but they stay for the atmosphere. They keep coming back, too. That’s important. I wanted a club that’s as addictive as the scene itself. I think we’ve succeeded.

Betty is the heart. Margot is the brains.

And me? I’ve no idea. Perhaps I’m the dark rope that ties everything together.

I wonder how a dark rope would look looped over Leah’s arms and legs, how it would frame her breasts. I wonder if she would like being restrained in such a way.

Unfortunately, it seems she isn’t here to play. Her clothing is casual and not at all like what members are wearing. I enjoy this new view of her. It makes her more real. Everyone here is pretending to be something, behaving as characters in a scene, and she isn’t.

She’s here to see Dmitri. I watch their interaction from the hall. His desire, his hesitation. So fierce. Awkward.

It’s the moment when his resolve snaps—that’s the moment I’m most interested in. What will it take? What will he do to her, and what heights will he take her to?

I want—no, I need —to see it happen.

She holds out her hand and he gives her something—a key?

A flare of jealousy heats my chest. Is she living with him, staying with him?

After Leah leaves, Dmitri looks up. His gaze finds me. His expression clouds with anger.

I wonder, briefly, if he will march over here to warn me off. I welcome the conflict, honestly. The excuse to needle him, to prompt his ire. Perhaps I could also push him in Leah’s direction. If she’s living with him, I may not need to interfere at all. The problem with that is I won’t have a way to watch the unfolding lust.

I’ll need to move faster than I thought if I have any hope of witnessing the heat explode between them.

His gaze on me is broken when two young women sidle up and flank him at the bar. Their move is obvious, their interest written plainly on their faces. One of them orders drinks from Betty and the other turns to Dmitri, a smile on her pink-painted lips.

Dmitri is polite. I can’t hear what he says. He must be making an excuse because the women offer him pretty pouts. A second later, he walks toward his station at the club entrance.

My phone buzzes with a call. I glance at the screen and groan. Claudia, again.

I dip back into my office and shut the door behind me, which muffles the music to a hypnotic bass.

“Claudia,” I say.

“Gagey.”

“Are you all right?” I ask carefully. I’m at risk of offending her by being too solicitous, but my concern is genuine. Between her mental health and casual substance abuse, she walks a dangerous line.

“Fine, fine.” She huffs out a sigh. “Harvey called.”

“Claudia. Listen to me. You don’t have to answer his calls, texts, emails, nothing.”

“He made me who I am.”

“ You made you who you are.” I grip the edge of my desk, struggling to ground myself in this moment and avoid spiraling into my own history with Harvey. “Everything that’s good in you, every success you’ve had, that’s you .”

“I don’t know.” She speaks slowly, the consonants running together.

“Claudia, sweetheart, I’m going to call Vero, all right?”

“She’s on vacation.”

“Well, this is why we pay her the big money.”

“You really think this is a ’mergency?”

“Yes.” I’m not a mental health professional, but I’m familiar enough with Claudia to know she needs help. I can hear it in her voice. “Can you sit tight for a few minutes while I call her?”

“Yep. Gagey?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She’s the only person I’ve said the words to, other than my parents when I was very young, before everything changed.

I make the call. Vero can’t drop her vacation and immediately travel back to LA, but her assistant is nearby to stay with Claudia. Vero explains the arrangements to me and assures me that my presence in LA isn’t necessary.

It makes me an awful friend, but I’m relieved I won’t have to travel down there.

“Gage,” Vero says.

I’ve interrupted her vacation, so I brace myself for a reprimand. Not that it would do much good. I will always do whatever is necessary to help my friend, even if that means someone’s holiday is cut short.

“I’m glad you called,” she says instead. “She’s in a fragile place.”

“I regret ruining your vacation.”

“It isn’t ruined. Susie can stay with Claudia and I’ll support her via video sessions. And I’ll bill Claudia appropriately.”

I wouldn’t expect anything less, but the thought would sound snarky if I say it aloud.

Ending the call with Vero, I return to Claudia and wade through a meandering conversation. She bounces between her memories of Harvey and the Shinies, and her plans to cook up a big dinner for everyone.

“You’re invited too, Gagey,” she says.

“Thanks, Claudia.”

“I know you won’t come. I miss you, though.” She sighs.

If I were there in person, she’d be draping herself against me. She gets overly affectionate when she’s high and sad.

“I miss you, too.”

“And I know you miss my enchiladas. That’s what I should make for dinner and maybe you would come for the enchiladas if not for me—oh! Susie’s here.”

The phone is muffled, but I can hear their voices. I wait through listening to their greetings before hanging up.

Tucking the phone into my pocket, I sigh. I can’t save my friend, not on my own. I’ve tried. She nearly dragged me down with her.

Part of the reason I moved from LA to San Esteban was to create distance from my past. The other part was distance from Claudia. She needs, and needs, and needs, and nothing is ever enough.

I don’t blame her, and I’m not angry about it. But I can’t be the only person in her support system.

I glance around my office. The black-and-white photo of a collar and cleavage continues to remind me of Leah.

The last time I felt truly unburdened was when I watched her rock herself to an orgasm on my thigh.

I wish that girl would call me.

Dmitri

Three a.m. and the club is closing.

I lock up the passage between Vice and Low Vice. Another boring evening at work. Which was fine, because my brain wouldn’t shut up.

Gage Jannik has his sights set on Leah.

I try to figure out why this pisses me off so much.

There’s his monstrous reputation, for one. I haven’t seen it, only heard of it. Whispered rumors. He can’t be all bad if he has Betty and Margot’s respect—they co-own the club with him, after all. But Leah has had enough terrible men in her life. Mick, for example. I want to protect her from another terrible experience.

I gotta be honest with myself. Am I pissed because I want her? Yeah, but I already decided I’m not going there. Not again.

Leah said it won’t happen, too. So even if I changed my mind, it’s a nonstarter.

So why am I so bothered?

Because nobody is good enough for her. Not a low-life like Shitstain Mick. Not a rich, refined reprobate like Gage Jannik.

Speak of the devil, he’s leaning against the wall, blocking the parking lot exit. If I want to get out of the building, I have to go through him.

“Montrose,” he says.

Here we go. “Yeah?”

“Tell me about the girl.”

“She’s none of your business.”

His lips thin before he says, “Seeing as how I recently paid a tidy sum of money to watch her get naked and get herself off on my thigh, she is technically my business.”

“She was your business. That transaction is over.”

“Are you?” he asks.

“Am I what?”

“Over her? Like the transaction?”

“She was never my business or my transaction.” I bite out the words. Fuck, what is it with this guy?

“So then you don’t mind if I pursue her.” Faint light from the club reflects off his glasses, hiding his eyes. “Whether through business or otherwise.”

Fuck you , I want to say. I know the kinds of games you play . But instead I shrug. “You probably shouldn’t.”

He tilts his head. “Give me one good reason why not.”

“Because she deserves better than you. Better than me.”

She wants love, a relationship. She’s a romantic, unlike Gage.

Unlike me.

“You have a strong sense of justice and morality.” He takes a step back. “You might want to rethink that.”

“I should rethink my morals?”

He grins, tight-lipped. “Those morals are going to prevent you from getting the things you want.”

Leah, he means.

I shrug one shoulder. What else can I say?

He sets the building alarm, then opens the door for me to step through.

Following me out, he says, “If she calls me, I’m answering. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get her naked and writhing on me again.”

“Fuck you,” I say in disgust, even as my cock leaps in interest. Right now, I don’t even care that he’s my boss, so I say it again. “Seriously, fuck you.”

He laughs as he walks to his car.

When I get home, I feel bad about waking Leah up, but she answers the door immediately. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt and pajama shorts with little butterflies printed on them. She looks so fucking cuddly, but also sexy. I can’t decide if I want to pull her into a hug or strip her down and carry her to my bed.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.” I step inside, locking the door behind me.

Her sugary, candy scent fills the room. The blankets are shoved to the edge of the couch. She lowers herself back onto it and tucks them around her chin.

“How was work?” she asks.

“It was fine. Uneventful.”

At least, it was uneventful until stupid Gage decided to have his little chat with me.

“Uneventful’s nice”—she yawns—“right?”

“Right. We can chat in the morning. Get some sleep.”

“’Kay.”

I go straight to my room and strip out of my clothes, dropping them in the hamper before pulling on some sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. Normally I’d sleep in boxers, but Leah’s here and I’m fucking trying to do the goddamn right thing.

Those morals are going to prevent you from getting the things you want.

Fuck him and his fucking smug face.

Wait. Before I climb into bed, I walk back through the living room to the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” Leah’s voice sounds extra faint in the darkness.

“Yeah. Just getting you a key.” I use my phone light to search through the junk drawer. I find the key on an Alcatraz tourist keychain Danica gave me when she went on a school trip.

Actually, the keychain was a joint gift—Danica and Leah picked it out together.

Those two have been best friends since they were small.

What the fuck am I thinking, even fantasizing about the idea of coming between them?

I’m such an asshole.

“Here ya go,” I say, dropping the key on the coffee table.

“Thanks.” She stirs beneath her blankets. “Thanks so much for letting me stay here. I know it’s inconvenient. Sometimes I think I should’ve stuck it out with Mick?—”

“You’re not serious.”

She huffs a laugh. “No. I guess not.”

“Good.” I rake a hand through my hair, suddenly exhausted. “I’d have Danica over here for an intervention so fucking fast.”

“Or an exorcism,” Leah says.

“Probably both.”

“Well, I do appreciate you,” she says. “I’m actively hunting up a place to stay, responding to roommate wanted ads. I’m sure I’ll be out from under you in no time.”

I nearly choke on my tongue.

“I mean, out from underfoot,” she says quickly.

If it were light enough in here, I bet I’d see her blushing.

She clears her throat. “I’ll find my own place soon.”

The truth is, I don’t want her to.