Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

T omas was getting too old for this shit. He pulled off the reading glasses that were the latest concession to his age and rubbed at his tired eyes. Working on his computer too long always gave him a headache, but his current phone call, combined with working at his desk all damn day, was really taking a toll.

Not to mention the music blasting out in the main part of the clubhouse.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he spat into the phone, completely over the conversation and ready to be done with everything for the day, maybe even the week.

Fuck, maybe he’d turn in his cut and give up on the MC lifestyle for good. He had other life skills. He could just get a regular job and punch a clock and never have to worry again about county officials dicking him around because of the patch on his back.

Besides, it wasn’t like he got to spend that much time on his bike anyway. Other than club rides—where his absence would be noticed and gossiped about by all the mother hens disguised as bikers around him—getting out of his damn office had become increasingly difficult. Being the President of his club brought additional… responsibilities, beyond what others had to deal with.

The kind of shit that was starting to pile up so high around him he was having a hard time seeing over it anymore, even with his officers pitching in as much as they could. They did what they could, but they all had their own lives, and most of them had full-time jobs outside of the work the club did. So at the end of the day, most of it landed on his shoulders.

But days like today, he really thought about just quitting.

The nasally voice on the other end of the phone sighed, setting Tomas’s teeth on edge. “Well, what are you saying, then, Mr. Ortiz?”

“I’m saying,” Tomas said slowly, the bass from the music starting to throb behind his eyeballs, “that the citations are bullshit, and your inspector is penalizing the diner out of some misguided attempt to punish me and my club.”

“Those citations are legitimate?—”

“They aren’t. If you don’t reconsider and send another inspector, I’ll be contacting my attorney and filing a lawsuit. And then I’ll be contacting the local newspaper. And then Channel 13?—”

“Jesus,” the weasel muttered. “Okay.”

Tomas waited him out, not letting him off the hook or backing down.

“Well, since you’re so insistent,” the weasel said, regaining some of his confidence. “I can come out and do another inspection sometime in the next few weeks, but the business will have to pay for my time and expenses.”

Had this fucker just asked him for a bribe?

“Whatever needs to happen,” he said, making a mental note to fill in the club’s lawyer, Cynthia, on the little shit. He didn’t make empty threats. If need be, he’d absolutely sic Cyn on the asshole.

He sat back in his chair, eyes darting to his desk phone as it started to ring. Not a lot of people had the number to his office line. His old-school ass liked having a landline, but it wasn’t a public number. He used it only for people he didn’t want to have his cell number. There were too many assholes out there who were only looking to make nice with the MC to get something from them.

“I need to get that,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to get the man off the phone, even if it was probably just some spam caller. “Email me the date of the new inspection so I can make sure you see all of the good things they’re doing there.”

His hard tone let the man know that wasn’t a suggestion. He didn’t care that inspection times were supposed to be a surprise—this asshole and his crony had made his sister fucking cry, talking about having to shut her place down and all kinds of bullshit.

For the first time in the ten-minute conversation, the weasel of a man finally seemed to understand the gravity of pissing him off.

“Of c-course,” he stuttered out, audibly swallowing. “My office will be in touch.”

Tomas didn’t bother saying goodbye, just jabbed the End button and then grabbed the huge, corded monstrosity taking up a whole corner of his desk. Viper—the club’s Sergeant-At-Arms and one of his closest friends—laughed at him every time she saw him use it.

“This is Tomas,” he answered, eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

He needed to get some more Tylenol to stash in his desk if he was going to keep having to deal with bullshit like county health inspectors. Considering the club had just gone through the formality of electing new officers—not that anyone new had run for anything but Treasurer, so Tomas was locked in for another few years—he figured more headaches were in his future, and he’d finished his last bottle of painkillers over a week ago.

No one said anything on the other end of the line for a moment, and he was just about to hang up, convinced it was either a wrong number or someone trying to sell him something, when a quiet voice asked, “Is this the Devil’s Hands’ clubhouse?”

Tomas opened his eyes, curiosity unfurling in his chest. “It is. Do you need help?”

It wasn’t a completely random question—though depending on who was on the line, they might think it was. His MC did a lot of work in the community, including helping survivors of domestic violence get out of scary situations and attend court hearings. It wasn’t widely known but not exactly a secret either.

They had a dedicated number—which went to a red cell phone manned at all hours of the day so there was always someone there to answer—that was printed on business cards and passed out by SAVE, the local DV shelter. Or anyone else the club thought might benefit from having a card. But he supposed it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for someone just to google the club’s number and call if they’d heard they could help.

“Sort of,” the voice said. “I can’t get ahold of my friend Ollie.”

Tomas held back a groan. That boy was going to be the death of him. Six needed to get him in line. “Listen, I don’t know why he would have given you this number, but you’ll just have to leave him a message and?—”

“No, no, wait.” The guy sounded almost frantic. “Please, don’t hang up. He told me to call when I got here, but I made better time than I thought I would, and I’m early.”

A bad feeling crept over Tomas. “What do you mean when you got here?”

“I’m at the gate right now.”

He mouthed a curse and pushed to his feet. His lower back was killing him, and he was really looking forward to going home and using his inversion table, not dealing with whatever mess Ollie had dragged onto his doorstep. “He’s probably at the party right now. I can let him know you’re trying to get ahold of him if you want to turn back around and go wait at the bar.”

There was a sniffle, and Tomas ran a hand down his face as his heart clenched.

God, he was such a fucking softie.

“Or you can come in and wait in my office while I track him down,” he added on an exhale.

“I would really appreciate that,” the voice said wetly. “I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tomas said for some reason, the urge to comfort the upset boy overwhelming him. “Let the guy at the gate know I said you could come in.”

“Um. There isn’t a man. I’ve been sitting here trying to get ahold of Ollie for fifteen minutes.”

Fucking useless prospects. “Of course. I’ll come out and get you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mean to drag you away from the party.”

He held back a sigh. “I’m sure. Just hang tight.”

“Okay.” It was said so softly he almost didn’t catch it.

He started to hang up and then paused and brought the phone receiver back to his ear. “Has Ollie told you about the kind of parties we’ve been hosting at the clubhouse?”

There was a soft, barely there laugh. “Yeah. He told me and Vinnie all about the parties.”

Me and Vinnie.

Realization struck Tomas. He knew who this was. Ollie talked about his two best friends all the time. They were supposed to be down south somewhere—Ollie was never completely clear on where they were—while Vinnie worked a temporary job at a hospital or something.

“Okay, I’ll be right out.”

“Thank you,” Mason said quietly.

Tomas hung up the phone and stretched his neck, grimacing at the loud pops it elicited. He grabbed his hoodie from where he’d tossed it on the end of the couch earlier, tugging it on and then putting his cut on over it. The middle of January in Michigan could be bitterly cold, but just running out to open the gate, he wouldn’t need a jacket or hat—though he could hear his sister’s voice in his head admonishing him.

Considering he was sliding toward fifty at a rapid pace, he figured he was old enough to go out in a sweatshirt if he wanted to.

Though he probably wouldn’t tell Jill that.

No point in risking her calling their mom.

As soon as he opened the door to his office, he was smacked in the face with loud music. It had seemed like the door hadn’t been blocking much of the noise, but apparently, he’d been wrong. Some obnoxious techno-sounding pop song was blaring from the clubhouse’s sound system, which let him know Ollie had taken over the controls at some point.

He grimaced and made his way carefully around the groups of people, lifting a hand or nodding at anyone who caught his eye or called out a greeting. Most people were too preoccupied with what was happening in the different staged areas they set up before each party.

If someone had asked him a couple of years ago if his club would one day be hosting regular BDSM parties in their clubhouse so that his members had the opportunity to meet the types of boys and girls they were interested in, he would have laughed in their face.

And yet…

Somehow, his Vice President—and best friend—Demarcus had talked him into it, claiming it would be fun and good for the members to have a safe space to explore things they were interested in.

And that did seem to be true. Several of the members had ended up in relationships with people they had met through the parties.

Maybe Tomas was just bitter because he wasn’t one of them.

He shrugged off the thought as he stepped out into the frigid evening air. The sun had set hours ago, and he cursed that county weasel all over again. He’d been dodging his calls for days until Tomas had finally cashed in a favor and gotten his personal number. Calling him at nine o’clock at night, while he was at home and unsuspecting, was probably the only reason he’d actually gotten him on the phone.

He jogged across the parking lot, making a note to thank their new prospect, Jem, for doing such a good job clearing and salting the space. Even with the subzero windchill, the blacktop was dry and free of any slush or ice. They were just about the only decent prospect the club had at the moment. The other two—both young men who’d already had a strike against them for the way they’d sneered and rolled their eyes when he’d introduced Jem to them and let the two of them know they were nonbinary—had been eager to sign on but were more interested in trying to attend the parties or hang out in the clubhouse than do what they were asked.

Like manning the fucking gate.

Considering how many people from the wider community were inside the clubhouse and would need to leave as the evening wore on, he’d assigned one of the prospects to sit by it and let people in and out as needed. He should have been chilling in his car next to it, but there was no sign of him or his shitty Camaro. Tomas had even told him the club would reimburse him for the gas he used to leave his car running since it was so cold.

After he got Mason settled, he’d be checking every inch of the clubhouse to find the guy and take his prospect cut from him. He didn’t believe in a three-strike system—you did what you were told, or you were out. One mistake he’d give someone grace for, but that was it.

There was a sleek, bright green Audi R8 waiting on the other side of the closed gate, its powerful engine idling at a quiet rumble. It was a flashy car. And an expensive one. Tomas tried to remember if Ollie had told him what Mason did for a living but came up with a blank. Maybe his family was rich as shit.

He unhooked the latch and rolled the metal gate out of the way.

The driver’s window lowered as Tomas approached, resting his forearm on the roof of the two-hundred-thousand-dollar car. He leaned down and came face-to-face with red-rimmed, dark brown eyes and the sexiest mouth he’d ever seen.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Mason said quickly, glancing away and wiping at his cheeks and then fidgeting with his hair. His white skin looked completely flawless in the low lighting, nothing but dark circles and traces of tears detracting from his distracting beauty. And really, Tomas didn’t mind tears on a sub when the circumstances were right. “I didn’t know where else to go. I just really need to talk to Ollie.”

“Mason, right?”

That stunning face tipped up again, straight white teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip as he gave a short nod. “Yes, sir.”

Yes, sir .

Well, shit, this boy was going to be trouble. He could feel it in his bones.

He pointed to an area where there were some parking spaces available and then headed back to the front door, leaving the gate open until he could get somebody to man it for the rest of the evening.

Mason joined him at the door, wearing a thick parka and a backpack slung over one shoulder. Without thinking, Tomas reached over and grabbed it, easing it down his arm, before grabbing the door handle. He glanced back at Mason, wanting to give him a warning before they went in, even though they could already hear the music, the building practically vibrating with it.

Mason was watching him with wide eyes and parted lips, seemingly unsure of how to handle the small gesture of kindness. Had no one ever carried a bag for him? Tomas found that hard to believe, considering how gorgeous he was.

“It’s really loud in there,” he said, fingers flexing on the backpack’s strap. “That usually happens when Ollie’s put in charge of the sound system.”

Mason snorted and shook his head. “He’s always loved loud music that he can just get lost in.”

Tomas sighed. “I prefer to be able to hear my own thoughts.”

Those dark eyes held his gaze as Mason said softly, “Me too.”

The moment stretched out between them, stirring a feeling deep in his gut. The cold no longer touched his exposed skin, and the sounds of the party drifted away. He liked that Mason held his eyes. Bold, even as he appeared to be on the receiving end of a really shitty day.

He wasn’t sure what to do, frozen in his tracks in a way he hadn’t been in over a decade. A few soft words from this beautiful boy had put him on his heels, unsure of himself.

The door wrenched open under his hand, and one of the club members came strolling out, his arm around a middle-aged woman with mussed dark brown hair and swollen lips, effectively ending the strange moment.

Trey stopped when he saw Tomas standing there, his eyes darting from him to Mason. He raised his brows. “You good, Prez?”

He nodded him off, and Trey shrugged, hurrying his new friend across the parking lot as his hand slipped down and disappeared down the back of her skirt. Her gasp and laugh sliced through the cold, still air, and he realized the boy was watching them just like Tomas had been.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing the door handle once again. “I think I saw Six when I came through before.”

Mason nodded, dragging his eyes away from the couple as they paused next to Trey’s car. A low, feminine moan followed by Trey’s chuckle reached them, but Mason didn’t seem embarrassed by the display, just surprised.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Trey’s little bit of exhibitionism was nothing compared to what was behind the door. “You could always go back to the bar, and I can sit with you if you’d be more comfortable.”

Mason shook his head quickly. “Oh no. Not when I’m this close to seeing one of the infamous Devil’s Hands’ parties.”

Even though his eyes were still a little swollen from crying, he bestowed on Tomas a beautiful smile that made his chest hurt. Shit, he was too old to be catching feelings for someone who was obviously over a decade younger than him just because he had the face of a damn angel.

Get your shit together, Ortiz .

He pulled the door open and gestured for Mason to go in ahead of him. He wasn’t surprised when he stopped just inside the door, so Tomas had to scoot him forward a few more steps to close the door behind them. The scene before them was like something out of a hedonistic fantasy… or maybe a porno.

The booths lining one wall had equipment set up a few feet away from each other, giving space for an audience to sit and observe scenes. There were a handful of larger spaces set up on the opposite side of the big open space and a dance floor in the back near the bar.

Just to their left, at the first station in front of the booths, there was a St. Andrew’s cross currently being used. Mickey, who’d been a member of the MC since Tomas had started the new chapter, had his wife of nearly thirty years cuffed to it and was taking a crop to her. He and Mason could see her face—cheeks flushed and mouth slack with ecstasy—and watched for a moment as Mickey struck her ass a few times. The music was too loud to hear her moans from where they stood, but he could tell from the way her face changed. He also knew from watching the pair doing scenes together that the way her limbs were shaking meant she was close to orgasming.

The first time Tomas had seen the woman naked, he’d been more than a little surprised at the big bold-lettered tattoo on her ass. The word GOOD was on her left cheek and GIRL on the right. Before the club started hosting their parties, he never would’ve guessed the two of them were in the lifestyle, but it turned out there were a lot of things he didn’t know about the members of his club.

He put his hand on the small of Mason’s back and slowly guided him through the room, not trying to rush him, simply to keep him from getting lost in the alluring intimacy of each scene they passed.

Near the back of the room, at the last booth station, Tank and his boy, CJ, were making use of a spanking bench. Tank wasn’t actually spanking him though. CJ was laid out on his stomach on the narrow bench, his knees and forearms braced on the lower levels. His wrists and ankles were cuffed and attached to D-rings on the wooden supports. He was also completely naked, whereas Tank had his shirt off and jeans undone, but they were still up on his hips as he fucked his boy senseless.

Demarcus was sitting on one side of the booth, his boy right next to him and wearing nothing but tiny shorts and turquoise rope done up in a harness. On the other side, Six had Ollie sitting on his lap. Six only had jeans on, and his boy wore one of his T-shirts, making it clear they had already done their scene for the evening. Post-scenes were the only time Ollie wore anything other than his own stylish—and often outrageous—outfits.

The two always used their bedroom upstairs during the parties. Six didn’t like audiences for what he did to his boy. Although, Tomas had heard a rumor that Six didn’t mind Tank and CJ looking on. He’d never asked to confirm though.

He caught Six’s attention, pointed right at Ollie, and then the floor at Tomas’s feet.

Six was stony-faced on the best of days, but anger flared in his eyes at someone demanding something of his boy, but then his mismatched eyes slid over to where Mason stood just behind Tomas’s bigger and bulkier body, his fingers clutched together in front of him as he watched Tank and CJ with wide eyes.

He could see Six heave a sigh as he started to help Ollie up, his boy looking confused and a little hurt at being removed from his favorite spot until he spotted Tomas and Mason. Beaming, Ollie skipped over, Six’s T-shirt fluttering around his thighs, and wrapped his friend in a fierce hug.

“You made it. Why didn’t you call me? Oh, wait.” Ollie patted his borrowed shirt and laughed. “I left my phone upstairs, I guess.” He beamed up at Tomas. “Thanks.”

Then, he grabbed Mason’s hand and towed him toward the hallway that led to the stairs. Even though Six and Ollie lived on the second floor, he had a bad feeling about how quickly Ollie had disappeared his friend, like he thought Tomas would forget him if he was out of sight.

“Ollie,” he called after him, but his voice was lost in the noise of the room. He turned to Six as the club’s Enforcer joined him. Not bothering to say anything, he just led the way to his office and closed the door behind the two of them.

He set Mason’s bag on one of the chairs in front of his desk and then turned on Six, crossing his arms and raising his brows.

“What the hell, man.”

Six sighed and rubbed a hand over his buzzed hair. “I don’t know. I’ll get to the bottom of what it is. All I know is he and Vinnie had some sort of fight, so Mason drove home.”

Tomas frowned, trying to remember more about the two young men, but he tended to tune Ollie out when he got on a roll. It was a self-defense mechanism after hearing way too much about his friend’s dick for his comfort.

“Where is he staying, Six?” Tomas asked, getting right to the point.

“It’ll just be for a couple of nights,” Six said, not even bothering to pretend like he didn’t know that Ollie planned on having a sleepover with his friend in the clubhouse.

“It’s against the bylaws.”

“I know. I’m sorry. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go right now.”

Tomas scratched at his beard, trying not to let that sway him, but he just kept seeing those sad, reddened eyes and damp cheeks when Mason had rolled the window down and looked up at him. The rules about allowing people to stay in the clubhouse were generally to protect the club from anyone finding out about their business, specifically the work they did with the local domestic violence shelter, SAVE, but Mason already knew about that. He and Ollie had been there when Six had responded to a call that involved another friend of theirs, but Tomas didn’t like the precedent it set.

They weren’t a damn hotel.

“No more than a few days,” Tomas finally said, and Six nodded, heading for the door.

He stopped before opening it, turning back to look at Tomas with steady eyes. His irises, one blue and the other light brown, always gave him an intense look, even when he was completely calm.

“Be careful with him.”

Tomas raised a brow. “I’m not going to do anything with him.”

Six raised a brow right back at him. “He and Vinnie are a package deal, no matter if they’re in a fight right now. I won’t stand for anyone getting hurt.”

Tomas nearly waved him off, the idea of him hurting Ollie’s friend almost offensive. But then he realized that his friend was talking about him , that it didn’t matter if he and Mason had an instant, palpable chemistry.

When Vinnie came after him, he would be the one Mason would choose.

“I hear you.”

It was all he was willing to say on the matter, and Six respected that, nodding once more and then slipping out of the room. Tomas didn’t have any plans to start anything up anyway. He was too busy to focus on a relationship. And pursuing someone in their twenties when he’d be turning forty-seven that year made him feel even older than his reading glasses did.

He’d always known he was polyamorous and that he wanted to settle down with two or three people, maybe adopt a few kids if everyone was in agreement, but as he’d gotten older and every attempt at building something sustainable had failed, he’d begun to give up hope. Most people were okay with sharing him for the short term, but few understood or respected his need for multiple partners.

It was tiring, and he was exhausted.

But his work as the club’s leader was never done.

With a sigh, he stripped off his cut and sweatshirt and headed back out into the den of iniquity. He had a prospect to fire.