16.

SIXTEEN

Rafael

As much as I love the sex club part of Lush, I love the nightclub too. This whole place is fundamentally me. Building it was like taking all the parts of myself and reorganizing them. Lush is beautiful and luxurious, filthy and depraved. It allows those things to exist together. It makes sense of them. It makes me not alone in them.

What else was I going to do with my father’s money? He and my mother died for it.

I don’t know whether my father realized that he was encroaching on one of the big Italian territories with his cocaine business, but he pissed off the wrong people.

I don’t think I’d ever seen him cry before my mother’s mangled body hit the floor. I wasn’t crying at that point. I was just staring from where they’d tied me up. I didn’t understand, then, what they were saying to my father about selling me to the Collector, about how valuable a twelve-year-old boy with such a pretty face would be.

It’s strange how I can picture so many of the men’s faces from the later years, but I can’t picture his. I recall his voice, though, telling me that he wasn’t going to place me right away, that I was special, that he wanted to train me first.

By the time he “placed” me at the Island, I was indeed well trained. I didn’t like pain, not back then. That came later. So I was very good at the Island, where men from all over the world, each of them connected through the international crime structure of the Society, came to play.

Noah wasn’t happy that I chose to use my father’s money to build Lush. He wanted me to apply to the Juilliard. He thought music could save me.

But he had already saved as much of me as could be saved. The rest of me, all the broken pieces, just need somewhere to exist. So I made Lush.

I could never have spent my life playing piano in cold, remote performance halls. I would rather play here in the nightclub like I’m doing tonight.

I’m not calm. I’m never calm, at least not under the surface. But I am stable enough to keep the music right for the swanky vibe of Lush on a Saturday night.

I’m actually enjoying it, especially now that Dominic is here.

The nightclub has a complex, staggered layout. The stage, where I’m playing at the glossy grand piano, backs up to the mezzanine entrance. Stairs lead down on either side, bringing new arrivals around the stage into the club. Throughout the open space, short flights of steps lead to couches and tables on the various levels with their low, curved walls. The walls undulate, creating more niches, all of it overseen by the slightly elevated, well-stocked, and utterly fabulous bar directly across the room from the stage.

Dominic is there on one of the stools, but he’s sitting with his back to the bar. I know he’s watching me, but I don’t look at him. It’s more enjoyable just to feel his attention.

I wonder what interests him. The blues inspired music? My body in the black leather pants and silver corset vest over a black shirt? My face? My movement? Can he tell that I have a prostate massager in my ass?

Its long base lies along my taint to prod the underside of my balls. I’m hard, of course. Does he see it?

I can’t resist glancing at him. My fingers almost stumble as my eyes connect with his. Even from across the room, even with a mere glance, his intensity crashes into me like a tidal wave. God, he’s beautiful.

I love how he dresses. Subtly. Expensively. Darkly. I love how those clothes move with his powerful body. I love how they complement the darkness of his hair and eyes, putting all the light on his gorgeous face and powerful, cruel hands.

His eyes leave me. Surprised and not at all pleased, I follow his gaze.

Shit.

Dante just walked in through the private staff door.

Dante stops dead. His eyes are locked on Dominic. They move briefly to Tristan, checking on his fuck toy or boyfriend or whatever he is behind the bar. Tristan, busy making a drink, hasn’t yet noticed the brewing shitstorm. He looks up finally. He jumps when he spots Dante.

As Dante starts walking toward Dominic, I play my piece a quick close and hit the button for the sound system. Sultry music flows out from the speakers as I head toward the impending chaos. I’m all for a good fight—but not in my nightclub.

Dante, of course, doesn’t give a shit about that because he’s incapable of giving a shit about other people’s things. He’s always been like that, the selfish prick. He takes whatever he wants. He does whatever he wants.

Underneath his veneer of calm, he’s every bit as psychotic and depraved as the rest of us.

And yet he’s still Noah’s fucking golden boy.

I arrive the instant Dominic stands for the confrontation. I slide between the two men, facing Dante.

He’s as gorgeous as Dominic and nearly as sadistic. I face him because he’s more controlled. He chooses, coldly and deliberately, how to channel his anger.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Dante demands.

I meet Dante’s ice cold fury with absolute refusal. “This is not happening in my bar.”

Dante’s jaw bunches. He hates that he can’t control me.

That’s why, years ago, it was such an epic disaster when we almost fucked. I couldn’t submit to him like he needed. He couldn’t dominate me like I needed.

It’s so different with Dominic. We fight just right. He hurts me exactly like I need. He fucks me exactly like I need.

I’ve spent years confused about my feelings for Dante. I wanted it to work and couldn’t really understand why it didn’t. But standing between the two of them now, it’s so fucking obvious.

Dante’s eyes go even colder. “You know what he did to Tristan.”

From behind me, Dominic says to Dante, “If you want to go outside, Adesso, we can settle this.”

“No.” That comes from Tristan. He’s standing on the other side of the bar, near enough for his pretty boy face to show exactly how pissed off he is. “No fighting. We’ll go to the breakroom.”

Oh, so he owns the place now? I shoot Tristan a look. Under his pretty face and polished mannerisms, he’s a tough little shit, which makes him a great bartender and generally good employee, but he’s annoyed me ever since he and Dante started fucking.

Tristan, however, is unmoved by my annoyance. The shitty thing is, he’s right. Dominic and Dante are too well matched, physically and in viciousness. They might kill each other.

I hold Dante’s furious gaze. “You heard your boyfriend. Or whatever the hell he is.”

Somehow, with a lot of grumbling and threatening looks, we get to the lounge-style breakroom. There’s a couch and chairs, an attached bathroom, and a bunch of erotic photographs on the walls. I’ve taken many over the years. I want to take some of Dominic.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve coming in here,” Dante snarls in Dominic’s face. Before Dominic can reply, Dante pivots toward me. “And why the hell would you even let him in?”

“We’re fucking,” I reply.

Everyone freezes. The silence is absolute.

I shrug. It’s best to get it out in the open.

I add, “It’s the best sex of my life.”

Enough red blooms across Dominic’s cheekbones to show even through his olive complexion, but I’m not sure if it’s because I just outed him or because I just complimented him.

Dante huffs. “Well, that’s saying something.”

Dominic thrusts out an angry finger. “Watch your fucking mouth, Adesso.”

Dante raises an eyebrow, and so do I. Is Dominic defending me?

Tristan steps in. He’s got way too many simmering anger issues under that pretty face to be your typical peacekeeper, but in this mix, he’s the only hope we have.

He says, “Everything is actually fine.”

“ Fine ?” Dante echoes. “Nothing here is fine , Tristan. And why the hell did you jump so guiltily when you saw me?”

Anger flashes across Tristan’s face. “I was startled, not guilty. And it was because I knew how you’d react!”

“You were serving drinks to a man who fucking kidnapped you!”

“Apparently, I have a tolerance for psychotic, violent assholes.” He looks, quite pointedly, from Dante to Dominic to me.

I can’t help it. I laugh.

Everyone glares at me. I’m not sure why. That really was funny.

Dominic says as though reasserting the serious tone, “You’re the one with the nerve, Adesso, getting in my face when you killed my father.”

“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.

Fortunately, no one discovers me in the alley. If anyone fucked with me right now, I know I would kill them.

When Silva emerges from the strip club, I scramble up. I find my helmet and smash it on. I stow my phone. I get back on my bike and when Silva’s car is at the right distance, I start the engine. The rumble vibrates the toy inside me, making my body spasm as I roll out onto the street.

Somehow, I get through the ride as Silva leads me across the city to a wealthy neighborhood and a street lined with luxury townhouses. The car stops. Silva and his guard get out. They walk up to a house that must belong to Silva based on the way the guard opens the door for him.

I’m a ways back to make sure I don’t get spotted. I watch various lights turn on then off. When I’m sure it’s safe to roll by, I note the address. I ride around a bit, getting every view I can. When the place goes dark, I head back to Lush.