Chapter One

Finley

" B uy yourself some leather or a sexy harness. Whatever suits your fancy."

Finley had been told to do many weird, risky, and often illegal things by his previous bosses, but Jagoda's words still rang in his head as the strangest.

During the long interview, Finley reconnected with Mat's aunt, and discussed more of his past than he probably should have. As a result, the manager of The Golden Handcuffs had offered him a contract for two days on bar duty and three days as floor security. With a smile on his face, Finley left the club to inhale the perfume of the smoggy London air. It was so different from the sea air of Beag Island he'd spent seventeen years on.

The next three days passed by unpacking boxes and trips to Cyber Dog and the stalls of Camden Market to buy clothes and gear for the new job. Working at the distillery, he'd been used to wearing flannel shirts and jeans, the best attire for island weather and physical labour, but now he could explore what he'd never had the courage or occasion to. Hopefully, not only when it came to what he wore.

Before his first shift, he changed in the employee room and shoved his street bag into a locker. Thankfully, he could wear his old boots, which, after some TLC, presented themselves quite well and complemented the simple black leather trousers that barely allowed enough space to squeeze his phone into his back pocket. He'd bought them from Camden Market, and the guy swore that the leather would become more comfortable the longer he wore it. Hopefully, the same would happen to the harness. It creaked, stretching above his pecs when he adjusted it over his bare chest by the buckles on his shoulders. The hours he'd spent rolling barrels to clear his mind and exhaust his body had paid off and helped him feel good in his skin. Also, a change of surroundings, new job, new clothes. He'd even shaved his beard.

He was ready to start his life over, for as long as he had to stay alive. Whether it was months or years.

He had nothing to lose. But he had to wait for confirmation that Max's killers were caught or, better yet, dead. In the meantime, he would work and do anything that he felt like in the moment. Waiting.

He left the changing room with determination in his step and took the short corridor to the door to the club proper. Like Alice stepping through the looking glass, Finley pushed the heavy panel to enter an unfamiliar world where people wore alternative, kinky clothing, or barely anything at all, and everyone was on board with that. He walked through the ample area designated for dancing, which was painted lively with green and orange fluorescent colours. The back held a stage for a DJ that, he'd been told during the walkthrough, also served for burlesque and other shows such as alternative concerts, shows of Shibari, and body suspension. Under the high ceiling, cages hung from thick chains, where the club-goers could apply to dance. Jagoda had told him that to ensure the quality of the performances, all of them had to be approved in advance.

He finally reached the main area, bathed in dark shades of black and crimson, and filled with the sounds of alternative rock and punk. The middle of the room held a huge round platform with a bench in the middle and a St Andrew's cross secured to the back wall. Finley headed towards the long bar with tall mirrors decorating the wall, reflecting the alcohol bottles on the shelves.

"There you are!" Jagoda appeared next to him, wearing a charcoal business suit and low boots. "I just spoke to Mat and told him how glad I was he'd recommended you. He trusts you, so I do too. Don't blow it." She pocketed her phone and walked alongside him.

Her ash-blonde hair, pulled in a tight bun at the back, gave a professional look to a face that couldn't be older than fifty; framed by tattoos creeping up her neck. They must be days old, judging by the redness around the intense black ink. Finley was sure they weren't there during his interview.

"I won't. How's he doing? I haven't seen him since the wedding." Finley had officiated the union in a beautiful ceremony. He'd been happy to claim that it was him who'd pushed Mat and Peyton to work together at his distillery back on the island.

"Oh, he's great. Said you're shit at texting and he's dying to know how you'd find the club. Besides that, business is blooming and Peyton makes him happy. There's nothing more an aunt could want. Well, he could visit more often." She waved a hand in dismissal. After being attacked and seriously injured at the club, Mat had a right to stay away.

"That's great to hear. And I'll call him this weekend." Busy with the move into the city and so many new things he had to get accustomed to, he'd barely talked to his friends from Beag Island.

Jagoda handed him a thick latex bracelet with the club's logo of golden handcuffs on it and the word ‘Security' underneath it. He raised his eyebrows, but slid it on his right wrist.

"People get excited here and we don't want anyone pulling you by the lanyard. You'll get a vest to go with it as well," she explained and patted his arm. "Let's set you up. Lucy will show you the ropes on the bar."

The confidence oozing out of her would have earnt his immediate respect, even if he hadn't known that she was the local Mafia boss's wife. She and Szef Kwiatkowski had been the power couple of central London for decades, even if they were only known in rich, shady, or kink circles. But after they lost their son, there had been whispers of a separation. Even if that was the case, Jagoda had a solid grip on the club and was clearly not letting her personal life affect the business.

A tall drag queen was tending the bar, filling the glasses and chatting to the clients as if they were best friends.

"Hey, isn't this the new boy?" She scanned Finley from head to foot, nodded and tossed her shiny blond hair to the side with a flick of her hand. "Are you ready for the madness?"

"The what?" Finley glanced between her and Jagoda who was sporting an amused smirk. "Yes, yes I am."

"Good. With that attitude, you'll love it here." She clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to dislodge his lungs, then manoeuvred behind the bar. "I'm Lucy."

"Finley. I'm shadowing you today."

Lucy's sparkly fingernails, each one a different colour, gleamed as she punched in something to open the till. "On the nights when you open the bar, you'll be responsible for putting in the float. I already did that for today, so you can assist me with the cash-out at the end of the night." She shimmied in the tight latex that clung to her slim form and barely covered her bum while revealing long legs with a natural tan. The outfit resembled a lewd version of a nun's habit, with the combination of the black dress and the large gold cross necklace hanging amidst a patch of white fabric.

"We're not busy on Wednesdays until Master Kage comes for his performance, so we have two hours to get you settled behind the bar." Lucy gave Finley an appraising glance from under her long lashes accentuated by heavy eyeliner. "Now tell me, what brought you to this place?"

Finley let out a breath through pursed lips in lieu of a reply, his eyes drawn to the glitter rubbed into Lucy's light-brown skin. She was at least half a foot taller than him in her stilettos and he had to crane his neck to offer a smile.

"I was looking for a fresh start." He fought off the urge to shrug, not wanting to diminish how important this decision had been for him.

"Fair enough." Lucy nodded, but the way her gaze softened told Finley she knew there was a story behind those words. Her face brightened into a pleasant smile again as she turned to a man who ordered a Jack and Coke. Finley observed how she talked to the patron, as she had done to nearly everyone, like she'd known them for years. They opened up to her, grinning and joking, before returning to the crowd. In between serving drinks, Lucy told Finley more about the ins and outs of the job and the club, sharing funny tidbits of a server's life, while giving him useful instructions.

The smell of alcohol reminded him of the distillery, putting him at ease with the familiar scent in an unfamiliar environment. Soon, Finley began to relax and he and Lucy ended up chatting while he watched her make drinks as if it was an art form. From the compliments Lucy took with flair, it was clear that Finley wasn't the only one in awe of the detail and precision of Lucy's outfit, makeup, and hair. Finley received a fair share of confidence-boosting glances as well.

Over an hour passed and more people streamed in, the majority dressed in very little, some wearing full costumes, others only masks and body paint. The clothes were the opposite to what would be street-appropriate—showing the parts that would normally be the first to be covered in public.

"The patrons like your look," Lucy chirped with a wink. "The clothes, your gorgeous red hair, and all the muscles." She wiggled her fingers at his torso. "Can't wait to see your other outfits."

"What's wrong with this one?" Finley asked as he reached for a set of clean shot glasses.

"Nothing in particular, but..." She scrunched her nose. "You don't expect to wear this five times a week, do you?" A telling look must have passed on Finley's face to make Lucy throw her hands up in a dramatic gesture. "We're going to scour LAM this Sunday and you will let Aunt Lucy pick a few pairs of trousers that'll show off that lovely behind you've got there."

Finley sputtered but grinned, busying himself with pouring vodka into the glasses he'd lined up. "Where?"

"London Alternative Market — where the kink clothes live." Lucy winked. "I'll text you the details, sweetie." She patted Finley's arm then swivelled on her heel to catch a tall glass a patron turned over. She cursed in what Finley faintly recognised as Arabic, and placed the glass back with grace, chastising the patron so playfully, he blushed all the way down to his chest.

Finley chuckled and served a pint to a woman dressed in a skimpy vampire costume. Even though it was his first day, and a busy one at that, he could sense that he might find himself in this job. The atmosphere of the club spoke to freedom of expression and welcomed those who wanted to forget life beyond the club walls for a while. And Finley definitely needed the escape.

A small crowd gathered near the round stage with more people joining by the second, drawing Finley's interest. He wiped spillage on the bar with a cloth, keeping an eye out to see what it was the crowd were waiting for.

Lucy elbowed him in the side. "Hey, Finley. While there's no queue, here's a friendly tip. You'll get asked to have a drink with the patrons." Lucy indicated Finley's naked torso with a wave. "We don't have a policy against it, but no one wants to be served by a drunk bartender, so…" She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "I have a bottle of vodka filled with water for those occasions." She straightened and reached for a glass bottle of clear liquid, which she poured into two shot glasses. "Cheers."

"That's brilliant." Finley grinned. "Cheers." He downed the contents in one go, watching Lucy do the same.

As he put the glass down, the chatter of the crowd went quiet. The air crackled with anticipation, the large room filled with only faint whispers, murmurs, and the creaking of leather outfits.

No one spoke, but everyone turned toward the back rooms.

A tall, lean man walked in and the crowd parted before him like waves. He owned the room with his sure, slow gait, his chin up, like a rockstar entering the stage.

Some people gaped or nodded, others held their heads down, looking at their own shoes as if not worthy to lay their eyes upon the man. Mesmerised, Finley couldn't take his eyes off him.