Chapter 3

Steps away, the sun blazed, the merciless heat as oppressive as the outside world, but the AC on high made the bar the perfect escape. For the thousandth time, Wren was glad he couldn’t go further than the gates. Some might think being sequestered in The Asylum was no different than prison, but all he’d ever need was right here—not like he’d gone out often even before his arrest.

He held the door, careful to stay out of sight with the delivery truck backed in almost to the door, holding his breath as Matt, the submissive of one of the three owners of The Asylum, firmly told the two delivery men that he and Reed would bring in the packages themselves.

The first stack of long boxes was brought in, then the next, until the piles took up most of the floor space. Reed stuck close to Matt, both glistening with sweat as the man tipped the drivers, politely brushing off any attempt to start a conversation, then watched as the truck pulled out.

Once the gates were closed, everyone seemed to breathe a little easier. Wren locked the door, then grabbed some small towels from behind the bar for everyone to dry off. After gulping down a bottle of water, Reed began tearing into the boxes while Matt put on a fresh pot of coffee.

Glancing over the bar, Matt shook his head. “Leave it until we’ve had some coffee. You’re making a mess.”

“And I’ll clean it up. Stop being so anal.”

Matt rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “You weren’t complaining about that last night.”

Wren snickered as he removed the stools around the bar, stacking them near the doors to the ring. They’d be brought through later, put into storage until the buyer came for them. He left one stool at the end of the bar, in case Lawson, Matt’s Dom, came down before the new stools were assembled. He wasn’t thrilled that the practical wood stools he’d chosen for the bar were being replaced, nevermind if he came down and had nowhere to sit before his first cup of coffee.

That the stools had lasted here so long after Noah’s return was no small miracle. For awhile, it was like Noah thought he had no right to change anything. Lawson and Curtis, who owned the club with him, had managed The Asylum for the two years he’d been in prison, including replacing all the furniture destroyed when The Asylum had been vandalized by a local gang. They’d done an amazing job; but, for some reason, Noah hated those stools. And when he’d gotten back from his month-long honeymoon, buying new ones had been his top priority.

The custom pieces had taken months to make and finally be delivered, but watching Reed assemble the first one, Wren couldn’t deny, Noah had chosen well. The inwardly curved, black wrought iron bases with built-in circular footrests were heavy and would discourage angry patrons—or, well, Curtis—from picking them up to hit people with. The top part was made of quartered whiskey barrels, the seat and backs comfortably padded and covered in sleek, black leather.

Nodding in satisfaction, Reed kicked aside pieces of the box he’d decimated, put the stool in Lawson’s place, and grabbed the old one to set aside with the others.

“That is not happening.” Matt cut around the bar. Took hold of the back of the stool, frowning at Reed. “He can try the new stools when he’s fully awake.”

“Stop worrying.” Reed tugged back. “He’ll love it.”

“Later, maybe? Will you let go?” Matt laughed as though realizing they were both being ridiculous, but didn’t release the chair. “I swear, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Reed gave the other sub a feral grin. “You think so?” He pressed Matt back into the doors, pinning him there with the stool. “Because I’d love to see you try.”

When the door at the bottom of the stairs opened, Wren scooted behind the bar, fixing a mug of coffee, black with four sugars. He hesitated as Lawson stepped into the bar, rubbed his hand over his mouth, then fixed both subs with a dark look. The Dom dismissed them and came to the bar, frowning at the stool.

Then he lifted his gaze to Wren when he placed the mug in front of him, a tight smile curving his lips. “At least one of you is reliable. Thank you, Wren.”

Quiet movement behind Wren spun him around. He jabbed his elbow into the edge of the bar as Doc gave him a brief nod of approval.

“This one doesn’t act out for attention.” Doc fixed his own coffee, leaning against the counter a few feet from Wren as he gave him a contemplative once over. “Noah did well by him. I’d say less so with Jamie, but he doesn’t make a scene the second he’s out of his Master’s sight.”

Wren grinned, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, happy that Doc approved of how hard Jamie tried to make his Dom—and now husband—proud. He felt bad for Reed and Matt, who’d put down the stool and were both quickly cleaning up Reed’s mess, but he couldn’t argue that they were both a little wild.

Which was how their Doms liked them. Some Doms enjoyed a challenge. Noah had high expectations, but even he’d gone for a sub who could be a bit of a brat. Which would make it easy for Wren to resent Jamie, since he’d belonged to Noah first, but Jamie was his best friend and gave the Dom everything he needed.

He touched the string at his throat, recalling the day, two months ago, when the old one had finally fallen apart. He’d sat in his room all day, completely numb, wondering if this was it. Noah would decide Jamie was more than enough for him and Wren had no place with them anymore.

“What are you doing, little bird?” Concern in his eyes, Noah came into his room without bothering to knock. He tipped Wren’s chin up with a finger. “Jamie said you haven’t been out all day and you didn’t answer the door when he came to check on you. Are you sick?”

“No, sir.” Wren swallowed hard. How pathetic was it that a piece of string was all that was holding him together? Being needy with Noah would only speed up the inevitable. He should pretend there was nothing wrong, only...that would be a lie. And Noah hated lying more than almost anything else. He pressed his eyes shut, needing to hide from his own fear and confusion. “It’s...it shouldn’t bother me. I’m sorry, I’ll apologize to Jamie and—”

“You will tell me what’s upsetting you.” Noah’s hand slipped around his throat, the familiar pressure easing Wren back to solid ground. The Dom held Jamie the same way to settle him. Treated them alike in some ways, and so different in others.

Which didn’t bother Wren. Maybe it should, but all that mattered was he still belonged.

But do I?

Noah’s fingers brushed over the bare skin where the twine had been for so long. Understanding filled his gaze as Wren opened his eyes. He glanced down at the string, still clasped in Wren’s fist. Tightened his grip, just a little, on Wren’s throat. “I haven’t released you, pet. The string breaking doesn’t change that.”

Wren chewed on his bottom lip until Noah frowned and tapped his cheek to make him stop. He drew in a shaky breath. “I guess I should know that, sir.”

“You should, but I understand.” Noah leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Jamie’s always saying I should get you a nicer collar.”

For the first time, anger at the other sub flashed through Wren. He shook his head. “I don’t need anything nicer. The collar you gave me was perfect, sir. It would still be perfect if...if it had lasted.”

Lips thin, Noah held his gaze. “Whatever collar I give you, you will wear.”

Blinking fast, Wren nodded. What was wrong with him? Of course he’d wear it. But...but...he trembled, fighting to control his breathing. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” His voice broke as Noah made a soft shushing sound and stroked his hair. “That collar was mine for over two years and it meant so much. I wasn’t ready to lose it.”

“You haven’t, Wren.” Noah leaned in, brushing his lips over Wren’s. “You haven’t lost anything. Come with me.”

In the art room that had been sectioned off at the far end of the large living room, Noah took a roll of white twine he used to tie his canvases. He pulled out a length before cutting it with a pair of scissors from his neatly organized supplies. Tying it exactly like the last one, he slipped it over Wren’s head before securing it around his neck.

That simple act had air coming easier, and Wren brought his hand to his throat. He toyed with the string, even though he knew Noah didn’t like him doing so. Since he’d left prison, the Dom hadn’t seemed to notice.

But the way his hand locked around Wren’s wrist, not much would escape him now. His dark gaze stilled Wren as he leaned in close. “Since when do I have to repeat myself with you?”

“You don’t, sir. I…” Wren couldn’t remember the last time he’d crossed the line with Noah, even by accident. His last punishment had been… Back when Jamie first got here. When he’d played cards for money. He swallowed hard. “I didn’t think you’d mind, since we’re not in prison. There are no guards to worry about.”

Noah arched a brow. “You’re making a lot of assumptions, my little bird. I’ll remind you why that’s a bad idea.”

The thick, wood ruler Noah used on his bare ass had been a very good reminder. Jamie had come home halfway through and, after a brief hesitation, quietly went to his and Noah’s room. Once, Jamie probably would’ve gotten angry at Noah. Tried to protect Wren. But he understood punishments now. He earned plenty.

Like Wren always did for him, Jamie came in after Noah gave him permission and laid a wide, gel ice pack over the welts. He’d silently covered them with a soothing arnica lotion before laying on his side next to Wren.

“Feel better?”

Wren knew he didn’t mean because of the ice pack and lotion. Glasses abandoned on the nightstand, Wren buried his face between his arms before he nodded, ashamed to admit how badly he’d needed this. “I do. And I’m sorry I ignored you when you knocked.”

Jamie gave his shoulder a little nudge so he’d look up. “It’s okay. I still don’t get how you’re so good when...I mean, you don’t get any rewards for everything you do. Hell, even the regular club apology would’ve been something. I’d have begged to watch.”

“You’re almost as bad as Reed. You’re talking about your husband.”

“And I’m talking about Noah.” Jamie’s matter-of-fact tone made it clear monogamy wasn’t something he expected or needed. “Who can have anyone he wants.”

“True.” Wren sighed and shook his head. “But I told you, it’s not like that between us.”

Frustration hardening his gaze, Jamie shook his head. “Why not? You belong to him as much as I do.”

Resting his head on his folded arms, Wren tried to find a way to explain. So far, Jamie had managed to avoid earning his own punishment for...all right, it hadn’t been more than twenty-four hours, but not on Wren’s behalf. Those were always the worst, because Wren knew it could be avoided if his best friend understood the dynamics between him and Noah a bit better.

But they were hard to explain. “When we were in prison, it was something we both needed. Once I was out, he wanted me to be ready to find another Dom, but he knew I wasn’t yet. But he makes sure I still feel useful.”

Lips forming a tiny pout, Jamie met his eyes. “I don’t want you to find anyone else. I love you being here.”

With a laugh, Wren elbowed Jamie lightly in the ribs. “Because you’re a greedy brat.”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m trying to be…” Jamie froze as the doorknob turned and Noah stepped into the room. He glanced at Wren and whispered. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need that ice pack.”

Noah crossed his arms over his chest, then shook his head. “No. You won’t.”

Wren cringed. He knew exactly what the punishment would be. He’d only had his mouth washed out with soap once. With Jamie it happened often enough that he’d filled the soap dispenser with Reed’s toothpaste. Not his best idea.

But even though he felt a little sorry for Jamie, he was grateful for the interruption. It kept Jamie from asking the questions he couldn’t answer. Ones he refused to ask himself.

Did he miss that kind of touch? Being taken in every way? Did he wish those boundaries hadn’t been set?

He shook his head, forcing himself to get back to the task of serving coffee and preparing the bar for tonight. A few feet away, Doc was checking the inventory while sipping his coffee, which he took completely black and rarely waited long enough for anyone to serve him. Wren still tried sometimes, because even that brief glance of thanks before the man returned to whatever filled his insane schedule brought a deep satisfaction. Those piercing blue eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses rarely met his, and he always lowered his gaze when they did unless asked to meet them. Which only happened when he did something well or screwed up.

The former was a much better option.

Unlike most of the Doms around the club, Doc didn’t react well to demands for attention or acting out. He preferred subs to do what they were supposed to. Drawing his notice was difficult, and usually not a good thing, but Wren was tempted. Not enough to follow Jamie or Reed’s examples and be a brat, he’d hate to make the man angry, but there were times that he felt like being good made him almost...invisible.

Which had been ideal in prison, but not so much anywhere else.

He considered Matt, who’d placed one of the old stools in Lawson’s spot and was standing by his Master quietly as the man finished his first cup of coffee, then went to get another for him. Matt was pretty well behaved—when he wasn’t playing with Reed—but his mouth and his temper got him in plenty of trouble. And Lawson always took it in stride. The two fit together perfectly. And their relationship with Curtis and Reed formed a complete whole nothing could shake.

Things...weren’t like that between him, Jamie, and Noah. His place was with them, but apart. He was wanted. Even needed in some ways. And he’d never complain—he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Still, Noah intended for him to feel like something was missing. Because it was.

But he hadn’t actually told Wren to find another Dom. Hadn’t considered one for Wren himself. So, nothing had to change.

The front door swung open, hitting the wall and jerking Wren from his thoughts. Garet stumbled in, Curtis’s arm around his shoulders, bracing the man against the closest table as he looked around the room frantically.