Chapter 1

Velvet and satin slipped like water through Curtis’s fingers. Black sailed through the air, the small box fumbling, end over end. Ten grand, arcing in an unerring curve toward the open kitchen drain. Arm outstretched, brain going slo-mo, Curtis dove forward, snatching the thing from certain doom.

Bleach and trap grease invaded his nose as he panted through the heart-stopping terror of the close call. A few deep breaths expanded his awareness, sound returning to his world. The refrigerator’s hum blended with members’ voices beyond the closed door. Pushing to his feet, he stared at the box, letting himself picture Reed’s reaction to the ring.

Tonight his boy would be full of the energy that always lit up any room he walked into. With a bunch of fights on the roster, it’d be the perfect time—with a fuck-ton of witnesses—to make their engagement official.

As long as I don’t start by losing the ring.

The galley door opened. Empty tray in one hand, a glass of something cold in the other, Keiran backed in. He froze as though not expecting to see Curtis there, then stepped up to his side. “Are you all right, sir?”

Curtis half took in Keiran’s pristine white apron and the sweep of his dark hair over the handsome expanse of his brow. Lid giving a little creak, he opened the box. Inside, a platinum setting inlaid with rose, white, and blue diamonds glittered. “It’s the promise band I bought for Reed.”

Expression warming, Keiran admired the ring. “It’s beautiful. And I have a feeling it’ll be lucky, too. I don’t usually bet on fights, but I couldn’t help put some money on Reed. He’s been training so much with Matt lately, I don’t have any doubt he’ll come out on top.”

The box creaked again, this time a little dangerously. Jaw tight, Curtis briefly closed his eyes.

Right. There’s a reason the bar’s packed.

One he’d been avoiding.

“The wings came in while you were out. I had Matt put them in the overflow freezer. We’ll probably see a lot of orders for those tonight. People will be looking for more pub fare and fewer sandwiches after the holiday.” Hand on the door, he pushed it open, letting in the rush of sound from the bar, shoving the unwelcome image of Reed and a completely different kind of ring out of his head. “I’ll help with table delivery when I can.”

With a short incline of his head, Keiran retreated back to his work.

Ring box in his front right pocket, Curtis slipped behind the bar next to Matt, snagging the next drink order. A gaggle of subs vied for attention, already tipsy. Flipping the tequila off the shelf, he took their keys and poured their shots, moving into the rhythm of making and serving drinks. Did some mental arithmetic on their own version of Black Friday. If they made payroll today, they’d be set for the remainder of the year.

The door to the stairwell opened, Jared stepping past, his brown-haired sub in tow. The Asylum’s medic moved through the parted crowd, finding his way to the bar faster than everyone except perhaps Rhodey. No one wanted to piss off the man who might be responsible for stitching up their next gash.

Taking a stool, Jared looked to his boy. “No pretzels tonight, Wren. You’re having a salad. And protein. Do you want boiled eggs or beef?”

“Beef, please, sir. And maybe Keiran made those dog biscuits?” Wren didn’t sound all that interested in his own food, but he perked up at the last. “Do you think Shea will let me feed Danny? It’s fascinating how different he is. But the same. If I’m careful, maybe he won’t nip me this time. Blain wasn’t happy with me for touching his ears, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe he’ll be happy with me if I have a treat for him?”

Attention half on Wren’s chatter and the etiquette of pet play, Curtis put in the food orders, punching the buttons with his index finger. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water.” Jared nudged his chin toward the leather fight ledger. “Too many fights tonight to indulge.”

At the mention of the fights, Curtis barely repressed a lip curl. Forget ‘rubbing one out’, apparently ‘rubbing it in’ had become The Asylum’s favorite new pastime.

The front door opened and Shea came in with Jacks at his side, Danny on Jacks’ back like he always was when they came into the club. At first, Wren’s visible disappointment was hard to read. Then Jacks claimed a stool, Danny in his lap.

Wearing his day collar.

Danny met Wren’s eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry for biting you last time.”

Wrinkling his nose, Wren shook his head. “It’s fine, but...that’s not why you’re not… I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make things weird. I really like when you’re a pup.”

Cheeks going red, Danny ducked his head. “We weren’t sure if it would be too busy tonight. Shea was worried I’d get stepped on because I get too distracted. Maybe in a bit, though. But...like, don’t move so fast. I kinda forget it’s you.”

“What can I get you?” Curtis rapped his knuckles brightly on the bar in front of Jacks and Shea. Just keeping it professional with the two Doms. It had been a while, anyway, since he’d tried to rip Shea’s arm from its socket.

Things like that tended to blow over in a place where tempers ran hot and beer flowed freely.

“Craft for me and our boy.” Shea reached over, petting Danny’s hair. “If it gets to be too much, let me know. Keiran doesn’t mind help in the kitchen. Or someone to feed treats to if you want to get into that headspace. We can try out the new toys Blain got upstairs later, okay? I have all your stuff, but there’s a few fights I want to watch first. Jacks, you getting anything? I’m thinking you need it after being on the phone all damn day.”

One arm slung over the back of his bar stool, Jacks watched a few Doms who played a game of pool on the opposite side of the room. “An extra spicy bloody Mary. Hold the pickle. Just the lemon and celery.”

Well, that’s...different.

Different for most of the club, actually. If old fashioned drinks were coming back in, they were screwed. Vodka and tonic didn’t bring in nearly as much cash as the fancier stuff some of the subs ordered. And the craft beers brought in a nice percentage. A good bloody Mary mix was a pain in the ass to make, and the tomato juice tended to go bad before they used it.

“Hey. This year.” Alfonse Weber leaned over the bar, his gaze dipping meaningfully to Curtis’s wrist like he thought he might be dressing on the right tonight. “I want a beer before I go back to watch Reed’s fight with Sin.”

“Matt, get Alfonse his beer.” Curtis issued the order through gritted teeth, leaning to get the tomato juice out of the fridge.

“Yes, sir.” Matt didn’t miss a beat, voice loud enough that no one would mistake the honorific over the din in the bar.

Danny let out a little growl at Alfonse’s tone, which got him a smack on the thigh from Shea. “None of that. If you want your collar, let me know, but either way, you’ll behave yourself.”

For a second it didn’t look like Danny knew how to respond. As though he was caught in some middle ground. Then he nodded slowly. “I’ll try, sir. But it might be best. Then I won’t have a chance to say what I really think of the…‘Dom’.”

Exchanging a look with Jacks, Shea pulled Danny’s mitts, tail, and play collar from the pocket of his hoodie, then went about suiting him up, which had Wren grinning like someone had just lost a limb in front of him.

Hand automatically going to the jar of ‘puppy’ treats under the bar, Curtis slid it to Wren at the same time he served the bloody Mary to Jacks. “Don’t make him sick on them.”

“I won’t, sir.” Wren glanced up at Jared as Danny circled Shea’s stool, holding still only long enough for his other Dom to tie his tail on. Both Doms seem to have gotten good at minimizing, after spending some time carrying around every single thing they might possibly need for a scene. Wren held his breath. “Can I go with him to the galley? Keiran doesn’t mind me throwing a ball around for him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t trip him this time.”

Jared shook his head. “That’s dangerous. Hot stoves and balls. I don’t care what kind.”

Despite how fucked up this night was going so far, Curtis couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. Almost always issued with dry humor, it was rare Jared made a joke. “If you two want to play out of the way, why not go up to the loft?”

“That’s not a horrible idea.” Shea looked to Jacks again. “Danny couldn’t make it any more obvious he doesn’t want to watch the fights. What do you think?”

Jacks glanced at Curtis, memories of the last time Shea and he had let Danny out of their sights on an open night clearly playing across his green eyes and model-perfect features. “I guess it couldn’t hurt…”

“I agree.” Jared sipped his water, not sounding like he’d heard a word.

Giving the man a sideways look, Curtis tried to decide whether he’d gone one step beyond sleep deprived into delusional. The way Jared glanced at the fight book and then the bar clock, however, said they might both have the same distraction on their minds.

Reed.

“I promise I’ll be careful with him.” Wren clenched the treats Curtis had given him in one hand. “I know he gets really deep when he’s wearing his play collar. I’ll make sure he’s safe.”

“I’d better find that salad eaten by you and not your pup friend when I come upstairs, my boy, or I’ll get out a strap.” Jared called above the din, bringing Wren’s attention around.

Wren hesitated. “But...I can share, right? He eats less than I do when he’s not being fed. It’s not an accurate comparison. And he’s so cute when he’s eating and...yes, sir?”

Dark brows rose. Jared gave Wren a level look over the heads of the thinning crowd flooding toward the gym, several members muttering about the ‘big fight’ as they exchanged vouchers and made bets on their phones. “Who is my concern here? And who is Jacks’ and Shea’s concern?”

Wren’s brow furrowed as Danny tried to chase the hanging tail of a whip on a Dom’s belt, Shea coming over to attach Danny’s leash to his collar, placing the other end in Wren’s hand. When Shea gave Wren an expectant look, Wren frowned. “Umm...you worry about me. They worry about him. And...if I’m taking over with him… This is complicated, sir.”

Jared crooked his finger, motioning Wren closer.

The order-up light turned on. Curtis left the bar, missing out on whatever it was Jared might say to his sub. In the kitchen, he leaned against the door, needing a moment.

Pulling out his phone, he checked for messages from Reed, then sent a quick one of his own.

Heya. How are you?

He never had to wait long for Reed’s replies.

Good. All warmed up!

Snapping his head to the side, Curtis ignored Keiran’s concerned look as he released the tension in his neck, then shot back another text.

You will win.

He erased his “Right?” and pressed SEND.

I love you, sir.

Curtis let out a quiet snarl at the non-answer. He shoved through the galley door, plates and fry baskets piled in his arms. Dropping the food on the bar along with the utensils and napkins, he mentally counted out the members with near-empty drinks so he’d know whether they were going to get a rush of drink orders. Thought about anything and everything, including which members might have one ball instead of two.

And did his best to avoid the memory of arguing with Lawson over letting Reed fight Sin.

Thankfully, a conversation with Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber distracted him.

“Wren, ‘taking over’ with Danny in this headspace isn’t simple.” Shea glanced over at Blain, who was looking from Danny’s leash in Wren’s hand to him as though doubting his judgement. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“It is.” Blain folded his arms over his chest. “We’ve discussed this. What seems ‘fun’ is you handing over absolute surrender. Which isn’t fair to either sub.” He gave Jared a look. “You’ve become much too indulgent, my man. This isn’t the type of play your boy should even observe on his own, never mind participate in.”

“I admit I know next to nothing about puppy play. I misjudged. Thank you for setting me straight.” Jared wrapped an arm around Wren’s waist, kissing his temple as he side-eyed the clock again.

The tall, muscular, black Dom appeared to assess Shea for a lick of common sense. “You’ve been to one training session because Danny is still shy with the other pups. I won’t pressure you, but you asked for my help. Handing your boy off to another sub so you can watch the fights is irresponsible.” Blain glanced over at Jacks. “For both of you.”

Curtis slammed the bar towel into a laundry bucket. “Can we stop talking about the fucking fights?”

Glancing over, Shea fixed him with a bland stare. “This is still a fight club, isn’t it? Wren, give me one of those treats, please? No ball, but you can take Danny into the galley. Keiran’s attended a few of the training sessions out of curiosity, so I’m hoping I’m not being a bad Dom by trusting him to watch you both.”

Blain sighed, shaking his head. “You’re missing the point. But yes, Keiran can watch them.” He gave Jared a sideways look. “Both.”

Still gnashing his teeth, Curtis threw Shea a glare. “Maybe I’m a hardass, but I thought Blain just got done saying he shouldn’t be out of your sight.”

“Shut up.” Shea didn’t seem so sure what he’d just been told himself. He glanced over at Jacks. “So...Keiran? He’s fine? Or…”

“He’s a Dom now.” Curtis spoke into the ice well, scooping some into a glass before filling it with soda water and a lime for himself.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.” Blain gave him an irritated look, then brought his attention back to Shea and Jacks. “You need to catch the little things. It isn’t meant to be easy. It’s meant to show he comes first. That he can count on you. But you’re trusting someone who will pay attention, so no need to drag out the issue. Don’t do that too often though, because it’s a strain on Keiran as a sub. And both Dallas and Rhodey will have to put in the extra work to make up for him taking on that role for you.”

“Gee. I don’t know anyone who ever gets out of control from having to watch out for his Dom.” So quiet Curtis had forgotten he was there, Matt spoke up from where he folded a box of paper napkins for the upcoming Christmas celebrations. “Only half the effing core subs.”

That got Matt a raised brow from Shea. “Really? Interesting. Lawson’s always playing things so cool. Guess he’s not all he claims to be. Poor boy. When did he say you could fight again?”

A slow smile spreading across his face, Matt put down the napkin he folded. “Anytime I want. You ready for that challenge yet?”