Chapter 4

Dallas didn’t know all the details, but he’d been told enough to have a good grasp of the situation. Still, Curtis outing himself as a switch and working the bar while under speech restrictions placed on him by Lawson had been a bit of a mindfuck at first. Dallas should’ve been the first to get it about Curtis, except the dynamics had always seemed so clear. Having the advantage of perspective helped.

Not everyone had been so...understanding.

“I should get down there.” Dallas shot Lawson a cheeky grin to lighten the mood. “Sir.”

Lawson slapped him on the back. “None of that tonight. I know where your head's at, but we’ll keep it between us.”

At the edge of the bondage space, Dallas eyed the mess. Paper littered the floor, the rack, even Lawson’s hair. He brushed the top of his own head, confetti Reed would’ve gotten a kick out of raining down. “Sorry about this.”

Lawson chuckled. “I’ll clean it up for you, but please, strips next time.”

“Yeah.” Enthusiasm had never been Dallas’s problem. Discipline, however… “I owe you one.”

“Just don’t leave the bar a mess tonight, and we’ll call it even.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

Making his way to the bar, Dallas stopped at the camera and waited to be buzzed through. The way their movements were restricted had become a strange new reality. Doc had said something about the gang being too active lately, which didn’t make much sense. If the security fence didn’t keep them out, God only knew what would.

If the core wants you to know more, they’ll tell you.

He sighed, shaking his head. Being close to the inner sanctum of The Asylum, but still on the outside, sucked sometimes. Lawson trusting him to have Curtis’s back was a step in the right direction. The man knew how much The Asylum, how much everyone here, meant to him.

Unfortunately, Lawson wasn’t the only one he had to impress.

Might help if I didn’t mess with the wrong subs.

Didn’t mean he’d stop, though.

What fucking fun would that be?

A door opened, Reed barreling down the stairs from the third floor. Dallas flattened against the wall, dipping his chin at the sub, whose irrepressible grin and big, deep blue eyes ruined his attempt to be stern. The young sub always lightened his mood. And was one of the very ones he definitely should’ve steered clear of.

Still, he had zero regrets about the time they’d spent together. Reed was all kinds of trouble. The best kind. And worth Dallas having to work his way off a few shit-lists.

Their friendship meant too much for him to get back on them, but the man was happy with Curtis. As settled as he’d ever get between his Dom, Lawson, and Matt. Seemed almost impossible, but he’d been glowing even brighter since he’d found his place with the men.

It was fucking nice to see.

Music rushed in as Reed bounded into the bar the second the door buzzed. Skittering to a halt, Reed vaulted his ass onto the polished el of the bar top and leaned over to capture a kiss from Curtis. “I love you, Daddy-o.”

With a hop to the floor, Reed continued toward the ring, a bounce in his step and his brown, shoulder-length curls.

Over by the tables in ass-hugging blue jeans and a crisp white T-shirt, Matt’s sandy-blond hair partially obscured the serious expression in his bright blue eyes. After serving a few members, he disappeared into the kitchen, coming back out with plates of fully loaded burgers that made Dallas’s mouth water when he passed.

The rest of the core was spread out tonight. Wren would be upstairs in the lofts, where he’d been spending most of his time lately when the club was open. Doc was ringside, where undoubtedly he’d be needed after Kovit got done with Shea. Jamie and Noah had something to do at the Performing Arts Center, some show or student graduation. Dallas couldn’t keep track of the pop star’s projects. There were too many. And that left Avery working the bar in the dance club while Garet ran the DJ booth.

Rounding the bar, Dallas squeezed through the three-deep members, who were slowly grabbing drinks in red plastic ringside-safe cups and trickling through the gymnasium’s green leather double-doors. They’d have ten to thirty minutes, until the next ten-minute break, to refill garnish trays, clean up plates, glasses, bottles, and dishes, and generally prepare for the next rush.

“Hey, my man.” Dallas nodded to Curtis who looked up from under the fall of his blond bangs and nudged up his chin in greeting.

After pulling an ale, Custis slid it across the bar to one Dom, then knocked the caps off of two beers, taking money and making change in motions that said he was in the zone. Tonight, the scars on his face—the deeper one over his brow—were pale against his skin, likely from a long day in the autumn sun fixing up something. The scent of tar lingered, so maybe he and Matt had been finishing up the new membrane on the roof.

Judging Curtis in control of the situation closer to the ringside area of the bar, Dallas took the side near the kitchen. Did his best to crane his neck for a glance inside every time Matt scurried in or out of the swinging door.

Filling drinks and punching food orders into the new Point of Sale System that would send the ticket directly to the kitchen—meaning he’d have absolutely no reason to go into the galley tonight—he tried to fall into rhythm with Curtis. Tripping over his own feet in front of the ice chest, he spilled a drink into the clean ice. Swore, then began the process of shoveling out the bin with a bucket and wiping the chest down.

A crash sounded at the tables near the windows, followed by a deep voice. “That plug up your ass too big, boy?”

Dallas stilled at the taunt, flicking his gaze to his left wrist, hand clenched around the ice scoop. The man wasn’t talking to him. Eyes closed, he resisted the urge to snap at the bastard.

Leaving three subs to work the bar tonight might’ve been a bad idea, Law...

Chin up, fists balled, Matt looked to Curtis, who gripped the edge of the bar. Dishes littered the floor. Ketchup covered Matt’s T-shirt.

A little too much like blood.

Miraculously, the sub kept his voice lowered, though he ground out each word. “I’m sorry, sir, but gravity tends to happen when you stick your foot out to trip me.”

The Dom—a man Dallas didn’t recognize—stood, leading the way with a leather vest two sizes too small for his beer belly. He snapped his fingers for Matt to kneel. “Apologize.”

Retreating a step, Matt paled. His throat worked.

Curtis shook his head. “No, Augy. That one’s not yours to mess with.”

Lip curled, Augy gave Curtis a derisive once over. “Well he ain’t yours right now, is he, boy?”

Damn it.

Stepping around the bar, Dallas got between Augy and Matt. “You want an apology, I’ll give you one.”

Way too much alcohol on his breath, the drink clouding his eyes, Augy cupped Dallas’s cheek. The man shouldn’t have been served his last three shots. “Well if it ain’t another one who don’t know whether to dress on the left or right. I don’t mind showing you what’s what.”

Dallas breathed deep, nostrils flaring on his inhale. Taking one for the team might be noble and all, but this asshole wasn’t worth his—or any sub here’s—time. “You’re drunk. Let’s call it a night.”

Reaching down, Augy gripped him by the balls. “Yes...let’s.”

Fuck this shit.