Chapter 6

Jaw hard, Dallas watched Doc head into the stairwell, likely to give the dungeon a final inspection. Moving around the bar, relaxed now that the place had cleared out, Matt cleaned with Curtis. Rhodey and Lawson got Augy out of the bar and into a cab.

Hopefully to never fucking return.

About twenty minutes later, Keiran came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on the apron he’d removed. One arm around Keiran’s waist, navy eyes glittering, Avery licked something shiny from the edge of his lips.

Before he could talk himself out of making a move, Dallas stood, cutting them off. “Do you want to grab a drink?”

Smile fading, Avery dropped his arm from Keiran’s waist, then slipped away, exiting through the gym doors. The dude was a bit weird. Dallas couldn’t tell if he was shy, but he knew competition when he was it.

Watching him go, dark lashes fanned down before Keiran peered up at Dallas. “I thought you’d never ask...” His words trailed off, though there was still some teasing in his tone. “Unless you’re only asking because you heard I give good...cake.”

Definitely a habitual flirt.

As if on cue, Matt came out of the kitchen clutching a giant piece of chocolate cake and a glass of milk. Lawson dipped in to licked off the icing dotting his boy’s upper lip, making an appreciative sound.

“I’m...allergic. To chocolate. It messes with my stomach.” Dallas said the first thing that came to mind, then winced when Keiran gave him a curious look. “But I’m sure it’s delicious.”

A few members lingered in the bar, throwing darts and drinking beer. For a Friday night, the place was strangely quiet. Curtis and Lawson hung out with Matt at the bar, talking in low voices, while Reed had gone to help Rhodey with something upstairs.

Not wanting an audience, Dallas motioned toward the gym doors. Keiran preceded him into the space, his graceful movements a sinuous dance that kept Dallas’s gaze riveted to slim hips and flexing glutes. Damn, but this man and a stripper pole…

How is he not a millionaire?

Once past the scattered jumble of metal folding chairs around the ring, Dallas pushed through to Jamie’s—the name the members had given as a shorthand for the dance club Noah’s sub had designed and paid for, inaugurating it with a performance that many hadn’t stopped talking about since. Not much could top that night for the good kind of excitement.

Except…

Dallas stopped short, Keiran at his side. Inside, a splitter cut across the darkness, splashing blades of color over the dance floor. Suspended in mid-air on two strips of silk cloth, skin glistening and rippling with perfectly sculpted muscles, a shirtless Avery practiced an aerial routine to a cover of Taylor Swift’s ‘...Ready for It?’.

Moving to the liquor rack, Dallas reached for a bottle of gin and a couple candied orange peels, sparring only half his focus to Avery’s spins and drops, the elegant splits that outlined the man’s dick in his spandex pants like he wore nothing at all.

Back to the bar, Keiran leaned against the curved rail, arms over his chest, and watched the show, chin tilted up.

Light cut in from the gym as Rhodey strode in with purpose. His steps slowed as he crossed to the exit doors, gaze assessing as he tested the lock. Kept his attention on the six-foot spinning drop, ending Avery’s routine.

The music trailed off and Avery twirled in an undulating circle, the silks fluttering against the floor. Gaze dark, Rhodey ran his tongue over his teeth, then slipped out of the room as quietly as he’d come in as the playlist clicked over and Avery began stowing away his equipment.

Light brown eyes shining, Keiran met Dallas’s eyes. “That’s some damn fine skill.”

Dallas made a noncommittal sound. “It’d be a shame if he misjudged and wrapped that silk around his skinny neck.”

Brows shooting up, Keiran shook his head as he took his Amelia Erhardt cocktail from Dallas’s fingers. “Oh, cariño, don’t be jelly. That’s not what I like to do with scarves.”

Flirty and teasing, Keiran’s breathless voice trailed over Dallas’s skin like that damned silk. If it weren’t for the honest affection in his gaze—the warm concern underlying the airy words—Dallas would have chalked up the night as a loss. His interest in Keiran nothing more than a passing infatuation. Something a little too sweet that would give him a stomachache and leave him empty in the morning.

But what if…?

Right forearm on the bar, drink stem between his fingertips, Dallas tipped his chin toward Keiran’s bandage. “How are you doing? I’ve been worried about you.”

Blinking thick lashes, Keiran pulled back a fraction, the muscles along the elegantly muscled column of his throat fluttering. “Better. It was… I mean, I’ve been in rough neighborhoods before. Even been mugged a time or two. It’s something you expect when strip clubs aren’t always located in the safest places. But it was the first time I actually thought…” He straightened, forcing a smile. “It doesn’t matter. I made it out all right. Thanks to you.”

Dallas swiped his thumb up and down the stem of his glass, gaze locked on Keiran’s, trying to read him. He was...alternately ‘bring-it-on’ and ‘stay-away’. Unsure whether to credit their friendship or flirtation—whatever this was—to his having played knight in not-so-shiny armor, he glanced at Keiran’s lips when he spoke. “I’m glad I was there, but you don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not true.” The edge of Keiran’s lips twitched. “I owe you a five-star meal. Which will be easier now that you’re around. I wondered what kind of...menu might tempt you to come back.”

The simmering arousal Dallas managed to mostly ignore since he’d walked back here with Keiran boiled over. Everything in him stilled as heat flowed down to pool at his tailbone. He didn’t much care if whatever Keiran offered would be full of empty calories, so long as he got to gorge himself on the curve of that sassy mouth.

He reached out to trace Keiran’s lips with a fingertip. A soft breath puffed against his palm.

“So it’s the ‘cake’ you’re interested in after all.” Keiran let out a quiet laugh. “Dinner first, then we’ll see. I don’t like to play in my own sandbox. It never ends well.”

Dropping his hand, Dallas straightened.

Idiot.

Shaking his head, Dallas retreated to dump his drink and grab a beer. “Sorry. Must be that shit Doc gave me.” When he returned, he kept himself at a safer distance. “What part of Manhattan did you say you were from? I’ve been thinking of moving there for work.”

Keiran’s brow raised slightly. Then he lifted his own glass, a casual smile on his lips. “I set up base in Queens. A nice place I’m looking to sublet if you’re interested. In a fairly good area, which means I’m bleeding out the cash I should be saving to finish my courses.”

The alcohol’s bite raked across Dallas’s tongue as he considered a spot somewhere over Keiran’s left shoulder. “That’s good to know. Thanks. It’ll make it a lot easier to decide whether to take the interview offer I got this afternoon.” He let wry laughter loose from his chest and tipped the glass to his lips again. “My dad would shit to have me in his backyard, but it’s a big city, yeah?”

“That it is.” Keiran’s brow furrowed slightly. “So your work here… It’s just a temporary gig?”

Ardor cooled, Dallas dragged his gaze to Keiran’s face, considering how much to reveal. Hell, he wasn’t trying to impress anymore. He could be real.

We’re just two guys hanging out for a drink, right?

“I’ve been…” He canted his head. “A mail clerk, a busboy, and an insurance analyst.” Lips tugging upward, he looked down at the bandage on his arm. “I have a bit of a problem with keeping my cool around assholes. Tends to put a damper on my employment prospects. But filling in here keeps my head mostly above water.”

Keiran nodded, his expression serious. “The way you stuck up for Matt back there? I see nothing wrong with your instincts. You’re a good guy.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue. “It’s nice to have you around, but I get it. You do what you’ve gotta do.”

“I suppose so. Including cleaning this place up when Doc’s not looking. Watch my back?” He polished off his beer and reached for the trash barrel under the bar, irritation at the bubblegum pop blaring over the sound system nibbling at his composure.

“You shouldn’t be doing that.” Keiran grabbed the barrel, nudging Dallas away with his hip. “No way am I messing with that doctor’s orders. Sit down, amado. I’ve got this.”

Dallas snorted, using a smooth maneuver to lift the barrel up and away. “And you’re supposed to be doing that when someone tried to cut you a new airhole a week ago? I think not.”

Keiran folded his arms over his chest, clearly trying to look stern, but with those lips it came off as more of a pout. “Usually, when a man asks me out for drinks, he doesn’t cut it short to take out the trash.” He inhaled slowly, bitterness in his eyes. “That tends to come the morning after.”

Dallas’s arm lowered slowly, the barrel touching the floor with a dull thud. Confusion, then embarrassment, jousted for a place on his emotional battleground. Finally, he shook his head at himself and breathed deep. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be an asshole. I figured after that ‘cake’ comment you were only interested in hanging out.” Shoving the barrel back to its spot, he raked his palm over his hair and leaned a hip against the bar. “I guess Jared is right. I’m no good at this.”

“Fair enough.” Keiran slipped back onto his stool, legs crossed as he straightened his spine. “But I do want to hang out, either way. And it would be nice to have a friend around here. Other than Garet…” His lips curved slightly. “Well, let’s just say my reputation makes me very happy I’m not the one serving tables.”

Taking the stool next to Keiran’s, Dallas tried to decipher the meaning behind his words. He didn’t think he’d had that much to drink. “Your reputation? Did you piss off one of the ‘sub royals’ already?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but...I hope not?” Keiran chuckled, shaking his head. “If you don’t know already, you’ll find out. That’s not the kind of thing I drop into a conversation unless I’m about to fuck a guy. So no worries, right?” He lifted his glass in cheers.

Breath whooshed from Dallas like he’d been punched and he grabbed for a beer that wasn’t there, hand coming up empty. Needing something to fist beside his own dick—which had gotten uncomfortably hard in his leathers—he wrapped his fingers around the buckles of his wrist cuff and undid it, automatically moving it to his left wrist, focusing…

Fucking focus!

...on redoing the three strips of leather. When he did up the last buckle, he looked up to find Keiran studying him. “Hm? Sorry. Were we...were you...saying something?”

Rather than answering, Keiran jutted his chin at Dallas’s wrist. “I’ve noticed Curtis wears one of those. Not many members do. I don’t know much about the subculture here, but...it’s different than a collar, right?”

Shifting in his seat, Dallas tugged at his leathers. “It’s what switches are required to wear. Because no one knows when we walk in the door which way we’re going to roll that night otherwise.”

“Switches…” Interest lit Keiran’s gold speckled brown eyes. “That means more than being versatile, I guess? There are the Doms and subs, and you’re...both?”

Dallas ran his fingertip around the edge of the cuff. More and more, lately, it felt right against the skin of his left wrist. He rarely wore it on his right anymore when he came to the club. Tonight had been the first time in a while, and it had damn well itched.

“You could say that. I’m still...training to Top on my own in the dungeon, but I’m certified for some of the stations.” He threw Keiran a self-conscious smile. “The Asylum has stricter rules than just about anywhere else. There are tests and shit. You have to certify for the stations and kinds of play you’re allowed to engage in.”

Keiran’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Damn, that sounds…” His cheeks reddened and he rubbed a hand over his lips. “I’m on probation, but the owners still had me fill out a bunch of forms. One was a limit list, and I didn’t know what half the stuff on it meant. I haven’t seen the dungeon yet, but it seems like some intense stuff happens there.”

Limits…

Dallas sat forward. That form was for— “You’re a sub?”

Dumbass. Of course he is.

“I… Yeah.” Keiran rubbed his thighs and shrugged. “That was an awkward conversation. Lawson was the one sitting there, in that office, making sure I understood what I’d agreed to. He focused on the N.D.A. and release forms at first, then…” He wrinkled his elegantly proportioned, aquiline nose. “Not that I know how to be a sub, but he said I won’t get myself in too much trouble in the kitchen, and I’ll get some leeway while I’m learning the basics.”

“Who?” Gaze narrowing, Dallas tried not to let a cloak of green settle around his shoulders. “Who’s teaching you?”

Keiran blinked. “That wasn’t mentioned? I figured I’d get to observe and figure shit out.”

“Lesson one? Subs don’t cuss in front of, or at, Doms.” He glanced meaningfully down at his wrist cuff. “It’s a punishable offense. Often followed by a club ‘apology’.” Letting his grin go flirty, he gave a wink. “I’d hate to, you know, make you step out of the friend zone you’re cozied up in, so probably you shouldn’t do it again—at least not until you’re hanging out with one of the other Doms you want to serve some of that ‘cake’ to.”

“A ‘friend’ would probably give me a head’s up on what kind of punishment I apparently want from some other Dom.” Keiran’s eyes widened. “Que chingados, I swore when I was talking to Lawson and no one thought to warn me?”

Dallas chuckled darkly. “There’s no Sub 101 here. The Doms prefer to let you learn from your mistakes. It…” He wrinkled his nose at a particularly unpleasant memory—really, it was a wonder he ever wore his cuff on his right wrist. “Makes an impression. You won’t do it twice. Unless you’re begging for attention.”

“Got it. So...punishments?” Keiran tugged the edge of his lip with his teeth. “Now I’m confused. Should I want a Dom I’m into to give me one? And what the f— Judar, what’s this club punishment?”

Slinging his right arm over the back of the stool, Dallas licked his lips. “Yeah, well. That depends on the Dom and the Dom’s mood. Noah’s likely to bust your naked ass with his hand, and Doc prefers soap. Whereas, a Dom who’s in the mood will demand a ‘club apology’...on your knees.” He gave Keiran a meaningful look. “Full frontal. Mouth first, words after.”

“Oh…” Keiran nodded slowly. “But that dude who went after Matt demanded an apology. Matt didn’t swear at him. And you… You were going to apologize for him?”

Head tilted, Dallas considered how to explain. “Doms can play games, usually in fun. And we didn’t have a core member—” He cringed, thinking how Curtis on speech restriction with that damned cuff on his right wrist didn’t really count, even in his own mind. “Someone to referee. So, I figured I’d keep the peace.” His lips twitched. “Not that it worked out that way.”

“I’m glad. If that bastard had touched you like that and you’d let him, I might’ve come out with the frying pan. Hijo de puta.” Keiran shook his head. “If I didn’t love this job, I’d dump some extra hot sauce in his next order of chili fries.”

Dallas couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of Keiran finding his revenge with condiments. “Oh, you won’t get the pleasure. He won’t be back.” Sobering, he shook his head. “But...if you want protection, I can ask Lawson or Noah about finding someone to offer you a temporary collar. Just until you learn the ropes. That way you don’t have to submit to anyone you don’t want. They’d mostly go through your Dom. Tonight was...weird.”

Studying Keiran carefully, Dallas waited for his answer. He wanted Keiran to say ‘no’, and he wanted him to say ‘yes’. Because watching him fumble around and face the consequences of any mistakes alone would be hell. But watching him submit to someone special, flirting and tossing those tender endearments to someone who meant something...?

You don’t do relationships, Stephens. It’s gonna happen, you might as well face the facts.

“That might be a good idea.” Keiran’s expression turned troubled. “I guess I can’t hide in the kitchen forever. It would be cool to be able to hang out. And I’ve been dying to watch a fight.” He shook his head. “But what if… I don’t know anyone. With my luck I’ll get some hardcore bastard who knows a bit too much about me and just wants bragging rights.”

Rhodey walked back in, going to the sound booth and flipping off the music. He skirted the perimeter of the room like fucking wraith looking for a crack to slip through. Unsettled, Dallas watched him, trying to think of a solution.

“I don’t think anyone is going to find you being a stripper unusual, but…” He supposed some dudes got off on dominating a man they thought was untouchable in that way. “Hey, Rhodey…”

Maybe there is a solution.

Lifting his head, the merc glanced over at him. “Yeah?”

“You’re not, you know, likely to mess with any of the subs here, right? Do things like demand ‘club apologies’ or any of the intense shit that the others are into…” He shook his head, knowing he was rambling. “Right?”

Brow raised, Rhodey looked from him to Keiran, gaze making it clear he was putting the pieces together. Right before he let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “No. But you’re right, that one needs a collar.” He brought two fingers to his temple in a mock salute before making his way to the double doors to the ring. “Good luck.”

Dallas deflated. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’ll ask Lawson if he can recommend anyone.”

“Cool.” Keiran gave him a dry look. “He might have some...less scary suggestions.”

“I don’t think you’d have to worry about him.” Frowning, Dallas skipped his gaze to the door. “He doesn’t tolerate bullshit, but you’re not a brat and…” He grinned full on, lowering his voice. “I think they castrated him in Russia. He’s never fucked anyone here.”

That brought a tiny smirk to Keiran’s lips. “One, that explains you choosing him to ask first.” He slipped off his stool and walked backward toward the doors. “Two, who says I’m not a brat?” He shoved the doors open and wiggled his fingers in a wave. “I should go see if Matt needs any help. Thanks for the drink. That was fun.”

“Sure…” Dallas lifted his hand, returning the small wave, realizing he’d just been handed his walking papers after thirty minutes. Technically, even before then.

A new record. Damn it.

Why did I have to go and make my move so quick?

Maybe it was better this way. Not that he had much to offer in the way of protection with everyone knowing him as a switch. He’d seen what had happened to Curtis and Matt tonight. Keiran deserved someone who could keep him in good standing. Safe.

The door swung shut behind Keiran, leaving the dance club quiet. Empty. Yeah, this felt familiar. He could deal with that. All things considered, it was simpler really. Keiran was right. ‘Playing in the sandbox’ at work had gotten him into trouble more than once.

Sighing, he began tossing empties into the barrel and went to find the broom to sweep up some broken glass. He reached for a fresh trash bag and came up with nothing. Swearing softly, arm beginning to ache, he pushed from the club into the gym. For a moment he thought his eyes had become sensitive from leaving the club’s relative darkness. He blinked, lights strobing across his vision.

Signals around the periphery of the gym, above the doors. Sharp and blinding, they flashed in a warning pattern.

Lockdown.

He broke into a run.

Thirty to sixty seconds. All he’d have to get through into the bar before the new steel-core doors and their three-inch-thick steel bolts locked him in here, unable to help. Had Augy and his friends come back? Maybe the gang somehow got through the security fence?

He shoved into the bar. The doors swung shut behind him, the rods sliding into place with a finality that gripped him by the throat.

Gun in hand, Rhodey stood to one side of the door, Curtis on the other.

Lawson’s voice came quietly from the kitchen. “Weapons down, it’s really the cops.”

Nodding, Rhodey holstered his weapon and stood back from the door. Dallas glanced over at Keiran, ashen-faced, gripping the edge of the bar.

Coming up behind Matt, Lawson massaged his sub’s shoulders. “Don’t speak unless I say.”

Matt nodded, swallowing hard.

Two officers and two detectives—judging by their suits—entered when Rhodey opened the door. One, a blond with college frat-boy good looks, sneered openly at the erotic art on the walls. The others took it in, but didn’t seem fazed. Dallas kept his eyes locked on the first officer.

“Lawson Gaumond?” A detective approached the bar, his gaze scanning Lawson like he’d memorized him from a photograph.

Stepping in front of Matt, Lawson nodded. “Yes. What is this about?”

Rhodey went very still, his attention riveted on...Curtis.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of four government agents, with conspiracy to commit espionage.”

“I see.” Lawson’s expression closed off. “I have nothing to say until I speak to my lawyer.”

Dallas stepped forward. “That’s not possible.”

And it wasn’t. The most honest man in the room—the one who never used his fists or harsh words unless provoked, the man who’d pulled Dallas out of the depths of his own anger and self-hatred to set him on a better path, would never murder, commit espionage, would never…

There was no doubt in Dallas’s mind. Or his tone. “This is bullshit. You’re not fucking taking him anywhere.”

Mind clearly on the same track, Curtis moved fast. Not fast enough. His hand shot to the small of his back. Rhodey grabbed him, disarming him before muscling him behind the bar. Then spoke low to the detective who approached them.

The detective frowned, pulling out his phone. After a brief exchange with whoever was on the other end, he turned back to Lawson as though Rhodey wasn’t even there.

Lawson’s gaze locked on Curtis. “Please just… Curtis, I need you to hold it together. For Reed. For Matt. And…” He tensed as one of the cops slapped the cuffs on his wrists, behind his back. “You know what will happen. Keep them out of it.”

Matt started forward as Lawson was manhandled toward the door.

“Matt…” Lawson met the terrified gaze of the man he loved, his dark green eyes saying so much, his words for his boy alone. “All I see is you.”

Curtis restrained Matt, throat working visibly at the sub’s, “Lawson...No!”

A light hold on Dallas’s arm kept him from cutting across the bar—Keiran. Rhodey held open the door, his gaze meeting Lawson’s, his barely perceptible nod conveying a quiet message.

The man wasn’t alone. Wheels would be put in motion.

Dallas sagged against the bar as the door closed behind Lawson, and Rhodey went into the galley, presumably to open the gate. When he returned, no one had moved. A few minutes passed. The doors to the stairwell and to the gym clicked.

Stepping into the bar, Jared trained his gaze on Rhodey, gun in hand. As he holstered the weapon, he said what they were all thinking.

“Tell me you have a fucking plan.”