Raw Justice (The Asylum Fight Club Book 5)

The address should’ve been the first clue that this trip would be a waste of time. Keiran Stone slammed the front door of the ‘studio’ and made his way down the five long blocks where lack of parking on the busy shopping district street had forced him to leave his car. He’d never heard of Anniston Falls, but the small city was definitely thriving.

Only not in a way that made the nearly three-hour drive from his Queens apartment worth it. He raked his fingers through his hair, forcing a smile as a friendly little old man in front of a fruit stand gave him a quick nod. To make up for his initial frown, he bought some apples, his mood lightening at the excited way the man spoke about how autumn had been unseasonably warm and they might not get snow until after Christmas. He paid for his purchase, snagging an apple from the bag as he continued down the street, enjoying the crunch and the tart taste on his tongue.

No reason to take his bad mood out on the local residents, who were way different from those in New York City. As cutthroat a place as he’d ever lived, which included all the major American cities, and several Mexican ones. He’d been a child when he’d lived south of the border, but he still remembered being able to run into any neighbor’s house to ask if they needed small chores done and get a snack. He stepped aside to let a harried young woman holding a little girl’s hand while pushing a stroller pass. At that age, he’d been out on his own from sunup until sundown in his small town, but children here didn’t have that kind of freedom.

Shaking his head, he turned off the crowded street, shoving his hands in the pockets of his light leather jacket as he continued down to a section across the train tracks where the few businesses seemed newer, and there was enough graffiti on the walls, along with trash that hadn’t been picked up, to make it clear why development here was slower. The grip of whatever gang controlled the area must’ve been tight enough to discourage real estate development. And any interest from the-powers-that-be to improve the situation. His lips quirked as he spotted the standard small diner, a pizza place, a bakery, and a few other restaurants, all bunched up on one street as though they were stronger in numbers.

No chain fast food joints aside from the ones he’d passed around the mall at the edge of the city. He breathed in as he passed the bakery, tempted to pop in to sample their wares and imagined forming a partnership where they supplied the rolls and pastries for his own restaurant, while he was just starting out and hadn’t found a baker up to his standards. He’d do everything himself, but that wasn’t realistic. Unless he could make a few clones. He rolled his eyes at himself as the voice in his head gave him ‘the talk’. If he didn’t want to end up on some version of Kitchen Nightmare he’d have to delegate and learn the business side of running things.

Besides, the kind of restaurant he hoped to open one day probably wouldn’t do well in a place like this. If he ever made the kind of money he needed. Bad enough he’d had to put off his advanced culinary courses when he’d been dropped from two projects. Hitting the stage in his favorite strip club helped pay the rent, but he’d been counting on this job to get him back on track.

If only there had actually been a job for him. He’d spent money he didn’t have on a spa day for fuck’s sakes. Including waxing, though he couldn’t really complain about that. A month nursing a broken heart had him doing all his upkeep himself and being pampered had felt like a fresh start.

Instead, it was another dead end. You’re so fucked, Stone.

He snickered to himself. The problem was that he wasn’t being fucked. How the hell could anyone actually believe a porn studio would be successful here? He should’ve taken the next exit and gone straight home—like the other guy scheduled had clearly done—but opportunities in New York were slim. Not to mention that he’d pissed off some of the biggest players with a drunken Twitter rant after a shitty breakup with one of the most popular porn stars in the industry. Maxime had been...everything he’d ever wanted in a partner. He could command a room with his presence alone, and Keiran had been swept up in his extravagant lifestyle, buying all the most expensive clothes, going to all the parties, doing whatever he could to impress the man.

Only to be tossed like a used condom between takes after four months when the latest hot piece of ass caught Maxime’s eye. He’d broken up with Keiran by text, pointing out that porn was a means to an end for him, that he wasn’t ambitious enough, and oh so helpfully sent his doorman to help him move his things out of their condo that same night.

When he’d told Maxime he loved him during a desperate call to fix whatever he’d clearly broken, the man laughed at him.

“You love me? No, sweetheart. You love that I’m willing to pound that ass and take control when you’re always cast as a Top.” Maxime’s voice was as cruel and cold as it was when he spoke to staff, or waiters, or anyone else he considered beneath him. Including Keiran.

A huge red flag Keiran had been way too passive about. He should’ve known better. His mother couldn’t stand the man.

Still, he struggled to let go. He needed that feeling again. The one when Maxime was in charge, giving him that space to forget how far away his dreams seemed. How fake he felt when the cameras were rolling and he held another man under him.

“I don’t care if you’re with someone else. But...Maxime, this is our home. Where you said you wanted me.”

“Of course you don’t care, you needy slut.” Maxime sounded bored. “It’s over. Deal with it.”

An attempt was made, until a few too many candy apple martinis had him tweeting exactly what he thought of how Maxime treated his fans. And how big his ego was. And...how small his dick was when he wasn’t hard.

Not my finest moment.

Digging into the pocket of his snug, dark-purple jeans, Keiran pulled out his car keys, a wry smile on his lips. The fallout might not have been good for his career, but getting Maxime trending as his other exes, and several randoms, dragged him? That had been fucking awesome. Might not pay the bills, but Keiran had gotten some nice emails from his fans.

I should start making films on my own. Stop letting rich assholes control what I do with my ass.

The idea terrified him, but it was something to look into. Especially if he didn’t want to end up homeless. Or sleeping on someone’s couch.

Again.

Footsteps came up behind him, followed by a low, “Hey.”

Pain slashed across his neck when he turned. Warmth spilled down his chest. He stumbled, hand going to his throat. Two men grabbed him, bruising grips on his arms, dragging.

“If you live long enough, tell your buddies at The Asylum they’re about to lose more than one of their pervy members.” A man whispered in his ear, shoving him toward the gates of some fortress that dominated the street. “If not...I’m sure they’ll get the message either way. The Ravagers are back.”

On his knees, he tried to brace himself against the wall. Slumped over, his strength leaving him. He didn’t hurt anymore, but he needed help. He needed to call his mom. Tell her… Tell her he loved her. That he should’ve listened and gone home.

But now it was too late.

Wheels screeched to a stop by the sidewalk where he lay. Boots appeared in his vision. Shouts, blood spurting on the pavement. Fists impacting flesh over his head. Swearing. Then running.

Strong arms came around him, lifting. Pressure on his neck. A deep, soothing voice near his ear. “Hold on, man. I’ve got you.”