Chapter 2

Keiran stiffened as he turned his head. Red soaked a crisp, white shirt. For some reason, that seemed important as his vision blurred. He sounded a little drunk. “I ruined your shirt. Sorry, I think I’m bleeding.”

Gates slid open. Closed quickly after the man stepped through them, a grim look on his face, light brown and beautiful with the streetlight making a halo above him. He adjusted Keiran. “You still talking is a good sign.” A door opened, but the man’s arms stayed around him. Someone else held it for him. “Doc, should I try to get him to the hospital? The clinic’s not finished—”

“Bring him to the medical rooms, I don’t want to risk those bastards coming at you again and you’ll never get to the hospital in time. Curtis, take the man from Dallas. Carefully. Let me take over the compress. Jamie, grab a towel and hold it to Dallas’s arm hard—I know you don’t like blood, but he needs your help. There’s my good boy.” The instructions were shouted out with military precision, the tone sharp, clipped, leaving no room for misunderstandings. The one called ‘Doc’ came closer as Keiran was transferred into bigger arms. “Can you look at me? What’s your name?”

They were moving fast. Head slumping, his attempt to focus as his eyes were held open was like trying to see through a smoky haze. Words came out hoarse and weak. “Keiran. My mother’s number is in my wallet. Can you call her when—”

“None of that. You’ll call her yourself once I get you patched up.” Doc moved away from him. Returned as he was placed on a gurney. “I’m going to use a sedative and a local anesthesia. If the knife had severed your trachea I’d stabilize you enough to get you to the hospital, because you’d need a full team working on you, but I’ve dealt with wounds like this before in the field. Do you have any allergies?”

“No. But I…” He cringed, wondering if his confession would have the doctor dumping him back out on the curb. Other than blood work required before every production, he hadn’t needed anything more serious than a flu shot in years. His slim budget had required a few sacrifices. “I don’t have insurance anymore.”

Piercing blue eyes behind simple metal glasses met his, sharp enough to see through the darkening fog of his vision. “That’s the last thing you need to be worrying about right now.” The doctor prepped an IV. “Take a deep breath.”

At his other side, a hand held his, strong and warm, anchoring him enough to calm the shivers wracking his body. He smiled up at the man, or tried to. His muscles didn’t seem to be working right. “Thank you...for saving me…” He remembered the doctor telling someone else to grab a towel for the man’s own injuries. “Are you hurt bad?”

“Just a little cut. Blocked when I should have dodged.” Dallas had a nice laugh. His fingers brushing Keiran’s hair back from the cold sweat slicking his forehead was comforting. “Did you have a friend referring you for membership to The Asylum? I can go find them so they’re here when you wake up?”

He must be hearing things—was this a mental care facility? No, he couldn’t imagine anyone using that particular term in this day and age. The man had mentioned membership. His own words sounded far away. “I’ve never heard of The Asylum. I don’t know anyone. I was just trying...to get in my car.”

At some point he drifted off, waking to the sound of soft voices in an adjoining room. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were heavy. His whole body was heavy. The pulsing ache in his neck didn’t seem to fit having had his throat slashed—he’d had more pain nicking himself shaving.

Then again, he hadn’t been on whatever drugs were being pumped into his IV. The slightly high, cottony feeling was nice. Better than the shit he’d smoked with Maxime at those stupid parties, which left him dazed and nauseous.

But his mouth was fucking dry.

“He’s not a member, Jared. If the clinic was open, that would be one thing.” A deep voice hardened with frustration. “I’m not risking you getting sued. Have Keith bring him to the hospital.”

The doctor’s answering tone was much calmer, but there was a sharp edge to it. “He’s my patient, Noah. He doesn’t have insurance, and he was attacked because that fucking gang assumed he was a member.”

“Which part of that works as a defense to a medical malpractice suit?”

The man actually thought he’d sue the doctor who’d saved his life? Struggling to sit up, Keiran hissed in a breath when a firm hand on his chest stilled him.

He blinked, his vision clearing as Dallas leaned close. The blood-soaked white shirt was gone, replaced by a faded, navy blue Henley and dark blue jeans. Tight black curls glistened with dampness from a recent shower, and the freshness of a citrusy soap hovered around him. His expression was stern. “Stay put. You’re nowhere near ready to get out of that bed.”

“Okay, but…” Keiran settled on the pillows. This wasn’t the gurney. He’d been moved to a bed at some point, the metal bars raised at the sides, a heart monitor quietly showing the steady rhythm of his pulse. The light blue of the walls in the small room was soothing, the scent of paint lingering in the air telling him this space had recently gone through some changes. The vase of fresh flowers on the small dresser was a nice touch. He forced himself to focus. “I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign. I swear, I won’t sue. What if I become a member?”

“Keiran…” Doubt filled Dallas’s warm brown eyes. “You don’t even know what that consists of. This is a fight club.”

“It’s a bit more than that.” The man ‘Doc’ had called Noah, who he’d yet to meet, but was clearly the one concerned about the club’s doctor facing a lawsuit, studied Keiran, his light grey gaze closed off as he stood just inside the doorway. Hair all soft, dark brown curls, lightly tanned skin, and clothes as casual as Dallas’s, but something about his stance had Keiran picturing him in fatigues, ready to command soldiers into battle. “I had someone bring your car inside the gates, but the tires were slashed and the windows smashed in. You’re from Manhattan. What are you doing in Anniston Falls?”

How does he know that?

Keiran’s lips parted as the topic shifted from the damage to his car, needing time to absorb how truly fucked he was. Without his car, he couldn’t get back to Queens. And even if he somehow begged a ride, he needed a way to get to his regular strip club, which was impossible to reach by public transportation. “I came for a job.”

“Oh?” Noah folded his arms over his chest. “What do you do?”

‘I’m a porn star’ didn’t seem like the kind of answer that would impress the man. And...wasn’t entirely true, since he hadn’t filmed in months. Lying didn’t feel right either. He inhaled slowly. “I’m an aspiring chef, but I’m still finishing up my courses. Until then, stripping pays the rent and I’m damn good at it.”

“But doesn’t provide insurance, it seems.” Noah tapped his chin, a secretive smile on his lips. “You know—”

“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Doc ran his fingers through his neatly styled gray and white-streaked black hair, frowning at the other man. “We are not opening a strip club in The Asylum. We have enough trouble keeping clothes on half those boys, and you know Reed will be one of the first ones on the stage.”

Noah’s brow furrowed. He gave his head a hard shake. “Not what I had in mind, but thank you so much for that visual. The employee contract includes an NDA. We could use a cook and he could be on probation until we decide if he’s a good fit. Problem solved.”

The doctor let out a heavy sigh, but there was some affection in the subtle curve of his lips, as though he thought the other man was crazy, but didn’t really mind. “You’re not hiring my patient hours after surgery.”

“Of course I’m not. That would be impractical.” Noah let out a soft laugh, leaning close to the doctor and brushing his lips over his ear. “You can conduct the interview while he’s under your care. I trust your judgment.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard.”

“And yet, you still love me.” Stepping back, Noah glanced over at Dallas. “You’re going to need some time for that arm to heal up. I’ll have your and Jared’s shifts covered for a few nights. Probably best if Keiran isn’t left alone.”

The implication was clear. Keiran couldn’t be trusted. Not yet.

With enemies like that gang, he couldn’t blame the man, but it wasn’t like he was going to jump out of bed after having his throat slit and take on all these very tall men—hell, even laying down he could tell all three would still be looking down on him—with very very big muscles. A fight club...that explained a lot. Still, he was curious about the ‘more’ Noah mentioned.

But… He blinked at Dallas as the other men left the room. “Is he serious? He’ll consider me for a job as a cook?”

Dallas pulled up a chair, lifting his shoulders as he sat. “It’s Noah. He wouldn’t say it if there wasn’t some truth behind it, but… Well, he hasn’t tasted your food or looked at any references. Not gonna lie, this is mostly to get you to sign that contract so you can’t sue.”

Repeating that the idea never crossed his mind wouldn’t do him much good, so he didn’t bother. He gave Dallas a small smile. “Hey, it’s my foot in the door. So yay for knife-happy gang bangers?”

“That’s one way to look at it.” That laugh again, warming Dallas’s whole face. The more Keiran looked into those deep, golden brown eyes, the harder it was to look away.

This man was his hero. Literally. If he was part of this club, it must be a good place. Of course, after Maxime, he obviously wasn’t the best judge of character, but fuck it. Maxime would’ve left him on the ground to bleed to death and saved himself. Dallas had risked his life to save a stranger.

He’d be a good friend to have, especially if Keiran managed to get past his trial run as a cook here. Maybe the man could give him enough insider information to up his chances? “What kind of food is served here anyway?” He cleared his throat, wincing at the tug at the side of his neck. A glass of water with a straw was brought to his lips. After taking a sip, his voice wasn’t so rough. “Thank you.”

Dallas set the glass on the rolling tray by a clear jug. “Mostly bar food, but the owners have wanted to improve the menu for a while. A lot of the guys who come here to bet on the matches are loaded.” The last was said with some bitterness. Dallas obviously had a poor opinion of excessive wealth. “Not fine dining, but it would be cool if those assholes used the bar to have a meal, negotiate business before heading ringside.”

“I could definitely pull that off.” Maybe he should save some of this enthusiasm for his interview with Doc, but Dallas made for good practice. “The right fries can create a loyal customer base. A few main dishes that still fit with the feel of the place, maybe Philly cheesesteaks on soft hoagie rolls made in house—” He’d hire a baker for his own restaurant, but for a bar, he wouldn’t be too overwhelmed to do it on his own. His mother had taught him to bake pretty much anything before his mid-teens. “—I’d need the right equipment, though. Otherwise, I can improvise. Some fried shredded beef empanadas could do well. Chicken quesadillas, obviously. Spicy chicken wings, blooming onions, cheese fries—”

Dallas let out a soft moan that sent heat surging south, despite Keiren’s blood loss. The man dropped to a chair by the bed. “You’re making me hungry. If it was up to me, you’d be hired already.”

“I’ll consider that a good sign.”

“I bet. Honestly, I hope you get in.” Dallas patted his hand, eyes shadowed with concern. “It’s a shame you didn’t get whatever job you were going for, but if it helps, I’ll get your car taken care of. No charge. No reason to have dudes throwing cash at you just to survive.”

A chill crawled down the back of Keiran’s neck. He pulled his hand away. Damn, good thing he hadn’t been completely forthcoming about what he did for a living. If Dallas reacted this way to stripping, he’d think Keiran was complete trash for doing porn. “Thanks, man. Hope it’s okay, but I could really use some rest before ‘Doc’ comes in for the real interview.”

“Yeah, of course.” Dallas pushed up from the chair, hesitating by the bed. “Look, what I said… If stripping is your thing, there’s nothing wrong with it. I just got caught up with you talking about all that food you can make. No judgments here, all right?”

The bare honesty in Dallas’s eyes made it hard to keep his guard up. He inhaled slowly, nodding. Then winced, both at the growing pain along the side of his neck and the tug at his IV when he lifted his hand to it. “Ugh, fuck me.”

Dallas pushed his hand back down. “I’ll see if Doc can give you something for the pain. Don’t try to get up if someone’s not with you.”

“Yes…” The command tempted Keiran to tag ‘sir’ to his response, but he didn’t want to come off as sarcastic. He liked that tone on Dallas. Letting him take charge for a bit felt good. Better than Maxime doing it, because Dallas wasn’t an asshole. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I owe you a fucking banquet for saving me. Soon as I’m on my feet, lead me to the closest kitchen and I’m all yours.”

That brought a flash of heat to Dallas’s eyes before he schooled his features. His lips curved slightly. “I never say no to a good meal. You’re on.”

The quiet once Dallas left the room made sitting still difficult. There was a TV on the far wall, but the remote was on the tray, just out of reach. He contemplated rising, but pictured Dallas and the doctor coming back to find him on the floor with his stitches torn open because he’d ignored sound advice.

Or, really, an order. Which made it...so much fucking hotter. A shame all he’d be doing was cooking for the guy. Keiran only fooled around with men when he could be upfront about what he’d done for a living since a casting call at eighteen showed him he could make some good money getting laid. That he got off on being watched, even though his height and the muscles he kept sleek and toned had him playing all tough, commanding...and nothing like himself.

He sighed, staring at the remote, willing it to come closer.

The door opened, startling him. He stared at the young man with glasses, hazel eyes, and dirty blond hair, who shot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was just stopping by to tell Dallas I brought the car to the shop.” His head tilted a little as he tugged at his plain, grease-stained, white T-shirt. “Aren’t you—”

Keiran groaned and sank deeper into the pillows. “Of all the places to be recognized.”

“Hey, if no one else knows, I won’t say anything, but won’t take long until someone else does if you’re gonna be around the club for a bit.” He closed the door behind him. “My name’s Garet. I follow you on Twitter. Rough deal with your ex. He always seemed like a bit of a dick.”

“Yeah, well...there’s a few like him in the industry. I should be used to it.”

“But it’s different. When you care about someone, they can hurt you more, no matter what shit you should’ve expected.” Garet eyed the bandage on Keiran’s neck. Gave himself a little shake. “So, the whole porn business, it’s good money, right?”

“It can be.” Keiran hesitated. “If you’re not over eighteen, we’re not having this conversation.”

“I am.”

“All right, cool.” Keiran let out the breath he’d been holding and laughed. “Should’ve figured with the mention of a bar and everything, but can’t be too careful.” He motioned for Garet to sit. “When you start out, you need an agent to get you a good deal. You fuck up like me and lose yours, you could end up with lower-paying gigs. The one I was supposed to do today would’ve made me five-hundred bucks. I haven’t taken that little in years.”

Garet leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Five-hundred...to let a stranger fuck you?” He seemed to weigh his next words before nodding to himself. “But if someone built up their reputation? Like you did?”

“I’ve made up to seven grand for a film. When I had regular jobs, it added up, but it’s a lot of work. I was always doing the fucking, and staying hard while a director is shouting ‘Cut!’ because they don’t have the right angle?” He bit back a grin at the way the young man’s cheeks reddened. This was probably not the right career choice for him if he got flustered just talking about sex. He looked Garet over, as though judging his suitability. “You’re cute and young, so they’d let you bottom for a while. Get you under some older, hairy guy who lets out these loud, staccato grunts and—”

“I think I’ll stick to cars.” Garet huffed out a breath. “Unless, you… Well, if you ever go indie, I might consider—”

“Are you offering to let me fuck you?”

Garet’s eyes went wide. “No! I mean… Wow…” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Would an agent teach me how not to make this shit awkward?”

“Maybe. I can give you a few good names. And yes, if it’s still something you want and I start my own productions, we’ll talk. But think long and hard—no pun intended—about it first, deal?” He couldn’t forget that look in Garet’s eyes when he’d talked about being hurt. He reached out as far as he could without moving the rest of his body and squeezed Garet’s forearm. “You can’t fuck away a broken heart, buddy. Time and all that bullshit. Best thing you can do is keep yourself busy.”

Gratitude replaced sadness as Garet stood, moving the remote to the bed and the glass of water to the edge of the rolling tray, which he nudged closer. He hesitated. “Will the scar...do you think it’ll make a difference?”

“Hell, I hope not.” He didn’t see it being a problem, other performers had scars, but he had no idea how bad it would look yet. He had a feeling Garet had a personal reason for asking, but instead of letting his focus shift to difficult topics, he tapped his bottom lip with a finger. “I might not be able to deep throat for a bit.”

Spitting out a laugh, Garet shook his head. “Dude, you’re gonna fit right in here.”

“I’m just going to be the cook. If I get the job.”

“Employees’ memberships are included.” Garet winked, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “I think my brother’s more pissed that I’m back and trying to join than that I dropped out of university.”

Said big brother probably wouldn’t love this conversation either. “I guess he doesn’t want you fighting?”

A crooked smile on his lips, Garet hesitated by the door. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. You have no idea what happens at The Asylum, do you?”

“Not a clue.” He gave Garet a mock frown. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“And spoil the surprise?”

If he’d been a hundred percent, he’d have thrown something at the young man before he ducked past the door, snickering. He doubted Garet was hiding anything ominous, but he didn’t like being this unprepared.

What the hell had he gotten himself into this time?