Chapter 3

One hour earlier…

“Don’t drink that.”

Taste of lime in his mouth, salt on his hand, a sub in his lap, Jackson ‘Jacks’ Turner lowered his tequila shot to eye his roommate. Friday night at The Asylum in full swing, the scent of cigars and leather, the pungent tang of spilled drinks and raucous laughter, swirled on the air. It had been a long week of extra-rush jobs at the autobody shop, and Jacks fully intended to get in a scene in the dungeon before it got overcrowded.

Judging by the look on his roommate’s face, however, that wasn’t going to happen. “Why?”

Jacks’ phone in hand, Shea gave him a dry look. “Your buddy Trevor’s at our place. Danny wants to come check out the club.”

Setting the shot glass on the table, Jacks glanced at the metal bar clock. “What? Now?”

“Yup.”

In his standard black jeans and a dark blue, form-fitting T-shirt, Shea presented a more street-ready appearance. Made sense for him to go instead, but from the look in those gold-kissed, hazel eyes, it would take some convincing.

“We’re gonna have to get more specific about our guest list. They’re just letting anyone past the lobby now?” Scooting his sub-du-jour a little closer, Jacks didn’t bother to hide his scowl. “I’ll pay you fifty bucks if you go play chauffeur to the B-lister.”

That got him a brow raise as Shea leaned back on his stool. “Or I can kick your ass and make ten times that. After you fetch him.”

Jacks groaned. “I’ll see your fight and raise you a coin toss.”

“Deal.” Shea tapped the bar. “Reed, pass me a quarter.”

Hopping over, then skidding the rest of the way, Reed plopped a quarter on the bar. Burnished brown curls bouncing, the lollipop stick in Reed’s mouth moved to one side as he spoke. “If you two are fighting again, you better hope someone finishes early. All the time slots are booked.”

Smirking at Shea, who took the quarter and balanced it on his thumbnail, Jacks licked his lips. “We have a standing deal about fights that don’t get fulfilled within seven days.”

Lips slanted, Shea flipped the coin and slapped it on the back of his other hand, keeping it covered. “Heads or tails?”

“Always tails. It’s statistically more probable, and either way I win.” Laughing at his own humor, Jacks eyed his drink, waiting to sink it until he won the coin toss.

Shea revealed the coin, then grinned and grabbed Jacks’ shot before raising it in cheers. Hand shackling Jacks’ wrist, he held Jacks’ gaze as he licked the salt off his skin. “Better luck next time.”

“I swear you cheat.” Arousal pulsing low, Jacks leaned back, patting the sub’s thigh. Kip? Carl? Kevin? “Sorry sweetheart. You’re going to have to forage for a lesser Dom. Maybe Shea will take pity on you and offer you a consolation prize.”

“We’ll see.” Lazily slouched against the edge of the bar, the thick muscles of his chest and arms on mouth-watering display, Shea considered the sub for a moment. “I’ll come find you. Go do whatever it is subs do when they’re not wreaking havoc.”

The pretty thing sashayed out to the beat of the music, heading toward the gym, hand over his head in a sassy snap-wave. Jacks chuckled, digging for his wallet and pulling out some bills to settle up his tab. His leathers constricted his attempt to put the overstuffed billfold back in his pocket, and he took a minute to take out about six months of grocery receipts. “Here. I keep forgetting to give you these.”

“You know I trust you, right?” Shea took them, shaking his head. “You tell me how much you need, I give you the money. Simple.”

Probably not the time to discuss his own lack of math skills. “If that’s the way you want to roll, I’m good.” Casting one last look around the bar, Jacks did his best not to mourn the hour of his Friday night he’d never get back. “If he changes his mind, I’ll try to remember to come back for you.”

Palming his phone and car keys, Jacks pushed through the crowd, making his way outside. The drive to the newer luxury condo development downtown, near the hospital where all of the doctors and the ambulance chasers lived, didn’t take long. Driving through the rougher areas near The Asylum without Shea didn’t make him uneasy, exactly, but his vigilance went way the fuck up when he passed the apartments where the gang tended to congregate. A few burned-out cars and a rimless bicycle that hung from its chain on a street sign made him speed up. It wasn’t like any cops would be on this side of town to ticket him.

At the highrise, he drove into the underground garage to his and Shea’s parking spot, shoving out of the car and loping across the empty spaces, eager to get...what was his name? Shaking his head at himself, Jacks went through the alphabet in his head on his way up in the elevator.

A...Andy… B...Brian… C...Curtis—no—D...D… Danny!

At the door to his and Shea’s three-bed place, he paused. Drew in a breath and dug deep for his runway smile. No need to let his armor down until he knew both men better. The other one, Trevor, he couldn’t forget if he’d tried. Dude had a way of oozing charisma all over everything. He and Shea would need to call in a cleaning service just to get it out of the upholstery when the man left.

Pushing open the door, Jacks called out his greeting. “Hello! I’m home.”

Holding up one finger, phone to his ear, Trevor Wittes faced the wide window that overlooked the city. Blond hair in a perfect wave, blue eyes reflecting from the dark window, he made a disgusted sound. “Well, make it work. I’m not moving my schedule around just because they forgot how to read a calendar.”

Jacks continued on through the living area to the long hall. The guest bath on the right was dark, but steam hung in the air. He followed the sound of water to his own bedroom. Expensive leather luggage littered his floor, an explosion of clothes dripping off every horizontal surface, like Danny had gone through every outfit he owned before climbing into the master bath shower.

Which is...mine.

A ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ on his lips, Jacks strode into the bathroom. Straight into an armful of naked, wet pop star.

When Danny stumbled back, Jacks steadied him. His fingers slipped along the man’s damp skin as water pooled against the marble, around feet that would have fit into Jacks’ shoes twice over. About the same height and weight as Jamie, Danny looked up at him in horror, red-brown hair dripping into his blue eyes.

Snapping a towel off the heated towel rack, Jacks looked away and held it out, not noticing at all the way the man’s well-proportioned dick nestled against his balls. “Take it.”

Still muttering something about dying, Danny took the towel, quickly wrapping it around his waist. Then he brought his hands to his face, covering it as though the act could make him disappear.