Page 1 of Serving the Maestro

PROLOGUE

TRENT

Ten years ago.

“Please tell me you didn’t bring me to a strip club for my birthday.”

My best friend met my gaze from where he sat across from me. The luxury of the stretch limo muffled the outside noise, most of it coming from the line queued in front of the sleek building.

Stephen McVey looked at me, bemusement in his eyes. "Just what about this place makes you think it's a strip joint?"

"Well, you said it’d be a magical night." Looking at the marquee-style sign over the black glass doors, I shrugged. "Sure, I guess the typical strip clubs don’t look this high dollar. But I know you, and the only thing you find magical is big tits and red lipstick."

"I've broadened my worldview." His lips quirked. "Although tits and red lipstick are delicious, especially when paired together."

The driver opened the door. After one last look at my friend, I climbed out and took another look around. Something caught my attention. "Huh. Stephen?"

"Yes?" He moved to join me, smoothing down his deep red shirt.

"Why are half the people in line checking us out?" I was a good-looking guy and used to female attention. But this was something else entirely, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

"Only half?" He whistled under his breath. "Damn. I thought we'd do better."

"Well, I wasn't counting the guys since I don't swing that way." Smirking at my friend, I hitched up my shoulder. "So, what's with the club?"

"Wait and see." Stephen's smug grin usually annoyed me.

Right now, though, I was amused—and curious. "Okay, show me what you have in mind."

"Excellent." Stephen clapped me on the back. "Let's go."

We didn't move toward the line. Stephen led me to double doors with a velvet rope, each side guarded by security personnel in sleek suits. They both nodded as we approached, one moving to unclip the royal blue velvet rope. The other said, "Mr. McVey. How are you tonight?"

"Doing great, Jenkins. This is my friend, Trent. Bringing him in for a—"

"A drink," I said, cutting in and shooting a sharp look at Stephen. I had no idea why some people felt the need to announce your birthday to strangers.

"Enjoy your evening." Jenkins gave me a bland smile.

"He will." Stephen's smug grin widened.

I should have figured it out by the people in the line—the dresses made of little more than straps of fabric and leather, men wearing leather short-shorts and collars. But it took me several moments, walking through the club, to figure out what sort of establishment this was.

Subtle lights placed strategically around the main floor lit up the stage. Several elevated platforms were also cleverly lit, clearly showing the cages.

Cages. And the dancers inside.

"Here's your table, Mr. McVey."

I heard the hostess, but the words didn't connect. My attention was locked on a woman on the stage. She was in a sleek black leather catsuit. In front of her, a man knelt, and at first glance, he looked naked.

"Okay, so not a strip club," I said softly. It was the whip that cinched it. The sight of it rising in the air sent blood roaring to my head, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, which had jacked up as the curled whip came down and struck taut, tanned flesh.

Air trapped in my lungs, making the roaring in my head grow even louder, drowning out the sound of music, even Stephen's voice.

He nudged my shoulder.

I forced myself to breathe as I met his eyes.

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