Page 54 of The Club

Fortunately, no one discovers me in the alley. If anyone fucked with me right now, I know I would kill them.

When Silva emerges from the strip club, I scramble up. I find my helmet and smash it on. I stow my phone. I get back on my bike and when Silva’s car is at the right distance, I start the engine. The rumble vibrates the toy inside me, making my body spasm as I roll out onto the street.

Somehow, I get through the ride as Silva leads me across the city to a wealthy neighborhood and a street lined with luxury townhouses. The car stops. Silva and his guard get out. They walk up to a house that must belong to Silva based on the way the guard opens the door for him.

I’m a ways back to make sure I don’t get spotted. I watch various lights turn on then off. When I’m sure it’s safe to roll by, I note the address. I ride around a bit, getting every view I can. When the place goes dark, I head back to Lush.

SEVENTEEN

Dominic

When the elevator doors open, I get up from my seat at the kitchen bar of Rafael’s penthouse. He halts at the sight of me. His cock is a visible rod inside his black leather pants. His jaw is set. He looks pissed.

He’s not the only one.

“You wanna tell me where the fuck you’ve been and why the fuck you haven’t answered me?”

He starts walking, boots thudding across the hardwood floor as he angles toward the other side of the bar.

That’s not fucking happening.

I meet him at the edge, grabbing his arm. I expect him to yank away or maybe hit me. What I don’t expect is the way he turns toward me and presses his face against my neck.

Like he needs me.

Like he’s glad I’m here.

What Ireallydon’t expect is the way my anger fades as I put my arms around him. What I can’t quite think about is how right it feels.

My hands drift down to the small of his back. I frown.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask as I pull out the gun I find holstered there.

He’s still leaning into me when he answers, “A gun.”

“Obviously.” I set it on the counter. “Did you kill someone? Did you leave a mess?”

He draws back with a sigh and shrugs out of his leather motorcycle jacket. He lays it on the counter.

“Rafael—answer me.”

“No, I didn’t kill anyone. No, there’s no mess.”

“So what’s going on?”

He walks into the kitchen and grabs a bottle from the backlit shelves. He shows it to me, offering.

I grab two scotch glasses and go to stand beside him as he uncorks the bottle. I set the glasses down. He pours.

“I was following someone who’s been into the club a few times. Someone I flagged.”

“What does that mean?”

“Certain types of play get flagged for monitoring. Certain words. Or sometimes just a person I don’t like. Usually it’s nothing. But sometimes it’s an indication.”

“An indication of what?”

He shrugs. “Someone bad. Someone I need to deal with.”

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