Page 1 of The Foreman
PROLOGUE
MACY
The Iron Spur
San Antonio, Texas
Three Years Ago
The Iron Spur glowed like sin wrapped in velvet.
Low golden lighting bathed the dark wood interior in decadent warmth, the scent of leather and expensive bourbon hanging in the air like a promise. Macy Dane leaned against the polished bar, sipping something smoky and overpriced, dressed to distract in a black leather corset cinched to perfection, and a skimpy black thong. The outfit showed off the results of her weekly yoga torture sessions.
Around her, San Antonio's elite kink crowd prowled the club, polished and perfect, all hush-voiced and rule-bound. It was all so very... orderly.
Which was, of course, Macy’s problem.
Order had never been her thing. Neither had obedience. She still questioned why she identified as a submissive and not a Domme, but she had no interest in dominating anyone and while she often chafed against the rules, she found peace insubmitting to a Dom who knew how to exercise his authority in a way that ultimately served the sub.
"You know you’re not supposed to be behind the bar," Keely Malone muttered beside her, voice dry as Texas dust.
Macy flashed her a saccharine smile. "And yet, here I am. Living dangerously."
Keely’s eyebrow rose. "You live irritatingly. There’s a difference."
"Semantics," Macy murmured, then nodded toward the crowd. "Besides, this whole place could use a little shaking up. Everyone’s just so..." She trailed off, lips quirking. "Well-behaved."
"It’s a BDSM club, Macy. That’s kind of the point."
"Right, but where's the fun in all these rules?"
Keely gave her a look. "The fun is in the submission. Something you’d know if you ever stopped being such a damn brat."
Macy winked. "Never gonna happen, honey."
It was supposed to be harmless. A little prank to liven up the annual charity auction—at least, that's what Barb had said with a giggle and a wink before slinking off to hide in plain sight. Macy had caught the bratty little sub eyeing the paddles for the scene setup, and she'd known something was up. But before she could intervene, it was too late.
The switch-up happened. A display scene turned chaotic. What should've been a playful demonstration ended in sprained wrists, a mild concussion, and a dozen furious members.
And when the dust settled, all eyes focused on and fingers pointed to Macy.
She had the reputation. The sass. The history of pushing limits and thumbing her nose at protocol. No one wanted to believe it wasn’t her—and Barb sure as hell hadn’t stepped up to take the heat.
Including one very grim-faced Reed Malone.
"You could just take your punishment," Keely said now, glancing at her sideways. "Everyone would forgive you."
"I didn’t do it."
"But you always do it."
"Not this time."
Keely sighed. "You realize how that sounds, right?"
Macy downed the rest of her drink. "Like the brat who cried wolf. Yeah, yeah. Trust me, I get it."
The soft click of cowboy boots on hardwood cut through the lounge noise.
