This isn’t the first time I’ve been jerked off in a room full of people. Hell, it’s not even the first time this week. Plus, the tips are higher when the client is into it.
My pulse pounds in my ears, my skin buzzing as I pant and thrust into his fist like a needy whore. I groan when his grip tightens, and my head falls back, eyes rolling as his thumb teases the piercing, sending jolts of pleasure through me.
I’m so close. “Fuck.”
I glance at Raiyne. His lips are wrapped around Pierrot Mask’s dick, fingers digging into the guy’s ass as he works him like it’s a fucking art form. Our eyes meet, and he smirks around the guy’s length like he knows exactly what’s happening to me over here.
Asshole.
Devil Mask’s grip tightens around my length and my gaze snaps back to him. His other hand cups my balls, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp as he strokes me faster.
“Harder. Make me come. Oh, fuck. Fuck.” I grab onto his shoulders to steady myself as my body spasms, cum splattering onto his clothes.
He doesn’t stop jerking me, not until I’m completely spent, my body limp in his lap. I slump forward, closing my eyes and panting as I try to catch my breath.
A low chuckle rumbles beneath me, and I snap my eyes open. I pull back as he tilts his mask up. Steel-gray eyes bore into me, cold as ice.
Eyes I know.
Eyes I’ve been running from for five fucking years.
“Hello, brother.”
“Zach?” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “No, no, no.”
Panic, pure fucking panic courses through me as he grabs my wrists.
A sharp sting flares in my shoulder, and my vision swims. The room blurs as the breath catches in my throat. I try to move, try to speak, but the darkness comes too fast, and my body goes limp.
Chapter 3
Zach
Raiyne leads us down a dimly lit corridor. "Security's been paid off, but we should still move quickly."
Viktor and Connor flank me while Jackson brings up the rear. My unconscious stepbrother is slung over my shoulder like a rag doll, the paint on his skin smearing onto my suit, leaving silver streaks across the expensive fabric.
Like the cum stains aren't enough.
My cock twitches, and I clench my jaw, frustrated by my body's response.
"Car's around back." Connor's voice is clipped, professional, like we're discussing a business transaction instead of kidnapping my stepbrother.
Sometimes, like now, he sounds just like me.
I adjust my grip on Merci, his dead weight pressing into my shoulder. He's lighter than I expected, all lean muscle wrapped in smooth skin. But also different fromthe scrawny teenager who pushed me down those stairs five years ago.
My left hand clenches. The doctors said I was lucky. The compound fracture in my arm could’ve ended my hockey career permanently. Instead, I spent months in physical therapy after three surgeries, learning to grip a stick again while dealing with permanent nerve damage—a parting gift from my stepbrother.
"You good?" Viktor's ice-blue eyes study me from behind his crystalline nun mask.
I give a curt nod.
Outside, the Miami night air is thick and humid. Nothing like the bitter cold back home. No snow, no frost-covered windows. Just palm trees swaying in the breeze as we head toward the back lot where our black Range Rover sits waiting, the tinted windows concealing the interior from prying eyes.
We chose this vehicle specifically. High-end enough to blend in but generic enough not to draw attention.
Connor unlocks it with a click of the key fob. "Get him in before someone sees."
