With a practiced motion, Ash tore the pants off, a naked god at the center of the stage, proud, perfect, shameless, save for the thin silk veil held in front of his crotch. It covered enough to deny—but not enough to hide the shape behind it. And at that very second, Ash’s eyes found his.
It was like being struck. Time froze. The noise, the people, the music—it all faded away, his senses ceasing to exist. There was only Ash, watching him with a look that cut to the bone, the vipers of lust hissing in Rick’s ear:‘You can run, but you won’t get away.’Even the spotlights dimmed, or maybe they simply bent inward, drawn to whatever passed between them. Rick’s cock twitched in his trousers, straining against the zipper. He swallowed, pulse pounding. His heartbeat was no longer his own, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it back.
Ash held his gaze a moment longer, brazen, unabashed, then sauntered off toward the curtains, his skin sparkling under a halo of gold and silver. The applause roared behind him, a sonic tide at his heels. And Rick watched, helpless, the play of muscle across his back, the twin dimples low above his hips, the slow,deliberate sway of that luscious ass as it disappeared behind burgundy velvet.
He knew it then: the true spell wasn’t in the sway of hips or the siren sheen of skin, but in what was withheld, what lingered just out of sight. Not the beauty, but the wound within it. A hush of sorrow veiled behind those iridescent eyes, vast and arid as a desert at dusk. On the surface, Ash was sculpted perfection, a vision to tempt the gods—but below that gleam, a gravity pulled, dark and fathomless. A black hole of longing, rimmed in light.
And it was that hollowness, that desolate, hidden hunger, that made him real. Made him rare. Made Rick want to stand between him and the world, to shield him from whatever storm had left that ache behind. The pain clung to him like a ghost-scent, emanating from flawless skin, more potent than perfume, more haunting than any glamour. He was fragile in ways that had nothing to do with weakness. And Rick, without thinking, without hesitation, would’ve burned the world to keep him from breaking.
He had no idea how long he’d been holding his breath.
{ V }
Wednesday, October 25
Chapter Twenty-Three
(12:08 a.m.)
Ash stood by the vanity framed with glowing light bulbs, sliding his jeans up over his bare hips. They clung to his thighs and ass with unapologetic precision. He zipped them up slowly, letting them ride low and loose, the waistband hugging the V-cut of his pelvis. Sweat slicked his skin under the warm, theatric luster, catching gold at his collarbones, below his ribs. He was down to bare essentials now—no veils, no silk, no illusions. The genie had retreated into the bottle, and the magic was gone for the night. Yet the dressing room still buzzed with activity.
Cody stood at the mirror three stations down, adjusting his thong and checking his makeup with religious devotion. Near the costume rack, Marcus shimmied into vinyl pants while humming along to the muffled music. Someone’s cologne mixed with hairspray and sweat, the chemical sweetness thick enough to taste. A sequined vest hit the floor. Ice clinked in a glass of vodka someone had smuggled in.
Lounging on a stool beside him, Vinny puffed a fat cigar and fanned himself with a wad of cash. He looked happy as a bookie who’d just fixed the Super Bowl—a grinning hyena, bald head gleaming under the bulbs.
“Kid,” he said, slapping the bills on his thigh, “you fuckin’slayedtonight. Made goddamn poetry up there. Did you see how rabid the mob went? Jesus Christ, I’m gonna need sandbags to keep the place from flooding. Oh boy,” he added, puffing smoke, “it is so good to have you back.”
Cody snorted from his mirror but said nothing.
Ash ran a hand through his hair, tousling sweat-matted strands, not looking at him. “Glad to be back, boss.”
Vinny stood with a grunt, slipped the dough into the breast pocket of his three-piece suit, and flicked ash onto the floor. “All right, kiddo. Since it’s your first night back, you can clock out early. Go enjoy your night. You earned it.”
Ash nodded, but didn’t watch him go.
As the door clicked shut behind Vinny, the room felt quieter than it should. Marcus muttered something about “teacher’s pet” to no one in particular. Someone laughed. The costume rack rattled as Tyler rifled through it for a prop.
He tugged on his hoodie, but his palms were clammy, the fabric catching at his wrists. He felt twitchy. Distracted. The edges of him were blurred, like the curtain hadn’t fully dropped. Because he knew who was out there, in the crowd. He could still feel that hooded, stone-cut stare, all flint and storm clouds, watching him from across the club. Unmoving. Unblinking. Slade hadn’t justlookedat him. He’dseenhim. He stared with a stillness that didn’t match the pulse of the niterie. As if nothing else existed. As if he were the only goddamn thing moving.
Ash chewed on his lower lip, jaw working.Cops get horny too,he told himself.Didn’t mean a thing. Lust was only an appetite—he understood that better than most. He bathed in it nightly, bottled it, and wore it like perfume. But that look, thatfocus, wasn’t simple hunger. A look like that from a man like him could break rules Ash didn’t even know he was still following.
He was fumbling for his jacket when a commotion outside started. Raised voices. A sharp thud. Someone laughing nervously. Not just the usual drunken stumble or backstage squabble.
Then: “Hunter!”
He froze. Around him, the other dancers paused mid-motion.
The door flew open like it had been kicked. Slade filled the frame, towering like a storm that had blown in through sheer willpower. His eyes locked on Ash, his chest rising with adrenaline, and for a moment, the dressing room felt too small, like the walls had started closing in. The detective shut the door behind him and stepped forward like he didn’t see the room at all—only the man in front of him.
“Uh, excuse me?” Marcus said, spinning around. “This is a private—”
“Why, hello, stud,” Cody drawled, sauntering closer. “I was hoping to see you again.”
Rico backed toward the costume rack, wearing only a G-string, like he expected to be arrested any second.
Ash didn’t flinch. He faced the detective and exhaled, slow and unimpressed, like this kind of thing happened every other Wednesday. “It’s okay, guys,” he said without looking at the others. “I’ll deal with him.”
Cody opened his mouth to argue, but the look Ash shot him shut it. Marcus shrugged and went back to his reflection. The room’s energy shifted—still tense, still watching, but no longer intervening. The buzz of activity resumed at a lower volume, everyone pretending not to stare while absolutely staring.
