Pain rocketed through his jaw, and Marcus stumbled backward. He landed hard on the floor and looked upward at a red-faced Tyler whose sharp, staccato breaths punctuated the silence of the dressing room. The floor quaked from the muffled pounding of the music. Marcus shook his head to calm the ringing in his ears. Damn. Tyler had a mean right hook.
“You may be my boss and pay me, but that’s as far as it goes. I don’t have to like you, or put up with your crap like everyone else here does.” The door slammed shut behind Tyler, leaving Marcus flat on his ass, dumbfounded.
What the hell just happened here?
Chapter Two
‡
He returned tothe dance floor to continue his shift, but Tyler could barely concentrate. Lucky for him, he didn’t have to worry about that guy Ortiz waiting for him, as the man had already moved on to someone else. Marcus, however, wasn’t as easy a man to forget; through sheer will Tyler forced his irritating boss out of his mind.
The pounding beat insinuated itself in Tyler’s head, and he instinctively let the music take over; his blood ran hot and smooth through his veins until nothing mattered but moving and coming alive to the rhythm. In a burst of enthusiasm, he jumped up on one of the bars and began to dance in earnest, rolling his hips, flinging his head from side to side, his hair whipping across his face.
Tyler could hear the claps and whistles of the patrons and the calls for more rounds of drinks, but he remained cloistered in his cocoon of music—the place where he’d always felt safest.
“They’re going crazy out there, Ty. Every time you wiggle your ass I swear ten guys come in their pants,” Shane, the red-headed bartender who’d tried to be friendly with him when he first got hired, called up to him. “Keep it up, and you’ll be making more tonight in tips than I’ve made in a month working here.”
Swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat, Tyler threw his head back and poured his bleeding heart into his dancing. All the training he’d been through in school and afterward hadn’t been for this—one step away from a stripper. He was going to be a Broadway star. But someone thought Tyler Reiss had it too good and yanked away his chance at fame and everything that went with it as well.
Water under the bridge,he told himself as he opened his eyes to survey the crowd that had gathered around him. No matter the obstacles thrown in his way, Tyler did the best he could, holding his self-respect tightly to him. It was the only thing he had that was completely his. What he did to make ends meet now had nothing to do with who he was. Staring at the leering faces of the men and women who Tyler knew thought of him only as a piece of ass, he wondered—not for the first time—if taking this job was a mistake. But then, the reality of the bills they tucked in his shorts and threw at his feet made it impossible for him to walk away.
In the dark recesses of the club he spied Marcus standing with his back to the wall, an inscrutable expression on his face and the ubiquitous glass of scotch in his hand. Arrogant and cocky—traits Tyler hated in a person—Marcus Feldman remained a conundrum to him.
From the day he began dancing at Sparks, Tyler had heard stories of Marcus’s good will toward his staff and friends, yet he found it hard to reconcile that Marcus with the hedonist he knew resided behind that violet-eyed, handsome facade. As Tyler continued to watch him, Marcus drained his glass and walked away.
From that point, Tyler shut down all thoughts of Marcus and smiled into the slack-jawed faces of a group of men who teetered on the edge of silly drunkenness. He jumped down into their midst and swayed and shimmied his way around them until his shorts couldn’t hold any more bills. Hopefully there would be enough from tonight to cover their expenses for the month, which always seemed to be growing. Hands groped his ass, and he allowed a few squeezes, even smiling up at the well-dressed man whose hand rested at his waist.
“Why don’t we go in the back?”
The stale scent of beer gusted past Tyler’s face, and he forced himself to keep that frozen smile on his lips.
“Sorry, but I’m on shift.” Tyler hoped his refusal and apologetic tone would be enough to put the man off, but his grip tightened painfully.
“No problem. How ’bout a kiss?”
Without waiting for him to respond, the man crushed Tyler up against his hard chest and planted wet, beery lips to his while walking them to the back of the club. Tyler tried to respond, knowing this was how the game was played, but he couldn’t withhold the shudder of distaste while the man’s lips moved over his.
“You like that, huh?” The guy’s arm rested like a lead yoke around his back, and Tyler began to struggle in earnest as he found himself backed up against the wall. “All you sluts like it. And I got what you want right here.” He thrust his bulge against the thin fabric of Tyler’s shorts.
They were hidden by darkness, and Tyler felt alarm trickle through him. He forced himself to accept the man’s tongue in his mouth, rationalizing that he was safe. He was in his place of work, and security was there to protect him.
“Get on your knees, and show me what I spent my money on.” The man’s heavy hands landed on Tyler’s shoulders, attempting to force him to the ground, but Tyler stood fast.
“I’m not blowing you. Get off me.”
“Fucking cock tease.” The man’s handsome face twisted in an ugly sneer. “I’ll make sure you don’t work here or anywhere again if you don’t. He reached between their bodies and grabbed Tyler’s soft cock and balls in his hand, giving them a vicious squeeze.
“Fuck. Oh my God.” Tyler cried out, the pain shocking in its intensity. “Get off me.”
“What the hell is going on here?” A furious, disembodied voice echoed from down the hallway.
“Nothin’ man. Jus’ havin’ some fun.” The man kept his hands on Tyler’s crotch, slurring his words.
“No, wait, please. He’s hurting me.” Tyler wrenched free, reeling from the shock of pain as once again his private parts were mercilessly jerked by the drunken man.
A man appeared, and Tyler recognized Darius, Sparks’s chief of security. Relief flooded through Tyler. “Darius, it’s Tyler. Help me, please.”
Tyler admired the rate of speed and professionalism with which Darius dealt with the drunken man. After speaking into a walkie-talkie, two other men appeared in less than a minute to lead the protesting man to a side door and out of the club. Darius turned to him, concern etched on his face.
