It makes me nervous as fuck because whatever this plan is, come evening, it involves him taking a black t-shirt into the kitchen and cutting it into a sleeveless crop top with slashes across the ribs and nipples. What the fuck is happening?
I pace around the living room of my converted warehouse. It takes all my willpower not to text him. I wouldn’t be able to control my questions. I would give away the fact that I can see him.
He tries the shirt with several different styles of pants, ultimately choosing a pair of loose dress pants. It shouldn’t look good, but, god, it does. Why is he so good at this?
It’s not the first time it’s been obvious that he understands style. The night I let him choose my clothes for the party, he showed a clear, almost practiced eye. It’s weird. It doesn’t fit with his background or his previous wardrobe. He’s good with his hair, too, which is also strange given how shaggy and unstyled it was when I met him.
But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I learned all that shit too, and it doesn’t fit with my background either.
Elias fiddles with shit for a long time. Different shoes, different jacket. He fucks around with his phone. I can’t see the screen and I can’t track all his activity there, so I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. At ten p.m., though, he’s fully dressed, his phone and wallet in his jacket. He takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself, then he leaves his apartment.
By then, I’m also dressed and have a number of different contingency plans, which means I have a ton of shit in my pockets. By the time he reaches the sidewalk, I’m in my car. I lose my camera views and rely on tracking.
When Elias bypasses the subway entrance, I relax a little. He’s walking. He wants me to follow him
I’ve chased Elias more than once. Even in my other role, as his boss, I’ve herded where I wanted him. But now as I follow him across the city, I feel the reversal—because that’s what I’m doing,following. He’s leading me somewhere.
Where he leads me is Lush.
Fucking great. Lush is about the last place I want to be.
It’s a swanky nightclub, expensive, exclusive, elegant. But that’s only its surface. Underneath, on its lower level, Lush is a dark, kinky gay sex club—and that’s where Elias goes. I catch sight of him at the door, waiting for the bouncer’s approval. Lushdoesn’t have a line. Approval and rejection are quick, and the price is eye watering, even by Manhattan’s standards.
Elias looks nervous, like he won’t be let in. Idiot. Of course he’ll be let in. He’s beautiful. And he now has the money for a place like this.
I have to park, which puts me way behind Elias. I hate it, but it’s just as well. I can’t let him see me come in. I have to be smart about this. I can’t be masked in there, and Elias isn’t the only one who knows my face.
When I get to the door, the bouncer takes my money and lets me in.
The tiled foyer is honeycombed with pay-to-play rooms. On the walls between doors hang black-and-white photographs, all of men. They’re beautiful, artful, and very erotic.
I move onward to the main part of the club. This is the moment that could fuck me. I’ll be exposed. If Elias sees me, I’ll have no choice but to switch into my role as his boss and pretend I’m surprised to see him.
But he’s at the bar, his back to the entrance. He doesn’t see me before I slip into the shadows—but Rafael does.
Rafael owns Lush, and he’s the main reason that I don’t want to be here.
Two years ago, shortly before I made Peter Grange kill himself, I met Grange in the upstairs part of Lush. I needed him in a public place, a classy place, one where he’d have to control his reaction to the images, recordings, and bank statements that I’d collected. I needed him, with people around him, to think about whether he wanted all of that coming to light.
As I was leaving that night, Rafael intercepted me. I didn’t recognize him at first, didn’t understand him when he asked if I needed help with Grange.
Then I saw it. The silvery gray eyes in that model-perfect face. I saw back fifteen years—and I didn’t fucking like that.
I certainly didn’t like that Rafael saw back that far. At that point, before I had Grange in my cell, I hadn’t even told him who I was or why I was destroying him. I was letting him think it was greed. But Rafael knew that it wasn’t.
I’d like to turn my attention away from Rafael entirely, but that’s not an option while he’s interacting with Elias.
I watch closely to see if Elias stares at Rafael, shirtless under his silver corset vest, his white pants hugging his ass and thighs. But Elias is too distracted, apparently, to notice how outrageously beautiful Rafael is. Rafael always was. All the men fucking loved him.
I have to halt and close my eyes for a second. I have to shove all of that back into the black void where it belongs. It doesn’t exist if I don’t let it.
I open my eyes and focus on Elias. He’s looking around as Rafael mixes his drink.
There’s certainly plenty to look at. Behind him lies a multi-level space with couches and tables. Some nooks are discreet while other areas are made for display—and there’s a lot on display.
Over half the men are shirtless. Many are wearing even less. There are sheer bodysuits, leather harnesses, thigh-high boots and thongs. A few are naked. It’s all writhing, kissing, sucking, and fucking while on the stage beyond a man is being strapped to an x-cross.
Elias pays and takes his drink. He scans the room again. His eyes aren’t as big as they should be. He’s been to places like this before.
