Flicking his shaggy brown hair as he turned his head, he recognized his business partner and friend. The man resembled a former professional football player, his arm muscles bulgingbeneath the short sleeves of his polo. His dark hair and eyes matched the scowl on his face.
His negligent-leaning pose instantly tightened as he turned to face forward. “You didn’t have to follow me. Could have just asked me earlier what you wanted to know.”
His friend didn’t look at him, distracted by something on his phone. “Why, when skulking around and following you is so fun? Not like I have anything else to do.” His tone said he had eighty million other things he’d rather be doing.
“Wouldn’t know. You spend so much time buried in that damn phone, most of us have forgotten what color your eyes are.”
The grouch merely grunted, but he did put the screen to sleep and slipped it into his back pocket.
Why was the man here? Since the “Francesca Fiasco,” they rarely saw him in San Antonio. “Didn’t know you belonged to Shadowlands.”
Cosmos stepped up to the rail beside him. He also stared down at the crowd in the club, his eyes focused forward. “I probably have memberships to a lot of places you don’t know about. How else would I keep an eye on the competition?”
Triumph, Cosmos, and a third friend, Tripoli, owned six BDSM and adult-themed nightclubs across the country. More like Tripoli ran them, while Triumph and Cosmos were investors and contractors for services. In the end, it amounted to the same thing. This particular club the two men occupied now, their only competition in terms of the bank it made, catered to a very specialized kink crowd.
“For the longest time, I wondered why you never played at our clubs. Thought it just wasn’t your thing. When I discovered you came here on your downtime? Gotta admit, not much surprises me anymore, but this did. So my only question is, why?”
All Triumph said was, “The mantra ‘Don’t shit where you eat’ covers a lot of territory.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s the answer.” Cosmos switched topics. “You set for London?”
A year earlier, the men had planned to open a new club in England, but a series of murders at the San Antonio property and the near-death of Tripoli’s fiancée, Francesca, derailed those plans temporarily. Finally, things were back in motion, and the group was set to leave in three days for two to three months to get everything finalized for the new grand opening.
“Everything is set here for while I’m gone, and according to the IT hire in London, everything is ready for me to come in as scheduled.”
“Good. So, tonight is… what?”
Meaning hanging out in a Consensual-Nonconsent club. If he wanted to watch porn, he could stream it from his apartment. What the fuck did the man think he had planned?
“If I say it’s just a pressure valve release before we head to another continent where I don’t know the scene, will you let it go at that?”
“Would if I believed it was true.”
Of course he didn’t. Piece of fuck was too observant for his own good. Guess that’s why he owned a company of bodyguards.
Cosmos leaned down, his forearms on the railing, mimicking Triumph’s stance. “I know you, Mason.”
Fuck. The man was using his real name. No one ever did that. Time to squash whatever douchebaggery lesson he seemed compelled to impart.
“Don’t play Daddy,Christopher. I’m not hurting anyone, including myself.”
“Didn’t say you were. Even in a CNC construct, there’s consent. You violating that isn’t possible. Just trying to figure out if your head is where it needs to be.”
“Depends on which head you’re referring to,” he muttered.
The bearded man sighed. “Let me save us some time and bullshit, yeah?”
Triumph turned his head to face Cosmos.
His friend continued, “I know you.Your friends know you. We see the pain you’re in, and we’re feeling pretty fucking impotent right now as to how to help you.”
Double fuck. He’d hoped they were in the dark. Why did he think his friends wouldn’t have a clue? He should know better.
“What the fuck are you on about? I’m fine.” That sounded good. Deny anything’s wrong.
“You are notfine.”
He made a scoffing sound and shook his head, turning back to the view. “Whatever you say.” Deny, deny.
