by Lynn Hagen
“I don’t need you defending me or feeling sorry for me. I can take care of myself.” But the spot where Devil had touched tingled. Ryan wanted Devil to touch him again, but chasing after a straight man wasn’t his kink.
Devil eyed him and nodded. “Independent and feisty. Good for you.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “You just can’t take a hint.”
His smile widened. “That wasn’t a hint, Ryan. It was a full fuck off thrown at me.”
Why had Ryan’s body tightened when Devil said his name? His already-hard cock perked right up. Ryan mentally pumped the brakes on the crazy bus heading down Heterosexual Lane. It had made a wrong turn, and Ryan needed to haul ass back to Gay Avenue.
Devil jutted his chin toward Ryan’s empty glass. “I don’t mind giving you a ride home since you won’t be driving.”
Why was Devil being so nice to him? “I’ll order an Uber.”
“You’ll ride with a stranger over having me give you a lift?” One of Devil’s sexy brows hiked up. “Damn, you’ve wounded me again, man.”
Okay, so Ryan could see why most people fell for Devil’s charm. He wasn’t the arrogant asshole Ryan had thought him to be. He was actually quite nice. Ryan wiggled his brows, trying his best to derail Devil. “Are you gonna tuck me into bed?”
Cock appeared, bottle of liquor in hand, like he’d been hovering in a dark corner, his ears tuned to their conversation. “Another drink?”
Devil held up his hand. “He’s had enough.”
Ryan scowled. “Who are you to tell me when I’ve had enough?”
Was this guy for real? Just because they knew each other—well, not really since they’d never talked before now—didn’t mean Devil could dictate how many shots Ryan could have.
“Who am I?” Devil’s grin was so bright and handsome Ryan was blinded by it. His cock was, too.
“Yeah.” Ryan was acting tough, but ready to beg for another drink if he had to. His goal had been to get so hammered that he forgot Jeff existed, and Devil was standing in his way of accomplishing that.
Devil leaned in and whispered, “The owner of this club. That’s who I am.”
Chapter Two
“You should have let me kill him when I had the chance.” Joque slapped the bottle down. Devil still stood close to Ryan, who had lain his head on the bar and passed out.
A real fucking lightweight.
“I told you Jeff was off-limits.” Unfortunately, Jeff had saved Devil’s life. Talk about a conundrum. Devil couldn’t very well let Joque kill the guy who had tackled a would-be robber and had gotten shot doing so. Well, he could, but Devil did have his honor.
Honestly, Devil could’ve taken the thief down, but Jeff had been drunk that night, talking shit, and rattled the robber. Jeff taking a bullet had been purely accidental.
Now the human thought them best buddies.
They weren’t.
“I’ll be right back.” Devil lifted his mate from the bar. Ryan was snoring. How adorable. After Devil tossed the twink over his shoulder, he took him to his office. He had a comfortable and well-worn suede couch that would be perfect for letting Ryan sleep his drunk off. He gently laid Ryan down, noticing drool on the side of his mouth. Not so adorable.
He removed Ryan’s shoes and set them aside, then took the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over his mate. Devil wasn’t about to let him take an Uber, and he wasn’t gonna let him go home, either. If Ryan woke and tried to find a rebound fuck at another bar, Devil would kill someone.
Now that Jeff was out of the picture, Devil wasn’t about to let anyone else near his mate. He deserved a fucking medal for not killing Jeff and taking what was his. But he hadn’t wanted that blood on his hands, not when there was a chance Ryan could find out what had happened to his ex.
But now that he had Ryan, Devil would show him what being cherished felt like, and it wasn’t some asshole human who threw him out like trash. Devil was still pissed off at how Jeff had handled the breakup. He was glad it had happened, but texting him? That had been low.
Devil sat behind his desk with the intention of getting some paperwork done, but his gaze kept drifting back to Ryan. The guy was short, around five-six, with heart-shaped lips and sultry black hair. His eyes were the color of honey, and Devil always had to stop himself from getting lost in them.
Spike stuck his head into Devil’s office. He looked at the couch, then grinned. “He hasn’t woken up yet?”
“Does it look like it?” Devil said as he eyed his bartender. “Need something?”
Spike’s blush surprised Devil. The wolf shifter was usually fierce and the blush was out of character.
“I was wondering if I could take off early.”
Devil hid his grin. “Does this have anything to do with that male flirting with you?”
His smile grew. “Busted.”
Devil knew who Henry was. He’d been running around Krave for the past few weeks, flirting with any guy who would buy him a drink. But he’d never gone home with anyone. From the gossip he’d heard—the source always being Joque—Henry was in a relationship.
But Henry’s dating status wasn’t any of Devil’s business. If he was to be honest with himself, he liked Henry. The guy was outrageous, funny, and seemed high on life.
“Go ahead and take off, but don’t make this a habit.” Devil’s attention returned to the list he’d tossed onto his desk. He needed to get started on it. Tracking down the Hunters was his first priority—no, his second. Ryan was his first.
But Krave was his baby. It was a business he would have long after his job with Christian was completed. Owning a club had originally been a smoke screen, a way to blend in and get to know the city. But now that his club was thriving, Devil planned on keeping it successful.
And, the sooner Devil got this assignment over with, the sooner he could give his full attention to Ryan.
“Cool, thanks,” Spike said. “I promise I won’t make it a habit, but did you see that guy?” He gave a low whistle. “Got a slim body to die for.”
Devil rolled his eyes. “Get the hell out of here.”
With a shit-eating grin, Spike closed the door.
His mate shot up from the couch, looked around, mumbled something even Devil couldn’t hear, then dropped back down. What the fuck? Was this something Ryan did when drunk, or was it a nightly occurrence? Devil waited to see if Ryan did it again.
He didn’t.
Devil tried once again to get lost in his paperwork, but his attention was wrecked. He couldn’t seem to focus. Not when Ryan’s scent filled his office. It was a tangy smell, kind of sweet, with a hint of citrus. Devil’s wolf snarled. His beast wanted to get closer, to sniff along Ryan’s body.
But that would be creepy, and Devil forced his wolf to heel.
His thoughts were interrupted when Spike stuck his head back into his office. “Something wrong?” Devil asked.
He let out a frustrated sigh. “Henry won’t go home with me until he knows his friend is safe.” Spike cut a glance at Ryan, who was still fast asleep. His snoring had quieted, but now his back was turned to Devil.
“Let him in.” Devil sat up, looking down at his laptop as Spike brought Henry into the room. The male looked hesitantly around, then his gaze landed on Ryan.
“Hey, Devil.” Henry smiled. “I seriously didn’t know you owned this club. Ryan is gonna freak when he sobers up.”
Why would Ryan freak? Devil had no clue and didn’t care. He just wanted the intruders out of his office so he could openly stare at Ryan while he was unconscious.
Jeez, maybe he was being a bit creepy.
“He’s fine.” Devil gave him a warm and charming smile—a smile he’d perfected for the last few decades to make people feel relaxed around him. “Once he wakes, I’ll give him a ride home.”
“You’re a peach.” Henry teetered toward him, and Devil was afraid he’d fall over. He stood when Henry reached him, and let the twink hug him. Devil was just
that nice a guy. Henry smelled fruity, like he’d bathed in strawberries.
“Okay, now you can take me home and hug me.” Spike gave Devil a playful scowl. “Stop trying to steal my date.”
Henry snickered. His eyes had a clarity that said he wasn’t as tipsy as he pretended to be. The human turned to Spike. “I hope you like silk scarves.” He hurried back the door, but spared one last glance at Ryan. “Please, make sure he gets home safely.”
Devil pressed his hand to his chest. “You have my word.”
“Finally.” Spike grabbed Henry’s wrist and pulled him from the office. Devil heard Henry’s peals of laughter even after the door was closed.
Ryan stirred. He flapped one arm like he was about to take flight, then turned over and yawned. His eyelids fluttered open and Devil was gifted with those honey-colored beauties.
Jeff was an idiot.
“I thought you’d sleep through the rest of the night.” Devil took a seat back behind his desk, making himself as nonthreatening as possible, because Ryan looked confused, as if he’d just woken up on an alien ship instead of Devil’s couch.
If Devil was to win him over, he needed to figure Ryan out. And he couldn’t figure him out if Ryan ran away. Devil smiled, adding a dash of boyishness to it. “How do you feel?”
Ryan looked around as he scrubbed his face. “I think those shots wrecked me. I’m dreaming that you own this club and I’m crashing in your office.”
“No dream.”
Ryan blinked a few times, as though he was trying to restart his batteries with his long lashes before he pushed himself up and curled his legs under him. “Why didn’t I know that about you?”
Because I’ve kept my distance for fear I’d kill Jeff. Devil shrugged. “Never asked.”
Ryan swayed where he sat, belched, then lay back down. He wasn’t a pretty drunk. He handled his liquor like a toddler handled being spun around too many times. Funny, but not pretty.
If Ryan had been standing, he would’ve fallen over. Devil was thankful Ryan had enough sense not to get up. “Just rest. No one is gonna bother you.”
Devil would make damn sure of that. Ryan was his to protect, to cherish, and he’d kill anyone dumb enough to mess with what was his.
“I was just sitting at the bar,” Ryan said into the arm of the couch. “How’d I get in here?”
“Teleportation,” Devil teased.
Ryan’s grin was fucking beautiful. “I’ll have to try that again when I’m sober.”
He could teleport to Devil anytime. “Just rest, lightweight.”
He thought about Jeff and gnashed his teeth. What if Jeff tried to get Ryan back? His thoughts turned murderous. Devil would throw every twink in the club at Jeff just to make sure he didn’t go anywhere near Ryan again.
And if that didn’t work, Devil did own a shovel.
Ryan was his now. Even if Ryan didn’t know it. But he’d soon figure it out because Devil planned on being a permanent fixture in Ryan’s life.
* * * *
The following morning Ryan was seated at his desk, staring bleary-eyed at his computer screen. His boss was standing right by Ryan’s cubicle while he talked with one of Ryan’s coworkers. The volume of his voice made the drums in Ryan’s head beat louder.
He didn’t want to be here, but his bills wouldn’t pay themselves. Could he really go to jail for murder if he told the judge that his boss had been being a dick with Ryan’s hangover? Ryan was pretty sure he would win the case.
Mr. Rogers—yes, that was his real name, and no, he wasn’t Ryan’s neighbor, though he was wearing a nice sweater with two functional pockets—turned and looked at Ryan. “How’s it going, Mr. Baker?”
That wretched Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood song started playing in Ryan’s head. He’d hated that show as a kid, and he still hated it. Ryan threw up a peace sign before he laid his head on his desk.
I’m never gonna drink like that again.
“Are you feeling ill?” Mr. Rogers stepped into Ryan’s tiny space, a look of concern in his eyes. “Are you coming down with a cold?”
He’d just given Ryan the perfect excuse to get the hell out of there. “I think so.” Ryan looked up at his boss with bleary eyes and a pounding migraine, hoping he looked like death warmed over. He sure as hell felt like it. “But I can still work.”
He threw in a cough for good measure.
Mr. Rogers shrank back. He was a germaphobe, like, to the tenth power. Ryan was surprised he didn’t go through life in a bubble. He could just imagine his boss coming back to Ryan’s cubicle with an industrial-sized can of disinfectant spray and saturating his work space. Maybe throw in a napalm bomb just to make sure Ryan’s pesky little germs died a gruesome death.
Mr. Rogers stepped back until he was clear of Ryan’s space, then his arm shot out, his finger pointing to the other end of the office. “Go home, now.”
“But I can still work,” Ryan whined. He was laying it on thick, but he wanted to make sure his boss insisted he leave so Ryan didn’t get any points marked against him.
Mr. Rogers cringed, as if Ryan’s germs would attack him at any second. He covered his face with the upper part of his sweater. “Go, Ryan. And don’t come back until you’re feeling better. I’ll make sure no points are deducted for your absence.”
Ryan stopped himself from doing a happy dance. Even if he could manage to get up the energy, the drums would beat him down until he passed out on the floor. They were demons in his head that were making him suffer because he’d been a dick last night at Krave.
Karma payback.
He was gonna kill Cock when he saw him again for his “drinky-drinky” suggestion. He could’ve given Ryan clear liquor and then Ryan wouldn’t be feeling like his guts were trying to crawl out through his throat.
“If you insist.” Ryan swayed when he stood. That hadn’t been for dramatic effect. He really was light-headed.
“Oh my.” Mr. Rogers’s hand fluttered to his throat. “You look horrible. Do I need to call anyone for you…or an ambulance?”
Devil popped into his head, but Ryan dismissed the asinine idea. Last night Devil was just being friendly. He was still Jeff’s friend, and Ryan didn’t want any part of that. “No.”
He staggered to the elevator, pushed the button, and leaned against the wall as he prayed his breakfast really didn’t make an entrance. Mr. Rogers would have a nervous breakdown if Ryan vomited. All those pesky little germs.
“Smooth.” Seth—one of Ryan’s coworkers—said as he approached. “You pulled that sick look off like a boss. You’ve got to tell me what makeup you used.”
“I’m not faking.” Ryan’s stomach lurched.
“Sure, sure.” Seth winked at him. “I’m gonna bug you until you tell me how you perfected this look.”
Ryan turned, ready to tell Seth he was really dying, but Ryan’s stomach had a different idea. A metallic taste invaded Ryan’s mouth seconds before he spewed his guts all over Seth. Ryan was mortified, and Seth’s eyes were wide with horror, like he was about to lose his shit.
Mr. Rogers shrieked from the other side of the office, and Seth was cursing up a storm, but Ryan ignored him. He was too busy trying not to do that again.
A blaring sound pierced his ears.
Had Mr. Rogers seriously just pulled the fire alarm? Ryan raised his head and looked his boss’s way. Mr. Rogers stood by Ryan’s cubicle with both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. Yep, the fire alarm was right next to him, and the handle was in the down position.
Ryan rolled his eyes. What a fucking drama queen.
The room went into panic. The elevator arrived, and Ryan took it, since he knew there wasn’t a real fire. Seth and Mr. Rogers were still freaking out. As the elevator doors slid closed, Ryan smiled at the total chaos on the seventh floor.
Chapter Three
Ryan made it across town, which was a miracle because his head was still spinning. But he felt much better after vomiting all that poison out of his system.
He drove into the underground parking lot of his apartment building and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. Aside from the migraine that wouldn’t go away, Ryan no longer felt was dying. When he got to his apartment, he was gonna drink a shitload of water and pop some Bayer—because Bayer was a godsend for hangovers—and then he would get some much-needed sleep.
His plans were flushed down the toilet when he spotted Devil in his hallway. Fuck me sideways. He had on low-riding jeans that hugged his ass nicely, a tight T-shirt that showed off all his impressive muscles, and the baseball cap he always had on, turned backward on his head.
Devil was leaning against the wall next to Ryan’s door, his arms folded, looking down at his shoes. His head popped up when Ryan stepped off the elevator.
“What’re you doing here?” Ryan asked.
He was shocked, and his voice revealed that fact.
Devil’s smile sent Ryan’s hormones into overdrive. He should find a way to bottle that smile. He could make millions. “I came to check on you.” His smile wavered. “Why’re you out of bed?”
“I had a projectile appointment.” Poor Seth.
“I’m not sure what that is, but you look like hell.” Devil pushed from the wall. “I have a remedy for that.”
Naughty thoughts parachuted from the sky, landing all around Ryan and handing him explicit details of Devil’s “remedy.” He pictured Devil naked, and Ryan’s cock went on full alert. It was the worst time to get a boner, so he tried to slap the images out of his head.
They wouldn’t budge. Not when Devil sauntered his way. Through the T-shirt Ryan could see every damn muscle flex and stretch. Ugh, why did he have to be Jeff’s friend? Why, why, why?
And, oh yeah, straight. How had Ryan forgotten that crucial detail?
Ryan stood there stuck on stupid. He was mesmerized by Devil’s body, so much so that Devil took Ryan’s keys from his hand without an utter of protest from him.
