“The last time we saw each other you called my mother a slut. This time you call me a freak?”
“I only speak the truth.”
“Please, the only truth you know is green.”
Malcolm lifted a shoulder. “Money rules the world and I have tons of it.”
“Don’t you mean Daddy does?”
“Says the piece of trash who’s been feeding off our scraps his whole life. You think I don’t know that my father has funded you and your whore mother this whole time?”
Hop took a step closer. Malcolm had always been on the small side, and in his heels, Hop stood a head taller than him. “Don’t call my mother a whore.”
“What else do you call a slut who tries to blackmail a man into marriage by getting pregnant?”
“You are seriously inspiring my inner serial killer. One more word about my mother and I’ll let it out on your face.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me. I’ve one thing my father didn’t.” He pointed a thumb at Craig, who leaned against the doorway with a shit-eating grin on his face. “A witness. You and that scum Rafe are going to see what it means to be blackballed in New York City. When I’m done with Rafe, he won’t even be able to open a fucking strip club. I can’t believe that asshole hired you. Doesn’t he know who’s paying his fucking bills?”
Years of frustration and anger boiled to the surface. He remembered all the times he’d hid behind cars spying on his father across the street, all the ways he’d tried to get attention, and the shame he’d lived with knowing he’d never been wanted, never been good enough.
Rafe had been the one to help him, then and now. He couldn’t let Malcolm get away with hurting Rafe.
Hop swung.
His fist connected with Malcolm’s cheek. His knuckles cracked, Malcolm’s head snapped to the side, and a splatter of blood sprayed across the wall. A collective gasp brought the room to silence.
And then Malcolm’s shocked whine split it open. “You hit me.” As if he couldn’t believe Hop had dared.
“You deserved it,” Ansel said.
“You fucking cunt, I’m going to ruin you for good this time. You and your mother will be living in a box under a bridge somewhere when I’m done.” Malcolm cupped his cheek, a streak of red seeping from his broken lip. The sight of it filled Hop with glee.
He’d wanted to do that for ages. Maybe he should do it again. He flexed his fingers and winced at the stab of pain. Maybe he should kick Malcolm instead.
Before he could do anything Rafe burst through the door.
“Malcolm, stop—”
“Rafe,” Hop said. There was so much relief in that one syllable, so much love, but Rafe barely spared him a glance, all his attention was focused on the blubbering Malcolm.
“Okay, people, there’s still a show to put on.” Mark clapped his hands and shooed the gawkers away.
As they left, Rafe asked. “What happened?”
“Sibling rivalry.”
“You hit him? Christ, Hop.”
“Yes, he fucking hit me. I’m going to sue him until he doesn’t have a cent to his name.”
“Too late, bro.”
Rafe’s eyes closed and his shoulders sank. He turned to face the intruders. “What do you want, Malcolm? What was the point of coming here tonight?”
“I wanted to see it with my own two eyes.”
“See what?”
“The thing that will finally get the two of you bottom-feeders out of our lives for good.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mark appeared with Sam, the VIP bouncer, in tow.
“Leave or I’ll call the cops,” Mark said with a tone of authority. He waved his cell phone to emphasize his threat.
Malcolm pushed the bouncer out of his way. “Don’t touch me. I’m done here anyway.”
When he and Craig were escorted out, the suspense of the room broke like a water balloon.
“What. The. Fuck.” Z turned to Hop.
“I can’t believe you punched him,” Ansel said, something like pride in his tone.
“Me, either,” Hop replied.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Rafe said.
“He had it coming.”
“It doesn’t matter. His father has a firm of lawyers in his pocket. If Malcolm makes a case for it, he really could sue you.”
“To do that, he’d actually have to acknowledge my existence. I’m not worried.” Hop leaned against a chair. He looked completely wiped out.
Rafe tugged his hair, trying to stop the swirl of chaos in his mind. It felt like everything was spinning like a tornado and he had no idea how to keep it from blowing apart.
“Damn it, Hop, I’m serious. You know what’s on the line for me, how could you be so selfish?”
“Fuck you, Rafe.”
“I thought I was through cleaning up your messes.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m still the same naive idiot because I fucking believed that you’d have my back this time.”
“Like you have mine?”
“Is it a game to you? To see how much of your bullshit I can take? Say you never felt anything for me, tell me everything we’ve gone through these past few weeks were lies.”
“Uh, guys?” Ansel cleared his throat.
All the Sassy Boyz were watching them.
“So that’s how it is,” Z said.
“We’ll leave you alone.” Ansel poked Z’s shoulder and ushered the rest of them away.
It was too late for privacy to do any good. News of this incident would spread through the club like herpes.
“I’ve done everything for you,” Rafe said.
“Not everything.” Hop sounded defeated and his shoulders were curled in that familiar pose.
Rafe’s chest cracked open at the sight. He wanted to grab on to something steady because he felt like he was shaking apart.
“We both knew this could only end one way,” Hop said.
The turmoil in Rafe’s mind roared. He’d thought they’d gotten past this, were working through it together. Apparently, he’d been wrong. “I guess so.”
“This was never real anyway, was it?”
It was more real than anything else. “Wasn’t that the deal? Keep it casual, right?”
“Right.” Hop hugged himself around his middle, his face pale and spine hunched. Still sick.
God, he was still sick and he’d performed like that. Rafe wanted to force him to sit, find him medicine or a jacket or something. But he no longer had the right, so he stood there while the bond they’d formed withered and died in the silence.
“Prince is here.”
“That’s good.”
“I’ll get the contract signed and take care of everything.” He hoped like hell the Lockwood drama wouldn’t change the designer’s mind.
“You always do.”
Part of being a responsible adult was making the hard choices. Too many people depended on Switch for him to give up without a fight.
“I have to go,” he said. He had to find Prince and solidify their agreement so he could finally face Roland Lockwood as equals.
Hop was closed off to him again. As soon as he walked out the door, their relationship would be over. But he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t build something solid on a foundation full of cracks.
“So go.”
“I’ll send a driver to take you home.”
“No.”
Right. That was it then. Rafe didn’t say another word, but his feet dragged as he left Hop standing alone in the dressing room. Walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his entire life.
But he did it.
* * *
Prince wasn’t in the VIP section when Rafe got there.
He searched everywhere, the bar, the ba
throoms, the dance floor, and there was no sign of the flashy designer or his assistant anywhere in the club. He found Mark near the front and pulled him aside.
“Where’s Prince?”
Mark looked worried, which ratcheted up Rafe’s anxiety another level. “He left.”
“Left? When?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
Great, just what he needed. “Did he say anything?”
“No, not a word. I tried to wave him down, but I was across the club dealing with those rich jerks.”
“Damn it.” He slammed his hand down on the back of a chair and squeezed the metal until his knuckles turned white.
“He didn’t look happy, boss.”
“I’ll take care of it.” How? How the fuck could he fix this? “Don’t worry.” He left Mark and locked himself in his office.
Breathe, Marson. Step one, get in touch with Prince. Gigi’s number was on speed dial. While it rang, he poured himself a drink.
“You’ve reached Gigi. I can’t come to the phone right now. If you’re calling to set up an appointment with Parker Prince, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you when convenient. All other inquiries should go through the contact form on our website.”
Rafe waited for the beep then said, “Gigi, this is Rafe Marson. I’m calling to apologize about this evening. I hope Mr. Prince was still able to enjoy the show. Please contact me as soon as possible so we can discuss the contract.”
He hung up and chugged the contents of his glass. The burn of alcohol was weak in comparison to the ache in his heart. He sat at his desk, shoulders sagging with the heavy burden that fell upon them. Would this have happened if he’d never touched Hop? Was this all because he’d been greedy? Or because his attention had been diverted?
Was this his punishment for trying to have a life that didn’t revolve around work?
Since his father’s death he’d endeavored to be responsible, to sacrifice for his goals, to be diligent and focused because he’d believed that his effort would pay off. He’d put his life on hold for business, always telling himself later. Later he’d date. Later he’d fall in love. Later he’d get married, have kids. Be happy.
But what if later never came? What if happiness happened in the little moments and he’d been too busy to recognize them for what they were?
He rested his face in his hands. Fucking Malcolm. He’d always hated that kid, but now he was considering murder and planning ways to dispose of the body.
Everything that happened tonight could be traced back to one moment—the day he’d told Roland that first lie to save a kid who looked at him with bright blue eyes like he was some kind of hero. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from caring about that kid just as he’d been incapable of staying away from his cotton-candy fantasy.
But that lie changed everything. He’d begun looking at his mentor with new eyes, and he didn’t like what he saw. His resentment grew and grew until it became all-encompassing and his entire purpose morphed into something he hadn’t recognized at first.
If it hadn’t been for that one day, he would have remained Roland’s loyal puppet forever.
So, did he blame Hop or thank him?
Rafe groaned. He didn’t know. Both. In truth, he wouldn’t change the past, even if he could. His father had raised him to be honorable, and there had been nothing honorable in the way Roland had treated his firstborn son. No, Rafe didn’t blame Hop.
But he couldn’t thank him either.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
His phone rang and Rafe lifted it to his ear without checking the ID. “Hello?”
“Rafe, dear.” She didn’t sound happy.
“Gigi, please tell me he’s not totally pissed off.”
“Sorry, we won’t be hosting the launch at your club.”
“Why?”
“Prince has a problem doing business with those people. He comes from poverty, not many people know that. He won’t have anything to do with a family like the Lockwoods.”
Rafe’s head dropped to his hand. “You recognized him?”
“Just the name. I know how he is so I couldn’t let it go.”
“There has to be something I can do, please.”
“I’m afraid the only way to change his mind is to cut ties.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.” He couldn’t help the rise in his voice. “Let me talk to him. I’ll explain everything.”
She hummed. “I like you, so, I’ll see what I can do. But we’ve had an emergency with one of the fabrics and are getting on a plane to India.”
Fucking India? “Gigi—”
“They’re calling my flight, I gotta go. Keep your phone nearby. I’ll call as soon as I convince him.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hop sat on the roof of his building watching the snow fall over the sleeping city. Somewhere down there, Rafe was probably drinking whiskey and toasting to his success. Somewhere down there, Roland was hearing about Hop’s appearance at Switch. Somewhere down there his mother slept.
He was glad he was up here instead of down there.
Up here, no one could see his tears. Up here, no one could hear him cry. Up here, no one would know how much pain he was in.
It was better that way.
Right when he was about to let go of everything holding him back and reach for his dream, it’d vanished in front of his eyes like a magic trick. It made him wonder if those feelings had been an illusion created by the act of submitting to the skilled hand of a seasoned Dom.
But his love for Rafe was real.
Even now, surrounded by the grays and blacks of cold metal, snow and the night sky, it beat in his core like an eternal drum sending light and color into Hop’s broken parts.
Every pounding pulse hurt like a fresh wound, but he embraced it like he had his nature. This, too, was who he was now, who he’d be for the rest of his life.
Rafe’s submissive.
Somehow he had to learn how to go on, knowing he’d never have the privilege of kneeling again. He’d never hear Rafe purr the words “That’s a good pet” into his ear. He’d never again know the empowerment that came from yielding to Rafe’s will.
He’d be alone.
Compared to losing Rafe, loneliness was nothing.
No one could comfort him. This was something he had to get through on his own. They didn’t know what it’d been like. They could never know the bliss of surrender. They would never live with the pleasure/pain of palm prints on their flesh or revel in their lover’s mark and the freedom of ownership. Not the way he did. Without it, he felt like he was adrift.
They’d never get it, this devotion, this certainty.
There was no explaining the unexplainable.
Just when he’d finally come to embrace his nature, he was forced to give up the one person who made him feel a little more alive and a lot less lost. And still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret anything, not one moment with Rafe, because he’d learned to breathe through the chaos and live in the fires of his own mind.
He looked into the darkness at the floating snowflakes and gathered the loneliness around him as if it were a blanket that could keep him warm. He’d embrace that too.
He’d take it all.
It was the only thing he could do when every breath was torn from his lungs like shards of glass and the pain of loss was almost more than he could stand. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the pain was another way he could serve Rafe. Only that made it bearable.
He shouted into the night, at his father and Malcolm and the world of the rich and powerful. His body shook with the force of his sorrow until he thought he might break apart and scatter in the wind like the snow.
And when he was all out of tears and his stomach ached from anguish and his throat was ra
w from mourning, he picked himself up.
He wiped his face and tightened his scarf and remembered that he was stronger because of his vulnerability. He was the boldest and bravest and he shone with colors no one else could see.
* * *
“Go home, Rafe,” Mark said.
“Can’t.” He’d gone to his apartment for an hour yesterday, but every surface had reminded him of Hop. So he’d come back to the office. He’d tried to sleep on the couch, but that had gone about as well as one might expect of a full-size man on a sample-size sofa. He’d given up on rest anyway because his mind wouldn’t stop racing.
There were far too many problems he needed to solve. It was better if he buried himself in work, at least he could do something about those issues.
“You aren’t doing anyone any favors by killing yourself with a million paper cuts.” Mark began shuffling the papers on Rafe’s desk, piling them to the side and clearing the uncharacteristic mess Rafe had created over the past few days.
“Don’t ruin my organization.” Rafe made a grab for his charts, and the whole bundle fluttered to the ground.
“What organization?”
“Damn it. I had them all arranged.” Rafe lowered to the floor to gather the sheets, sorting them as he did.
“Boss, you said Prince was spooked by Malcolm. You can clear it up. Why are you freaking out?”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“Uh, sure, that’s why you’re mumbling to yourself and look like a zombie?”
Rafe sat on his heels. “Aren’t there any fucking phones in fucking India?”
“This has nothing to do with the launch party, does it?”
One of his budget lists was in the wrong pile, but Rafe didn’t move it. He stared at the numbers as they blurred. “I just want to forget for one fucking second. I need to forget or I’ll go mad with wanting him.”
“So go mad.”
Rafe shook his head. “What good would that do?”
Mad & Marvelous Page 24
