Beg

by Piper Scott

  Eric was calling.

  Marcus left the closet to pick up his phone from where he’d left it on the bedside table to charge. With a deep breath, he cleared thoughts of his evening from his mind and drew himself back into the mindset he visited The Shepherd to escape.

  “Good evening, Eric,” Marcus said stiffly. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing is the matter.” Eric tried to keep the enthusiasm from his voice, but Marcus heard it through the professional rigidity of his words. “In fact, I’m calling because I have fantastic news.”

  “Which is?” Marcus undid the top button of his shirt. He took the phone from his ear to gauge the charge level, then unplugged it from the charger. With the phone restored to his ear, he started to pace.

  “I’m in talks with a big client. We’re talking a seven-figure contract.”

  “Low sevens?”

  “High sevens.” Eric’s voice curled with smug delight. “They’re going into appeals. The case has been dragging through the system for almost a year now, on and off. The verdict was just passed, but the client isn’t giving up. He’s looking to shed his old defense team and bring on someone new.”

  “Someone like us,” Marcus said. He found himself in the living room, overlooking the city through his windows.

  “Exactly.” Eric cleared his throat. “I’m working out the details, but before we finalize anything, I wanted to make sure that you’re interested in taking it on personally. We could appoint any one of our team to the case, but I want to make sure this thing drops so smoothly it doesn’t even make a splash.”

  “And you don’t think you could take it on?” Marcus asked. He paced from the living room into the kitchen and looked at himself in the reflection of the microwave door. Housekeeping kept the condo spotless.

  Eric chuckled. “I’m man enough to admit that you’re the better attorney. If we’re looking at a payoff this big, we need the best man for the job on the case. That man is you.”

  “I’ll clear out my schedule.” Marcus’ brow was furrowed. It wasn’t until he saw it so tightly drawn in his reflection that he realized he was emoting at all. Dissatisfied with how he looked, he stepped away from the microwave and made his way back into the bedroom. “When should I expect it to hit?”

  “A month or two. You know how the appeals process is.”

  “I do.”

  “It’s going to be a shit-ton of work.”

  “I know.” But if Eric wasn’t bullshitting him, the work would be worth it. High seven figures. It would be enough to pay off their legal team for the rest of the year while still generously padding Marcus’ savings.

  Whoever the client was, he had to be in deep shit to be willing to fork over that much money on a criminal defense team. A celebrity, Marcus imagined. He’d worked with the rich and the famous before, and he knew what to expect. The headache would be worth the payout.

  “Do you have any information on the nature of the crime?” Marcus asked. “Manslaughter, grand larceny, trafficking…?”

  “I’m not at leisure to disclose that information right now, not until I get the contract signed and we seal the deal. When the case hits your desk, you’ll know. It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. If I didn’t think you could do it, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  Marcus knew that he wouldn’t. Eric didn’t spare feelings. If he thought that Marcus wasn’t a good fit for the case, he would have found someone who was, just as Marcus would have done in his shoes.

  “I’m going to let you go. I have another call coming in,” Eric said. “Just wanted to get your go-ahead.”

  “You have it. Let me know if anything changes.”

  “I will,” Eric promised. “Have a good weekend, Marcus.”

  “You too.”

  The call ended. Marcus set the phone down, taking a second to let his professional facade slip away. In light of the news he’d just received, seeing tonight through felt more important than ever.

  There was time for one last game before Marcus put his nose down and got to work.

  He would make it count.

  9

  Lucian

  It came as no surprise when Marcus Hayes settled on one of Lucian’s bar stools, folded his arms on the counter, and quirked one corner of his lips. Lucian saw him from the corner of his eye as he fed a pint glass beneath the tap and poured beer for a client, but didn’t acknowledge him just yet.

  No matter what his heat told him, he wasn’t interested.

  Lucian delivered the beer he’d poured, then made his way back down the bar and stood in front of Marcus. His eyes traced along Marcus’ arms, over his shoulder, and finally to his face. Marcus returned his gaze, a cunning kind of interest in his eyes that stirred Lucian in a way he’d never been stirred before.

  It had to be the heat. It had to be.

  “You’re still here,” Marcus remarked as though he was surprised.

  “Where did you think I’d be?” Lucian asked.

  Marcus shrugged a single shoulder, mischief sharpening his gaze. The look in his eyes lit Lucian on fire, and he clenched his legs as he grew slick. Suppression medication was a godsend, but not even it could block out all the biological consequences of a full heat.

  Marcus’ lower lip parted, the points of his teeth gleaming in the light. The mischief in his eyes softened, diluted by primal forces. Lucian recognized the look well—Marcus had smelled his heat.

  “At home with your boyfriend,” Marcus replied. He blinked, and the primitive look was wiped away. Lucian couldn’t remember a time he’d seen an alpha shake off his innate arousal so easily before. “I can’t imagine he likes the thought of you working in a place like this when you could be home with him.”

  There was no doubt in Lucian’s mind that Marcus smelled his heat. He’d seen the desire in Marcus’ eyes as easily as he witnessed the change in Marcus’ posture. He sat a little taller and held himself a little wider, like his physical size alone would be enough to convince Lucian to go home with him. But despite Marcus’ posturing, he didn’t mention Lucian’s heat, and Lucian wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “He doesn’t have much of a say in what I do.” Lucian drew a lowball glass from beneath the counter. Three whiskey stones clinked against the bottom of the glass, but Lucian still didn’t break eye contact. “I do what I want. I’m not the kind of guy who lets an imaginary boyfriend run my life.”

  The other corner of Marcus’ lip lifted, and he grinned in full. “I can see why Clarissa brought you on.”

  “Is she in the habit of hiring men with imaginary boyfriends?”

  “No.” Marcus grinned. “Because you’re a week into your job and you already know my order by heart.”

  Lucian’s heart skipped a beat, and he found himself unable to look away from Marcus’ eyes. The lust he’d seen in Marcus’ expression hadn’t disappeared like he’d originally thought—it had leeched into the air. Lucian felt it stretch his lungs and pad his skin, intoxicating him.

  It was the heat. It was the heat. It was the heat.

  “Some men are more memorable than others,” Lucian remarked when he’d regained himself. The lust didn’t only affect his body—it stuffed his thoughts and slowed his wits. “I guess you made the cut.”

  “I’m the kind of man you will never forget.” Marcus’ words sank straight through Lucian and filled him deep, and for a delirious moment, he considered leaning across the bar to see what other delights he could chase from Marcus’ lips. Before he gave in, he turned and pulled the Knob Creek bourbon from the back shelf. Marcus eyed him from behind, and Lucian spent longer than he should have with his back turned, adjusting to the feeling of being watched while he fitted the pour spout onto the bottle.

  Lucian knew what it felt like to be ogled. But Marcus? Marcus didn’t look at him with savage lust or crude intent. Marcus looked at him like he was a person—like they were equals—and that spoke to Lucian on a level he’d never before acknowledged.

  W
hen Lucian turned, his head was still fuzzy, but his tongue was ready with an answer. “And if you’re at The Shepherd chatting up the bartender instead of looking for companionship, I guess this is the kind of night you hope you’ll never remember.”

  Marcus laughed. He leaned forward on his elbows, his hands braced on his forearms. Lucian did his best not to look too long into his dark eyes. “I don’t think all the alcohol on the back wall could make me forget tonight.”

  “Why’s that?” Lucian tipped the bottle and poured the shot in front of Marcus. He watched the amber liquid spill forth, but beyond it, all he saw was the man with the burning gaze.

  “Because you remembered me.” Marcus’ mouth curled with impish delight. “The least I could do is remember you back.”

  Lucian righted the bottle. He returned the bourbon to the shelf, glad for the excuse to turn away. His cheeks burned. Despite the dim lights, he was sure that he looked every bit as flustered as he felt.

  Mindless sex was one thing, but this? This was a creature all on its own, and while Lucian recognized what was going on, he didn’t have the experience necessary to tame the way it made him feel.

  His heat sure as shit wasn’t helping.

  “Where’s Clarissa tonight?” Marcus asked when there was silence. “I’m not used to a night at The Shepherd without her.”

  “She’s taking her break before the rush hits,” Lucian said. He kept watch on Marcus from the corner of his eye as he scrubbed down the back counter. It was in a perpetual state of sticky that not even Clarissa’s excessive cleanliness could remedy for long. “She’ll be back soon.”

  “I was hoping you might say that.”

  “Why?” Lucian looked over his shoulder, brows knit in confusion. That wasn’t the kind of response he’d been expecting.

  Marcus lifted his glass and drained the rest of his bourbon. When he set the glass back down, he leaned back. The lights shone on his bourbon-wetted lips. “Because it’d be a shame for you to be stuck behind the counter all night when I’m sitting all the way over there, desperately in need of another drink.”

  Every word Marcus said, he said with cool confidence that Lucian couldn’t hope to match. There was electricity between them, a stunning kind of back-and-forth that flooded Lucian’s senses and astonished him with its intensity.

  Tongue too heavy to reply, Lucian met Marcus’ eye a final time. Marcus held his gaze for a prolonged moment—long enough for the tension between them to swell—before he stood and crossed the bar as though nothing at all had happened between them.

  Lucian knew better than that. Something had happened, and the erratic beating of his heart would never let him forget it.

  “Can you bus booth five, Lucian?” Clarissa struck a match. Flame burst into life, and she exposed it to the top of the shot she’d just prepared. The young man across from her—Adrian—grinned at the alpha he’d dragged along to the bar.

  “Booth five?” Lucian looked across the room. Booth five was where Marcus had been sitting. Lucian had been ferrying drinks to him all night, but now the booth was empty. “I… yeah. I’m on it.”

  “Thanks.” She was already on to pouring the next order. “And when you get back, I’ll have the drink order for table three ready.”

  “Got it,” Lucian said, but he was only half-listening. He studied the empty booth across the room with confusion. He’d been watching on and off throughout the night, waiting to see if he could catch Marcus looking his way.

  He hadn’t.

  And now, out of the blue, Marcus was gone.

  Lucian wasn’t sure if he was misreading the signs, or if his heat left him more vulnerable and confused than normal. It was only his second heat since his liberation from The White Lotus, and his first heat since he’d left Stonecrest. The chance that he was projecting his desires for Marcus into their conversation was very real.

  The Shepherd was a kink club, after all. A little harmless flirting was to be expected.

  “Lucian?” Clarissa asked.

  Lucian snapped out of his thoughts. “I’m on it.”

  It was a quick trip across the bar to booth five. Lucian wiped the table down quickly and plucked Marcus’ glass from its coaster. He was about to turn and go when a flash of white caught his eye.

  There was a piece of paper adhered to the bottom of Marcus’ lowball glass.

  Lucian set the rag down. He looked nervously over his shoulder in Clarissa’s direction to find her too busy with a sudden influx of patrons to be paying any attention to him. Safe from her knowing gaze, Lucian freed the paper from the bottom of the glass. It was folded into a perfect square. A crescent-shaped wet mark discolored it.

  Lucian set the glass down and opened the paper. Inside, in precise handwriting, was a string of ten digits separated by two dashes.

  A phone number.

  The only other marking was a stylized M.

  There was no doubt what that number meant, or who it was destined for. Lucian stole another glance over his shoulder, expecting to find Clarissa looming right behind him, but she was just as busy with her clients as she had been moments before.

  Hurriedly, Lucian folded the paper up and slipped it into his back pocket. Excitement, dangerous in its intensity, swelled in the dip of his throat and threatened to choke him with its enormity.

  The power of ‘no’ was intoxicating, but the thrill that came from ‘yes’ was even more alluring.

  10

  Marcus

  Friday night came and went. Saturday turned into Sunday. Monday passed by at a crawl. By the time Marcus arrived back home from the office late Monday afternoon, he still hadn’t heard from the omega behind the bar. He was starting to believe he never would.

  Not all attraction was reciprocated. Marcus had courted submissives who’d rejected his advances or who were otherwise uninterested in him. It had never bothered him before. But Clarissa’s boy wasn’t like other submissives, and he never would be.

  Marcus loosened the knot of his tie as he made his way toward the kitchen. The soles of his polished dress shoes rang upon the kitchen tile, marking his way forward. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and pushed the rim beneath the ice dispenser on the fridge. Ice cubes jingled as they made their descent, the crisp, bright notes breaking the silence. Marcus rested his forehead against the cold fridge door and focused on the sound, but not even the ice cubes were loud enough to mask the beep of Marcus’ phone as it received a new message from an unknown number.

  Marcus opened his eyes. He set the glass down and drew his phone from his pocket, hoping against hope that it was who he thought it was.

  Is this Marcus Hays?

  Hayes, but yes, this is he.

  Marcus picked up his glass as the message sent, filling it with water from the filter tap on the fridge door. When it was partially full, he set it aside again and checked on the status of the message. It had been delivered and read. The speech bubble at the bottom of the screen showed that his recipient was responding.

  There was a chance that it was a client. Marcus received texts from unknown numbers often—the clients who had the funds to afford to hire criminal defense teams from his practice had the money to afford to track down his personal number. Still, he had hope that it wasn’t work. The growing excitement behind his ribs promised something greater.

  *Hayes, sorry. im not the best speller but im still gonna blame autocorrrect. ;)

  Marcus carried his glass from the kitchen to the couch. He set it on the side table, then settled on the plush cushions and worked his shoes off with his heels one by one. While he did, he composed a reply.

  And who is it that I have the pleasure of writing to?

  The speech bubble appeared at the bottom right corner of the conversation seconds later. Marcus undid the top button of his shirt as he waited, then the next. Before his fingers arrived at the third button, he had his reply.

  Someone u’ll never forget.

  A grin, wide and unconstrained by propriety,
spread Marcus’ lips. He leaned back against the arm of his couch, tenting his legs as he settled.

  You’re still not going to tell me your name?

  No.

  How am I supposed to save your contact information in my phone?

  There was a pause. Marcus worked his tie over his head and cast it over the opposite arm of the couch. The drab, diagonal gray stripes suited the leather.

  You can save my initials.

  Which are?

  L. B.

  Marcus’ grin grew. He reached for his water and took a sip. The ice had chilled it, and the cold lined his esophagus during its descent.

  What prompted you to text me? Marcus asked. He set the glass down.

  I was wondering if u drink Knob Creek all the time, or only on the weekends.

  Only on the weekends. I like to keep my mouth busy with other things during the week.

  Things like what?

  Marcus bit down on a smirk. Flirting with L was too easy. He’d never flowed so well with someone before.

  You have to come see me to find out.

  im not licensed for house calls. Sorry. :P

  God, did Marcus want him. Restless, he rose. On his way to the bedroom he contemplated his response, but L beat him to it. By the time Marcus settled on the side of his bed, a new message waited for him.

  U no that u shouldn’t be messaging me, don’t u?

  Why not? Marcus wrote back. Is your boyfriend going to be upset you’re talking to someone?

  No. I told u, I don’t have one. What I mean is, its against the rules.

  At The Shepherd, maybe. But we’re not in The Shepherd, are we?

  No. We’re not.

  Marcus removed his socks. Upon careful coaxing from his fingers, the last buttons on his dress shirt parted from their buttonholes. He guided the shirt down his shoulders. The cool air in his condo hardened his nipples, but the goosebumps down his arms weren’t brought on by temperature alone. Even over the phone, his body responded in a visceral way to L. The memory of L’s heat, as subdued and suppressed as it was, made its way back to the forefront of Marcus’ mind. He breathed it in deep as he closed his eyes.