Hard Justice: The Asylum Fight Club Book 3

by Bianca Sommerland

  He tried to take the compliment and mostly managed. “It was about sixty hours of rehearsals.”

  Reed shook his head, curls tousling around his shoulders. “I don’t care how much I practiced. I’d never be able to move like that.”

  Now that Jamie didn’t buy. The guy could move. Still, seeing was believing, so he’d just have to show Reed what a little practice could accomplish alongside Reed’s natural talent.

  “Hey, how about I teach you that whole routine in exchange for what you’ve been teaching me here?”

  Long lashes blinked, Reed’s face going soft with anticipation. “You’d do that?”

  “It’ll be fun.” He lined up, side by side with Reed, letting his leg bounce in time to the music, fingers snapping. “This song is almost right, but we’ll need—” He cut himself off, realizing they would need to use the Glam song the routine had been set to if he wanted to do this right. “Fuck it. Sure. I might as well get used to hearing the song. I can’t avoid it for the rest of my life.”

  Curtis coughed at his curse but didn’t say anything. Jamie shot him a grateful glance. “Do you think you could…”

  “If either of you does more than shake your asses while I go get the sound system remote, I’m pulling Noah in here to deal with you.”

  Reed grinned, winking at Jamie. “Nah. Noah wouldn’t touch me.”

  “Maybe not, brat.” Curtis’s eyes narrowed, though his lips twitched. “But he’d have a few ideas on how I should handle you.”

  “Hm.” That got Reed’s attention. He turned to Jamie, wriggling his ass suggestively. “Think you can manage to keep your hands off me while he’s gone?”

  “Reed…”

  “Sorry!”

  Jamie laughed—really laughed—for the first time in so long the sound felt foreign on his lips. But so damned good.

  An hour and a half of dance practice left Jamie exhausted, but in a good way. He hadn’t worked out like that in a while. Reed and he had the first quarter of the routine down, the synchronicity of movement and music creating a bond Jamie hadn’t known was possible with anyone besides Trevor and Danny. The man had a natural sparkle that made him fun to be around. Easy. Like breathing.

  “This place needs a dance floor.” Looking around before he left the gym, he paused, Reed behind him. “Is there one tucked away somewhere?”

  “No…” Reed followed his gaze to toward the back of the gym where he knew, from the tour Wren had given him, a larger empty room lurked. Dirty and filled with old machinery from when the place had been a molasses factory. “But there could be.”

  Jamie grinned. Yeah. Maybe if he gave something back to this place, it’d help. Even if it didn’t, he needed to do something besides obsess over the Glam situation. “Who do we ask?”

  Licking his lips, Reed frowned. Shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s not like we can get that kind of thing past everyone as a surprise. But, let me think about it. I wouldn’t want Noah and Lawson to say no just because they’re worried about the upkeep or something.”

  “Hm.” If it was a question of money, he had more than enough.

  He opened his mouth to say so, but Wren came down the stairs into the bar looking around, and he realized he was late for his appointment. His stomach sank.

  Shit.

  Time to read that fucking contract.

  “Hey.” He called to Wren, who turned and smiled. Tilted his head toward one of the tables, holding up the packet of forms.

  Jamie sighed, following. They sat across from each other and Wren pushed the first page to him. He bent over it, forearms on the table, and squinted, sounding out each individual letter in his head.

  The bar was empty, Reed having gone up to shower. Lawson was getting the dungeon ready for the Wednesday night crowd. Noah was in the office, the door shut. Curtis was out for a ride to Noah’s mom’s. Tracey needed some errands run and he wanted to talk to her about something. Thank fuck Doc had crawled off to whatever hole vampires lived in during the daylight.

  Jamie studied the page long enough that he figured Wren would believe he’d read it and looked up, smiling. “Next?”

  A frown marring his brow, Wren tilted his head. Tapped at a number on the page. “What is the dress code for submissives in the dungeon?”

  Glancing down at the spot where Wren’s finger pointed, he squinted at the jumble of letters. Made out shirt and a few longer words he guessed were probably submissive and underwear.

  “Um.” He swallowed. Hell, winging it had always worked with his studio teachers. “Submissives will go shirtless without underwear?”

  Wren’s finger curled away from the text, dragging across the paper. Jamie met his eyes and blushed hard.

  Lips parted, Wren cleared his throat and looked toward the office door.

  “Shit. Please don’t tell him.” Jamie’s right nostril stung on his burning inhale. “I just…”

  Reaching out, Wren covered his hand. “It’s okay. I’ll help you. He doesn’t need to know.”

  Jamie nodded, blinking fast. “Thanks. I mean, he already thinks I’m enough of an idiot.”

  Wren’s fingers tightened, comforting him. “He doesn’t think that.”

  Ironic laughter fell from his lips. Noah had been closed up behind that office door, behind his bedroom door, in the dungeon for three days. Anywhere but with him. The one time he’d tried to go to the man’s bed, to at least touch him even if he couldn’t talk to him, Wren had tried to follow him there.

  “Dude, what are you doing?” Jamie looked behind him, hand on the knob to Noah’s bedroom door. “I mean, I can do poly, but I didn’t think you two had that kind of relationship.”

  Wren laughed. “Sorry. No. I mean we did in prison, but that was before...”

  Jamie nodded, understanding. That would be difficult, being on the inside and having no one to comfort you. He imagined Wren and Noah had needed each other like that then, even if things were different now.

  “Sorry. I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight, and he was pretty clear when he said, ‘From now on, if he chooses to come back here, he will stay in the study’.”

  Wren had given him a small, sympathetic smile as he’d turned away from the door, giving it a longing look. He hadn’t tried again, and Noah, while kind, hadn’t done more than say ‘good morning’ since Monday. Curtis had told him he and Matt were giving the man reports on his progress.

  “He—” Shaking his head, he backed the hell away from the statement he’d been about to make.

  “What were you going to say?” Wren tilted his head.

  Jamie glanced toward the stairs. “Do you ever envy Curtis and Reed?”

  Taking off his glasses, Wren looked down, polishing the lenses with his shirt. “Yes. But they didn’t always have it easy. When I first got here, I thought Reed would never speak to Curtis again.”

  “Wow.” Settling back into his seat, Jamie shook his head. “They’re different, but not. Like, they both have a sense of humor, only Curtis has an edge. It’s hot as fuck.”

  “Ugh. Stop swearing.” Wren shoved his glasses on his face.

  Jamie expelled a breath. “You know, everyone else here drops an f-bomb a minute. I don’t get it. Do I have to earn some kind of BDSM Profanity Badge?”

  “You want to earn Noah’s respect, and he doesn’t like his submissives to swear. Ever. Different Dom, different standards.”

  Thinking of Reed and Curtis, that night he’d gotten his ass caned, how easily their dominance and submission flowed, power lines so clear they sang, he tried to understand. He wasn’t Noah’s boy. Why did it matter if he swore or not?

  Jamie groaned. “How often do I have to say it? I’m not his fucking submissive.”

  “Could you just be satisfied with not earning any punishments? You’ve been doing well.” Wren straightened the papers on the table, collecting them into the folder he’d brought them in. “You know, if you want a Dom, he’ll find you one.”

  A kick in the ch
est couldn’t have driven the air from his lungs any faster. The idea of anyone else’s hands on his skin made him shrink in on himself.

  “I don’t want another Dom,” he whispered the admission. “And don’t you fucking ever tell him a word of this. I don’t care if he threatens to pull out your fingernails.”

  He just wanted what they’d had that one night. That one time.

  God, was it only four...five days ago?

  But either Noah was a one-night-stand kind of guy and Jamie had misread the sitch. Or, more likely, he hadn’t lived up to the man’s high standards.

  “I promise.” Wren’s gaze held a hint of pity. “It’s not unusual to feel that way you know. That first bond is intense. He’s not the only one who can give you what you need.”

  Twisting his hands in his lap, Jamie studied the nearly faded bruises around his wrists. Marks Noah had left on his skin.

  One side of his mouth kicked up, an ironic twist. “You think there’s another hit of a drug that intense out there? Because I’m addicted enough already that huffing something else might kill me.”

  A shadow fell over the table, Noah’s hands coming down as he bent low. All of the air left Jamie’s world at the expression on the man’s face. The one where that vein leapt in his temple and his eyes were flat, though a smile lit his lips like there was no threat.

  Which was the biggest threat of all.

  “Which drug are you on?” Noah’s question cut across him like the cane, flaying him open.

  Oh shit.

  Well, he supposed it could have been worse. The man could have walked in earlier and realized the statement had been about him. Casting Wren a quelling look, he took in the sub’s guilty expression. The man looked ready to crawl under the table.

  “I’m...not.” He wouldn’t lie, but it didn’t mean he had to tell him everything. He’d rather get thrown out than let Noah know he’d gone all ga-ga over him.

  “Explain.”

  Swallowing hard, he wished something about this kind of situation had been in the contract. Except the thing would’ve had to be four hundred pages long, and he couldn't even manage to read one.

  “I’m sorry.” His gaze skipped to Wren, and Noah snapped his fingers, bringing his attention back to his face. “I can’t.”

  “Then go to your room. I’ll have Doc bring up the drug test. I should’ve done this days ago.” Noah straightened and shook his head. “There’s nothing else to discuss.”

  Chin coming up, Jamie stood. “You’re going to apologize to me when this is over.”

  “Careful, little cat. I’m not playing with you.”

  Moving past Noah, needing to get the fuck out of the bar before he spilled his guts all over the man’s shoes, he threw his parting shot. “Color me shocked.”

  Upstairs, he slammed into the study-come-bedroom Wren had set up for him. A fairly plush cot, a small table, a dresser, and a full-length mirror. More than enough comfort for someone who wouldn’t be in the man’s life long.

  He fisted his hands, facing the wall, his head tipped against the cool surface, and waited for his second visit from Doc that day. The man would be fucking delighted.

  Leave.

  The notion he could walk out the door and not come back whispered through his brain. He shook his head. No. He’d meant it when he’d said Noah had become more important to him than that. Sure, he was pissed, and maybe it was just the giant void in his life after Glam’s bust-up, but he didn’t want to leave the first real thing he’d ever found, even if he couldn’t have it again. He wanted to follow the thread to the end, even if it was off a cliff.

  Behind him the door opened and closed. He tensed, started to turn, but firm fingers pressed between his shoulder blades. “Oh, no. I like you just like that.”

  His jaw worked, but he managed not to speak. At least he could follow some orders. It helped that he really didn’t want to talk to this man.

  “Take this and give me a urine sample.” A plastic jar pressed into his fingers.

  This, he knew how to do. Had been doing for labels and studios for a long time. Sure, there were ways to circumvent the tests, but he’d never had to before, and he didn’t need to now.

  Unzipping, he pulled out his dick and produced the required amount. Handed the jar to Doc, and tucked himself away. Doc leaned in, screwing the lid on the jar. “I’d say good boy but we both know that’s not true.”

  Jamie breathed in sharp, tempted to turn and give the man a piece of his mind.

  “Stay like that. I’ll be back.”

  Blinking, he listened as Doc left and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t sure why, but the order to remain where he stood was a comfort. It gave him a center and focus he’d lacked before the man had taken the time to issue the directions. His world became the wall, his feet, and the wood floor beneath his shoes. Each breath followed the previous one until he floated away, losing track of time... Track of himself.

  Paranoia licked at him, insidious, after a while when no one came for him. Wouldn’t it be his luck if somehow Doc switched the urine sample for something with cocaine or heroin in the mix? He rolled his forehead against the wall and rubbed his sore nose lightly with the back of his hand. His shoulders twitched with the urge to turn around. Good thing he didn’t, because the door opened as Doc returned. He waited, Doc standing behind him, and tried to re-center his breaths. Except now the bubble had broken, it didn’t want to return.

  A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, warmer than Doc’s, nudging him to turn. Noah stared down at him, expression unreadable as he studied his face. Gray eyes darkened, that hand he’d missed coming up to caress his throat. He lengthened his neck and tipped his head back against the wall, sighing into his anchor point.

  Noah blinked and the truth tumbled into his gaze. He knew. Likely had broken open Wren’s resistance like a birthday piñata until the man had spilled Jamie’s secrets on the barroom floor.

  Giving the Dom the courtesy of his lowered gaze, he tried not to let the sinking feeling in his middle ruin the high of the man’s hand at his throat. “I’m not as pathetic as this usually. I swear.”

  And he wasn’t. He might sing about hearts and flowers, but it had been a long time, if ever, since he’d believed in what he sold. Except with Noah, he wanted so bad for the fantasy to be reality.

  Not some glam sham.

  “Why?” Noah caressed his jugular with one thumb.

  His gaze skated away. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to avoid me even more than you already do.”

  “Keep going.” The caress continued, a hypnotic sweep.

  “You’re the first—” He searched for what he meant, the concept so foreign he wasn’t sure even he understood it. “You pay attention. You see me. You’re real. I don’t feel like you want to use me up and throw me away.” Choking on the last part, he forced himself to inhale deep and get a hold of himself. “I trust you... but I’m not the kind of guy you’d go for, and even if I was, I fucked up everything. So you can’t be seen with me in the bar. And now you don’t even—” He shook his head.

  “Finish.”

  His voice fell to a whisper. “You don’t even want me in your bed.”

  Chapter Eight

  Finished with the first of dozens of ledgers he’d have to go through to catch up on the business side of the club, Noah searched for Lawson to offer a compromise. When it came to the office in any case. The man’s work was flawless and he should be allowed to remain in control of The Asylum’s accounts. That he’d excelled in the task wasn’t surprising, but he should hear it from Noah—even if he didn’t need that kind of praise anymore.

  He stepped into the bar, his blood running cold as the conversation he’d walked in on between Jamie and Wren registered.

  “You think there’s another hit of a drug that intense out there? Because I’m addicted enough already that huffing something else might kill me.”

  How fucking arrogant did Noah have to be to think he could te
ll Jamie didn’t use by simply looking at him? How many times had he stood in front of his students and lectured them about health. About the dangers of substance abuse. Eyes that looked up at him with so much admiration, every single one of them so eager to gain his approval, convinced him that his kids would be safe. They were dedicated. They had so much to live for.

  None of that had meant a damn thing when little Andrew Gardner’s mother called, in a panic because Andrew was having a seizure. Noah made it before the ambulance. Andrew had gone still and Noah did CPR, hoping to buy the boy the precious time that would be needed to save his life. The teen who’d been so excited to show off high kicks and had taken home his first medal had gone to a party at a neighbor’s house.

  His last.

  Doing his best to remain calm, taking in the redness of Jamie’s eyes and his swollen nose—something else for him to inform himself of—Noah waited for an explanation from Jamie and got nothing. He couldn’t fucking do this again. He’d wanted to show he trusted Jamie’s word when the news had come out about the band’s breakup, but that had been foolish. Jamie would take the damn test, then… Then rehab. Therapy. He wouldn’t risk Jamie’s health by trying to fix this himself.

  After Jamie stormed off, Noah sent Jared a text with the request to administer the test. Then turned to Wren, who visibly shrank in his seat.

  “This isn’t a joke, Wren.” Noah pulled out the chair Jamie had abandoned and sat hard, suddenly exhausted. “What is he on? Has he been keeping drugs in my fucking house?”

  Wren winced, quickly shaking his head. “No, he doesn’t know how to do his own laundry and I would’ve seen if he had anything. Besides, we weren’t talking about drugs, I swear.”

  Noah leaned back in his chair. “Then what were you talking about?”

  “That he struggles a bit...with…” Wren’s jaw tightened. “Noah, I promised I wouldn’t—”

  “Don’t make me ask again. You’ll answer all my questions if I have to bring you to the dungeon and do what I did to your hands to every inch of you until you start singing, boy.” Noah lowered his voice, knowing he was dangerously close to losing his cool. “Is he getting high off of something else? Paint thinner? Glue?”