by S W Vaughn
“Hell, no. You did the right thing.” He pulled on a smile. “Trust me, I never liked him. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Her expression relaxed. “Me, too,” she said. “Come on, he’s right over here.”
Roman surrendered and followed her through the crowd. The closer he got to Stone, the sicker he felt. Damn it, he had to get himself under control. His nails dug harder, until finally he felt them break skin.
That helped.
By the time they reached the implacable bastard, he was breathing evenly. He’d handle this somehow. Stone noticed Kat first, and something like a smile twitched across his lips. Then his gaze found Roman.
No reaction. Maybe he’d get lucky and Stone would ignore him.
“Well, here we all are.” If Kat noticed any tension in the air, she wasn’t acknowledging it. “Ozzy Stone, this is—”
“Roman Blade,” the big man growled.
Damn it.
“Oh, you remember me. I feel honored.” Roman sneered. So much for handling this.
Stone’s glare drilled into him. “The hell are you doing here?”
“I was here first. You’re the one who—”
“Boys!”
The sharp word from Kat silenced them both. Roman coughed and looked at the floor, but from the corner of his eye he caught Stone still glaring at him. Apparently the son of a bitch had no remorse to make up for his lack of conscience.
Kat sighed loudly. “I’m not sure I want to know what’s going on here,” she said. “If y’all don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But I need some reassurance that you can work together.” She looked at each of them in turn. “I like you both. Don’t make me choose.”
Christ. If he had to swallow much more of his pride, he’d choke on it. “I’m fine with it,” Roman said. “If he is.”
Stone took his time responding. At last he said, “Fine.”
Then he held out a hand.
Roman stared at it and fought to keep the revulsion from showing. It was hard enough dealing with contact from people he tolerated. If Stone touched him, he’d lose it.
“Roman doesn’t shake hands.”
Kat’s soft statement filled him with relief, and he almost laughed at Stone’s expression as he lowered his arm. The light dawns. That’s right, asshole. Kat actually likes me.
It was a distinction few other people held, but he’d learned to live with that.
“Okay,” he said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I don’t have much to report, so we can do this right here if you want. That way he doesn’t have to leave the floor. Work for you?”
Kat smiled. “Shoot.”
“All right. I’ve got one flag for you, and one note.” He’d actually flagged two things. But since one of them was Stone, and Kat was already committed to keeping him around, he’d leave it out for now. “Couple of frat-boy douchebag types were sniffing around Teryn pretty hard last night, just before close. Whatever they wanted, she’d turned them away a few times. But then she got interested for some reason.” He handed the paper to Kat. “That’s them,” he said. “I emailed you a still shot, too. I’d keep an eye out.”
She unfolded the printout and frowned. “I don’t think I’ve seen them before.” After she looked another minute, she passed it over to Stone. “Ozzy, watch for these guys,” she said. “If they bother Teryn even a little, show them the door.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“See how this works? I knew we’d make a good team.” Kat nodded toward Roman. “What about the note?”
“The older guy I mentioned last week, the one who looked familiar,” he said. “He was here again last night, so I dug around on him. Name’s David Corvair. He’s the CEO of MacroCon—a huge tech firm. They work almost exclusively on government contracts.”
“So you’re saying I should introduce myself.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I guess I’d better break out my party dress,” she said with a broad smile. “You two be okay if I leave you alone?”
“Actually, I was going to head downstairs for a bit.” Roman hoped he sounded more casual and confident than he felt. Stone had made it painfully clear years ago what he thought about this part of his life—and damn it, he didn’t want to care. It was none of the bastard’s business. “Do you know if Antonio’s free?”
“Should be. He didn’t have anything scheduled until ten.”
“Thanks, Kat.”
He turned away fast, avoiding Stone’s condemning glare, and headed for the dungeon. It was going to be a long goddamned night.
Chapter 7
If there was one thing Ozzy thought he’d known beyond the shadow of a doubt, it was that he’d never see Roman Blade again. But here he was, the nasty little prick. In his hometown. Working for his new employer.
What an amazing coincidence.
He’d never really understood why Blade rubbed him the wrong way since day one. Ozzy hadn’t warmed to anyone in prison, since they were actual criminals and he wasn’t, but Blade had especially irritated him. Maybe it was the way he never seemed to stop talking. Or the countless times he’d woken in the middle of the night to his cellmate jerking off in the top bunk. Or the sick, abusive videos Blade watched on the phone he’d somehow managed to smuggle in.
Maybe it was just because the man was a weak and pathetic coward.
If there’d been an official prison punching bag, Roman Blade had been it. He was regularly bullied and beaten, and he never did a damned thing to stand up for himself. Eventually Ozzy got sick of it and appointed himself Blade’s personal drill sergeant. The man had gone with it for a while, tagging along to the weight room and struggling through a few sets of reps before pleading exhaustion. Ozzy had even started to respect him a little.
That was before he wound up doing four months in solitary for Blade’s cowardice. When they finally let him out, the little weasel was long gone.
Admittedly, he wasn’t so little any more. Ozzy almost hadn’t recognized him—the scrawny, unremarkable mouse with the wide-eyed stare had put on serious bulk, inked up hard, and grown his hair out. Now he looked like a rock star from hell, right down to the snarling expression and the eyes that burned with rage.
Kat respected him, so that meant Ozzy had to work with him. But he didn’t have to like it.
Dwelling on Blade’s presence here wasn’t helping him focus on his job, so he pushed it out of his mind for now. The club filled steadily, and for the next hour Ozzy circulated through the main room, watching. He established a perimeter after the first few rounds, with regular checks at the front and back doors. It almost felt good to have a routine again.
At about quarter to ten, his new earpiece beeped and a female voice said, “We’ve got a panic alarm going off.”
The voice wasn’t Kat. It took Ozzy a second to find what he hoped was the right button to respond. “Can you hear me?” he said.
“Sure can,” the voice came back. “Panic alarm in room eight. You got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was already headed for the big doors. “Who is this?”
The woman laughed. “I’m Mike. You’re Ozzy, right?”
“Right.”
“Nice to meet you. Room eight.” The earpiece beeped again and fell silent.
Ozzy shook his head as he pulled one of the doors open and headed down the stairs. A woman named Mike. This place definitely had some colorful staff.
He reached the hallway and turned left. He’d noticed earlier that the door numbers went up this way, so room eight would be after room three. He passed the “office” Kat had shown him and found the door marked eight just around the corner of the next hallway.
With card in hand, he hesitated as he realized there was an active…uh, scene going on behind that door. Which he’d be walking right into. It seemed like he should at least knock before he charged in, but Kat had said that guests didn’t get warnings.
He drew a quick breath, swiped the card, and opened the do
or.
In the center of the room was a shirtless man tied to some kind of frame, with his arms stretched up and out. Bright red welts crisscrossed his back. Some of them were bruised along the edges, and some leaked thin streams of blood. Another man stood behind him with a thick strip of leather, and was in the process of bringing it down when the door opened. The impact sounded like thunder. The bound man gasped, then his head dropped forward with a groan.
All of this took seconds that seemed to stretch forever. Ozzy rushed soundlessly into the room and seized the second man’s wrist as he drew back for another blow. He wasn’t sure which one was the guest, but this was the fastest way to stop it.
The man turned his head slowly, making no move to pull free. He raised one eyebrow. “I think you may be early,” he said in careful tones. “Are you my ten o’clock?”
“Antonio?” the bound man rasped. “What’s going on?”
Ozzy let go like the man was on fire and stepped back. Antonio. That was the name Blade mentioned earlier. The one who didn’t have any appointments until ten. So if this was Antonio…
“We seem to have company,” Antonio said.
The man stiffened against the frame. “Who?”
“I’m not sure. Possibly our new security man.”
“Stone.”
The guttural fury in his voice confirmed it was Blade. “There was an alarm,” Ozzy said, with growing certainty that it had been false. “From this room.”
“Well, I didn’t press it. And Roman couldn’t have.” Antonio moved around in front of the bound man, keeping his calm gaze directed at Ozzy. He reached out and stroked Blade’s face gently. “Okay?” he said.
“No.” His shoulders heaved once. “Get me down. Please.”
“All right.” Antonio reached up for one of the buckled straps that held Blade in place. “I think you should leave,” he said to Ozzy. “You’re upsetting our guest.”
“Let him stay,” Blade snapped. “We need to figure out what happened, so it doesn’t fucking happen again.”
Ozzy turned away, wincing when Blade let out a pained grunt. How could anyone take that kind of punishment intentionally? The blow he’d witnessed had drawn fresh blood, and Blade only gasped and waited for the next one.
A thud drew his attention. He looked back to find Blade on his hands and knees, and Antonio crouching next to him with concern. “I did mention that you’d probably had enough,” the man said.
“I decide when I’ve had enough.”
“Of course you do.”
Blade pushed himself to his feet and stood with his back to the door, breathing hard. “My shirt, please.”
As the other man headed across the room, Blade turned slowly and took an unsteady step toward Ozzy. “Did you enjoy watching that, you bastard?”
Whatever response he might’ve offered stuck in his throat when he noticed the thick, curving scars that formed a crude X on the man’s stomach. Those definitely hadn’t been there while they shared a cell.
“Oh, that’s right,” Blade said coldly. “You never got to see the aftermath of your little going-away present.”
“What? I didn’t…”
Just then Antonio stepped up holding a black t-shirt, and Blade snatched it from him. “You can stop staring now,” he said, pulling the shirt roughly over his head. He threaded his arms through and grimaced as he tugged the rest into place. “So, who said there was an alarm in here?”
“Mike.”
“Fine. Let’s go talk to Mike, then.” He stalked to the door and opened it. For an instant his expression relaxed as he looked at the other man. “Thank you, Antonio.”
Antonio nodded. “Always a pleasure.”
“Yeah.” He sighed and switched back to killing mad. “You first, Stone. I don’t trust you at my back.”
Ozzy almost refused. He wanted to know what the hell this going-away present was supposed to be, since the only thing he’d left Blade with was a cell to himself for the last few days before his release, while he rotted in solitary. But he supposed now wasn’t the time to get into that.
He headed for the stairs wondering if he’d been completely wrong about Roman Blade…and almost afraid to find out.
Chapter 8
Halfway up to the main level, Roman’s adrenaline crashed hard.
Yes, he probably should’ve had Antonio stop sooner. But he also should’ve had a good fifteen minutes of recovery time, at least. Instead he’d gone straight from riding the pain to blocking it while he dealt with Stone’s humiliating interruption—and now it was coming back with a vengeance.
His steps slowed to a drag, and every stair seemed a mile high. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Stone he’d catch up in a few when his legs gave out. He reeled and crashed into the railing, managing to grab on before he could fall down the stairs. The world grayed out around him.
Still gripping the rail, he dropped into an awkward crouch and put his head down. His vision bled back slowly. Through it, he made out a hand reaching for him.
He batted it away. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”
Stone said something he couldn’t make out. He decided he didn’t care what it was, and concentrated on gathering enough strength to stand. Eventually everything stopped spinning and he was only in a lot of pain. That, he could handle.
He pulled himself to his feet. “All right,” he said. “Keep going.”
“You sure?”
“Just move it.”
Stone looked like he’d say something more, but he turned and headed up. Roman followed with his teeth clenched. It’d be easier on level ground, provided he could make it that far. He’d already pushed himself further than he’d ever gone tonight.
Finally, they reached the main floor. He waited for Stone to open the door, but the man just stood there staring at him. “Well?” he said. “What do you want, an order? Open the goddamned door, soldier-boy.”
“Blade…I’m sorry.”
Okay. That wasn’t anything he expected to hear. He was shocked enough that he couldn’t come up with a response, not even to ask what the bastard was sorry for. But his question was answered anyway.
“For the interruption.” Stone looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole. “I don’t understand, but…it’s obviously personal. Consensual.”
“You think?” Astonishment gave way to fury that the man would apologize now, for this—but not even acknowledge what happened two years ago. “Look, I know we have to work together,” he said. “But if you feel the urge to speak to me about anything that isn’t work? Just don’t. In fact, you get out there and do your damned job, and I’ll do mine.”
“Fine.”
“Christ, I don’t even know why I told you to come with me in the first place. What are you going to do in the control room, punch the camera until it talks?”
“You finished?”
“No, but I’m done with you. Open the door.”
He did, and Roman strode out without looking back.
By the time he reached the hallway behind the bar, he’d gotten himself under control. He half wanted to believe Mike never mentioned an alarm, and Stone had busted in there just to fuck with him. That was probably the reason he’d thought to bring the man with him—to see how he reacted if Mike called him a liar. But that would’ve meant someone had told Stone which room he was in. An unpleasant prospect.
More worrying was the idea that something had gone wrong with the security system.
He knocked briskly on the control room door, waited a beat, and let himself in. The first thing he noticed was an empty chair in front of the monitors to the left, where Mike should’ve been. And the second was a blank screen instead of the live feed for the back exterior camera.
Cursing under his breath, he sat down at the workstation behind the door and started pulling up the router settings. He’d just logged in under his admin account when he heard the door open and Mike say tersely, “Whatever you’re doing, stop. I’m armed.”
Roman sighed and looked over his shoulder.
“Oh, it’s you.” The tall redhead eased into the room and shut the door. “Problems?”
“A few. Where were you?”
“Had to take a piss.” She smirked. “Should I get a catheter installed? That and pizza delivery, and I’d never have to leave the room.”
“You’ve got a blank screen.”
“Shit.” She walked past him, headed for her chair, and stopped. “Where?”
“Camera four.”
“It’s not blank, Roman.”
He frowned and glanced over. The feed was running again. “What the hell,” he said. “First a false alarm, and now this? That’s two glitches too many.”
“Wait a minute. What false alarm?”
Roman turned carefully in the chair and waited for Mike to sit down. “Did you send Stone to room eight?”
“Yeah. It went red on the board.”
“Well, no one pushed the panic button.”
“You’re kidding,” she said. “So I sent the new guy into…oh, man. Did we lose a guest? Tell me the room was empty.”
Roman averted his gaze, knowing exactly why she was concerned. The most important part of everyone’s jobs here was to keep the fantasy going. If anything happened to break scene, the guests got nervous. Sometimes they’d end up not coming back—bad for business, and Kat’s reputation. “It wasn’t empty,” he said at last. “Don’t worry, though. The guest doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
After a long pause, Mike said softly, “You were in there, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. But I’m fine.” He shifted back to the workstation without looking at her. “We need to know what happened,” he said. “Next time we might not be so lucky.”
She didn’t press the issue, and he was grateful for it. He opened the router settings and the system log, and went to work.
Chapter 9
“Are you in, or what?”
