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Flying Free (Rough Love Book 8)

Page 10

by Leighton Greene

Xander frowns and shoots Ben a sideways glance. “Maybe one day they’ll learn to shut their damn mouths. But…well, yes. That was the guy. I dumped him because…” That’s another story in itself, Xander thinks, but it’s not a very interesting one, because the guy wasn’t very interesting, and their whole relationship happened within a two-week period. “The constant need to be told what to do, it wasn’t really my thing, and the whining got on my nerves and, well, because I was a jerk. There’s no way to get around it, I treated him badly, broke his heart. We were both very young, although that’s no excuse.”

  Benjamin is thinking some very deep thoughts; Xander can tell from the crease between his eyebrows. When Ben thinks that hard, it often ends in very difficult conversations. But then he asks, unexpectedly to Xander at least, “What happened to the collar? Did you take it back?”

  Xander has to think about that one. “I have no idea,” he says at last. “I guess maybe he kept it. Anyway, it was around then that Drew, my puppy play friend, suggested I try a new kink night being run out of a converted warehouse. It was a night intended for all types—gay, straight, pan; bondage types, pony players, rubber fetishists; everyone. Not much play went on, and definitely no sex; mostly just social stuff. But it was a place to meet people, and I’d been building up a reputation. But the first night I went there, a woman took me aside and asked me what the fuck my problem was.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do I know you?” Xander asked, taken aback.

  “You will. May I ask why you’ve been blackballed from two groups in this city?”

  “Uh, none of your business?”

  “And yet I’m making it my business,” she said.

  Xander just gave her his predator smile, which he had practiced and perfected. That usually shut people up. “I’m too intense for some,” he said.

  But then she gave him the same smile right back, and it was like looking into a mirror. She was small, even with her skyscraper boots, a lot shorter than Xander, but her eyes were sharp and knowing.

  “Is that what you call it?” she said, contempt in her tone. Her voice was clear above the thumping bass of the music. “Your reputation precedes you,” she told him. “And not, I’m sorry to say, in a good way.”

  “Well, I’ve got no idea who you are.”

  “You will,” she said again.

  Xander shrugged and turned his back, made his way through the crowd. There were plenty of men here, but women, too; it wasn’t like the places Xander was used to, with a billion twinks vying for his attention.

  But it was close enough. Lots of leather, PVC, masks, chains. And people were beginning to notice him now, like they should. Whisper about him.

  Only…

  Only the looks he was getting were not the looks he was used to getting. Intrigued, sure. But cold.

  Even angry.

  Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a great idea to have come here. Xander made a quick detour towards a dark part of the club, where there was a free couch. No one else was sitting nearby, so Xander took the time to scope out the view, spot potential partners.

  He sat there for another twenty minutes, sipping his drink slowly, watching the ebb and flow of the crowds, feeling his irritation rise. So much talking. So much posing.

  Straights really had no idea how to party.

  And then, to his irritation, the woman leaned over the back of the chair, resting just above Xander’s shoulder so she could speak into his ear. She looked out at the crowd, at the people who were now pretending very hard not to notice their interaction, and when she spoke, it was conversational in tone.

  “You see, when little boys don’t play nice, no one wants to be friends with them.”

  “Lady, what is it with you?” Xander groaned. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? I’m not into women, sorry.”

  “It’s not wise to chase off anyone willing to be seen with you, Alexander Romano. Not at the moment, anyway.”

  He turned around to look at her. How the fuck did she know his name? “You want an autograph or something? A selfie with the sexy new guy? That’s fine, we’ll do that and then you can leave me alone.”

  She laughed, actually laughed, not just fake-laughing designed to annoy him. She was genuinely amused by him, and that just made Xander glare harder.

  He changed tack, went for stilted courtesy. “You seem to have my advantage, knowing my name. May I ask yours?”

  She tipped her head to one side, gave him a pitying look, and said: “That kind of knowledge takes work.”

  And with that, she left him to his brooding.

  Xander left the club soon after that, feeling unsettled, and took the time to call Drew later in the week, to ask what stories Drew had been spreading around.

  “Nothing,” Drew said, surprised. “Why, what happened?”

  “Nothing,” Xander said back.

  Drew hesitated, and then said, “Listen, man, I’m just saying this because you’re a friend, but…you’ve got to think about how you’re coming across.”

  Xander didn’t know Drew very well, and his first instinct was to just hang up on him. But it was becoming apparent, even to Xander, that people were talking about him. And not in a good way. All publicity might be good publicity in Hollywood, but not, it seemed, in the community.

  “I know your kink is not my kink, et cetera, et cetera,” Drew went on hurriedly when Xander stayed quiet. “But the community is small, and it talks, and it self-polices. What I’m saying is, there’s being an alpha-Dom and then there’s just being an asshole.”

  Xander bit back his anger and went for sarcasm instead. “Please, don’t hold back.”

  “I…I might have mentioned you to someone,” Drew said vaguely.

  “Was this a tiny female someone with stiletto boots and an attitude?”

  Drew chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

  “Well, she made herself known. Although she wouldn’t tell me her name. What is it?”

  “Ooh,” Drew said. “She wouldn’t tell you? Okay, well. Let’s just call her the Doctor.”

  “And she’s going to make me all better?” Xander asked, his arrogance flaring again.

  Drew just sighed. “You’re a good guy underneath it all, Xander. Don’t forget that.”

  Xander went back, in part because he was curious about how the other half lived, and in part because of the Doctor. She swanned in like she owned the place, her coterie of men following her. There were six or seven of them, all startlingly attractive, all beautifully obedient, all entirely concerned with her needs. One of them ensured her drinks were never empty; one kneeled to act as a damn seat when she sat down.

  She didn’t always use him, but still.

  They were all sickeningly deferential and focused on her, and Xander was filled with envy.

  And again, no one would meet his eyes as he walked around the club, not that Xander cared. It didn’t matter if the toppy sort wouldn’t meet his eyes, and as far as he was concerned, the others shouldn’t be meeting his eyes. The attitude carried him until he found himself ten minutes into a sexy bar slouch, glass of scotch balanced above his crotch for maximum display potential, and no one had approached him yet.

  It was a very unusual occurrence.

  No one was even pretending not to look at him, which is something that Xander, since he’d first burst onto the LA scene, was definitely not used to.

  “One more,” he said to the barman, and even that guy didn’t glance up, just shoved an over-watered scotch towards Xander, grabbing up his money from the bar.

  Oh, fuck this, Xander thought. There were other clubs. Other clubs for gay men. Clubs where he hadn’t been blackballed, where twinks would flock to him, and where the Doctor didn’t go, where they didn’t know her at all. What an asshole she must be, anyway; because he can’t believe that anything would be causing this reaction other than her badmouthing him and spreading rumors.

  He was on his way to the door when he saw a couple in the corner playing, t
he girl on her knees and weeping and the guy looking…well, that was the issue. He looked furtive. Furtive and drunk.

  Xander paused to pull on his jacket in front of the door, still watching them, because he knew that girl, surely. He’d see her around here a lot. Fleshy, with bright red hair and lovely pale skin that, if he were so inclined, would mark up beautifully. Written on her face was more than the fear and torment of an acquiescent sub, and even as he watched, he saw her saying “Stop,” and he didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that what she meant was Stop right now, not Stop (but really, keep going).

  A word floated into his mind: kajira. This woman was Tabitha, the kajira of the idiot Gorean guy who ran a dungeon night at one of the other clubs that would still let Xander in. He only knew Tabitha’s name because he’d heard someone call her that, but usually she was referred to as The Kajira. The only kajira who was a regular at this kink night, because Gor aficionados usually kept to their own kind.

  The Kajira, the Slave-Woman, the girlfriend of that Gor-crazy moron Jeff with whom Xander had never had a full conversation, because he was so annoying that Xander always found an excuse to leave within two minutes.

  But Jeff the Gorean was, like the Doctor, an important figure in the scene, Xander had found out through Drew. Jeff held a lot of private parties for non-Goreans and wasn’t quite as misogynistic as most of them. Xander had seen the Doctor and Jeff have conversations before, and although Xander knew nothing about her, she didn’t seem the type to suffer fools gladly.

  Xander was puzzled to find Jeff absent. He’d never seen Tabitha without Jeff, or Jeff without Tabitha. He walked a few steps closer and heard Tabitha pleading, “This kajira begs you to stop and consider her Master.”

  Xander locked eyes with the guy whipping her.

  “She’s mine for now,” he said to Xander roughly. “She agreed.”

  “This kajira did not agree to this,” Tabitha said, trying to pull her hair out of his hand.

  “What exactly—” Xander began, before, horrified, he watched the guy pull his fist back and slam Tabitha in the side of the face. “Whoa.”

  Xander lost his mind in the split-second that it took the guy to pull his fist back to strike her again. He flew at the guy, tackled him like they were on a football field, not that Xander had ever in his life played football.

  Regretfully—and Xander often thought back on it later and wished it had been different—as he pushed the guy away, his clenched fist came away with a tuft of bright ginger hair, and Tabitha screamed so loudly and so painfully that it caught the attention of the bouncer, who had been dicking around in the middle of the club, flirting with someone.

  Xander found himself pulled away from the other guy, who he’d had on the floor, about to land what promised to be a solid and satisfying punch. And then a mass of people congregated around them, including Jeff, who looked completely incensed…at Xander.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he demanded. Xander looked around for Tabitha, but she’d run off.

  “This dipshit started some trouble,” the bouncer, growled, shaking Xander by the arm. On the ground, the guy who’d been beating on Tabitha started nodding, faster and with more conviction as he saw a possible escape route.

  “Yeah, he just attacked me, outta nowhere!”

  Xander rounded on him, his temper flaring, but the bouncer had fifty pounds on him and a lot more muscle, and pulled him back.

  “He was hurting your girl!” Xander roared at Jeff. “And not with her consent,” he added. That was the problem with an accusation like that: it wasn’t necessarily a deal-breaker.

  There was a short silence, filled by the crescendo of the music, and when the drop came, Jeff looked around. “Where’s Tabitha?” he asked the crowd. People shook their heads.

  And then an autocratic voice cut through the noise of the music and the murmuring of the crowd.

  “Let him go.”

  The bouncer let Xander go, and the Doctor appeared in the circle that had formed around the guy on the ground. People just sort of parted for her, as though they felt her aura coming before they saw her.

  She looked down at guy on the floor, and then up at Xander. “What Alexander says is true,” she said, her voice ringing. “The Kajira wanted to stop, and this—” She looked down at the floor-guy again, barely-concealed rage simmering on her face. “This animal refused to stop. He hit the Kajira in the face. I saw it from across the room. Alexander was trying to help the Kajira.”

  Jeff’s big, meaty hands curled into fists then, and Xander wondered with detached interest if floor-guy was going to get his face punched in that night. But then the Doctor put a hand on Jeff’s arm, and he took a deep breath, and turned to the bouncer instead.

  “This asshole is done,” he said.

  The bouncer leaned down and grabbed the protesting, spluttering guy by his shirt, lifting him up on his feet like a rag doll, and frog-marched him to the exit.

  “Don’t come back,” the bouncer hollered, so everyone could hear.

  “Where is Tabitha?” Jeff said again to the crowd. “And you—” he said, turning back to the bouncer and stabbing a finger at him, “—need to do the fucking job you get paid for.” With that, he stalked off, presumably looking for Tabitha.

  “Leave us, please,” the Doctor said to the remaining group, who were beginning to whisper and giggle.

  They did.

  Xander filed her tone of voice away for future reference in his acting work. Self-possessed; utterly sure of herself. He wished he could be like that for real, but maybe he could at least fake it until making it.

  The adrenaline was starting to hit him now, making his legs feel shaky. The Doctor put out a hand, and he took it. “I believe you could do with a medicinal drink,” she observed, and pulled him over to the bar.

  As soon as they arrived there, the whisperers, who had flocked there after the Doctor’s initial dismissal to spread the story, scattered like flies.

  This time, the scotch was neat, no ice, and the bartender topped it up for Xander as soon as he downed the first one.

  The Doctor hopped up on a barstool, and ordered a mocktail for herself. “No alcohol,” she stressed, and the bartender grinned at her.

  “Of course not, Zee.”

  “Zee? Is that short for something? Does anyone here know your name?” Xander asked, once the scotch had settled him.

  She ignored the question. “If I may say so, that was very brave of you.”

  Xander stares at her. “You know, I thought I’d been blackballed by you and now here you are buying me drinks and telling me what a good boy I’ve been.”

  She gave him an amused glance. “Well, you really have been a good boy. But if I’d blackballed you, you wouldn’t have been let in at all. No, I merely suggested that you be sent to Coventry. For your own good, you understand.”

  “Sent to—what?”

  “Sent to Coventry. I had you cold-shouldered. Shunned. It’s very effective, whatever you prefer to call it.”

  Xander wasn’t sure exactly how to react, so he went with his first instinct, and laughed.

  She raised her eyebrows and gave an approving nod. “So you can laugh at yourself. Good. Now listen to me: I’ve decided I’m going to help you.”

  Xander went right back to defensive at that proclamation. “Uh, thanks, I guess? But I don’t need your help.”

  “Of course you do. Every dominant benefits from knowing others like themselves.”

  “Right. What am I supposed to do, go to group Dom therapy and talk about my feelings?” Xander sneered.

  “Oh, no. Whatever you’re doing now seems to be working so well, after all. Why on earth would you need any help?”

  Things began warring inside him then. She’s just interested because I’m new versus I’m so fucked up and everyone can see it versus What would some straight chick know anyway? He tries not to let it show on his face, but something tightens in his throat. “Fine, you’re right. It’s not wor
king. I…I’m not working.”

  She looked out at the crowd instead of at him, and sipped on her drink, some fantastical thing with umbrellas and three straws. “Well, at least you can admit that.”

  He tries again. “I know you’re just trying to help me. I’m sorry I spoke to you like that.”

  “You have read my intentions incorrectly, Alexander. I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to keep these people safe.” She waved her drink at the crowd. And then she looked at him, cold and hard, and Xander thought he’d missed his chance again. Missed the chance for a friend, for fitting in. “Are you upset?” she asked with interest. “Are you going to cry?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He turned around at the bar, pretended to read the drinks menu.

  She turned with him. “Would you like my help? Think carefully, because I’m done coddling you.”

  She thought their relationship so far had been coddling? Xander really wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out what non-coddling would be like. But…“If you want to. If you think you can, I’d appreciate it. And it’s just Xander, by the way.” She didn’t reply, so Xander signaled the bartender for another drink, ignoring her: a Jack and coke.

  The Doctor bumped her shoulder into his, and they look at each other in the mirror behind the bar. Her eyes sparkled even in the dim light. “My name, my real name, is Zarina Dubois. Everyone calls me Zee, usually. But until further notice, you will address me as Mistress.”

  Xander almost choked on an ice cube before spitting it back into the glass. “You’ve got to be—”

  “Ah!” she said sharply, in warning. He’d heard her use the same tone on one of her attendants once, when he moved without permission from her side.

  So Xander shut his mouth and tried not to glare. This was it, he knew somehow: this was his one shot. He might actually start fitting in.

  Zee started laughing. “Oh, you sweet thing. Just for tonight. It’ll do your ego some good.”

  And Xander gave a big, bright, fake smile, and said: “Yes, Mistress.”

 

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