by Piper Scott
No matter how bad The Shepherd was, he would overcome, he would persevere, and he would dominate.
“I’m impressed.” Clarissa traced her fingernails along the can. Condensation already beaded the aluminum, and its droplets grew thick and slid down the side of the can as she disturbed them. “I can tell you right now that you have the drive we’re looking for, but I’m wondering…”
“Ask me anything.” Lucian had nothing to hide. His life had belonged to others for so long that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t disclose. Very few things belonged to him, and only him.
“Would you say the same thing if I was an alpha instead of an omega?” Clarissa looked at him from beneath her lashes, the expression powerfully seductive. When she spoke next, the whiskey overwhelmed the honey in her voice, and Lucian found himself glued to her every word. “Would you meet my eye and speak as boldly and confidently to my face if you knew I had power over you? If your body told you that you must submit to me?”
Lucian’s pulse raced. He heard it rushing in his ears. Clarissa was an omega, but in that moment, she embodied alpha better than some of the men Lucian had been forced to take to bed.
It wasn’t enough to hold him back.
Lucian met her eye, his expression stern. “It doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter what you say. I’m not swayed by alphas. I will not waver. I’m in this for me, not for anyone else.”
The dark, dominant glint in Clarissa’s eyes disappeared, and the chipper woman Lucian had met downstairs returned. She brushed the droplets of condensation from her fingertips onto her jeans, then held her hand out to him. Lucian looked down at it, then back up at her. “Um?”
“Welcome to The Shepherd.” Clarissa took his hand and shook it, her grip every bit as confident as the way she looked at him. “You start next Wednesday at seven.”
4
Marcus
Another Friday night meant another evening spent indulging his whims at The Shepherd. Marcus passed beneath the neon glow of The Shepherd’s sign and through the front door. The lobby was the same as always—tidy, uncluttered, and manned by a familiar face. Stephanie.
Stephanie’s thick, horn-rimmed glasses gleamed in the lobby’s overhead light. Marcus nodded to her on the way to the dance floor, and she quirked her cherry lips just for him.
“What’s happening tonight, cutie?” she asked as he passed by her desk. “I saw you went home with Cyrus’ boy last week. What’s his name again?”
“Boy,” Marcus said. He stopped to chat. Tonight would shape up the same as every night did—a few drinks, a few conversations with friends, and then a solitary trip back home. There was no need to rush disappointment. “His name is Boy.”
“Mm, I forgot. I guess that’s not so hard when names change as often as they do around here.” Stephanie fiddled with a pen, flicking it back and forth between her fingers. “Are you playing with him again tonight? You looked cute together. Maybe Cyrus will share and you can play good Dom, bad Dom together.”
“I’m not interested.”
“That’s a shame.” Stephanie pouted. “You haven’t looked happy lately, Marcus. I know it’s none of my business, but I care about my regulars. Are you doing okay?”
Marcus resisted the urge to sigh. His expression tightened, and he put on the stern facade he used so often in the courtroom. “I’m fine. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t come here.”
“I suppose.” Stephanie set the pen down. “I guess I’m a sucker for happy endings, is all.”
The facade fell. Marcus arched a brow and cracked a grin, but before he could dig into her, Stephanie crossed her arms.
“Not like that!” she huffed. “A girl can’t have a little fun around here without having her reputation dragged through the mud, can she?”
“You make it too easy.” Marcus pushed off from the desk and headed for the door separating him from the dance floor. “Any new blood in tonight?”
“There are a few new faces, but you’re going to have to go in to find them.” She winked and waved her fingers at him in parting. “Have a good night, Marcus. Try not to party too hard.”
“It’ll be hard, but I’ll tough it out for you.”
Stephanie’s airy laugh was the last thing Marcus heard before the throbbing beats of the dance floor engulfed him. The music pulsed in his veins and hooked into his soul, freeing him of the shackles of his daily life and rewarding him with total bliss. As much as he bemoaned his situation and longed for something more, he couldn’t ignore the way The Shepherd made him feel.
The community. The camaraderie. The sinful, indulgent nature of it all.
For a few hours every week, Marcus cast aside the professional man he was known to be and truly, unabashedly, became himself. It was liberation like nothing else.
On Friday nights at The Shepherd, Marcus was home.
“So.” Clarissa drummed her fingers on the bar counter and leaned forward. She looked from side to side, as if conspiring, then leaned a little closer yet. The V of her halter top plunged low, and the rounds of her breasts grew plumper as gravity did its job. Marcus’ eyes didn’t dip, not even for a second. Instead, he met Clarissa’s gaze as she stared holes through him. Her brows were knitted in hostility. “Hands off.”
“I don’t even know what I’m being accused of putting my hands on.”
“You’ll know soon enough.” Clarissa glanced off to the side again. She had to be waiting for something. “All you need to know is to keep your hands off.”
“You got it.” Marcus narrowed an eye, still trying to figure out what she was on about. “How about I get my hands on a Knob Creek, neat instead? Or is that what you mean? Is this an intervention?”
Clarissa shot him a look made to pierce him from one end to the other, then pushed off the bar and fixed his drink. “You can get your hands on as much alcohol as you’d like as long as you remember the rules.”
It wasn’t unusual for Clarissa to be cryptic, and even less unusual for her to be dramatic. Marcus didn’t let her behavior get to him. Whatever was bothering her likely wouldn’t bother her come tomorrow. If he ignored the problem, it would go away.
“My career is based on following the rules.” Marcus watched as she poured. “If I didn’t follow the rules, I’d be out on my ass. The bar wouldn’t take too kindly to a rogue lawyer, no matter how successful he is.”
“A criminal defense lawyer.” Clarissa slid the drink across the table. Marcus stopped it with his palm. “Your career is all about bending the rules, Marcus. Don’t try to pretend it isn’t.”
She had a point. He raised his glass in a toast and sipped. The whiskey went down smooth, and he closed his eyes and reveled in it. Warmth bloomed from his stomach and wove upward, creeping through his chest.
It was going to be a good night.
“So behave yourself,” Clarissa said. It sounded like she was winding down. “It’s a busy night, and I’d appreciate it if you played nice.”
“Playing nice is what I do.” Marcus set his drink down and worked his thumb thoughtfully along the rim. “I promise, you don’t have to worry about me.”
Clarissa’s eyes narrowed and her lips twitched, but she said nothing. Whatever crime she was preemptively accusing him of, Marcus was innocent, and she knew it.
A shadow moved in Marcus’ peripheral vision as someone joined Clarissa behind the bar. Vanessa, one of Clarissa’s girls, had to be coming back to the bar after delivering drinks. Marcus lifted his chin and turned his head to say hello when he froze.
It wasn’t Vanessa who’d joined Clarissa behind the bar—in her place stood a young man Marcus had never seen before.
The whole hands-off fiasco made sense now. Marcus was smitten, and he let himself take in his new obsession in detail.
Dark slacks hugged the young man’s slender legs and sat on his hips in just the right way to show off his ass. The understated dress shirt he wore, top button popped, showed off creamy skin. Light made his pale blond hair
turn white, and a tasteful shadow of stubble lined his delicate jaw. Marcus didn’t need to breathe him in to know that he was an omega—his refined features spoke for him. There was delicacy in his posture and a cut to the angles of his face that fit no alpha, and that few betas could hope to embody.
A sight like him quenched the thirst in Marcus’ soul better than whiskey ever could.
Something new.
Marcus leaned forward and attempted to get a better look at the young man’s face, but he didn’t spare Marcus a glance. Instead, he spoke into Clarissa’s ear, leaning so close that Marcus was momentarily envious. Clarissa replied in kind, and a few moments later, the young man was back on the floor, tending to a booth tucked away in the corner near the stairs.
Marcus watched him go, and when he turned his head back to face forward, Clarissa was standing in front of him, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. “Hands off.”
“What’s his name?” Marcus asked.
“As far as you’re concerned, he doesn’t have one.”
The comment curled Marcus’ lips. A challenge. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter what his name is. I’ll be giving him a new one, anyway.”
Marcus slid off the bar stool and navigated the tables dividing him from the booths. Before he could go far, a hand wrapped around his wrist and stopped him. He looked over his shoulder to find Clarissa standing there, face as stern as it had been behind the bar.
“What are the rules?” Clarissa asked, her voice low. It cut through the thud of the bass, crystal clear to Marcus, but inaudible to anyone else on the second floor.
“Treat others with respect and always obtain consent,” Marcus recited. The Shepherd’s rules were ingrained in him by now.
“And no playing with the staff,” Clarissa finished for him. “It’s in the membership guidelines, Marcus. If you go after that boy, I will report it to Sterling. I’m not losing another employee because you decided to get handsy. It doesn’t matter if he’s your type—he’s off-limits.”
“Right.” Marcus ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, looking away from Clarissa to study the young man. He was laughing, but Marcus couldn’t hear the sound. “No playing with the staff.”
What a shame it was that a boy like that would be on the wrong side of the bar. Marcus watched as he finished taking an order and made his way back to the bar only to spot Clarissa on the floor, standing beside Marcus. There was a moment where recognition brightened the young man’s eyes, but that moment was fleeting at best, because in the next second his gaze met Marcus’.
Marcus didn’t believe in soul mates. If two people met and fell for each other at first glance, it was because both of them were at a point in their lives where they were ready and willing for that to happen. That kind of haphazard affection was a product of circumstance, not destiny.
But as Marcus locked eyes with the young man across the room, he found his beliefs shaken.
It wasn’t that there was an instant connection, or that his life drastically changed from a single glance, but there was something deep inside of him that clicked, like an old lock whose key had been lost for a lifetime had finally been unbarred. Marcus slid his hands into his back pockets, unable to keep still. Restlessness tore through him, a feeling he couldn’t keep suppressed for long. He felt it part his lips and widen his eyes, even if the change was so slight, it was almost unnoticeable.
Across the room, he witnessed the young man’s expression falter in kind.
“Marcus?” Clarissa demanded. “Hello?”
“Hmm?” Marcus blinked and tore his attention from the man across the room. “Yes?”
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Clarissa asked. She shook her head. “It’s not my goal to get anyone expelled from The Shepherd, but rules are rules, and they were put in place for a reason.”
“I’ll keep my hands to myself,” Marcus promised. And he would.
But his eyes? His lips? His tongue? His cock?
He could make no promises.
5
Lucian
The glass in Clarissa’s hand met the counter a little too hard. The whiskey stones inside clinked against one another, and the bourbon rose up and almost spilled over the rim.
Lucian ducked back under the bar to see what the matter was. It wasn’t like Clarissa to lose her balance like that—she worked the bar like it was an extension of her body. But when Lucian arrived at her side, it didn’t look like Clarissa had slipped at all. Her eyes were locked on the bourbon she’d poured as though she could set it on fire if she only stared hard enough. “Clarissa?”
“Did you see the man I was standing with?” Clarissa asked. “The tall alpha with the broad shoulders and the dark hair? The one who just headed to booth five?”
“Yeah.” It was kind of hard not to see him. The Shepherd was filled with beautiful people, but that man was a category of handsome all on his own. “What about him?”
“He’s ordered this drink,” Clarissa said.
“Um. Alright. Can do.” Lucian slid the drink away from Clarissa. “One Knob Creek, neat, coming up.”
It was Lucian’s third day on the job, but he had already learned a few valuable lessons about The Shepherd and the people in it. A Google search had braced him for what was coming, but nothing could have prepared him for what really went on behind opened doors.
And doors were kept open.
All night long.
Bare torsos. Writhing bodies. Breathless moans and divine cries. The Shepherd was a members-only kink club, and the rooms Lucian had seen beyond the bar were playrooms. Every night, patrons came and went in various states of undress. Nudity was forbidden on the ground floor, but on the second floor, it was welcome.
Lucian had served some very interesting individuals since starting his new job, but none of them had piqued his interest quite as much as the alpha in booth five.
In a way, The Shepherd reminded Lucian of The White Lotus—there was no privacy, and there was no shame. But those who spent their evenings in a brothel and those who visited The Shepherd were of different ilk. The men and women who came to the club night after night to chase the same orgasmic highs were respectful and polite. Lucian had been admired, but he’d quickly learned that no one was going to force him to do anything he didn’t want to—and even if he did want to, following a patron into one of The Shepherd’s public rooms was forbidden. Lucian was there to work, not to have fun.
But for a guilty moment, when he’d looked across the room and seen the man at Clarissa’s side, Lucian’s grasp on what was appropriate had slipped.
“Lucian?” Clarissa didn’t look up from the back counter.
“Yes?” Lucian stood a little taller. He didn’t know if Clarissa had seen him staring or not, but he hoped she hadn’t. There would be other jobs if he lost this one, but Lucian didn’t want to be let go. It wasn’t only because this was his first shot at garnering real-world experience—for the first time in his adult life, Lucian was untouchable. No man would touch him unless he granted them permission to do so. No man could touch him. Behind the bar at The Shepherd, he could take back what had been stolen from him.
If Counselor Ellis hadn’t been such a prude, Lucian was sure he would have been proud.
“Remember that you don’t have to do anything he says. He isn’t here for you.” Clarissa looked up from the counter to meet his eye. “You’re the one in control.”
“Thanks…” Lucian lifted the glass, trying not to come across as uncertain as he felt. “I’m going to go serve this and then I’ll be right back, okay?”
She nodded but refused to comment, so Lucian left the bar to weave between the tables. Clarissa could count on him. He refused to let her down.
Booth five was located centrally, close enough within eyeshot of the bar that, during quieter moments, it was easy to attract the eye of the bar staff. Lucian cut straight for it, trying to keep his gaze averted from the alpha and omega couple two booths down who�
�d stripped each other nearly nude and were playing with each other’s bodies. Lucian’s attempts were in vain—the sounds of the omega’s cry as the alpha tugged at his nipple with his teeth rose above the distant thud of music from the dance floor below. Their scents perfumed the air. Lucian heard them and breathed them in as clearly as he could see them, and for the first time since he’d started working for The Shepherd, arousal coiled low in his stomach. It wasn’t like him to be turned on by voyeurism, but there was no denying the chill that swept through his gut and left him to harden like ice in its wake.
“That’s Adrian,” a low voice said in his ear. Lucian jumped, taking a staggering step back to find the alpha he was supposed to serve standing before him. “Once you’ve worked here for long enough, you’ll get used to him. He likes to pretend he’s The Shepherd’s biggest star because he’s a dominant omega. I wouldn’t let him get to you.”
Lucian’s heart wouldn’t slow. He swallowed hard, trying to do away with the lump in his throat, but his attempts were unsuccessful. Up close, the alpha was even more gorgeous than he had been from across the room, and he left Lucian breathless.
Dark, luscious hair framed his face, adding contrast to the man’s skin. There was strength in his features that hinted at nobility, but the shape of the man’s eyes and the way he held his mouth suggested wicked cunning and a lashing tongue instead of pomp and vanity. Lucian’s eyes traveled down his neck to his broad shoulders and chest. He wore a white button-down shirt and a suit jacket, but no tie.
“I think otherwise, of course. About the whole biggest star thing, that is.” The man’s eyes didn’t wander from Lucian. “I’m not one for wannabe celebrities. I prefer undiscovered talent.”
The cadence of his voice was low and steady, a kind of song meant for Lucian’s ears, and Lucian’s ears alone. Lucian knew what a voice like that meant—seduction.
He’d heard it often enough that it did nothing for him.
