Unbreakable
A Heaven and Hell Club Prequel
Colette Davison
Unbreakable (A Heaven and Hell Club Prequel)
Copyright © 2019 Colette Davison
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover Design: Colette Davison
Edited by: Sarah Chorn and Charlotte Kane
Proofread by: Tanja Ongkiehong
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorised duplication is prohibited.
The images used in the cover design were licensed from Deposit Photos.
Table of Contents
FOREWORD
1 Mac
2 Russel
3 Mac
4 Russel
5 Mac
6 Russel
7 Mac
8 Russel
9 Mac
10 Russel
11 Mac
12 Russel
13 Mac
14 Russel
15 Mac
16 Russel
17 Mac
18 Russel
19 Mac
20 Russel
21 Mac
22 Russel
23 Mac
24 Russel
Author’s Note
Coming Soon
About Colette
Books By Colette
Unbreakable
Mac’s life isn’t perfect, but he likes it the way it is: safe and predictable.
Mac works in a struggling pole dancing club at night, and a gym during the day. He’s tired and cash strapped, but content, until a confident twink walks into the club and turns his life upside down. It’s hard to resist when Russel asks him to be his fake boyfriend for one night, in return for double his normal take-home pay.
One date turns into more, as Mac helps Russel get an exclusive that will secure him the job he’s always wanted. But the rich playboy who holds Russel’s career in his hands isn’t going to give him the scoop so easily.
As Mac and Russel spend more time together, the lines between fake and real begin to get blurred, but can their relationship become strong enough to be unbreakable in the face of adversity?
Unbreakable is a fake boyfriend MM romance, with a buff pole dancer who swears like a trooper, a twink who likes to take charge, some spanking, light bondage, and a happy ever after. It’s a prequel story to Broken, but can be read as a standalone romance.
Foreword
This story is set several years before Broken, prior to the legalisation of same-sex marriage in the UK. As well as telling the story of how Mac and Russel got together, it’s also a glimpse into the past of Heaven and Hell and its owner, Michael.
To Jayne and Megs, for keeping me sane in my writing cave these past few months.
1 Mac
Mac enjoyed strutting his stuff under the blazing lights. He was a fucking good pole dancer, and he knew it. The problem definitely wasn’t his dancing; it was the lack of punters. As he dropped back into an invert and revolved around the pole, he caught a glimpse of the nearly empty room. There were a couple of guys who were sitting on uncomfortable chairs right at the front, their leering stares trained on him, and three more at the bar, probably getting far too drunk. It wasn’t saying much when that was the busiest it had been all night.
He finished his set and did his rounds of the five guys, trying to entice one of them into paying extra for a private striptease. None of them took him up on the offer, either too tight or too cash-strapped to pay the extra twenty pounds on top of the entrance fee.
“What a fucking waste of time,” he complained as he slammed into the changing room.
There were only a couple of other dancers in that night, which was probably two too many. Carlos had headed onto the stage as Mac had left it, leaving Michael in the changing room, getting ready for his set.
Mac took his ridiculous bow tie off and tossed it aside. “I wouldn’t bother going out there at all.”
Michael paused midway through shrugging on a half-length white waistcoat with sequin wings on the back. “That bad, huh?”
Mac nodded. “It’s Friday night for fuck’s sake.” He stuck his head out the door, raising his voice to make sure their boss, Barry, could hear his next comment. “The place should be packed to the rafters, not empty.”
Michael waved his hands in a silent plea for Mac to quiet down. “He’ll sack you if you piss him off too much.”
Mac grunted. “That’d be no great loss.”
Except it would. He lived in a shit heap, but he still had bills to pay. He grabbed a bottle of water from his locker, gulped down half of it, and then poured the other half over his shaved head. Fuck, it was hot on stage.
Michael stepped in front of the mirror, carefully applying shimmering body paint to highlight his high cheek and collarbones. “If it’s that quiet, why do you put so much effort into it?”
“I don’t believe in doing a half-arsed job. Besides, I can use it as practising time.” He glanced around the bare changing room. “We could really do with a couple of practise poles in here.”
“Why don’t you suggest it to Barry?”
Mac quirked an eyebrow. “You really think he’d go for it?”
“Probably not.”
“I know they joke that Yorkshire men are tight, but he really takes the biscuit. I bet he’s so fucking tight, you couldn’t even squeeze a finger up his miserable arse.”
Michael burst out laughing. “That is not an image that I needed!”
Mac shrugged. “Don’t expect me to apologise.”
“You? Apologise?” Michael batted his hand through the air. “Yeah, right. Maybe when hell freezes over.” He spun around and struck a sexy pose. “How do I look?”
Mac gave him the once-over. With his angelic blond hair, tanned skin, and rippling six-pack, Michael was a sexy guy. The shimmering body paint gave him an otherworldly appearance that made him look stunning on stage.
“You look like an archangel. Now get out there and get ready. You know Carlos skimps on his set.”
“That’s because he wants to put more time into the stripteases.”
“He’s out of luck tonight. We’re all out of luck tonight.” No stripteases meant no cash, which was the shitty thing about this job.
It hadn’t always been like that. When he’d first started at Horns, it had always been busy. Then their boss’s business partner had run off with one of the dancers, and things had gone downhill from there. Not that Barry seemed to care that things were going from bad to worse. Mac honestly didn’t know how the man kept the place open at all. As for why Mac stayed? It wasn’t from some misguided sense of loyalty. He clung to the familiar because he’d already uprooted his life once before and didn’t want to do it again. He held on to the hope that Barry would eventually turn the club around.
“Yeah, that’s not good. I was relying on taking some cash home tonight,” Michael said on his way to the door.
Mac started stretching out to keep his muscles warm for his next set. “There’s gotta be something we can do to liven things up around here.” He leaned down, touching his toes.
“Cheaper drinks might help.”
“Yeah, like Barry will go for that. Go on, get out there.”
Michael shot him a grin before disappearing out the door.
Mac jogged in place for a few moments, but he was too pissed off to really concentrate on keeping his body limber. He stormed next door, opening the door to Barry’s office without bothering to knock. His lazy-arse boss sat behind the desk with his feet up, smoking a cigar, peering
at his laptop. From the way Barry’s face went red as he shut the lid, Mac guessed his boss had been watching porn.
Mac glared at him. “Have you even been out there tonight?”
“Do I need to?” Barry took a long drag on his cigar. “There’s not been any trouble, has there?”
“There’s no one out there to cause trouble.”
Barry raised his eyebrows. “No one?”
“Five punters,” Mac grated out through gritted teeth.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“They’re not fucking paying for private dances, that’s what.”
Barry lifted his feet off the desk and swung them onto the floor. “That’s your problem, not mine. It’s not my fault if you’re not sexy enough for the punters.”
Mac clenched and unclenched his fists. One of these days, he was going to knock Barry and send him flying. Not today, though; he wasn’t quite ready to quit yet.
“You need to get more people through the door.”
Barry took his cigar out of his mouth long enough to give an exaggerated yawn. “You got any ideas?”
Mac felt every muscle in his back and shoulders become tense. “Am I the boss?”
“No.” Barry pointed his cigar at Mac. “Which means you’ve got no fucking right to come storming in here making demands. I should sack you.”
Mac folded his arms, beyond pissed off. “Go on, then.” He raised his chin and stared down at the much smaller man. Mac knew he was a big, intimidating guy, though he rarely used his size in that way. He’d happily make an exception for Barry, though.
Barry waved him away. “Go get your arse back on stage and really work it this time. There’s not a single punter comes through the door who isn’t willing to pay for at least one private dance. The only problem is you and your negative attitude.”
“Negative. Attitude?” Mac’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets as he stared down at Barry. God, he wanted to deck him. “Fuck you.” He pivoted on his heel and walked out, slamming the flimsy door behind him.
Instead of going back to the changing room, he headed toward the front of house, where Michael was in the middle of his set. He was a good dancer, but Mac was better. Another couple of punters had arrived. One was at the bar, the other had claimed one of many empty seats around the stage. He was a tall, slim man with effeminate features and make-up that accentuated his high cheekbones and full lips. One of his plucked and preened eyebrows was quirked up as he watched Michael dancing. He had a twenty-pound note in his hand, Mac noted, trying hard not to be jealous that Michael was going to pick up the first paying punter of the night. For half a second, he debated sidling up to the guy and stealing him away from Michael, but he wasn’t that much of a jerk.
Michael’s set finished to half-hearted clapping from the punters. All except one. The femme guy clapped his hands in a daintily exuberant manner.
“Bravo! Superb dancing!” The punter’s voice was high-pitched for a man.
Mac almost laughed when Michael became flushed. He stepped off the stage, which was Mac’s cue to go on. As he began to dance, starting with a few simple spins and seductive hip thrusts against the pole, he watched the exchange between Michael and the punter. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, and he’d never been any good at lip-reading, but they were both smiling. Mac pulled himself onto the pole, into a shoulder mount. He inverted into a flying flag, just as the femme guy pointed directly at him. Mac masked his surprise—he’d been convinced Michael would be the one doing the private dance—but grinned back when the man smiled and gave him a finger wave. When Michael moved away, Mac knew he was the one who was going to score some cash tonight.
He put his all into his set and, when it ended, received even more rapturous applause from the enthusiastic punter.
“Wonderful!” He beckoned to Mac and pointed to one of the curtained-off areas, flashing the note he’d been holding.
Mac jumped off the stage. “Like what you saw, did you?”
“I think I need to see more.” The guy looked him up and down slowly. “Much more.”
Mac laughed. “Well, that can definitely be arranged.” He reached out for the money.
The man snatched it away, letting out a little gasp. “Don’t I get to put this in your G-string?”
“Go for it.”
The femme guy pursed his lips as he folded the note and slowly slid it between Mac’s gold G-string and his bottle-tanned skin. Then he held his hand out, bending it at the wrist and pressing his fingers together. Mac took his hand and, swaying his hips, led the man to one of the private dance areas. He shut the curtain behind them and motioned for the guy to sit in the chair, before putting the money in a glass jar on a small round table.
“Sorry it’s not more comfortable.”
“It’s fine.” The man crossed his legs at the knees and laid his hands on top of them. “I guess this will be a short dance?”
“One song. About three minutes.”
“You’d better make it good, then.”
Mac chuckled. “Oh, I will.”
He waited for the next song to start before beginning his routine. He had his routine thoroughly rehearsed. He knew exactly when to take off his bow tie–which he draped around the man’s long, slender neck—and when to start teasing that he was going to remove his G-string. He wouldn’t actually take it off until the last thirty seconds. The less time he spent naked with a complete stranger where no one could see them, the better. To be fair, this guy kept his hands to himself, which was a lot more than he could say about most of the punters he brought in there. His eyes, on the other hand, roamed all over Mac. They were ice-blue, he noted, and he was pretty sure the guy had fake eyelashes on. Either that, or he had naturally long, thick eyelashes that most women would kill for.
By the time the song ended, Mac’s G-string was draped over the man’s shoulder, and he was in his finishing move, back turned and bent over, so he was looking at the guy through his legs.
The guy rested his elbow on his knee and clapped. “Oh, I like.” His stare lingered on Mac’s arse, and he licked his full lips. “I can see why this place is called Horns.”
Mac rolled his eyes. “It’s a shit name.”
“True. But you’re getting me horny.” The guy produced another twenty-pound note from the back pocket of his skin-tight black jeans. “Can I get another dance?”
Mac stood and turned around. “The next one’s thirty.”
He didn’t agree with Barry’s pricing policy, where each subsequent dance got exponentially more expensive, because it turned most punters off, but rules were rules. He had to admit that when the rare customer willing to splash that much cash did walk into the club, it was a great night for the lucky dancer they picked to entertain them.
The man pouted. “No exceptions? Even for me?”
Though he was tempted, Mac didn’t actually want to get told he couldn’t dance here anymore. “Nope, sorry.”
The man let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’re breaking my heart.” Despite his words, he still fished a tenner out of his pocket. He pinched both notes between his thumb and forefinger and held them out. “If I’m paying more, do you get to keep your clothes off?”
“Yes, sir!”
The guy’s eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened, the pupils shrinking to reveal just how pale they were. A pleased smile settled on his lips. “You can keep calling me that. Oh! The song’s starting.” He waved the cash at Mac. “Get dancing.”
Grinning, Mac plucked the money from the guy’s hands and stuffed it into the jar. “While you’re paying, I’ll call you whatever you like.”
*
By the end of the night, Mac was hot, sweaty, and tired. He hit the communal showers at the same time as Michael, scrubbing himself down with a bar of soap that he brought from home each night; Barry was too tight to supply them with soap or shampoo.
“You must have done all right,” Michael said. “You were with that punter for ages.�
��
“Four dances.” Mac grinned.
“Four? That’s great.”
“Yeah, it’s a shame I’ve got to give a third of the cash to that fucking lazy bastard in there.” He jerked his thumb at the dividing wall between the showers and Barry’s office.
“You’ll be going home with about ninety quid, won’t you?”
“Better than nothing.”
Michael splashed him with water. “Better than nothing? Nothing’s what Carlos and I are going home with.”
“Didn’t you get any dances in?”
“A couple. But two different guys.” Michael scrunched his lips to the side. “Carlos had one.”
“Shit, that’s rough.”
“Yup.”
Mac turned the shower off and grabbed his brightly coloured beach towel from the rail; Barry didn’t provide those either. “Is your hunky guy in tomorrow?”
“Hands off Edward.”
Mac wrapped his towel around his waist and then held his hands up. “Hey, he’s all yours, I’m just stating a fact: he is hot.”
Michael’s gaze became dreamy. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” He turned the shower off and started to dry himself with a plain beige towel.
“Oh, Jesus, don’t start getting a hard-on over him. At least, not until you get home.” Mac winked at Michael, who rolled his eyes in return.
“Don’t worry. I can keep my cock in my pants.”
“Until you get home.”
They both cracked up laughing. Together they wandered back through to the changing rooms and started to get dressed in their civvy clothes.
Michael pulled on a navy-blue pair of chinos. “I think you’re jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“When was the last time you got laid?”
Mac rolled his eyes, trying to remember. “Uh… a while ago. I don’t have time to date.” He grabbed a black polo shirt from his bag and winked at Michael. “Don’t worry, though, I’ve got plenty of toys at home.”
Michael snorted out a laugh.
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