by R. Cayden
“Thanks,” Lawrence said. The idea was a relief, although as he’d explained to the owner of the security company, it was a bit more complicated than that. “You do understand what happens on a night out in New York, right?” He tapped his fingers on the bar, then threw back some more of his drink. “I requested a gay bodyguard for a reason…”
Raiden laughed. “Yeah, I got it. You’re not going to surprise me. I love the bars back in Albany. Dancing and nightclubs aren’t really my thing, but I’m not going to judge if you pick up a date. Hell, it’s half the reason to go out in the first place.”
Lawrence puffed out a breath of relief. He was wearing a pair of white denim overalls, and he fondled the strap as he studied Raiden. “And I’ll bet you get in all kinds of trouble, don’t you?” he flirted.
Raiden took a drink of his beer, then turned his eyes to Lawrence, entirely ignoring the question, much to Lawrence’s frustration. “I’ll follow you around and make sure no one messes with you when you’re drunk, and once you find some guy to run off with, I call it a night. Did I get that right?”
Lawrence quickly finished his vodka tonic. “That’s right,” he sang, then waved to the bartender for another. He didn’t usually feel shy about the fact that he slept around, but sitting at the bar, he suddenly realized that Raiden would be seeing each and every one of his hookups for the next while, which gave him a strange flicker of anxiety.
Not that Lawrence minded being caught off guard. He was best on his toes, actually. And although he had intended to go home after their meeting and enjoy his bathtub, he was suddenly remembering a club night that Mayer had mentioned.
“You don’t like clubbing,” Lawrence said, tapping his finger to his lip, “but have you ever been to the Fire Hose?”
Raiden got a weird look on his face. “The Fire Hose?”
Lawrence sat up straight on his stool, the warm rush of alcohol already fuzzing his brain. “Why don’t we hit up a club tonight? You’ll be chilling in the back when you normally work, but it would only make sense if you hung out with me a little first and got a feel for things.” Raiden met his eyes, and Lawrence tried to read his expression, but he got lost somewhere in the hazel swirl and kind of melted against the bar.
Lawrence fluttered his eyelashes. “On the clock, of course,” he added. “I’ll compensate you for your time.”
A smile pulled up one side of Raiden’s mouth. “Cool,” he said. “Sounds like fun. I just have one question first.”
Lawrence titled his head to the side, smiling. “Oh yeah?”
Raiden reached out, and for a second, Lawrence thought his new bodyguard was going to touch his face. Instead, though, he drew his hand to his own cheek and brushed his fingers against the spot where Lawrence had gotten scratched up the last weekend. “Did this happen on one of your nights out?”
Lawrence swallowed. He had done his best to act like he didn’t care about the injury and even gave himself a look that evening with bright red and black eyes, his shadow hatched to match the pattern of the scratches. He had been laughing about it, like he always laughed at those things, but having Raiden ask about the marks with concern made it a little harder for him to keep up that act.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said, waving his hand to dismiss the whole thing. “The person who mugged me just shoved me down.”
Raiden frowned, then snorted a puff of air. “We’ll make sure that never happens again,” he said confidently. “Now come on. Show me what this club is all about.”
RAIDEN
“The Fire Hose,” Raiden said, repeating the words slowly.
Lawrence grinned. “Bet you didn’t expect that, did you?”
“Nope. But I guess it seems kind of obvious now.”
They stood in the entranceway, looking out on the large, cavernous club as high-paced electronic music throbbed. There were podiums set up around the dance floor, and shirtless dancers dressed as firemen writhed on each one of them. In the middle, a man held a giant, anaconda-like hose in his arms, and he occasionally sprayed foam out over the crowd while everyone cheered.
Raiden turned to Lawrence, and when he did, a twink slid down a big metal firefighter’s pole he hadn’t noticed before, plopping down by the bar.
“This is a dance club?” Raiden asked.
Lawrence laughed, and Raiden got a thrill from the sound of it. When the guy had shown up to the first bar wearing a pair of white fucking overalls, he wasn’t sure what to make of him. Lawrence looked cute as hell, and Raiden had always been a sucker for a flirt, even if he usually went for rougher men. But he had read the stories in the file that Declan put together, and he knew Lawrence must have something complicated going on, the way he acted so self-destructive. It wasn’t that Raiden judged self-destructive behavior, considering the life he’d led, but he knew that was an explosive combo for a hothead like him, and he did his best to build a wall around his heart right then and there.
“Clubs in Manhattan can be a bit much,” Lawrence said with another gentle laugh. They walked in, and he turned straight to the bar. “Every club tries to outdo every other club and find some way to be the new hip thing. It’s ridiculous, but it also means we get wonderful gems like this.” He waved his arm around, toward the mirrored walls and countless dancing men. “If that’s your thing,” he added, pursing his lips. “Is it?”
Raiden tightened his hands into fists. Usually, he went for guys who looked more like himself, men who snarled when they said hello and who skipped the small talk when they wanted to fuck.
The kind of guy Raiden couldn’t hurt, even if he tried.
But that night? There was just something about Lawrence’s curly locks of dark hair—and the way he leaned his slim body over the bar and arched his back—that got him feeling revved up.
“Firemen aren’t really my thing,” he finally answered as he crossed his arms over his chest. “But you have fun. Like I said, I won’t judge.”
Lawrence sucked in his lip, clearly not happy with the answer, then ordered a couple drinks. He chatted casually to Raiden about the club, pointing out a few go-go dancers he knew and explaining something about a Sunday morning afterparty. He talked so fast Raiden didn’t have a chance to get a word in, and soon enough, the bartender appeared with two tall glasses, filled with pink liquid.
“What the hell is that?”
Lawrence laughed, then handed Raiden one of the drinks. “They call it a Pink Panther,” he said. “Enjoy!”
Raiden frowned as he sniffed the drink, following Lawrence through the crowd and up some stairs. Men passed by, a lot of them cruising him with their eyes, and it dawned on Raiden that his job was going to involve turning down a lot of no-strings-attached sex on the weekends.
“Damn it, Declan,” he muttered, tearing his eyes away from a short and sturdy tattooed man who was eyeing him.
At least he had something even nicer to look at it in the meanwhile, he reminded himself. He and Lawrence took seats at a small, elevated table, looking down on the dance floor. The lights spun above them, and Raiden was glad that the music wasn’t too loud in their little spot, so he could hear the sparkle in Lawrence’s voice.
“You said you’re meeting your friend here?” he asked, then took a sip from the sweet drink and accidentally made a face.
Lawrence laughed at Raiden’s expression, then nodded. “Her name is Mayer. She said she’ll be here in an hour, but that actually means two hours. Unless our friend Tyler decides to join her. Then she’ll be an hour and a half.”
Raiden grinned. “Sounds like my guys,” he said, glad for the reminder of his friends. “Do your friends know you hired a bodyguard?”
“They insisted,” Lawrence answered. “I’ll introduce you to them, if you’d like. I guess they should know who you are. What about you? Your friends are in Albany, you said?”
“My buddy Horatio still is. He’s a hell of a mechanic, if you ever need one. Gray is off on some romantic adventure with his new boyfriend for a
while. I don’t know anyone in the city here, though. I’m still finding my way around.”
“Within a few weeks, you’ll know the gay clubs.”
“Maybe I’ll even get a taste for these sweet cocktails,” he said, then took another drink, even though his stomach was likely to object later.
“Or some other sweet things,” Lawrence answered, pursing his lips.
Raiden’s body responded to the flirtation, and he had to gulp from the gross cocktail again to cover himself. The kid wasn’t wasting any time coming on strong, and as Lawrence threw back his drink even faster than Raiden, it was clear he wouldn’t slow down, either.
The music shifted, and when everyone on the dance floor cheered, Lawrence popped up. “Shall we?” he asked, extending a hand.
Raiden crossed his arms. There was no way in hell he would go out on a dance floor like that in the first place, let alone with his client, and especially not after the guy had batted his eyelashes for the millionth time that evening. “It’s not for me,” he answered. “Sorry.”
Lawrence pouted, and Raiden felt something tighten in his heart. The kid’s lips just looked so fucking soft. “Not for you?” Lawrence asked, practically cooing as he leaned up on the table. “Dancing is for everybody. Even all these firemen, see?”
“You go on,” he answered. “I’ll practice keeping an eye on you and make sure you don’t slip away from me.”
Lawrence sighed. For a second, he seemed to be considering whether to push it. Then he shrugged and tossed his hands up. “Suit yourself. And enjoy the show.”
Raiden watched him walk away, rounding the corner of the stairs and bouncing his hips on the way. He was definitely the type to overindulge, that was clear, and Raiden realized they were going to have to have a conversation about what that meant for his job. He loved a good night of drinking, but he’d seen enough people struggle with substance abuse in his life that he knew it wasn’t something to fuck around with.
All those thoughts went away, though, when Lawrence took up his spot on the dance floor. He tugged off the shirt he was wearing, then tucked it into the back of his overalls. Throwing his hands in the air, he began to sway from side to side, smiling and glowing like an angel. Raiden held his spot up on the balcony, staring down at the dark nubs of Lawrence’s nipples. The man with the oversized hose sprayed foam in the air, and Lawrence jumped to catch some in his hands, then blew it in Raiden’s direction.
It was like the club went silent around Raiden. He squeezed his fists, fighting the urge to stalk across the dance floor, grab Lawrence by the shoulders, and have him right there in the middle of the club.
No wonder Declan had been laughing to himself when he gave Raiden the job. Lawrence was a bad idea, and the kid was going to keep tempting him mercilessly.
Raiden gritted his teeth when men began to cruise Lawrence, casting their eyes over him as they passed. One especially burly guy plopped a firefighter’s helmet on Lawrence’s head, and Lawrence laughed warmly while he danced with it for a moment, one hand holding it in place.
All of a sudden, Raiden’s attention was yanked across the club and back toward the front bar. It was like a bell went off inside of him, and in a flash, he was standing on his feet to strain and get a look at a stranger in a fitted blue suit, ordering himself a drink.
“What the fuck…” Raiden muttered, rubbing his forehead. Maybe the pink cocktail had gone straight to his head, but all of his danger alarms blared at full volume. He turned back to Lawrence, still dancing, then to the man in the blue suit, who casually glanced his way, their eyes meeting for the briefest second.
His reaction to the man might not have made sense, but Raiden wasn’t one to doubt his instincts. He hurried around the corner and down the stairs, pushing through a triad that was blocking the way, and back toward the main club. Fancy Pants in the suit had disappeared, but when Raiden turned to the dance floor, he immediately spotted him, approaching Lawrence on the other side of the crowd.
“Damn it,” Raiden grumbled, then began to push his way through the growing crowd. On the dance floor, the music throbbed at a much higher volume, and the smell of sweat and men hung in the air. Raiden turned away passes, his heart beating as he rushed to Lawrence for a reason he couldn’t even explain to himself.
He emerged from the crowd with a huff of breath to find Lawrence standing alone, a sloppy smile on his face and the Fancy Pants’s cocktail dangling from his hand. “Raiden,” he said with a huge smile, then swayed Raiden’s way. “You changed your mind.”
Raiden shook his head. “Was that man in the suit just here?” he shouted over the music. “Tacky haircut with the shaved sides?”
Lawrence nodded, holding his drink. “He gave me a drink, but then he disappeared.” He stumbled a little forward, and Raiden realized the liquor had caught up with him at last. “Why. Are you jealous, Raiden? Captain Jealous Raiden.”
Raiden stuck out a hand to steady him, and the warmth of Lawrence’s weight pleased him, like a confirmation the kid was safe after Raiden’s weird scare. “No, I’m not jealous,” he answered, trying to convince himself as much as Lawrence. “You said he’s gone?” he asked, turning over his shoulder and looking across the club.
Lawrence pulled his hand away, then started swaying his hips again. “Why aren’t you jealous?” he asked. “Do you just want me for my money? I understand. I’m only good for money, aren’t I? That’s what I should have said to the man who gave me this cocktail. I should have said, ‘Here’s my money.’” He pointed his finger straight out, then shoved it against Raiden’s chest. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
Raiden growled under his breath. Lawrence was drunk and acting out and talking a lot of nonsense. If it had been Gray or Horatio acting that way, he’d just tackle the other guy, mess up his hair, and tell him to get his shit together. But Lawrence was nothing like those guys, not to mention that he was Raiden’s employer, and that meant that he had no idea how he was supposed to act.
Especially not when Lawrence looked so damn hot under those dance lights.
“I don’t think that about you,” Raiden said loudly. “But I do think it’s time to call it a night.”
Lawrence grabbed him by the shoulders, then pulled him into a dance. Before Raiden could think, they were swaying their hips together, and Lawrence was dangerously close to riding up on Raiden. Instantly, Raiden’s body responded, with his cock growing harder in his pants and his hand landing on Lawrence’s back.
As he stood there, barely moving, a quiver went through his core. It felt really, really good, and he was no good at denying himself things that felt good.
“Lawrence,” he said, gasping the name. “I told you I’m not a dancer, and I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars to dance with me,” Lawrence slurred into his ear. “Deal?”
“You can’t go throwing your money away like that.”
Lawrence rode up on him again, pressing their bodies close as the music surged, then finally slid away. “You going to keep telling me what to do, bodyguard?”
“You going to listen to me?”
Lawrence seemed to consider it for a minute, and the feelings in Raiden burned stronger. He wasn’t the kind to get all mushy, and he scolded himself to get his horny ass under control.
“Oh!” Lawrence said, jumping on his feet. “I see Mayer!”
Raiden sighed, relieved he could pass Lawrence off to a friend. “I’ll take that as my cue to head home. Enjoy the fire hoses, Lawrence.”
“You don’t want to meet her?”
“Next time,” Raiden answered, eager to step away from the confused emotions that were clanging around in his head.
Lawrence leaned forward, then brushed his soft lips across Raiden’s cheek. “Next time,” he answered with a wink.
Raiden turned, then pushed his way back through the crowd. He made one more sweep of the club with his eyes, searching for the man in the blue suit, then forced himself aw
ay.
It was the first night on a new job, and already, Raiden had more trouble than he could handle.
Cash
Cash strolled out of the club, whistling to himself as he entered the warm spring evening. He was thrilled to discover that Lawrence had gone and hired himself a bodyguard, a complication that made the entire job much more exciting. Trailing the party monster across the city hadn’t exactly presented him with any challenges, and Cash was craving a bit of adrenaline.
Not that he was complaining about trailing Lawrence. There was something about his sassy energy and his cute bubble butt that made Cash smile from the shadows. The bodyguard was a bit rough for his taste but still damn handsome, and watching the two of them awkwardly flirt had kept Cash entertained for the better part of the evening. Once he was done ogling the show Lawrence put on from the dance floor and chuckling at the anxious, jealous longing in Raiden’s stare, Cash decided to emerge from the shadows and see how good Raiden actually was at his job.
And his instincts were quite good, Cash discovered. Quick enough to spot him early on, once Cash emerged and made his staring obvious, but not so fast that he reached Lawrence first.
Anyway, he reminded himself as he hopped onto the back of his motorcycle, the cocktail he had left with Lawrence should be enough to arouse further suspicion and keep the game going with Raiden, at least for a while.
Cash flew through the city on his ride, a scrambler he’d spent years customizing. It hummed between his legs, and Cash spread his grip on the wide handlebars. The bike was one of only a few select indulgences he allowed himself, and the engine was music to his ears as he rolled up to his current home, a squat brick building in the Meatpacking District. A hardware store occupied the entire first floor, and the buzzer announced a woodworking studio on the second and third floors, which was where he headed.
Herman Fine Woodworking had been abandoned for about three years when Cash came across the files for the property. He was shocked that it had lasted that long, but after one developer lost it in a divorce, a property management company had acquired it through a bulk transaction, then misfiled the property entirely in their own system. With no agent attached to it, the place had essentially disappeared in smoke.
