Iron Cross

Early April…

They were killing the fucking Leafs. Tyler Vanek propped his gloved hands on the butt of his stick as he chilled on his blades by the Cobras’ bench, watching the Leafs’ coach bitch to the officials about another penalty. Like it was the ref’s fault the boys from Toronto were a bunch of thugs. Getting bored, he started moving his lips every time the coach did, getting more into it when he noticed Luke Carter—the left winger on his line and one of his best friends—choking back laughter.

A few of the guys on the Cobras’ bench were snorting and chuckling. Tyler got some dirty looks when some of the Leafs caught him puffing out his cheeks to make his impersonation more realistic. He smirked at them and mimicked the coach’s stance, gesturing wildly with his hand just like the man was doing.

“Vanek!” Sloan Callahan, officially the Cobra’s assistant coach, but really, the one who ran the show, stepped over the bench and pressed his fists to the top of the boards. He didn’t look any less scary in a dark gray suit and tie than he had in the Cobra uniform with a big C on his chest. And his black gaze reminded Tyler of how the man looked wielding a whip. “Stop acting like a fucking idiot.”

Carter slid up to Tyler’s side, bumping their shoulders together and giving Callahan a charming half-smile. “Aww, come on, Coach. He’s just playing.”

“Play the game.” Callahan’s eyes narrowed when Carter opened his mouth. He nodded as Carter pressed his lips shut. “We need you both in one piece for the playoffs. Not gonna happen if you piss off the goons.”

Okay, Callahan was right, but this game was dragging on forever. The puck was finally dropped to the right of the Leafs’ goalie. Scott Demyan, the Cobras’ sniper and Tyler’s other partner in crime, won the face-off. Tyler’s stick connecting with the puck got his head back into the game where it belonged. He moved, tasting the icy air that flowed around him. Feeling the burn in his muscles as he raced across the ice, dodging the big guys trying to take him out. He was smaller than most players in the league, but he was fast. They couldn’t hurt him if they couldn’t catch him.

But if they did…yeah, Callahan was right to worry. They’d destroy him.

His pass was perfect, but Carter lost it after getting slammed into from the side. Together, they chased the Leafs to their blue line. He met Carter’s eyes and grinned when Carter nodded and picked up speed. They read the play perfectly and made a crushing Leaf sandwich. Checking the beefy forward winded Tyler, but it was so worth it to see the man go down from the impact. He crossed into the Leafs’ zone a step behind Carter, smoothly cupped the pass, then let the puck rip. The post dinged as the puck hit the inside. Then it dropped cleanly over the goalie’s shoulder.

Tyler didn’t get a chance to celebrate the goal. A stick blade came out of nowhere and slashed his mouth. Pain burst from his lips and he reared back, slamming into Carter who’d stopped mid-congrats to grab a Leaf player. Someone was pulling Tyler backward. He turned and saw nothing but white and blue sweaters. Swung blindly as blood filled his mouth.

Demyan shoved between him and the huge Leaf defenseman. Suddenly, the Cobras’ defensemen, Dominik Mason and Peter Kral, were muscling their way into the crowd. Mason, big and black and downright feral when he got riled up, pushed Tyler behind him and dropped his gloves.

Tyler took a second to bend over and swipe the blood and saliva from his lips. His blood dripped onto the ice in time with the pulsing pain. The sight made him dizzy. He had to get to the bench. Chicklet, his Mistress, the woman he fucking worshipped, had made him promise never to play hurt. But a cut wasn’t really being “hurt.” Was just messy and gross and he needed to get cleaned up. He’d get the doc to patch him up and then get back out here.

Before he could slide forward, there was a big man in a blue jersey blocking his path. His eyes widened when he realized it was the Leafs’ goalie, Andre Thomas.

What the fuck?

“Where do you think you’re going, you little shit—”

“It’s on, Thomas!” Landon Bower, the Cobras’ starting goalie, jetted across the ice like there were rockets attached to his skates. He threw himself at the other goalie. Both went down in a pile of loose pads and wild punches.

“Vanek!” Callahan shouted, grabbing a stick from Ian White and cracking it repeatedly against the boards. “Get over here!”

Tyler made himself move. Got off the ice and sat in front of the trainer on the bench.

The Leafs’ coach shouted from the other side of the suicide box that separated the team’s benches. “Your boy started all this. Put a fucking Band-Aid on him and send him home!”

“How about you teach your fucking gorillas to play the goddamn game?” Callahan strode up to the glass, looking like he wanted to go right through it and kill the other coach. “Just because they can’t use their sticks to score goals doesn’t mean they can use them as fucking weapons!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was an accident!”

“Accident, my ass!” Callahan hit the glass with the stick. “I’ll show you a fucking accident!”

Tyler cringed as the trainer pressed a towel to his lip, then ducked to avoid getting hit by the stick Callahan was swinging. At least the penalties were even, so they’d play four on four for two minutes. No big deal except all it took was a little joke for both teams to lose their minds.

Nice going, Vanek.

The trainer glanced up at Tyler with a strained smile on his lips. “You need stitches. How about you head to the locker room, let the doc take care of it? Away from the insanity.”

“Can’t you just—” This time, both Tyler and the trainer had to duck to avoid getting clocked by the stick. “There’s still ten minutes left to the game!”

“Ty.” A player moved behind the benches, one Tyler had a really hard time being around without his heart beating like the drums from a heavy metal band. Raif Zovko, all dark and dangerous, a player fans called “Midas.” He just had to look at Tyler to turn him into the little boy who’d thought Raif was a hockey god. But he didn’t seem too happy with Tyler, which had Tyler staring at his skate laces. “The game is won. Go have your wounds seen to.”

Callahan was pulled back by the “real” coach and turned to Tyler, practically snarling. “You good?”

Tyler hesitated, looking from Raif to the trainer. The trainer shrugged and put a butterfly bandage above Tyler’s top lip. “This will hold for now. But you need to get this taken care of soon.”

“Ten—nine minutes soon enough?” Tyler glanced over to the ice, not thinking much beyond the game that continued no matter how messed up things got. A bit of blood was nothing. He was still alive and that’s all that mattered. So long as he was breathing, could hold a stick, and keep moving, he would play. “I’m good, Coach!”

Lips thin, eyes hard, Callahan studied Tyler as a few guys came in for a line change. He nodded and waved Tyler on. “Humiliate those fucking assholes.”

That was all Tyler needed to hear. He vaulted over the boards, jetting across the rink, tapping his stick on the ice when he saw Carter intercept a pass. A black blur and the puck hit his tape. He dodged, flew forward. Slapped the puck high stick side.

Goal! Fuckin’ right!

Before a single Leaf could get close to him, White had the biggest guy on the team in a choke hold. Tyler elbowed his way into the crowd as White was surrounded. Carter hauled Tyler back. The refs broke up the fight before it even got started. The game ended without the Leafs even getting another shot in. The score was 6-0.

In the locker room, the guys stripped off their gear, shouting over the punk rock music Pischlar blasted from his small stereo. Shawn “Easy” Pischlar was a third-line left winger, laid-back and fun to hang out with. But Callahan was giving Pischlar “the look” as Pischlar put the small black plug earring back in his ear. Didn’t seem to bother anyone that Pischlar seemed to have new ink every time he had more than a day off the ice, but the piercings were an issue. Two cartilage ones in each ear and the slightly bigger one in his right earlobe.

Best to keep clear if Callahan was in lecture-mode. Tyler headed to the stall with his gold name plate at the top of the wood structure about the width of a regular-sized player’s shoulders. He glanced over at Demyan when Callahan started on Pischlar about how he wasn’t supposed to wear the plug at the Forum.

Demyan rolled his eyes, patted Tyler’s shoulder, and went to stand beside Callahan. Arms crossed over his bare chest, Demyan studied Pischlar. “Long as he don’t start putting a puck in there, I don’t see the issue.”

“This is none of your business, Demyan.” Callahan’s lips thinned. “But since you’re so fucking interested, Pischlar’s been getting shit from PR. You know what that’s like, right?”

Aww, fuck. Last thing the team needed was more bad press. Tyler half expected Demyan to back down because he’d risked being traded when he’d gotten one too many bad headlines. But he wasn’t all that surprised when Demyan faced Callahan, speaking low, his muscles tightening like he was ready for a fight.

Tyler couldn’t make out what was said, but Callahan nodded, spoke quietly, then glanced around the room at the players, who’d all gone real quiet. “Hey, we won this fucking game! The press is gonna be on us in about ten minutes, so do all your stupid shit now!”

Now that sounded like a plan. Tyler stood, grunting as White rammed into him from the side. They both hit the floor and White barred an arm across Tyler’s neck. Tyler laughed, twisting to get free of the big brute’s hold. They wrestled for a bit, but winning a fight against White was about as likely as taking down a bear with your bare hands.

Tyler tapped out and rolled onto his back.

White’s eyes widened as he stared down at Tyler. “Fuck, I completely forgot about your mouth. Sorry, kid.”

Warmth spilled down his chin, dripping onto Tyler’s neck as he lifted his head. He let his head drop to the floor when he saw the doc hovering. White stood and gave him a hand up. Hovered as the doc made Tyler sit and started poking at his lip.

Ouch! The hot, dull throb had Tyler jerking back. Heat spread over his cheeks at White’s snort.

“He ain’t even pulled out the needle yet!”

Just the idea of Doc using a needle on him had Tyler all queasy. He didn’t usually get patched up in front of the guys because he didn’t want them to see what a wimp he could be.

The doctor ignored White as he cleaned Tyler’s wound. “Not too bad. Hasn’t swelled that much, and you won’t even have a pretty scar to show for it. A couple of stitches will stop the bleeding.”

“Great.” Tyler rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs, doing his best to hold still as the syringe was pulled out.

When the doc injected a local anesthetic, White snorted again. Tough guy probably didn’t need anything to numb the pain. Maybe Tyler shouldn’t either, but…fuck, it hurt!

“Take it, boy. You know you want to take it.” Chicklet’s breath stirred the curls at the nape of Tyler’s neck as she ran her hands over the flaming flesh of his back. “For me.”

He inhaled roughly, letting his Mistress’s words get him past the needle piercing his flesh. But he didn’t like being watched. She was the only one who got to see him like this—taking whatever she told him to for her pleasure alone. Okay, so she wasn’t actually here, but knowing he’d been strong while he was stitched up would please her.

“Three stitches. It’s nothin’, buddy.” White slapped Tyler’s shoulder, probably trying to be supportive, but Doc glared at him. Which got him backing up and holding up his hands. “Sorry, I’ll go away.”

Thank you! Tyler inhaled as Doc finished up. He’d probably been making weird ass faces and if White teased him about it, he wouldn’t like the man so much anymore.

Doc didn’t say anything after he was done with Tyler. The press had come in and the guys had calmed down for their interviews. Tyler stayed in uniform as mics were shoved in his face. Talked about the “team effort” and made sure not to comment about how Coach had lost his mind. He was pretty good at the typical, scripted answers, so reporters got bored of him quick.

Besides, what Pischlar was saying was a lot more interesting. Tyler stood behind Carter and Demyan as Pischlar straightened his shiny gray tie and nodded at the last question shouted at him.

“No, my last girlfriend didn’t ‘turn me gay.’ I’ve always been open to whatever.” Pischlar shrugged and slung his sport bag over his shoulder. “That’s why they call me ‘Easy.’”

The next question had every player in the room going still. “Did joining the Cobras make it feel more acceptable to be honest about being gay?”

Fuck, go right for the jugular, why don’t you? Tyler wanted to say something. Take some pressure off the other man. But what could he possibly say? He wasn’t as out there about his relationship as some of the guys were. Less than half the team was in ménage relationships, but the media painted them all with the same brush. They were all considered kinky. The guys who were happily married with 2.5 kids were asked if they cheated on their wives with their teammates. The team’s owner, Lorenzo Keane, had been trying to steer the focus away from the players’ sexuality. Without much success.

Pischlar cocked his head and gave the reporter an indulgent smile. “Who said I was gay? I’ve dated women. I’m dating a man. I’m up for anything.” He chuckled. “I’m in an open relationship, and I’m awesome in bed. If you want to know more, I’ll give you my number.”

A few of the reporters looked shocked, but tempted. The old man who’d asked the question seemed to have swallowed his tongue. Tyler was pretty sure he’d swallowed his own.

Damn, how could he just… I mean, wow. Not that Pischlar should hide it, but to just put it out there like he didn’t give a shit what people thought?

When the press left the room, Callahan went over and gave Pischlar one of his rough, manly hugs. So did a few of the other guys. One thing wouldn’t change with the team. They backed their own, no matter what.

But Tyler would have expected Callahan to tear Pischlar out for not being all politically correct with his interview. Maybe not in front of the team, but in his office at least. Instead, he seemed totally okay with everything.

“Hey, Demyan.” Tyler pulled Demyan off to the side, speaking low so no one else would hear him. “What did you say to Coach?”

Demyan shoved his hands into the pockets of the jeans he’d changed into. “I told him Easy was coming out—in a way. Room service took a few pictures of him and some random guy on the last road trip. There’s been stuff all over the ’net. Easy didn’t want people thinking he was ashamed or anything, but he had to face them as himself. Keane asked him to wear a suit for the interview, but he needed something that was…well, him. Callahan got it.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Tyler wasn’t sure why any of them had to share personal stuff. He remembered when reporters had come to his house to ask him about how soon he’d be back on the ice after his concussion. He’d always worn the team hat and one of his many Cobra T-shirts. Like that, the press wasn’t really questioning Tyler. They were questioning “Vanek.”

One of the team’s most promising rookies at the time. A player. Not the man he was off the ice.

“We can’t all do it, Tyler.” Demyan sat on the stool beside Tyler’s stall even as Tyler lowered to his own. He put his hand on Tyler’s forearm. “You can’t and that’s cool. I’m not allowed to. I gotta give ‘the right answers.’ But out there, beyond the game, we do whatever the fuck we want. We’ve just gotta be careful.”

Was kinda weird that Demyan was calling Tyler by his first name, but whatever. Guys did that when they were being all supportive. Not that he could figure out why Demyan needed to give that support. Chicklet liked things private. And her girlfriend, Laura, was a cop and needed things that way. A few of Laura’s close coworkers knew she was a sub and into BDSM. But nothing was public.

Demyan’s grip tightened on his arm. Tyler opened his mouth to tell the man to ease up, but then spotted Raif standing with Zach Pearce across the room. Pearce was the first Cobra—hell, the first professional hockey player—to “come out” to the media. He was involved with Demyan and Rebecca Bower, their goalie’s big sister. The three of them had some nice domestic thing going on. Becky’s kid was the center of their universe.

But Pearce had history with Raif. And Demyan got a little weird whenever Pearce and Raif hung out. Like they were doing now.

Pearce finished dressing and laughed at something Raif said, which had Demyan breaking fucking blood vessels in Tyler’s arm. Pearce flung his arm over Raif’s shoulders. “I don’t think anyone’s surprised a game against the Leafs ended in a few brawls.”

“You are not a fighter. Or did you forget?” Raif’s brow lifted at Pearce’s protests. “In a bar, yes, you can hold your own. On the ice? You embarrass yourself.”

“Thanks.” Pearce snorted. “You did pretty good out there, but you’re gonna fuck up your hands if you keep hitting guys with their helmets on.”

“I go for the body.” Raif gave Pearce a hooded look. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Pearce went quiet as Raif took off his sweat-stained undershirt, baring his muscular chest. “You going to the bar after? I think a few of the guys are gonna hang out.”

Demyan pushed to his feet and glared at Pearce. “I thought we were going straight home, Zach. Becky said Casey stayed up to watch the game.”

Pearce frowned. “She wouldn’t let Casey stay up this late.”

“Hey, you know how our daughter is. Becky’s probably worn out. She’d have tried to get Casey to sleep on the sofa at least, but we both know she’ll be awake when we get home.” Demyan looked around the room, letting out a bitter laugh. “Maybe it’s just me, but the guys who have kids went home already. I’m getting up with my baby girl in the morning. You want to hang out, go for it.”

“Don’t start, Scott.” Pearce sighed and turned to Raif. “He’s right. My daughter probably isn’t asleep yet. But you should spend time with the guys. They know you’re an amazing player, but most don’t know you.”

“And you think they should?” Raif didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge Demyan. There was a sexual tension in the room Tyler couldn’t ignore, even though Raif wasn’t saying anything suggestive. “You need to be with your family, but I see no point in spending the night out when we have practice tomorrow.”

“We all have practice, Raif. You’ve pulled all-nighters before.”

“With reason.”

Pearce’s lips parted. His eyes darkened a little as he moved away from Raif. “Yeah. There was always a good reason.” He closed his eyes as Demyan strode out without a word. “But that’s in the past, Raif. I should go.”

Turning his back on them, Tyler changed quickly, glad to see Demyan and Pearce were gone when he turned around. Only Raif was left, so Tyler mumbled “Good-bye” and started for the door.

“Stay.” Raif’s sharp tone stopped him short. He crossed the room with slow, even strides, and it took all Tyler’s strength not to retreat when Raif stepped up to him. “How many stitches?”

Squaring his shoulders, Tyler met Raif’s eyes. “Three.”

“Not so bad then.” Raif’s lips quirked, like he was amused as he glanced down at the hands Tyler sporadically fisted and unfisted. “Why so nervous, Ty? You’re not my sub. I won’t punish you for disobeying me.”

“I know that.” Tyler made a shallow scoffing sound, but his gaze fixed on the center of Raif’s chest. His very wide chest, covered in a dusting of dark hair that went from his lower pecs down the center of his cut abs. “You know how it is, Raif. Wasn’t no big deal.”

“Look at me when you talk to me. We are friends, are we not?” Raif moved a little closer. Let out a soft chuckle as Tyler lifted his head to look at him. “I do know how it is.”

“Good.”

“Will you go to the bar with the others?”

“No. I’m going to the club.” The back of Tyler’s neck was getting hot. Thinking about the BDSM club had him thinking about how Raif was a Dom there. An experienced Dom. One who would treat Tyler very differently than he did in the locker room.

Kinda like a cute little puppy that belonged to someone else. And wasn’t very well trained.

“The club. I take it Chicklet will be there?” Raif asked like it didn’t matter one way or another.

“Why? You gonna tell on me?” They were still in the locker room, so no need to be all respectful.

Raif’s hand abruptly shot out to frame Tyler’s jaw and Tyler jumped. Stared into those dark brown eyes which seemed to dare Tyler to move a muscle.

Yeah. Not that stupid.

“No, Ty. I won’t need to tell her a thing.” Raif gave him a positively evil half-smile. “You will.”

“I will?”

“Yes. And you’ll relay a message for me.” Raif ran his thumb alongside the stitches on Tyler’s lip. Bent close to whisper in Tyler’s ear. “She needs to tighten your leash. You are sorely in need of discipline because as you are now…” He stepped back, shaking his head and clucking his tongue. “Let’s just say I’d be ashamed if you were my sub.”

Grinding his teeth, Tyler glared at Raif. “Fuck you.”

It didn’t come out as strong as Tyler had meant it, but he got the hell out of the locker room. Didn’t stop until he was in his brand-new black Maserati, a car Chicklet loved because of the way it growled. He’d tried to give it to her, but she’d just smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t need presents, my boy. And I happen to love my Jeep.” She raked her fingers through his hair. “Besides, I like seeing you behind the wheel, my spoiled little angel.”

He hated it when she called him that, but he knew better than to complain. Was okay to joke a little when she was in a good mood though, so he lifted his brows and stroked the steering wheel. “I earned this. How am I spoiled?”

Her red lips curved as she put her hand on his thigh, her nails sharp and long, as they only were on weekends they played, digging into his flesh through his jeans. “Because I let you buy it. You’d drive a rusty piece of shit if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” The idea actually had his dick hardening, so close to her hand and those wicked nails. People would think he was crazy if he drove a wreck. They’d pity him. But he wouldn’t care because every time he got behind the wheel he’d know he was showing his devotion. “I’ll get rid of this car and—”

“Did I not speak clearly? I like seeing you behind the wheel. My beautiful boy deserves the very best.”

And Chicklet deserved everything he could give her. She didn’t care about the things money could buy. All that mattered to her was that she owned his body, his mind, and his heart.

He wouldn’t make her ashamed of him. He’d be the best goddamn sub at the club, crawl for her, and kiss the tips of her pointy leather boots if she wanted him to. He’d take the pain she dished out, forget about his limits, and trust her to bring him to the very edge without going too far.

And…and he’d tell her everything. Except for Raif’s message because after Tyler did everything in his power to be the perfect sub, to anticipate her every command and please her—

Raif could deliver the message himself. And she’d laugh at him.

* * * *

Well-worn leather, fitting her like a second skin, the metal tip of her boot stilettos clicking sharply on the wood floor, Chicklet made her way across the Blades & Ice BDSM club to relieve Ford Delgado from bartending duties. She laughed and shook her head as Ford distractedly offered her a shot of whiskey. He wasn’t paying any attention to who she was.

Bad boy. Thankfully she wasn’t a naughty sub or an inexperienced, careless Dom, sneaking a drink before a scene. She tapped his forearm with her long, gleaming, black nails. “I’m playing later tonight, Ford. Go check on your girl.” She smirked when Ford snapped his gaze from where Cort was learning the ropes—or, more accurately, the whip—from Sloan. Sloan was one of her best friends, but the sadist was a bit twisted. The way the muscles in Ford’s jaw ticked, you’d think Sloan was beating on his sweet little sub, Akira, but it was actually Cort getting a taste of the short hunting whip.

Not my type, but…yummy! Chicklet watched Sloan expertly wielding the whip, laying red stripes across Cort’s bare shoulders and back. Cort rested his forehead against the round beam he was bound to, only lifting it when Sloan stopped to check on him and give a few tips. Such a broad expanse of flesh to mark up above the faded black jeans riding low on Cort’s hips, and he didn’t struggle against the restraints. But he wasn’t enjoying the whipping, wouldn’t let himself sink into the drugging endorphins. He was a good-looking man, one she wouldn’t mind handling herself. If he was a sub.

Ford’s concern made a lot of sense. A brute of a baby Dom in training, who wouldn’t safe word if his life depended on it, was scary in the hands of a man who enjoyed dishing out pain as much as Sloan did. But Sloan had been working with Cort for a month. Wouldn’t have started this lesson unless he could read the big man well.

Chicklet had mentioned Akira because she wanted Ford’s focus where it belonged. Akira was being tested, forced to kneel just outside the roped area and watch her fiancé take each welt-raising lash without a sound. Adorable in her studded, black leather halter top and belt of a leather skirt, her sleek black-brown hair spilling down her back. Usually so serene on her knees. Now though, she had her hands clasped on her thighs, and her eyes were spitting fire. More than once she moved to stand. Stopped herself.

Akira had more experience than either of her men, so Sloan trusted her to stay put. Breaking that trust would be very bad if the trio wanted Sloan to keep training Cort.

“She shouldn’t be watching them.” Ford slammed a rag down on the bar top, but stopped and inhaled slowly before moving out from behind the bar. “She doesn’t understand why he needs to do this.”

“Oh, I think she does.” Chicklet put her hand on Ford’s arm before he could walk by, probably to “save” Akira. He glared at her. She arched a brow and waited for him to calm down. Once he did, she continued. “This is hard for her, but she insisted on being involved in both your training. She’s a big girl, but she needs you to remind her why Cort is doing this.” Chicklet withdrew her hand and smiled at Ford when she felt him shiver. “For you. And I think seeing this is harder on you than her.”

“He doesn’t get off on pain.” Ford rubbed a hand over his face, then held it up and laughed. “Don’t bother. I know that makes me sound like his sub, but I’m used to us looking out for each other. Trying to prevent anyone hurting either of us. But this isn’t the same. Cort needs to be in control. Him submitting, even to learn how to do this right, seems wrong.”

“How is that a submissive statement, Ford? Doms are protective, and they know what the people who belong to them need. Your kinks have you all over the fucking place. You went through the exact same thing.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“And you would have done it even if you hadn’t to be a good master.” Chicklet patted the young man’s smooth cheek. He was a bit more her type, all wiry strength with a mouth she’d love to smack just for fun. “The offer’s still out there. I’m not a sadist, but I can hurt you.”

“Thanks, but…” Ford frowned, shaking his head as he rubbed his hands on his black jeans. “Wouldn’t be the same. I don’t…feel anyone else now that I’m with Cort and Akira. Don’t need anyone else.”

“You, mister, confuse the hell out of me. By the end of the night, Cort will have you in chains while he practices everything Sloan’s taught him and his mentor stands watch.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, honestly baffled. And having no problem explaining why. “I’d call you a switch, but you’re not. You’ll give up a bit of control to enjoy the pain, but the submission itself does nothing for you.”

“Trying to read me, Mistress?” The lazy smile on Ford’s lips only proved her point. A sub would try to show her how wrong she was. A switch might argue, try to pull on a dominant front. Unless they were comfortable with straddling the fence. Ford played close to the fence, but the need for control was obvious. Obvious in the way he owned that the right kind of pain got him off.

“Why bother? If I can’t play with you, it’s a waste of time.” She heard the soft ding that sounded behind the bar when the front door opened. The most beautiful woman in the world, one who made even the sexiest model on the runway a pale comparison in Chicklet’s eyes, came in with timid steps. Her long, dark brown hair fell over one shoulder as she looked around the bar, stopping at the threshold and going no farther. Her midnight blue eyes were huge, her hands fisted at the hem of her nearly transparent, but virginal white slave dress. A mockery of rags in the finest silk, gliding over her ample curves like water.

Laura. Chicklet forgot Ford and moved toward her girl. The perfect mix of strength and complete submission. Years ago, when Chicklet had met her in a BDSM club in Chicago, Laura had been doing her best to submit to one fumbling Dom after another. She’d come out as a lesbian in her teens, then retreated into the closet after her mother kicked her out. She was a Kentucky girl, but you would never know that listening to her because whatever accent she’d had was gone. She’d been fostered with a family who’d moved to Nova Scotia. She had dual citizenship and went back to the States often. But never back home. She hadn’t been to Kentucky since she was thirteen.

Chicklet walked straight up to Laura and cupped the smaller woman’s cheeks in her hands. Laura’s eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed from crying. Chicklet wanted to be a gentle, caring Mistress for her, but she’d tried that before and failed miserably. Laura needed to be controlled completely. Things couldn’t be easy, or they weren’t “real.” If Laura even sensed Chicklet was denying herself, she’d hide. And Chicklet couldn’t let Laura hide.

“You look beautiful, pet.” Chicklet pressed a soft kiss to Laura’s glossy lips, teasing them with the tip of her tongue to savor the strawberry flavored lip gloss Laura wore for her. A hint of vanilla from Laura’s perfume made Chicklet’s mouth water. She drew a long, black nail down the center of Laura’s chest, pleased to see the sadness fade from Laura’s eyes. Not completely, but her girl was slipping into the peaceful submissive mind-set she craved. Satisfied that the night would go well from here on, Chicklet took a step back. “Go fix us each a tea. We’ll chat a little while I work the bar, then I’ll bring you to the medical room.”

Laura’s eyes widened as she drew in a sharp breath and pink rose high on her cheeks. She’d once told Chicklet she hated the medical room, that all the metal, the sterility of it, made her uncomfortable. After that, their play in that room had been mild. But they had continued to scene in there until Chicklet eased her sub past her discomfort.

It was now one of Laura’s favorite rooms.

A nod and Laura turned to fetch their tea. Then stopped and glanced back at Chicklet, fiddling with the hem of her dress again. “What about the boy?”

Chicklet frowned. She gave each of her subs “special time,” playing with them separately often enough to meet their unique needs, but always on her terms. Why would Laura ask about Tyler now?

“My boy will join us.” The flicker of disappointment in Laura’s eyes disturbed Chicklet. She slid forward, invading her sweet little sub’s personal space and tipping her chin up with a nail. “I’ll forgive the question, pet, because you’ve clearly had a rough day. Which is why I will use him to make you come so hard you’ll scream yourself hoarse and won’t be able to speak properly for days. Tell me how much you love his mouth on you.” Chicklet let out a low, cruel laugh when Laura wet her bottom lip with her tongue. She brought her fingers to Laura’s mouth. “When he kisses you.”

The tip of Laura’s tongue touched Chicklet’s fingertip. “Yes.”

“When he sucks these beautiful nipples.” Chicklet brushed her knuckles over Laura’s breasts, heat surging low as she enjoyed the feel of hardened tips pushing against the silk with no bra to restrain them. She slipped the same hand between Laura’s thighs, rubbing the silk against her bare mound. “When he fucks your hot pussy with his very talented tongue.”

“I do, Mistress.” Laura swallowed hard and her knees buckled. She leaned heavily against Chicklet, shuddering as Chicklet continued stroking her until her juices soaked through the silk. “He’s yours and I love that you share him with me.”

“That’s my good girl.” Chicklet kissed Laura’s cheek and withdrew her hand. “Now go.”

Laura went, but having to repeat the command bothered Chicklet. They really had to talk before doing a scene. Whatever Laura had gone through today was bad enough to latch on to her emotions like a big, black leech even once she’d come to one of the few places where she usually let it all go. As Chicklet made her way to the bar, she considered letting someone else take her shift so she could bring Laura home. Where they could be together and set aside the D/s mentality.

Only, the times where Laura wanted to be out of the scene were becoming rare. She had to maintain so much control at work that giving it up was a relief. Which Chicklet had been handling by increasing the power exchange from only a few scenes a week to nearly 24/7 now. But days like this were difficult. She wasn’t sure that she really helped Laura by letting her escape so completely into submission. It was a different way to hide. She would tell Chicklet everything, but only because her Mistress expected full disclosure.

They had been friends once. Laura would laugh and tease Chicklet about getting her nails done only for play, but leaving them short and bare for everyday life. They’d go shopping and Laura would beg her to buy something pretty for when they went out for dinner. Chicklet didn’t do “pretty.” She loved her faded T-shirts and jeans. She dressed in leather pants and a leather corset at the club, but for Laura, she had a few dresses and strappy heels for their monthly date night.

Back at the bar, Chicklet served several bottles of water and coffee to the subs ordering for their Doms. Laura brought her tea and went about tiding up the bar as Chicklet handled the drink inventory. When Chicklet finally had everything running smoothly she went to take a sip of her tea, then ran her hand up and down Laura’s back as her girl washed the stack of glasses behind the bar by hand. There was a dishwasher, but Laura preferred the old-fashioned way. Any kind of mundane service task grounded her, so Chicklet let it go.

But the troubles of the day hooked into her sub’s heart would have to be extracted. And at very least bandaged before they could go any further. Chicklet rested her hip on the counter beside the sink and chose her next words very carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The way Laura’s spine stiffened screamed “No!”, but she simply nodded. “Of course I do. It hurts to keep it in, and I…” Laura’s bottom lip trembled. “I’ve been waiting all night to see you. To tell you about what happened so you can make it go away.”

“Oh, baby.” Chicklet took a sudsy glass from Laura’s hands and set it aside. Pulled the small woman into her arms, feeling the tense muscles covered by a woman’s softness, every inch belonging to her, so precious, so desperate for her strength. Chicklet wasn’t soft, and she was grateful for the hard body she’d worked for, one her subs could lean on like a rock when their own strength failed them. “I can’t make it go away. But I can help. Tell me.”

“She was…the little girl was only eight years old. A neighbor called and told us they’d suspected that she was being abused by her father and her brothers. We went there so fast, but…” Laura’s sob ripped right into Chicklet’s chest. She didn’t want to imagine what her sweet girl had seen, but she would. She would so Laura knew she had someone who’d face the horror with her. But she didn’t speak because she sensed Laura had more to say. She held her breath as Laura continued. “They’d tucked her into bed. They let us in and the father…he asked us not to wake her. Hamilton let me go in first because I insisted. I didn’t want to scare her.”

Stroking Laura’s hair, Chicklet nodded. “I would have done the same.”

“Her lips were blue and there were bruises all around her mouth. I talked to her. She was so cold, wasn’t breathing and I knew she was…but I kept talking to her. I told her no one would ever hurt her again.” Laura pressed her eyes shut. Tears covered her cheeks. “No one will ever hurt her again.”

“No. They won’t.” Chicklet hugged Laura as she sobbed, looking up when she caught someone approaching the bar. Dominik. His expression held concern as he mouthed “Do you need to go?”

Yes! But, then again, no. Laura would panic if she suggested leaving. All her girl had to keep her moving forward was tonight. A chance to get away.

With what she’d gone through, Chicklet would let her hide for a little. She’d earned it. And sinking into submissiveness would give Laura a safe place. A safe place where Chicklet stood guard, making sure her vulnerable girl could escape the harsh reality she was subjected to every single day.

Yes, she missed the times when they could be equals. But there was nothing more important than being the haven for the precious soul who’d placed herself in Chicklet’s hands.

She met Dominik’s eyes, smiled, and shook her head. Laura wouldn’t accept concern from another Dom, but she’d take him as another buffer if Chicklet let him near. He’d never been involved in their play, but other Doms had. Inviting Dominik into their scene was tempting, he was one of the most attentive Dominants here. And yet, there was no telling how far that kind of play would push Laura. She was so vulnerable she would accept anything just to say she’d done what she was told. Laura’s submissiveness ran deep and when she lost herself in it, any command would suffice.

That was where Chicklet came in. Where she set the boundaries and made sure her girl was protected and could let go without any fear.

“Can you take over the bar, Master Dominik?” Chicklet added the “Master” so Laura would know she was surrounded. And not in a bad way. In a way where the cushion of control was all around her, reinforcing that Laura could just let go.

Dominik took over, meeting Chicklet’s eyes and waiting for her nod before pulling Laura into his arms and kissing her forehead. Laura went stiff at first, but relaxed when Dominik brought his hand to the back of her neck.

“All your Mistress has to do is say the word.” His voice was gruff, and he gave Chicklet a tight smile over Laura’s shoulder, proving he would be there in whatever way she needed, no question. “And I will take you so far out of your head, you’ll know nothing but pleasure.”

Laura ducked her head, pressing her face against his chest. “Thank you, Sir. But my Mistress can do that for me alone.”

“I know she can.” Dominik chuckled and kissed Laura’s forehead again. “But a man can dream, can’t he?”

I love you, Dominik. Chicklet shot a grateful smile at Dominik, then held out her hand for her girl to come to her. Feeling Laura leaning against her side as they headed to the theme rooms put everything into perspective. A cool rush of power flowed through her veins. Almost like the sensation she got before strapping on her pads and stepping on the ice to play goalie for her bar league. To most, there was nothing real on the line, but it was real to her. Her team depended on her and so did Laura.

“If I had a say, you’d be working behind a desk, still doing what you love, but…” No, this line of thought would get them nowhere. She let out a shallow laugh. “That’s not who you are. Some days will be hell. I fell in love with a woman in uniform. A woman who kneels to me and bares her fucking soul. And I will do whatever I have to so you feel whole again. Even if that means breaking you first.”

They were almost at the door and Laura was shaking hard. Needing all this, but Chicklet wasn’t taking her in hand fast enough. Time to change that. She put her hand on Laura’s throat and shoved her against the wall. The shaking stopped as Laura stared up at her in shock.

“Mistress—?”

“Hands behind your neck and not another word.” Chicklet swallowed hard, hoping she was doing the right thing. Laura needed out of her head now. She pressed her lips to Laura’s, swallowing her gasp and delving past strawberry-flavored lips with her tongue. She hooked her fingers to the silken material of Laura’s panties and dragged them down her hips, letting them fall to her ankles once they were past her knees. “You wanted a male doctor, didn’t you, little girl? Only a man should touch you like this.”

Laura writhed as Chicklet pushed two fingers into her slick pussy, automatically reacting as she always did to this game. Being with a woman was so very wrong, the idiots that should have loved Laura had drilled that into her, but Chicklet had turned it into a naughty pleasure during these scenes.

And Laura played along very well, her tone all sweet and innocent. “I’ve been told it’s very bad, Ma’am, but—”

“Doctor. There are women in this profession, and I can make you all better.” Chicklet nipped Laura’s earlobe. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“Everywhere.” Laura groaned as Chicklet withdrew her fingers and backed away. “But you almost made me forget about the pain.”

“Oh, I will, sweetheart.” With one hand wrapped around Laura’s wrist, Chicklet pushed the door open. Once they cleared the doorway, she pressed the door shut quietly. Motioned Laura toward the exam table which was covered in a fresh length of paper. “Undress and lie down. I’ll give you a full physical to see if I can find the problem.”

This was where a sub had the full advantage, though few fully grasped the power they held when they stood before their Masters obeying the most basic commands. Elegant submission and a slow, tempting reveal could test a Domme’s control. Chicklet held her breath as she stepped away from Laura, trying to maintain her composure as the small, graceful woman let her eyes drift shut and lowered her hands to her sides. Laura’s curled fingers slowly lifted the hem of her dress, then stopped. Her hands slid up her body, over her stomach, her breasts.

Chicklet gave Laura a hooded look when she caught her sub’s eyes opening just a little as though to gauge her reaction. With deft fingers, Laura slid the straps of the dress off her shoulders, and Chicklet’s pulse sped up as Laura lowered her gaze to the floor and drew her dress down over her breasts. Let it fall, revealing pale flesh, thick nipples and wide hips curving out from a small waist. She shifted her stance, bending her knees a little with her thighs parted, betraying how insecure she was with them. She always tried to stand in a way that wouldn’t show how they dimpled over her knees, but Chicklet didn’t comment this time. She loved Laura’s legs, strong, but cushioned so nicely there was no mistaking it was a hot, voluptuous woman Chicklet held when they were together.

This time, Laura didn’t wait for Chicklet to repeat her command. She neatly folded her dress, put it on the gleaming white counter on the other side of the room, then went to climb onto the table. Lying back, she rested her arms by her sides. Her heavy breasts swayed with her deep inhales. Her slow, measured exhales.

Chicklet’s lips crept up at the edges. She gave herself a few moments to admire the exposed body of her sweet girl under the bright lights of the room, to take in the tiny goose bumps covering Laura’s arms and breasts. The way Laura chewed at her bottom lip let Chicklet know her girl was slipping out of that special, quiet place where she needed to be.

Time to change that. Chicklet went to adjust the thermostat to make the room a bit warmer. There was a black gynecology chair in one corner of the room, a long white counter with metal drawers beneath it full of all kinds of fun toys and medical supplies still in their packages. In the cabinets above the counter there were hospital gowns, towels, and water bottles. Two metal rolling trays stood between the chair and the counter. Chicklet went through the drawers under the counter to select the tools she’d need. She wasn’t into blood play or extreme pain, so she didn’t need to open every drawer, but she knew Laura would worry a little as she heard each one sliding open and slamming shut.

“Did I mention I want your eyes closed?” Chicklet asked, her tone light and purposely disinterested as she took a small, metal vibrating bullet from its package and dropped it with a loud clang! onto one of the covered trays.

“No, Mistress.” Laura rasped in a sharp breath, but spoke softly. “But I thought you might, so I closed them.”

“What a good girl.” Chicklet smiled as she rolled the tray over to the exam table. Laura had forgotten to call her “Doctor,” but that didn’t matter. She’d let herself go exactly where Chicklet wanted her. Chicklet took fresh gloves from the small box she’d added to her supplies. Pulled them on with a deliberate snap. “Now, no matter what I do to you…” She pulled one strap from the side of the table to place it over Laura’s chest, just above her breasts, then secured it to the Velcro on the other side of the table. “You must promise me one thing.”

Laura’s lips parted and she was gasping in air now, clawing at the paper on the table and shifting her legs. She trembled as Chicklet drew the next strap over her belly. “Anything, Mistress.”

There were straps for Laura’s thighs, but Chicklet didn’t use them. Instead, she attached the simple leather cuffs to Laura’s ankles, then clipped them to a small metal loop at either side of the exam table so Laura’s legs were held apart. Loosely, so she could squirm all she wanted.

“Don’t worry about anything. Move as much as you can, scream if you need to.” Chicklet walked along the side of the table and stroked Laura’s cheek with her fingertips. “Don’t even attempt to control yourself. You don’t have the ability anymore. I’ve taken it away.”

* * * *

Gone. The world with all its shadows and darkness was already gone. The room was so bright, even behind Laura’s closed lids she could see the light, filtered in a warm, glowing red. Her rapid breaths sounded too loud in her ears, so she forced them to slow. Could almost hear her own heartbeat slowing as well as she relaxed. She inhaled through her nose and had the sudden urge to giggle as she caught a hint of mint in the air.

“A smile. Now that’s what I like to see,” Chicklet said, chuckling as she stopped somewhere to Laura’s left. A brief touch on Laura’s hip helped her place her Mistress. To envision her face as she looked down at Laura’s naked body. “Where does it hurt now, pet?”

Laura felt a tension in her brow as she tried to find the right answer. The sensation of Chicklet trailing a nail over her stomach made it impossible to think. The tension eased away as Laura finally replied. “It doesn’t. Nothing hurts.”

“Good.” Chicklet drew her nail up Laura’s ribs, her tone soothing. Hypnotic. “You are lovely. Have you ever had a woman tell you that? I suppose it’s not a horrible thing for a woman to say? We can admire one another, no?”

“No. Only a man should say that to me.” Laura bit her bottom lip, holding back a grin. She didn’t really care what anyone thought about her being a lesbian. Not anymore. But it was fun to pretend because Chicklet had made it okay. Mocking all the things she’d been told were sinful in the past was strangely arousing. Almost as though she was giving in to temptation over and over again. “I won’t insult you by asking for a man to examine me, but I beg you to be professional. I should have kept my clothes on.”

“I disagree.” Chicklet pinched her nipple. Hard. The pain darted into Laura’s breast, a shock of heat that spread down to her belly and made her muscles jump. Chicklet’s fingers left her nipple, only one returning, warm and wet, circling the painfully hard tip. “How could I be sure you weren’t hiding an injury under that dress?”

“I would have told you.” Laura whimpered as Chicklet pinched her other nipple and twisted it, this time drawing out the pain so it was like a steady pulse driving down mercilessly. Laura was already wet, but she could feel the moisture soaking into the paper covering the exam table now. Her breasts were so sensitive, it wouldn’t take much for Chicklet to make her come by playing with her nipples. Her clit felt swollen and as Chicklet latched on to her other nipple with her teeth, Laura’s lips parted at the burst of pleasure skipping back and forth between her nipples and the tiny nub.

Releasing Laura’s nipple with a soft “Hmm,” Chicklet palmed both her breasts and massaged them gently. “You are exactly as I need you to be. Let me do my job. When was the last time you had these checked?”

“Last month.” Laura flushed as she thought about the exam which had been a lot less pleasant than this one. Her regular doctor was a man, but that didn’t bother her as much as having to place her breasts on that machine. It was one of the few things she did at Chicklet’s request that she’d ever dared complain about. Which was stupid and she knew it. She’d earned the punishment that followed and didn’t plan to repeat the mistake. “I told you when I went, Mis—”

“Doctor. And that’s good. What about here?” Chicklet’s gloved hand pressed against Laura’s pussy. One finger pushed into her. “Have you been examined here lately?”

“Yes!” Only one finger. It wasn’t enough. Laura tried to lift her hips, then stopped herself. She had to be patient. “He was very thorough.”

“He?” Chicklet clucked her tongue. The click of her heels moved away. Her hands pressed against Laura’s inner thighs. “Of course, only a man should see this pretty pussy. It should only be this juicy when a man has his hands on you.”

Hot breath. Lips hovering so close that Laura could feel them brush against her as Chicklet spoke. She quivered at the jolt of pleasure rising up as Chicklet kissed the top of her mound.

“Were you this wet for him?”

“No.”

“Mmm, so that poor man didn’t get to taste this sweet pussy?” Chicklet spread her open and licked her, humming in a way that had Laura straining against her restraints. “I pity him. Because you’re fucking delicious.”

A soft tap at the door. Chicklet’s tongue left her as it opened.

“You’re late, Tyler. You know better than to interrupt.”

Oh, Chicklet sounded mad. Laura did her best not to smile. The boy was her Mistress’s pet and she tolerated him, but she wished Chicklet would see she could have so much better. If she needed a male, she should find one who deserved her attention.

And, naturally, the second Tyler opened his mouth, he proved Laura’s point. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I wasn’t sure whether I should come in or not. But I… You told me not to keep anything from you.”

“What happened to your face? Did you get in a fight?” Chicklet sighed and gently placed her hand on Laura’s stomach. “Wait. No. I’m sorry, my angel, but we can’t discuss this now. Strip and kneel.”

Laura pressed her lips together. The atmosphere in the room had changed. She knew Chicklet put up with a lot from the boy, but she could sense the irritation in her Mistress—he wasn’t doing as he was told.

No surprise there. Laura rolled her eyes behind her closed lids.

“What is it, Tyler?”

“You should punish me.”

A chill went over Laura’s flesh. She felt Chicklet pull away from her, not only physically. It was almost as though she didn’t want to be close to Laura as she let her tone go stone cold. “Should I?”

“Yeah…umm.” A shuffle of sneakers on the tiled floor. The stupid boy was probably staring at his feet. And he didn’t care that he was ruining everything. “I took a stick to the face. I promised not to go back on the ice when I was hurt, but I did. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but maybe I was wrong.”

“You’re a fucking adult. When I asked you to be careful, I didn’t mean you should stop playing because you need a goddamn Band-Aid. I play hockey, Tyler. I know the difference between a little cut and a cracked fucking skull.” Chicklet audibly ground her teeth. Spoke calmly as she continued. “You made a decision. Be a big boy and own it. That doesn’t excuse you coming in here and disturbing my scene.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Or are you feeling guilty?” Chicklet’s cruel laugh made Laura nervous. “Are you looking to be punished because in that moment you thought I’d be upset and didn’t care? Do you expect me to make it all better for you, boy?”

“No, I—”

“The truth, Tyler. Think carefully before you answer.”

Laura almost pitied him. In a way, she could understand how he felt. There were times when Laura came home from work and knew she’d done things Chicklet wouldn’t approve of. And a punishment would fix it. But she’d never demand her Mistress take away her guilt by doing something that was unpleasant to them both. That was the big difference between her and Tyler. He needed the boundaries set for him constantly, seemed to enjoy reaching the end of his leash and being jerked back to heel.

Perhaps Chicklet had enjoyed the novelty of having a bratty sub at first, but she was finally getting tired of it. Or, at least Laura hoped she was. Dealing with the boy had to be exhausting.

“Please, Mistress. I’m sorry,” Tyler whispered. There was a thunk. He’d probably dropped to his knees. Too little and much too late. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

Chicklet sighed. Laura could picture her nodding slowly as she spoke. “You do need to be punished, Tyler. Return to me once it’s done.”

What? Laura had to press her eyelids tight to keep her eyes shut as Tyler repeated her thought out loud. “What?”

“You heard me. Find someone to punish you. I won’t feel right playing with you until you feel better about yourself. It was you who decided you did something wrong. So it will be you who decides on the penalty.” The sharp click of Chicklet’s heels came closer to Laura, as though she’d turned her back on the boy. “Give him or her your safe word and bring whoever agrees here when you’re done. I will thank them for taking care of you.”

“Chicklet, I—”

“We’re done, Tyler.”

“But—.”

“We. Are. Done.”

Those words, and the sound of the door drifting shut as he left, had to be the sweetest things Laura had ever heard. But she was very careful not to let it show as her Mistress’s hands, her mouth, and her attention, returned.

Slouched back on one of the large, circular leather sofas at prime voyeur spots around the club, Raif observed the scenes around him, taking a long swig from the icy bottle of water he’d had a waitress fetch from the bar. An unfamiliar song pounded through the room, giving all those using floggers and canes and whips a rhythm to play by. The sound alone relaxed Raif. He’d come here several times over the last month, but rarely played. He caught many hope-filled glances from both male and female subs, but only one person held his attention for very long.

And that man was most definitely not a sub.

Lips slanting slightly, Raif watched Zach bind his wife, Rebecca, to a wide rope swing, admiring the way Zach teased his woman as he positioned her, leaving her helplessly bound and whimpering for his touch. The couple must have gotten a sitter—perhaps the child staying up late had left Rebecca with the need to unwind? Raif had no idea what the routine of a couple in the lifestyle, one who had a child, would be like. Or sex for any couple, to be honest. Zach had never been a quiet lover, but having a child in the house might have changed that. Clearly the man didn’t need to go to bed early to get up in the morning with his daughter, as Demyan had implied. But Raif had a feeling the dilemma had been brought up for his benefit. He couldn’t imagine Zach falling for a woman who would neglect her child.

He’d always thought Zach would end up with a man, but his love for this woman was clear. In a way, it made sense that Zach would need the softness of a woman. And yet, still crave the touch of a man. Knowing Zach, Raif suspected that he’d tried to be a “one woman man,” but why had he given in to the temptation? Yes, Raif wouldn’t deny that Scott Demyan was appealing. Physically anyway. And yet, the man had none of the qualities Zach looked for in a lover.

You don’t know him, Zovko. Your reputation isn’t much better than his.

Perhaps, but the very reason Raif and Zach hadn’t lasted was because their opinion of what a relationship consisted of was very different. Or had been at the time. As Raif watched Zach with his wife, as he thought about the woman’s child, one Zach, by all accounts, treated as his own…how could one not want a future like that? Raif’s jaw hardened as he watched Demyan move up behind Zach and kiss Zach’s bare shoulder.

Raif wasn’t the type of man to deny what he felt. He still loved Zach. He’d loved him when he’d been young and stupid, but he hadn’t realized it then. It had taken seeing Zach again, facing that those feelings remained, to admit he had to earn the love Zach had once given him. He had no doubt he could do so, but he had to be patient.

Rebecca wouldn’t be a problem. Zach was serious about her and Raif accepted that. He would treat her well, show her he could be the man her husband needed. Being a father wasn’t in Raif’s plans, but he smiled as he envisioned himself sitting at a table with the man he loved and his wife and that cute kid. He’d kept the one picture he’d found of Zach with his new daughter. She was the team’s little princess. Plans changed, and it would be no hardship to become a family man for Zach.

Only, Zach smiled when Demyan pressed against him. Drew Demyan into the scene, tenderness in his eyes as Demyan cupped Rebecca’s breasts and buried his face between them. Being patient was putting it mildly. Demyan belonged to both Zach and Rebecca. He would have to royally fuck up for them to see how much better Raif would fit into their lives.

Until that happened, he would need a distraction. The years he and Zach had spent apart meant they’d both changed. He could see them becoming close again fairly easily, but they’d been friends before lovers the first time around. Taking the same approach, making sure they had a solid base to build on, would be best. Raif had no intention of ruining Zach’s relationship with Demyan—Demyan could do that all on his own.

But Raif could not appear to be waiting for that eventuality. He tore his gaze from the trio, taking a slow drink of water as he watched the Delgado boy being chained to a bondage frame. Ford, yes, that was his name. A Dom who got off on pain. Not quite a novelty, but it was fascinating to watch him offer up one wrist to Callahan, and the other to his best friend, Cort. His sub was on her knees before him, an impish smile on her lips as she unlaced his leathers. Raif’s angle was perfect to see her lick her Master’s cock before opening her mouth wide to swallow him whole.

Lovely. Raif admired the peaceful expression on her face as she slowly bobbed her head, her gaze never leaving Ford’s face. There was something beautiful about seeing a sub worshipping the one they’d given themselves to. More so when that worship had been earned.

The scene brought a rare sense of longing to Raif. Casual play didn’t encourage that kind of intimacy. He glanced over at Mason, who was working as a dungeon monitor tonight, and considered how the man had passed some time caring for the very sub servicing Ford. From what he’d heard, Mason had taken on the task because his heart had been broken.

Perhaps Raif could take on a sub to train because his heart was already taken.

“Coach—I mean, Sir?”

A familiar voice, the voice of a man-child with a face many compared to an angel—Raif smirked at that, fallen angel, maybe—brought his attention back to Ford’s scene. Tyler Vanek knelt at the very edge of the scene, his cheeks red, his head bowed. He still wore the jeans and T-shirt he’d left the locker room in. The hard set to his jaw was anything but submissive.

“Vanek, go away.” Callahan didn’t even look at the boy. He made an irritated gesture in Tyler’s general direction before handing a short whip to Cort. “We’ve practiced this. You know how it feels. You’ve got good aim. Go for it.”

“Please, Sir.” Tyler slammed his fist into his thigh when Callahan continued to ignore him. “Coach, I need your help!”

“What the fuck, Vanek? I’m not your coach here.” Callahan moved away from Cort and wrapped his hand around Tyler’s arm, yanking him up to his feet. “I’m training someone. You know better than to interrupt.”

Tyler stared at the floor. “I know, but I really fucked up.”

“You’re fucking up now.”

“Just punish me. Please?” Tyler finally lifted his head. His shoulders dropped. “She won’t take me back until someone punishes me, and if it’s you—”

“What the hell are you taking about?” Callahan pulled Tyler out of the scening area. Lowered his voice, but Raif still heard him because he’d stood and moved toward them without even realizing he was doing so. “You just got here. What did you do?”

The look Tyler gave Callahan was pitiful. He jabbed his teeth into his bottom lip. “See, you know I must have done something. Chicklet’s mad at me, and I know why, and I’ve got to make this right.”

“Whatever you did, boy, your Domme needs to punish you.” Callahan laughed, but, surprisingly, it wasn’t a cruel laugh—more indulgent than anything. He patted Tyler’s arm. “You don’t want me to do it.”

“Yeah, I do. Because that’s my punishment. She told me to find someone since I think I need to be punished.”

Callahan blinked. “That don’t make no fucking sense.”

“Just do it! I’m begging you!” Tyler tried to drop to his knees again, but Callahan stopped him with a hand under his arm. And Tyler’s eyes went cold. “You owe me.”

“Do I?” Callahan’s tone sharpened. “How do you figure?”

“I let her go. I didn’t have to.” He shoved Callahan, which wasn’t very effective because the bigger man hardly moved. “I have to watch you hurt her here all the time. You like it and it makes me sick. Why don’t you hurt me? Because I’m not a woman and you can’t make me cry?”

Shit. Raif stepped forward, but didn’t reach them in time to stop Callahan from latching on to the front of Tyler’s shirt and lifting him right off his feet.

“You think I can’t make you cry?”

“Sloan!” Mason strode up to Callahan and grabbed his wrist. “Let him go.”

Callahan laughed as he released Tyler. “We’re negotiating, Dominik. Don’t worry.”

“Negotiating what? Chicklet would have told me if he was scening with someone else.” Mason put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder, pulling him back closer to where Raif stood. “You’re angry, Sloan. Walk it off or get the fuck out.”

“He was asked to find someone to punish him. By his Mistress.” Callahan bared his teeth. “And I’m fucking tempted to do it.”

And Raif could tell by the way Tyler smirked at their coach that he’d keep pushing until he was taken in hand or shown the door himself. He caught Tyler with an arm around his throat before he could speak again and add being punched in the face to the possible outcome.

“Silence, boy. Your attitude only proves my point.” He tightened his grip on Tyler’s throat as the young man tensed and let out a low, angry sound. It reminded Raif of the Alaskan Malamute he’d had as a boy. One of the hardest breeds to train, and Oluja had been intelligent and headstrong, ready to pull him off his feet at the slightest sign of weakness. But loyal and loving once she saw he was strong enough to lead her.

He’d learned to exert his control as she’d grown, to set the boundaries and maintain them. He loosened his grip on Tyler’s throat as he recalled the first stages of training with his beautiful dog. Holding her down on her back to rub her belly and enforce his dominance as a positive thing.

Raif smiled when Tyler didn’t try to move away. “What you’re asking for is good. I appreciate that you know what you need.”

Tyler stiffened. Mason met Raif’s eyes, then inclined his head and pulled Sloan aside. Cort smoothly took over the scene, using a flogger—which he had more experience with—rather than the whip. The interruption hadn’t done any real damage, so Raif was able to shift his focus away from everyone besides the young man whose throat worked against Raif’s arm as he swallowed hard.

“I don’t need you. This is weird, Raif.” A shallow laugh escaped Tyler, but he cut it off as though he knew he’d reached the end of his rope and didn’t need it to choke him to stop pulling. “You’re my friend. You can’t punish me.”

“And our coach—he’s not your friend?” Raif knew very well friendship wasn’t the issue. Callahan had been an easy target. Tyler wanted to be punished in a quick, uncomplicated way, but it wouldn’t satisfy him. And if he’d gotten what he’d asked for from Callahan, his performance would suffer. Which would turn penance into regret.

You will learn from this, Ty. Raif led Tyler back to the round sofa, a calming levelness settling over him even though he knew this boy would fight to keep him off-balance. Without even realizing he was doing so. But there was no reason to give him the opportunity.

Tyler scuffed his sneakers on the hard wood floor beside the couch. “He’s not my friend, he’s—”

“It doesn’t matter, Ty. I will be the one punishing you.” Raif gave Tyler a stiff smile. This still had to be Tyler’s decision—the boy didn’t belong to him. “If you’d rather I don’t, feel free to leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” Tyler’s brow furrowed, as though he was unsure of his next move. “You can’t make me leave.”

Raif inclined his head. “No, I can’t. But Mason will if this behavior continues and we both know that. Enough with the games. You’ve asked for the punishment, but I’m starting to wonder if that was simply a cry for attention.”

“I don’t need—”

“What do you need, Ty? Tell me that instead.”

Tyler groaned and grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt. Jerking it off, he tossed it aside and glared at Raif. “Just fucking do it, all right? I don’t care what you use, just make sure I’ll be fit to play on Monday.”

“Of course.” Raif folded his arms over his chest, his lips thinning as he observed the young man, looking for the slightest chink in his armor, a place where Raif could reach the submissive soul hidden behind layers of steel. For one who’d spent years in the lifestyle, the boy buried his natural urges rather deep.

Unless they weren’t natural at all. Maybe Raif had read him all wrong. Tyler could be a man willing to do anything for the woman he loved. Even if that meant being a virtual doormat for her to trample on with her sharp stiletto boot heels.

But the longer Raif watched him, the more nervous Tyler seemed to become. He licked his lips and went from glaring to staring at the floor. His fisted hands opened and his breaths turned quick and shallow.

“Raif?” Tyler shifted and swallowed hard. “Please?”

Well now…this was much better. He would love to know what was going on in Tyler’s head, but discussion appeared to be the very thing that brought up Tyler’s walls. The “Please” was consent. Raif could take it from here.

“Remove your shoes, socks, and jeans—you may leave your boxers on.” Raif’s lips quirked at the sound of protest Tyler made before he added the last. But then he put his hand under Tyler’s chin to ask him one very important question. “Do you trust me, Ty?”

“Yeah, I trust you…” Tyler inhaled roughly. Then grinned. “Sir.”

The boy was a bit of a brat, but Raif found it endearing. He could see why Chicklet would let Tyler run a little wild—he must be fun to play with. Settling down on the sofa, Raif folded his arms behind his head, pleased that Tyler kicked off his shoes and removed his jeans without any fuss. He rolled his eyes when Raif glanced pointedly at his socks, but toed them off and then simply stood there and waited for the next command.

Raif took his time enjoying the sight of the toned body before him, muscles not large, but well-defined. Pale skin flush with the excitement and energy of youth, only the slightest brush of golden curls on his chest and stomach. Dark blue silk boxers, not as snug as briefs, yet still short enough to show off most of his legs and the swell of his slack dick. Raif didn’t let his gaze linger there for long; he didn’t play with straight virgin boys.

A wicked part of his mind wondered how quickly he could get Tyler hard if he used the right tone. The right touch. He looked at Tyler’s face and knew those soft lips would feel like heaven sliding down his cock.

Punishment, Zovko. You have him for punishment.

With a firm nod, both to his own thoughts, and to let Tyler know he was ready to begin, Raif held his hand out, motioning to the floor. “I want you in plank position. Hold it as long as possible, then lower to your knees when your arms become sore. I expect you to tell me if you are in pain, but you know how to use your safe word, yes?”

“Yeah, but what are you gonna use?” Tyler glanced to either side of Raif as though he expected some tool of torture to be laying on the sofa cushion. Perhaps tucked away out of sight. “I need to know because I hate the cane, and I gotta brace myself for—”

“No cane. No pain at all other than that of holding yourself in place.” Raif shook his head slowly when Tyler opened his mouth. “You will not speak again aside from what we’ve discussed. And no one will speak to you. You are nothing but an object now, boy. A footstool, to be exact.”

A dark red blush spread across Tyler’s cheeks. He chewed hard on his bottom lip, then dropped to his knees. The thick muscles in his back and his calves hardened as he put himself in plank position, arms and legs perfectly straight.

Raif waited a few moments before taking the punishment a step further. He lifted his booted feet and set them on the center of Tyler’s back. Watched Tyler’s expression go from utter humiliation to calm acceptance. He smiled as Tyler adjusted himself, moving a little closer so Raif could get comfortable.

There it was. Raif gestured for the waitress to bring him two bottles of water. And spoke quietly.

“Don’t move. And don’t speak.” He let his tone drop into the smooth, lulling one he used for his lovers. And his subs. “But I want you to know, I am very pleased with you, Ty.”

Tyler didn’t lift his head, but Raif saw his lips curve up just a bit. That was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

* * * *

A dull ache in Tyler’s arms had him lowering to his knees without even caring that it might make him look weak. The hard-core music in the club faded away. So did all the people. He sensed them moving around him, but he felt so far removed from everything, they didn’t matter. The solid weight on his back kept him grounded, kept his head where it needed to be.

He was doing this for Chicklet. And it was a good punishment. He’d gone into the scene room not really thinking about what she might be doing. He and Laura might not always get along, but that didn’t make what he’d done okay. He’d pretty much demanded his Mistress’s attention. Then he’d demanded Callahan’s. He wasn’t more important than them—didn’t want to be.

And now he was proving that he got that. He’d become nothing. Just an object.

Part of his brain wanted to shout and swear and tell Raif that this was bullshit. He wasn’t a fucking piece of furniture. He should be able to talk. Taking the pain Callahan would have dished out would have been easier.

But it wasn’t supposed to be easy. Wouldn’t count for anything if it was easy.

That part of his brain sank deeper and deeper until he couldn’t hear it anymore. The ache in his arms was getting worse. He tensed and relaxed his muscles. Focused on breathing. His face got real hot as Raif’s boots moved, like he was changing position. He wanted to look at Raif, see the pleasure he’d heard in Raif’s tone. But that would screw up all the good Tyler had done. Raif was happy because he’d done what he was told.

So he’d keep doing it. Seemed like he’d become the thing he was pretending to be as the minutes passed, like he could stay there forever and not budge when the cleaning lady came around. Like she wouldn’t realize he was a person and she’d dust him off and then walk away.

A lot of people were walking away. There were familiar voices above him. People speaking to Raif. They didn’t see Tyler. And everyone always saw Tyler. Fans, coaches, his friends. His mom.

He pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think about her now. Not here. Never here.

But all he had were his own thoughts to keep him company. And it was getting harder to see himself as a plain, polished wooden footstool. His mom was dating again. She’d stopped for so long and she’d seemed so much stronger. All those years of saying she couldn’t be alone—he knew she could do it. She didn’t have to work because he made enough to support her, but she loved her job at the library.

She’d met the man there. He might be a decent guy; she thought he was amazing. They all were at first though. The emotionally abusive ones were the hardest to spot, and she’d had a few of those. Tyler had learned how to spot them when he was a teen. They didn’t scare him as much because his mom had her church and her therapist that helped her get away from them.

The physically abusive ones though…they were a real problem. His mom had dated three of them. Including Tyler’s father. And every time she became a different person. She’d stay away from everyone if there were bruises people could see. And hide those they couldn’t when she did go out. Those were her longest relationships. It was almost like she could deal with getting hit better than being told she was worthless.

She shouldn’t have to deal with either. But Tyler didn’t know how to help her. He winced as a woman’s cry broke through his haze. His mother never cried out when a man hit her. Tyler used to lie in bed at night and listen to the sound of his mother being slapped, wishing he was big enough to go out there and stop it. But after getting punched a few times, he’d been too afraid to leave his bed.

Tim…the Cobras’ coach, a man they’d all loved who’d been killed months earlier in a car crash—he’d talked Tyler into going to the team therapist. And spilling everything to the shrink had made Tyler realize that as a kid he couldn’t have helped him mom. All he could do was be there for her now.

I’m a footstool. A fucking footstool. I don’t gotta think about this stuff.

A man’s laughter. The sloppy wet sound of fucking.

The soft gasp of a woman, more from pain than pleasure. Whoever she was, she didn’t make another sound.

Tyler pressed his eyes shut.

“Ty, speak to me.”

Raif sounded worried. Tyler opened his eyes and shook his head. A cool sense of calm spread through his veins as he let himself feel the pain in his arms and the weight of Raif’s boots. “I’m all right.”

“Are you? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Deeper and deeper. He wasn’t sure he could answer, because he let himself be the thing he’d been asked to be. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “I don’t need to speak. I’m here. I’m a good footstool.”

“You are.” Raif’s soft voice with his lulling accent, the weight of his boots leaving, then his hand on Tyler’s cheek. A water bottle against Tyler’s lips. And sweet, cool liquid filling his mouth. “A quality piece to be cherished.”

Tyler didn’t see a cleaner dusting him off anymore. He could see Raif, rubbing him down with oil and using that voice to tell him how solid he was. How good and strong he was. Chicklet made him feel good and strong, but then Laura needed her. Laura needed her a lot.

A footstool.

“Tyler? Hey, you okay, man?”

A foot—that was Luke. Luke couldn’t see him like this. Luke wouldn’t get it and he talked to Luke about everything, and the worst thing would be to have something he couldn’t talk to his best friend about.

“I—”

Raif cut Tyler off. His tone was hard. “Ramos, if you please?”

“Niño, not now.”

That was Ramos. The team was here. What the fuck was he doing becoming a thing where people could see him and wonder what the fuck was wrong with him?

Luke let out an angry sound. “Sir, this isn’t—”

“This is a scene you are not part of. Come.”

Tyler turned his head a little and saw Luke moving away slowly. Then there was someone else.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Zovko? This ain’t right.”

Scott. Tyler’s two closest friends had seen him now. And they didn’t get it. Not that they should have to. Tyler was being punished because he’d fucked up, and they’d never fuck up like this. He didn’t want his friends worrying about him. But he wanted to show Raif he could do this.

But he couldn’t do both.

“Demyan, stay out of it.” Now it was Mason talking. The whole team seemed to be there. And Tyler wasn’t a sub in front of the whole team. He only did this around the ones who understood and they didn’t and how the fuck was he supposed to deal with that?

“Not fucking happening, Mason. How about you do your fucking job?” Scott sounded like he wanted to hit someone. “Does he look like he’s okay? This asshole just gets to grab random subs because he got more points than the rest of us? Is that how we’re playing now?”

Their voices faded. Raif pulled Tyler to his feet and standing felt wrong. He wasn’t ready to stand. To have to be real again.

“Let us go see your Mistress. She will be impressed at how well you’ve done.”

Words. Raif was saying shit, but they were only words. Chicklet was with Laura and she’d forgotten him. And Raif had just made him look pathetic in front of everyone.

But Tyler had asked for it, so he’d be good. He lifted his head to meet Raif’s eyes. “I think I want to go home.” All right, just kinda good. “And I think you need to stop fucking touching me.”

Raif’s eyes hardened. His gaze dropped to the front of Tyler’s boxers. “Do I? Because I think you needed exactly what I gave you. A little discipline, perhaps?”

Okay, yeah, his dick was fucking rock hard. But it wasn’t because of Raif. Couldn’t be, no matter what his voice did to Tyler’s senses. No matter how much he’d wanted to please the asshole during those few minutes that had seemed so perfect. He was hard because…well, because the punishment almost hadn’t been one. He’d accepted that he was a sub a couple years back, and the weird-ass scene had triggered that part of his brain.

Which he’d shut down now, thank you very fucking much. And he wouldn’t make the mistake of interrupting Chicklet again. He kept his eyes locked with Raif’s. “Thanks for your help. See you Monday.”

“If you’re determined to leave, you will at least have one of your friends drive you. Practice tomorrow—optional, but you will be there. And you will call me when you get home.” Raif glanced over to where Scott was still talking to Mason. “Mr. Demyan doesn’t appear to be busy.”

Tyler gritted his teeth as he followed Raif’s gaze away from Scott, to the dance floor. Pearce and Becky were dancing to a slow rock song, surrounded by other couples who’d finished playing for the night. He let the bitterness he couldn’t help feeling practically drip off his tongue. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d love Scott to drive me home. Get him out of your way.”

Raif rubbed his hand over his face, releasing a sharp laugh. “I apologize, Tyler. I thought I could help you, but I haven’t, have I?” He shook his head, staring at the ceiling when Tyler didn’t answer. “Go. And try to keep out of trouble.”

Grabbing his clothes, Tyler headed to the other side of the room to put them on by the bar. He wasn’t playing, so he might as well have a drink before he took off. A petite, dark skinned Domme who’d become a regular since last fall and usually manned the bar after midnight on the weekends, came over. Her dark red lips curved as Tyler slumped onto one of the stools.

“What can I get you, hon?”

“Vodka and OJ. And no, I’m not playing.” He tongued his upper lip at her level stare. Right, no need to be rude. “Sorry, Ma’am. Tonight’s been all kinds of fucked up.”

“Call me Deisha. And I’ve had nights like that, so I understand.” Deisha placed a clean glass on the bar. Hesitated. Tyler was sure she was gonna ask if his Mistress would mind his drinking, but instead she held out her hand. “I’m all for letting loose, but you gotta hand over your car keys first.”

Fair enough. Tyler plucked his keys from the pocket of his jeans and passed them to her. “Not a problem. I’ll catch a cab or something.”

“Or something. I’ll get you home, pal.” Scott slapped Tyler’s shoulder, rolling his eyes when Luke came over and grabbed the drink Deisha had just fixed for Tyler. “Looks like I’m the designated. Where’s Ramos, Luke?”

“Amia was being fussy and Jami didn’t want to ruin Silver’s night out, so he went to see if he could help get her back to sleep.” Luke handed Tyler the glass after having drained half of it. “He let me stay to make sure Tyler was all right.”

“I’m fine.” Tyler brought the glass to his lips, sipping even as he looked over at the dance floor. Raif wasn’t there, but Becky and Pearce still were. Good. “Hey, Scott, how come your man’s hogging your woman?”

“They missed their last date night because Casey got sick. We all got to play together, but I told them the rest of the night is for the two of them.” Scott smiled fondly at the couple, who both looked pretty goofy dancing to the harder techno music now playing. Then he turned to Luke. “What about Casey? Jami’s watching her too, and Becky was worried it would be too much.”

“Casey’s sleeping real good, last I heard.” Luke winked at the bartender as she slid a glass of vodka and OJ across the bar to him. Without being asked, he handed her his keys. “Guess this leaves the three of us free to do whatever the hell we want.”

“Which means staying here and getting drunk?” Tyler kinda liked that idea. Except for the fact that Chicklet wouldn’t be too happy seeing him like that. She didn’t nag at him on the rare occasions he drank—not unless he did something stupid. She just didn’t wanna see him messed up.

Luke shrugged, eyeing Scott. “Pretty sure our boy won’t wanna go anywhere.”

Scott frowned at Luke, then at Tyler when he nodded. “How do you figure?”

“Zovko’s here,” Luke said, looking around, likely trying to spot him. “So’s Pearce. Pretty simple.”

“Yeah, and you seemed pretty pissed when you left the locker room,” Tyler added, thinking too late that Scott might not have wanted to share that bit of info. He gave Scott an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Scott made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I wouldn’t be here if me and Zach hadn’t worked it out. He hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him. I overreacted. It’s just weird, knowing Zach has an ex who’s still hung up on him. But that’s Zovko’s issue, not mine or my man’s.”

“Maybe you should make nice with Zovko. He won’t hit on Pearce if you’re his friend.” Luke smiled as he drained his glass. “Me and Ford are cool.”

“Ford never tried to get Jami back.” Tyler finished his drink. Deisha served him and Luke another. It took facing Scott to regret pointing out the difference between Raif and Ford. Like he didn’t already know. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“But you’re right.” Scott stared at the bar. “I just wish he’d back the fuck off. Zach acts like they’re just friends, but it’s fucking obvious that’s not what Zovko wants. But he’s all pleasant and shit and if I say anything, I look like a jealous asshole.”

The club had a three-drink limit, but Deisha wasn’t skimpy with the vodka. So Tyler was feeling damn good by the time he polished off his last drink. They’d shifted the conversation away from Raif for a bit, but the man kept creeping back into Tyler’s head and he knew it was just because he wanted to help Scott deal with the man.

About an hour before closing, he got an idea. He grinned at his best friends and pushed off the barstool. “We should send Raif a message.”

“Yo, why do you call him ‘Raif’?” A lazy smile slid across Luke’s lips. “Or is it personal?”

“Shut up, it doesn’t matter.” Tyler shoved his hands in his pockets and focused on Scott. “He wants to take something of yours. How about we take something of his as, like, a warning?”

An evil slant to Scott’s lips told Tyler his plan was the perfect slap shot hitting the back of the net. Scott jerked his chin toward the exit and Tyler and Luke followed him to coat check, then outside. A bitter chill had Tyler hunching over as he crossed the parking lot, but the alcohol kicked in and chased away the cold, slowing his strides as something distracted Scott.

“Did you know Zovko gets to keep the cars he drives in all those commercials? He’s got a wicked collection—it was even featured on some car show.” Scott walked right up to Raif’s white 1971 Challenger, running his hand along the side as though admiring the smooth lines. “This is his only old one. Think he’d mind if we ‘borrowed’ it?”

Luke burst out laughing. “Do you care?”

“Nope.” Scott rubbed his jaw and cocked his head. “No alarm. This is his winter car, so I was thinking…”

Tyler knew exactly what Scott was thinking. A little prank, kinda illegal, but Raif hadn’t been properly “welcomed” to the team anyway. The look on Raif’s face would be worth the risk. Tyler’s brain was a little fuzzy from the vodka, but he would have loved the idea completely sober. Raif had been in the league long enough that he’d figure out what had happened to his car real quick.

No cops. No issues. Just a bit of fun.

“Have you ever stole a car before, Scott?” Tyler decided Scott was awesome and could do pretty much anything. He could get the door open and hot-wire the car and they’d go for a little ride. Wait an hour and text Raif to let him know where to find it. “Will be easy, right?”

“Really, Tyler?” Scott raked his fingers through his dark blonde hair. “I was an asshole, not a criminal.”

A whiff of tobacco and the three of them turned to the sound of a rough laugh. Ford shifted his cigarette to the edge of his lips as he spoke up. “Why? You need one?”

Scott’s lips thinned. “You’re not a criminal anymore, man.”

“No, guess I’m not. But I’m in a good mood.” Ford let out another puff of smoke and leaned his hip against the car. “And I owe you for making sure Cort looks good in front of the judge.” His eyes looked a bit glazed, almost like he was high. Tyler was pretty sure he didn’t do drugs anymore. But Ford wasn’t acting like the responsible businessman he’d been for a while. It got worse as he kept talking. “I’m not fucking blind, Scott. I’ve seen the way Raif looks at Zach. And I saw him looking at Cort tonight. Whatever you’re doing, I’m in.”

“We’re stealing his car,” Scott said. And he wasn’t drunk, so if he was willing to do it, Tyler was in too.

“Oh yeah, and how were you gonna do it without me?” Ford smirked at the silence from all three of them. He pressed his hand against the window and it slid down a few inches. “Thought so. Well, these old cars aren’t hard. I’d tell you where to go if it was one of the asshole’s new ones. See if you can get your arm in there, Tyler.”

Tyler stepped forward and slid his forearm into the opening. Got stuck at the elbow. “Can you get it down any more?”

“Sure.” Ford took a folded knife out of his pocket. Jabbed the solid metal into the window, shattering it. He didn’t seem to notice Tyler gaping at him when he unlocked and opened the door. His voice was muffled as he slid into the car and ducked his head under the steering wheel. “And Scott?”

“Uh, yeah?” Scott folded his arms over his chest, then unfolded them to grab Luke who tripped sideways.

Fiddling with some wires, Ford got the car started. He got out and punched Scott’s shoulder. “We’re even.”

After Ford went back inside, Tyler stood beside Scott, exchanging glances with Luke, really wishing he could have another drink. This was crazy. Reckless. He wanted to do it, but he didn’t want Luke and Scott getting in trouble.

But he didn’t think anyone would get in trouble. Raif was cool—well, most of the time anyway. They’d pay for the window and everything would be all right.

“We doing this?” Scott threw the front seat forward and shoved Luke into the back. “I gotta get him home, but if you’re not okay with this, Tyler—”

“This was my idea too, Scott. No way you’re taking all the credit.” Tyler went around the car and got in the passenger side after Scott unlocked the door. This was crazy. But right now, it made sense. He was pissed off and he had to do something. And this was it. “Let’s go!”

I need discipline, Raif? Well, ya may be right. Tyler rolled the window down all the way, howling into the night as Scott sped down the street. But you’re gonna wish you were wrong.