BADBoy

Chapter One


Dylan adjusted his black and red checkered tie then smoothed his Hugo navy stripe dress shirt. He cranked his head side to side making sure his reflection was perfect. Hair? Check. Complexion? Check. He took a swig of Listerine and swished it around for a bit then discarded the liquid down the drain.

He made his way to the kitchen and slipped on his wingtip ballroom shoes with the help of his shoe-horn. They had been buffed the night before and now they glimmered like a diamond in the sun. He had always had a shoe fetish and these babies were his latest obsession.
He had a few minutes still, so he scanned the Wall Street Journal and sipped his coffee. He sneered, finding nothing of interest.

Abandoning the kitchen, Dylan decided to make sure his guest was comfy before he left for work. He made his way to the basement and bypassed his workspace, heading directly for the bedroom. He peeked in, the buttery light seeping out from the bathroom casting a gentle illumination.

He walked in like a breath of wind; the lush carpet absorbing his footfalls. He circled the bed and ran the tips of his fingers over the silk sheets, gliding over the rise and fall of a sleeping man. Eric’s expression was peaceful, but exhausted. He brushed his hands through the male’s tousled locks, admiring the softness.

The guy inhaled deeply and asked huskily, “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” Dylan replied. “How do you feel?”

A smile twitched on Eric’s lips. “Wonderfully… achy.”

Dylan felt his own grin. “Good. Sleep as long as you want, I’ll be working late. There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry. Don’t forget to give the key to Roger on your way out.”

The man grunted in response. “I should say goodbye before you go. Guess… I won’t see you again.”

Dylan nodded. “Enjoy your stay at New York. Send me a shirt.”

Eric chuckled weakly and Dylan left him to rest.

His shoes tapped on the cobblestone path as he made his way to the garage. Damn, he was really going to miss the man. Eric had been a good sub; he was obedient, always willing to please and push his own limits. But, all good things came to an end… sometimes too soon. He was moving on, off to the big apple for a once in a life time job and Dylan was honestly happy for him.

Who am I going to find to replace him, though?

He shook his head. Now was not the time to worry about such things; he needed to focus his mind on work. He had been made the manager at The Rave three years ago and sales were up, the people were flowing in like water and he was… well he was okay. Not great, but okay. It was a fairly easy job; make sure everyone was doing theirs and if anyone stepped out of line… well, he didn’t have to explain that one.

He unarmed his Lamborghini Gallardo Nera and hopped in, the cool leather seats soothing against his body. A manager at a night club usually couldn’t afford such a beauty, but he had been more than a simple director in his previous life. He had been the well-bred son of a billionaire… but his father hadn’t approved of his lifestyle. The bastard had dropped a decent sum of money in his lap and told him to ‘get the fuck out and never come back’.

Well, fine. Wasn’t like he loved the SOB anyway. He’d never really known the man that had sired him; his father had been too busy with his work, preferring to rack in more money than tuck his son in and kiss him goodnight. So, Dylan felt no loss. He did miss his mother a bit, though and the last he heard, she was dabbling in race horse breeding.

Good for her.

He fired up the monster, loving the way she purred under him, the vibrations tingling his flesh. He switched the radio on and hit the garage door opener. He had a meeting with Tommy Marcelli, the club’s owner. The man usually stopped in once or twice a month to make sure everything was running smoothly and no one was skimming from him. But, today’s meeting was one of a different kind. One that Dylan wasn’t particularly looking forward to.

He sped out of the garage and down the drive way. He bid the security guard, Roger hello. “Roger. I have a guest staying, make sure he gets home okay, and retrieve the spare key.”

“Sure thing, Mr. De Luca.” The man tipped his hat. “Have a good day.”

Dylan followed the winding side streets of his community and merged into Alabaster drive then hopped on I94. The day was hot, sticky; the sun climbing high in the sky without a cloud in sight. And to make matters worse, the wind was nonexistent. Speed boats and sail boats dotted the lake, their sails like clouds against the navy blue of the water, their engines like the buzz of a water fly.

Maybe he’d take out his boat come the weekend. He loved laying naked against his boat, the waves rocking him gently, the sun beating down on him like a hot caress. It was one of the very few places he could relax. And he was sure he was going to need it if he couldn’t find another sub to replace Eric soon. Dominating other men was both his passion and his obsession. He had long ago accepted that that was just who he was and had learned to stopped questioning it.

Dylan exited the freeway and cruised on into the parking lot of The Rave. It was nearly empty, the few cars in the lot belonging to his employees. The Rave was a bit of a hybrid, a three in one. You had the dance floor, where thousands of feet walked over it daily and famous DJs blasted the walls with their music. Then there was the cigar bar/The Lounge, where most of the businessmen hung out, bullshitting about politics and the stock market. It had been named Chicago’s second best eatery three years in a row. Then there was the laser tag arena where most of the businessmen’s sons pretended to kill one another. The parties didn’t start until six P.M when everyone was off work; by seven most of the suits were parked at the bar, and by eight a good sized line stretched around the building.
He liked his job and had been lucky that Mr. Marcelli had given him a chance. He had gone to college, had gotten his business degree, hell he had been in line to take over his father’s company… at least until the bastard had disowned him. As long as he did a good job for the man, he was given pretty much free reign. In fact, the laser tag idea had been his and Mr. Marcelli had been skeptical at first. It had worked out for the best, though and the arena had become a popular venue almost overnight.

Dylan pulled up the Lamborghini and got out, handing the keys to one of the valets. The club was open most of the day and night, closing only for a few hours so the cleaning crews could get in and straighten up the place. That and the armored truck that showed up at one to haul away the cash that had been accumulated the day before.

“Mr. De Luca.” Mr. Gambini, a portly little man with a reddened face greeted him as soon as he walked through the doors. “The report is on your desk. $163.43 in damages, new bartender dropped a bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild. Thank God is was nearly empty. Do you want me to dock his pay?”

Dylan waved him off and grunted a no, still moving towards his office as the man stumbled to keep up. “Were any of the registers short?”
“One. Alex Morgan came up $50.00 short. I talked to him, he said it was a busy night, and he can’t remember how it might have happened. It’s an even number so it’s possible he lifted it. I’ve been viewing the tapes, but so far nothing.”

“Have Adrian look at the tapes when he comes in tonight. He’s good for spotting things like that. $50 isn’t a lot but I won’t tolerate theft” He growled.

The man nodded and went on, “We also threw a guy out for trying to deal coke; a police report has been filed.” The man reported.

“Good. Keep on the surveillance. I’ll be in my office, let me know when Brinks is here to pick up the cash.” He instructed, not giving Mr. Gambini a chance to respond.

He closed the door in the man’s face, his muffled ‘yes, sir’ cutting off quickly as he scrambled to do as he was told.

Dylan took a seat at his desk, the cool leather of his chair absorbing his weight. Ah, yes, sometimes it felt good to be the boss. He had always had a dominant personality, craved the superiority over other people. It made him feel important, worthy and he blamed his father for his low self-esteem growing up.

He picked up the report and skimmed through it. It had been a good night, very little in damages or missing money. Good news to report to the boss. He set the manila folder down and sighed, tucking his hands behind his head. He heard the people working below, getting the club ready for the evening. He thought about the upcoming meeting with Mr. Marcelli. Then man was tolerant, but was apt to throw a fit if things weren’t going as he wanted them to. But, that wasn’t what Dylan was concerned about.

Mr. Marcelli came from a big family and his brother was having a problem with his son. From what Dylan understood, the kid was wild, uncontrollable. He had gotten tossed out of two schools and he was nearing a life of incarceration. So, Tommy Sr. had agreed to take the kid under and put him to work at The Rave, hoping it would straighten him out and give him something to do besides run around looking for a warm body to stick his knife in.

Dylan sneered. Yeah, introducing a young male to the party lifestyle where booze and women were available twenty-four seven was really going to straighten the kid out? Well, it wasn’t his decision. But, the boss was pushing the kid on him; after all, what happened in the club was his business and if something bad went down, he was the one responsible.

Dylan bit his lip for a moment in thought then opened the desk drawer, pulling out another manila envelope. This one was about three times as thick and overflowing with loose papers. He opened it gingerly and skimmed through the contents. When he had agreed to give the kid a job, he had explicitly told Mr. Marcelli that his nephew would be treated as every other employee under his watch and that meant a background check. The man had protested, but Dylan had been adamant that he run the club professionally. Mr. Marcelli had finally agreed.

Damn, under normal circumstances, he would have never hired the kid… he was… callow and wild. Like a feral cat. He was only twenty-three, but already he had a rap sheet longer than Santa Claus’s naughty list. Fights in school, blatant cheating on tests, drugs… the list went on and on. Dylan shook his head, second thoughts spearing his gray matter. He knew he was going to regret his decision in hiring him; he was likely to create more problems.

There was a knock at the door and he didn’t need to be psychic to know who it was. Noon. Right on time.

“Come in.” He responded, getting up to welcome his guests.

“Mr. De Luca.” Tommy Marcelli greeted. The man was dressed impeccably in a grey silk suit, his salt and pepper hair sculpted neatly atop his head and cemented with gel. His dark eyes twinkled, but there was a hint of annoyance on his pockmarked face.

“Sir.” Dylan smiled, shaking his boss’s hand vigorously. “Please step in.”

“This is my nephew I told you about, Ivan.” He turned to regard the young man standing behind him, looking not at all happy. “Ivan, this is Mr. De Luca, my top manager.”

Dylan’s darkness, the thing that rested only after giving a sub a good workout stretched its slithery body and purred as it got a look at Ivan. The kid simply shrugged with his hands in his jeans and shoved his way through, plopping his ass on the couch.

“Ivan, is that how you greet someone? Show some manners! Get up and shake the man’s hand.” Mr. Marcelli huffed.

Ivan rolled his eyes and propped his dirty boots up on the glass table, mud smearing the clear surface.

That defiance… that disrespect… he needs to be disciplined, Dylan’s shadow cooed. He leashed the sneaky serpent and did his best to keep his eyes off the impudent young man.

Mr. Marcelli stammered, his face turning red before Dylan interrupted. “That’s okay. Let’s just talk.”

The man seethed, but agreed and took a seat in the guest chair while Dylan settled back at his desk. “How’s your wife?”

The man waved him away. “She shops too much, drives me crazy. Fur coat here, diamond ring there. But, it makes her happy and when she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“That’s good. So, would you like this morning’s report?” Dylan asked.

“I trust things are going well. In fact, I have an offer for you.”

The boss smiled as if he were scheming. “The Blue Moon is in need of new management. My son… well, I think you know he isn’t up to the challenge.”

Dylan cocked a curious brow. “Are you offering the Blue Moon to me?”
“Yes. Your management of this establishment has been exemplary and I have no doubt you can pull The Blue Moon out from the spiral my son has sent it into.” He explained, sneering at the thought of his kid. Said son would be Tommy junior. He was a talented loser, a slacker, and Dylan suspected he was into drugs big time, but it wasn’t his place to say anything, so he had remained quiet.

Dylan reflected on that for a moment. It would be more money, more responsibility. “I’m not sure if in the right person to run The Blue Moon, I have little experience with restaurants.”

“Yet The Lounge has been named second best eatery since you took over.” Mr. Marcelli said slyly.

Dylan smiled shyly. “You should give the chefs credit for that one.”

“You hired them.” Mr. Marcelli countered.

Okay, so Dylan couldn’t really argue with that one.

The man shrugged. “Well, just think about it. But, for now we have other matters to deal with.”

They both craned their heads to look at Ivan who was slumping, his head tossed back against the cushions watching them through his shades. Dylan had to admit the guy was attractive; those deep chocolate eyes shielded by Ray Bans against porcelain skin and muddy spiked locks. And that nose ring along with the tattoos slinking up his arms screamed bad boy. Not to mention the smirk that was quirked over those generous lips like he was above everyone else or didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. This, from the textbook sized report Dylan had drawn up on the guy, was certainly the case. And how familiar it all felt… Dylan swore he was looking into a mirror.
Yeah, but, what Dylan wouldn’t do to get a chance to tame him… No, we’re so not going there!

Aw, why not? His darkness complained.

Well, it was obvious the boy didn’t want to be here. Hell, Dylan didn’t want him here, either but you didn’t tell a boss as cool as Mr. Marcelli no, so he got with the program and just accepted what was.

“I understand you don’t have any business skills, so any sort of management is out of the question and I don’t feel comfortable in placing you in security. Therefore, I’ve procured a janitorial position-“ Dylan broke off as he watched Ivan jam the buds of his IPod in his hears, turning up the sound so loud, even Dylan could hear it sitting ten feet away. He cocked a brow. “Am I boring you?”

“Ivan! You’re being rude. Stop this at once! How do you ever expect…” Mr. Marcelli fumed, breaking off only to huff as his anger boiled over. His hands flexed as if he were ready to punch his own nephew in the head and knock some sense into him.

Ivan simply closed his eyes and rocked his head to the beat of the music. Dylan got to his feet and smoothed his shirt then calmly made his way to stand in front of the kid. Mr. Marcelli tried to apologize for his nephew’s behavior, but Dylan waved him away.

He ran his eyes up and down Ivan, liking a little too much the way those jeans hugged his legs, the way his biceps pushed against the tight shirt. And look… Dylan nearly drooled when he got a look see of the nipple rings pressing softly against the snug tee. Those enticing lips were screwed up in a satisfied little smirk and Dylan couldn’t help to feel an excitement deep in his gut. He wanted the kid to keep pushing him… wanted Ivan to give him a reason to exact a little corporal punishment.

But for now, he had an audience, so he simply snatched the IPod along with the buds faster than the boy could react.

“Hey, asshole! That’s mine!” Ivan roared getting to his feet.

Dylan simply pushed him, Ivan’s knees hitting the edge of the couch, his ass planting in the cushions. He huffed and sneered, and Dylan didn’t need to see Ivan’s eyes to know they were glowing with rage.
“Let me explain something to you, Mr. Tough-Guy.” He said evenly, plucking the kid’s shades and folding them up. He tossed them on the couch. “Your future isn’t so bright that you’ll need those.”

The kid seethed, his jaw ticking and Dylan wanted him to make a move. But the guy just sat there, his chest pumping with agitation, his brows pulled down into a scowl, those deep orbs brewing with anger like Rottweiler eyes.

“So, you have one chance and one chance only. You’ll do as I say when I say or your uncle here will send you back to where you came from. I really don’t care. I’m not playing games here, do you understand?” Dylan said levelly, his voice thick with warning.

Ivan simply sighed and looked away, his arms folding over his chest. Damn, those lips were tempting all pouted out like that… Well, Dylan supposed that was as close as a yes he was going to get. He turned to Mr. Marcelli and nodded, the man visibly calming down.

“Sir, if that’s all, I’d like to get back to work and I know you’re busy.” He said. Truthfully, he wanted the boss gone, so he could work over the kid in his own way. That little huff of acknowledgement wasn’t good enough for him or his shadow.

Mr. Marcelli narrowed his eyes on his nephew for a moment. “Ivan, this is your final chance. If I get wind of one little problem, I’ll send you back to your father. I won’t tolerate bad behavior like he does.”

The man glared at his nephew for a few moments then bid Dylan good bye.

Dylan closed the door behind him then turned to regard Ivan who was sulking, staring at the carpet. Dylan couldn’t help but to lick his lips like a hungry predator thirsting for a drop of blood. Silently, he stalked to his desk and called Mr. Gambini to come pick up the kid.
“Look at me.” Dylan commanded as he watched the young man carefully.
Ivan flipped him off. “I want my IPod back.”

“You’ll get it back after your shift is over. And you won’t bring it back. You’re here to work, is that understood?” Dylan warned, his hands itching to feel that smooth skin he knew was hiding under those riot boy cloths.

“It’s mine and you have no right to hold my shit hostage. I’m not some child in the fourth grade.” He snarled.

“If you want to be treated like a man, then perhaps you should start acting like one.” Dylan drawled.

Ivan shot to his feet. “Screw you, old man!”

Dylan frowned, bemused. “Old? Thirty-three isn’t old.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” He smirked, his chocolate eyes shifting to a darker shade, filling with confrontation.

Dylan sighed and got up. He was alone now, no one to interfere, no one to tell him how to handle the belligerent young man in front of him. The kid needed to be taught a lesson, need the ass beating his father had never given him and Dylan was surprised just how bad he wanted to be the one to do it.

Gingerly, he walked up to Ivan and faced off with him, the boy staring him down, his chest puffing out. He got within a few inches and Dylan could feel the warm breath gliding over his skin, the soft scent of mint stirring his senses. Damn, this boy was dangerous to him, coaxed out those dark desires of dominance so easily that he wasn’t sure how he was going to resist making Ivan his boy.

Dylan cocked his head and smiled softly. “You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

He didn’t miss the way the guy took a step back, confusion crossing over his fair face. He had nice features when he wasn’t scowling, his nose perfectly angular; his lashes sinfully long. And those lips were a tease, but there was something else there also, his intricate eyes dilating with interest.

“I’ve read your file. Assault with a deadly weapon. Your daddy got you off on that one. You ever been to jail, Ivan? A pretty boy like you… you’d be gobbled up right away. Is that what you want?” Dylan cooed, stepping in closer to the kid, judging his reaction.

Suddenly, Ivan set into motion. His brows pulling down in suppressed rage, his arm coming up, his fist balled tight. Dylan almost chuckled. The move was so clumsy, so unorganized and led by anger.
Dylan avoided the left hook and the momentum sent Ivan spinning. Seizing the opportunity, Dylan gripped the kid’s fist and wrenched it behind his back, then pressed him against the wall, mashing his face into the wood.

“Fuck you! Asshole!” Ivan spat, struggling to get free.

Dylan leaned his weight into the boy, letting him struggle and curse for a few moments before finally settling down. God, this whole scenario was too damned good. The boy’s body felt so good up against his; that tightly compact frame stroking his nipples through his shirt. And his cock was waking up.

Finally, Ivan settled down and Dylan asked, “Are you done?”

The kid nodded and huffed, “How did you do that?”

Okay, that was unexpected. The amusement and curiosity replacing the rage confounded Dylan. But, he didn’t let up. He pressed his lips against Ivan’s lobe, inhaling the subtle scent of Axe mingled with his own personal musk. Shivers crawled up Dylan’s spine as his darkness slinked through his body, demanding he reprimand the boy. “Is that what you want? To spend your life in jail as someone’s bitch?”

It took Ivan a second to respond, but he shook his head, his shoulders bunching up in annoyance and maybe a little bit of fear.
Dylan opened his mouth to take the young man’s ear in his mouth to accentuate his point, but stopped when a knock at the door caught his attention. He immediately released the kid and stepped back, collecting himself. He barked harshly, “Come in.”

He was pissed that Ivan could make his lose control too easily. And he was hard, his cock pushing against his boxers. Damn it. He sighed hopelessly, “Mr. Gambini. Will you show our new employee the ropes? I’ve decided to put him on the floor. The beginning of his shift is a few hours away but get him comfortable with the place.” He looked at Ivan with serious eyes. “Your job will be to keep the area clean, which means picking up trash, clearing tables and the likes. I’m sure you can handle such a mundane task without getting into too much trouble.”

He didn’t miss the way the kid grounded his molars and glared at him with contempt. He smirked and saluted him cockily, “Yes, sir!”

When they were gone, Dylan plopped into his chair and rubbed his temples. Being attracted monstrously to his boss’s nephew hadn’t been part of the plan. He made a mental note to find a sub as soon as possible, one that could handle a good beating before he lost it and unleashed his desires on Ivan.

That would be the biggest mistake he could possibly make.

-----

Ivan growled as he dumped a wad of garbage in the waste bin. This was fucking stupid. He wasn’t a garbage man. He wasn’t some loser bus boy. This place totally sucked donkey balls!

Well, the music was good, the hard beats and sizzling synths getting his blood going. It was the perfect music to get high with some friends and screw a drunk girl. He cocked a brow as one of the girls on the dance floor bounced around with her shirt shucked up, her tits flying around freely. Niiiiice…

“Table eight needs clearing, hun.” One of the waitresses said peeved as she grabbed her drink tray and shimmied that hot little ass away.
Damn, why was every female in this joint dressed like a prostitute? His cock had remained in a semi-hard state all night watching all those plump asses sashay around. He shivered.

He grunted and watched until she disappeared into the crowd. He should just ditch the joint, go find a nice quite little place and smoke some pot. Get drunk. Screw his father and his uncle. And fuck that asshole with the fancy shoes that had put him here. What the hell was with that guy, anyway? That cool suave was annoying. He was tired of people telling him what he could and couldn’t do, but… what was his name? De Luca? Yeah. Dylan De Luca.

That bastard had insulted him, taken his property and manhandled him like he was a little kid that needed reprimanding. But, hell, that move had been pretty cool. He replayed the scenario in his mind, trying to remember how Dylan had gained the upper hand so easily. And those lips so close to him, his breath like a teasing breeze…

Ivan shivered. The man had felt good up against him, too good. That big, hard body flush against his back, and for a while he was sure he felt a hint of an erection poking at his ass. He had smelled good as well; like a dangerous spice, all male. Hell, maybe he needed to get laid. As far as he was concerned, sex was sex and didn’t matter who it was with, but he tended to lean towards the ladies.

“Yo! Slacker! There’s a spill upstairs. Chop, chop.” One of the bounces barked.

Ivan grit his teeth and balled his fists. He could care less if the man resembled a bulldozer; he just wanted to hit someone. Grabbing his broom he headed up the stairs to the balcony to clean up the mess. Man, this job sucked big time. He never knew just how much of slobs people could be until now. He had to deal with picking up their used condoms and mopping up unidentifiable liquids. Absolutely disgusting.

Thank God, this time it was just a spilled drink. He quickly cleared away the mess half-assed then pouted back down the stairs, dragging his feet.

A body crashed into him. He turned to pound into who ever had bumped him only to stop as a startled female face caught his eyes. She apologized, her luminescent blue orbs rimmed with tears. There was a dark flush across her cheek that didn’t seem as if it should be there. She quickly ran off towards the exit.

He cocked a brow and followed her, dodging the mass of squirming bodies across the dance floor. “Hey, wait!”

She pushed against the door but it wouldn’t open. He called for her again and shucked her around to regard him. “Hey, you okay? What’s your name?”

“Please, I just need to leave.” She pleaded, her fingers running through her long black hair.

He tried to steady her trembling form, her hands going to his arms in acceptance. He didn’t miss the way her fingers clawed into his flesh as if she needed to feel the warmth of another body. A sob chocked up in her throat. He opened his mouth so ask if she needed help…

“Hey, bitch!” Some bastard called, stomping his feet towards them.
His cold black eyes settled on Ivan. “Who the fuck are you?”

Ivan felt the rage boil up inside him, the white hot fury seeping through his pores wanting to consume. Bingo, he thought. He let the asshole shove him aside then proceed to man handle, what Ivan assumed, was the bastard’s girlfriend. She squirmed and yelled for him to let go, her eyes darting to Ivan in a silent plea.

“Hey, loser.” Ivan tapped the man on the shoulder.

The guy turned and growled, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything because his mouth filled with Ivan’s fist. He oomph’ed and staggered back, nearly falling on his ass. He collected himself and wiped the blood from his lips then snarled and charged Ivan.

Ivan accepted the blow, the bastard knocking him to the ground. Ivan quickly flipped him over and began wailing on the guy, laughing the entire time. “Yeah! Common’, mother fucker!”

A crowd gathered around him, hooting and cheering him on. He heard the girl in the back of his mind scream for him to stop, but he couldn’t. Something was driving him on, something dark and twisted and demanding.

The next thing he knew was being air lifted off the guy, strong arms squeezing the air out of his lungs. He kicked his feet and swung his fists wanting to kill the bastard that lay bloodied on the floor, lolling his head and moaning pitifully. The crowd booed at the interruption.

“Get him the fuck in my office!” Ivan heard a dark, agitated voice growl.

The cluster fuck of people disappeared behind a door and his legs banged against the stairs as he was dragged away and up towards the second floor. Then he was being tossed onto a carpet, the fibers rough against his skin. He laughed as the door slammed closed and locked.

“Four hours.” He heard Dylan comment calmly. “Four hours into your shift and you nearly kill a guy on my floor.”

“It’s not your floor, old man. It’s my uncle’s.” Ivan chuckled and got to his feet, smirking like the evil bastard he felt inside.

“Your uncle hired me to run this place. Therefore, whatever happens here is my business and therefore mine.” The guy stated and moved towards the liquor cabinet. His movements were sinful, that dangerous body rolling like a predator on the prowl for prey. “Sit down.”

Ivan wanted to protest, the need to challenge everything and anything nipping at him, but he obeyed if only to get off his feet. He watched as the man fished out two shot glasses and poured an inch of dark amber liquid. Probably whisky. Dylan walked over to Ivan and handed him the glass. He took it and tossed it down the hatch, his throat burning pleasurably.

“You want to tell me why you felt the need to commit murder in the middle of a crowd?” Dylan asked coolly, and returned to the cabinet sipping his own drink. A jingle went off and he fished out his cell, gazed at the number then shoved it back in his pocket.

Ivan shrugged noncommittally, “Because I felt like it.”

The man made a sound of acknowledgement then dug into the icebox underneath, giving Ivan a good look at that tight ass cupped by his slacks. He came up with several ice cubes. He placed them in a cloth then handed them to Ivan. “For your hand.”

Ivan took it and looked at the knuckles on his right hand. Damn, he hadn’t even noticed and now that he got a look at what was doing… they started to throb. He placed the cool cloth over his ravaged hand.

“That’s a bullshit answer, by the way. No one does anything because ‘they felt like it’.” Dylan returned to pour himself another round.
“There is always a reason for the things we do.”

Ivan frowned, thinking that over for a minute. Why exactly had he beat the guy into the ground? Well, for one, the way the bastard had handled his ‘girlfriend’. You didn’t treat women like that, but he suspected there was something deeper at work. He said simply, “He deserved it.”

“And why is that?” The man asked simply, his intense green eyes like emeralds on fire. They are really beautiful, Ivan thought; all that green and silver clashing with one another like dueling shards of glass.

Ivan tried to think of a good excuse, but nothing came to mind, so he shot to his feet and growled, that slinking anger coiling in preparation. “What the fuck does it matter?!”

The male looked him over a few times, sucking on his lip as if tasting the remnants of the liquor. Damn that bastard’s cool resolve. It was irritating as if he were planning something against Ivan. “Well, it doesn’t matter much to me. But, I’m betting it does to your uncle. And your father…”

“Fuck you, asshole!” Ivan growled, not in the mode to talk about his father. “That mother fucker has nothing to do with this.”

Dylan cocked an intrigued brow. He set the glass down and sighed, stroking his chin for a moment in contemplation before finally saying, “Actually, I think your father has everything to do with this.”

A red screen flipped over Ivan’s eyes. He felt the blood rushing through his head and before he knew what was happening, he was rushing for Dylan, his fists balled, the sore flesh of his knuckles screaming out in protest. Then he was against the wall, his wrists painfully behind his back. He spewed out curses like a broken cess-pipe.

Dylan was flush up against him, the hard body caging him in, those powerful legs holding him steady so he couldn’t kick. He wiggled and fought, but to no avail; the man just had too much muscle over him and that only angered him more. He growled as Dylan remained quiet, the bastard holding him until he ran out of juice.

Then he was being dragged somewhere, a door slamming shut in his face. He screamed and banged on the wood and when that didn’t work, he kicked it in, the panels giving away under his boot. He had no idea where this anger was coming from, didn’t know how to stop it; the only thing he could think about was beating something up and Dylan happened to be the closest object.

The door opened and Dylan appeared before him, a hint of annoyance on that otherwise cool face, but his eyes were glowing like green flame, a deep, insatiable need there. It startled Ivan for a moment and he had to gather his strength. “You fuck face! I’m going to kill you!”

The man tackled him, Ivan trying his hardest to best the man, but that bastard pulled some sort of karate move on him and pinned his hands behind his back again, a spear of pain shooting up his arms. He growled as he felt something being tied around his wrists.

“Stop struggling or you’re just going to hurt yourself.” Dylan suggested, his voice collected as he restrained Ivan. “Just relax.”

“You fucker! You asshole!” He cried as he was nearly lifted off his feet. That was when he realized he was in a spacious bathroom complete with a Jacuzzi and a polished black throne. But, he didn’t have time to admire his surroundings.

Dylan split Ivan’s legs with his own and forced his body against the commode, squishing his cheek against the cold porcelain. Ivan was helpless against the stronger man, all that pent up rage coming up against an immoveable brick wall. He moaned and sputtered curses as a rope secured him to the toilet so he couldn’t move. Where the hell had the bastard gotten all that rope from? And why did he have it in his office?

Ivan felt the male’s body snug up against his, all that strength flexing against him. Damn, he hated that it felt so good, hated the flicker of arousal igniting inside him. Then it was gone, that heavy weight retreating, that spicy scent evaporating into the air.

But, Ivan could feel Dylan’s breath like a summer breeze as he whispered against his ear. “Relax. Cool off for a while. I’m going to take care of this mess. Then, I’ll be back to take care of you.”
Ivan was unable to decipher the meaning of the way Dylan spoke those words, that deep, rumbling voice like a roar in his ears. They were so filled with restrained desire and sexual frustration, his gray matter turned to mush.

Take care of me? What the hell did that mean?

He heard the bastard’s fancy shoes tapping on the tiles as he left and closed the door behind him. “Hey! You can’t leave me here, asshole!”

Ivan tried to struggle, tried to wiggle out of the rope, but it was futile, the knots too tight. All he could do was relax against the cold porcelain and even out his breath. And wait.

…wait…

For what?

Then, I’ll be back to take care of you.

Shit! Why the hell did those words arouse him?