Brent Silva unbuttoned his jacket and sat forward, gripping his phone tight enough to make it groan. “Tell me you got it?”
“The building’s yours, sir.”
He shot to his feet and paced around to the front of his desk and back. “It’s mine?” The second property he’d acquired here in Roxburgh.
“Yes, sir.” His lawyer’s thin voice continued to echo through the receiver, but Brent didn’t hear a word of it, his mind already racing ahead. Let this be it, the hit that finally draws the bastard out.
“Mr. Silva?”
He forced himself to concentrate on what the guy was saying. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you plan to do with it?”
“Not a damn thing.” The first acquisition, the building he currently occupied and had recently opened for business, was a sex club like the one he’d owned in Chicago. Toxic had made him a lot of money. Demi-demons like him—half demon, half human—were often drawn to this lifestyle, especially those with incubus or some other species of sex demon making up half their DNA, but he didn’t really give a shit about money at this point.
It had been time to make the move, to come back. He’d left Roxburgh after Lazarus—one of the knights of Hell, half demon, half angel warriors created to protect Brent’s kind—had rescued him over three years ago, and after he’d recovered and finished his training, he left. He never thought he’d come back. But as he’d grown stronger, his hatred and need for revenge had grown with it. If he wanted to take that fucker down, he had to be here, in this city.
And right now, all that mattered was he’d beaten Garrett to another property. It wasn’t as satisfying as putting a bullet in the demon’s head, but it was another dent in the guy’s armor nonetheless.
So far, the male remained a shadow. Brent had never seen his face and his voice had always been disguised. He didn’t even know if Garrett was his first name, last name or something else entirely. He’d endured the fucker’s breath down the back of his neck, his cold, grasping fingers on his skin, completely under the monster’s command—but he wouldn’t recognize him if he passed him on the street.
And that’s what kept him up at night, had him waking in a cold sweat.
“Are you sure that’s wise? It’s a prime location. More than one buyer was clambering to get their hands on it. You can’t just let it sit there.”
“No?” Steel laced Brent’s voice, emotion from the direction his thoughts had taken slipping through. He had no desire to explain his actions to anyone, least of all someone who was paid extremely well to do as he was asked and keep his mouth shut.
“Apologies,” the guy murmured. “I’ll have the paperwork sent over to you right away.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Disconnecting, he shoved a hand through his hair and paced the room, trying to ease the tension thrumming through his body.
Garrett was the last one. He’d hoped the constant barrage of attacks on his businesses would draw him out. So far, nothing. Not a fucking peep.
It’d been time to up his game, which meant moving back into Garrett’s territory and making sure Brent was seen.
When he’d been freed from that hell that, as it turned out, had made him his own jailor, a place he never imagined could exist, not until he’d been lured there, seduced, intoxicated on lust and emotion, betrayed by his new powers to the point he had lost himself completely—he thought he would never recover.
Two months he’d been there, helpless, ruled by the incubus blood he’d inherited from his father. A father he never knew existed.
That was how he learned what he was. How he discovered that demons existed on this Earth. That he wasn’t entirely human.
Four years later—with nothing to go on but the name of the monster who had preyed on him, who had used what he was against him—he’d managed to find out the building he’d been found in by Lazarus had been owned by Garrett Industries.
Garrett.
He’d made it his mission to track and target anything with the name attached to it.
But the male himself remained elusive. A goddamned ghost.
Snatching the bottle of water off his desk, he drank deeply, mouth suddenly bone dry. He needed this to be over but at this point wasn’t any closer to putting the bastard down than he’d been the day he walked away from that nightmare.
He was still lost. Would remain that way until Garrett was six feet under.
“Fuck!” He sent the bottle flying, the thud of plastic colliding with the opposite wall not nearly satisfying enough.
God, he was close to crawling out of his skin. He needed a drink, a real one, a whole damned bottle, but that wasn’t an option. He’d never walk out onto that floor with an ounce of alcohol in his system. The risks were too high, especially in his current frame of mind.
Tonight he needed to release all the tension eating him from the inside out before it completely corroded his self-control. Usually feeding from the emotions pouring off the beings that came to his club, a few one-on-one sessions, were enough to satisfy him. Sex wasn’t necessary…wasn’t wanted. Tonight, though, he needed more.
The deep, pounding bass of heavy rock thrummed through his office door. He let it move through him, did his best to force the swirl of volatile emotion down, swallowing the memories along with it. Tonight he needed his barriers rock solid. Anything else was too dangerous.
Putting on his game face, he straightened his jacket, and opened the door. Muted red light greeted him, blanketing the entire club. He scanned the room—the place was packed. The new club had done exceptionally well in its first few months of business. Bodies moved on the dance floor, others made use of the darkened corners.
Using the place the way it was designed to be used.
Before he knew his intention, he unconsciously reached out with his senses…for her.
There.
His eyes drifted shut, like a heroin addict finally getting a much-needed hit. And like always, Chaya’s presence slammed into him, wrapped around him, threatened to tip him over the edge.
Shit.
His cock filled, hardened instantly. With the way he was feeling, he should send her home. He needed to fuck, to release the pressure building to unbearable levels inside him, and as always, that female was like a goddamned Siren.
He should never have agreed to her coming with him. But she’d argued that he needed staff familiar with the business, people with experience. There was also the fact that her sister was in Roxburgh, as was her father, a male Chaya had thought dead until recently. How the hell could he say no?
The incubus inside him wanted her, wanted to taste her lust, wanted to surrender to her, be dominated by her. Wanted to feel the full force of all that attitude and fire turned on him, wanted her to give him what he truly craved. The human part of him needed more, wanted everything.
And that was unacceptable.
It was also impossible.
No one at the club knew what he truly was. He’d been playing the part of Dom for such a long time he’d even fooled himself on occasion. But that longing never went away, no matter what he told himself. It was always there, just below the surface.
He’d felt so betrayed by his own body during those weeks with Garrett, and he’d vowed never to put himself in that position ever again. The way he’d chosen to live his life since, it was self-preservation.
Playing the Dom had felt like the only way to move forward. He was also the owner of two sex clubs frequented by beings, creatures, driven by instinct, many who would see him as weaker, someone to be walked over if they knew his true nature.
Now he was stuck.
God, he’d been fighting it so long.
And tonight the strength of that pull to Chaya was like a force of nature. It lit up every nerve ending, lifted the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. A rough sound escaped his throat. Oh yeah, he needed a fix, but not her.
Chaya was willful, defied him constantly, pushed him daily. But all that attitude, that smart mouth of hers, was a front. She’d made it clear she was a submissive and that she wanted him to be the one to take her in hand. But he couldn’t pretend to be someone—something—else, not with her.
Still, everything about her drew him. She shone like a beacon, calling to him at a soul-deep level. Fate’s way of fucking with him some more, obviously, like they hadn’t fucked him over enough.
It didn’t stop him from fantasizing that Chaya could be the one to fulfil the endless ache, the desperate need that throbbed inside him every damn day.
But she wasn’t for him. And he couldn’t risk her seeing the truth of his nature. He couldn’t take that kind of rejection, not from Chaya.
He also knew that once wouldn’t be enough, not with her.
And he’d hurt her. In the end, he’d hurt her.
He didn’t do permanent. Never more than once with anyone, and only when he’d reached breaking point, like he was close to doing tonight. Sex always made him feel empty somehow, hollow. He preferred to give others what they needed and feed on their emotions. He sure as fuck couldn’t deal with his own. The volatile twisted shit swirling inside him was better off ignored.
Scanning the room, he searched for someone to suit his purposes…
The light dimmed for a few moments then a new song began, starting out slow, heavy bass, sensual. Several people had turned, eyes trained toward something or someone on the other side of the club.
Jesus.
Pins and needles danced down his spine.
Chaya.
The energy and emotion she was throwing out hit him in the gut, an unfurling, erotic burn that made his skin itch and sweat slide between his shoulder blades. He took several steps forward, like she’d reached out and touched him, beckoning him closer.
Then he saw her.
In one of the cages, gripping the bars in front of her, she moved—no, fucking writhed—to the music. All that long, dark hair was wild around her face and shoulders, her skin flushed. The bass got heavier, the pace increasing, and she dipped her perfect round ass, swayed those lush hips in a way that sucked all the oxygen from his lungs. He was already hard as iron. The maddening female made him ache.
The leather corset she wore was molded to her out-of-control curves, the lacing up the front barely contained her generous breasts. The front plunged low enough that he could see a delicate chain taut across her chest. The jewelry would be clamped to each nipple, heightening the sensation of the leather moving against her sensitive skin.
What the fuck is she playing at?
He gritted his teeth, gaze traveling down over the rest of her. She wasn’t wearing one of the little leather skirts she usually favored, but instead she wore delicate black lace panties and stockings. A stark contrast to the corset, showing a vulnerability and confidence all at once.
Christ, to have her fist his hair and force his face between those lush thighs.
She continued to dance, but what got to him most, what had him close to tipping over the damn edge, were the spiked heels of her boots making her look taller than her petite five-foot-four frame. He wanted to feel them digging into his back, his ass, while he serviced her, while he eagerly gave her everything she demanded of him.
Not going to happen. Keep it the hell together.
He’d warned her, told her repeatedly that she was not to dance, that she could work the bar or waitress but the cages were off limits. He knew what seeing her like that would do to him, what seeing other males looking at her like that would do to him. By human standards that would make him a selfish, controlling asshole, but he wasn’t fucking human, not anymore. The same goddamn rules didn’t apply. He was a demon with demon instincts and desires.
Instincts he still struggled with. Instincts that had homed in on Chaya the moment he laid eyes on her and screamed for her, were still screaming for her. Desires that would get the better of him, would take him over completely if he let them, if he didn’t manage them the only way he knew how.
Desires that ruled him and would ultimately lead to him hurting her if he fully gave into them. That he was terrified would take over completely if he dropped his guard and let someone in.
He didn’t even know if he could be with just one person. If the incubus, the sex demon side of himself would be satisfied or if it would eventually drive him to seek out others. It was a risk he refused to take, even if he could keep up the pretense around her, not when Chaya was the one who would be playing guinea pig.
And right at that moment, not only was object of his deepest, darkest desires dancing up there, she had the attention of every person in the damn club.
No, the demon he was now didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
Her gaze lifted, came right to him and locked on him, daring him to come to her, to take up her offer. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine she was his Domme, demanding with her eyes that he come to her, that he kneel at her feet.
His knees actually went weak with the desire to drop to them.
His cock pulsed, balls drawing tight. She didn’t know what she was doing by tormenting him this way, what this little show might push him to do. What might happen.
She had no way of knowing what she might reduce him to, what she might expose.
Her eyes stayed locked on his, sending him a what are you waiting for that everyone in the room could see. Chaya was challenging him, asking him if he had the strength to strip down those hard layers to the soft, tender parts beneath.
He wanted to fucking weep because that’s what he wanted from her, more than anything.
After what had happened to him, how he’d lost control four years ago, the truth was he didn’t know what he was capable of. And until he got his revenge, until he made Garrett pay, he wouldn’t risk trying to find out.
Still, seeing her standing there like that, asking him to be that male for her—yeah, in that moment he’d never wished more that he could change who he was. That he could be the kind of male she needed.
It was hard, but he didn’t look away. Not with all these people watching. Even from the distance separating them, he could see the uncertainty shift across her features. Goddammit, she needed to understand, needed to stop this.
Chaya stilled suddenly, her thick black lashes fluttering then lowering as she dropped her gaze. She bowed her head slightly and trained those beautiful dark eyes on the floor.
All eyes moved to him, waiting to see what he’d do. What could he do? He couldn’t have her, no matter how much he craved her, hungered for her. But he wouldn’t humiliate her either.
Fighting his instincts right then was like trying to fight back a storm with a miniature battery-powered fan. But he had no choice. He did the only thing he could do—he moved through the crowd toward her. She still hadn’t looked up, her gaze sweetly downcast. Every muscle in his body was hard as stone as he moved closer.
He stopped in front of the cage. “Out, Chaya.” His voice was nothing more than a low rasp. Her gaze shot up, searching his. “Now,” he said.
The cage was opened and she climbed down. He didn’t touch her, instead tilted his head for her to follow and moved back through the crowded club. He didn’t need to turn back to know she was right behind him. He could feel her there. He led her to the opposite side of the room, where it was darker, away from prying eyes.
When he turned to face her, the attitude was back, in her posture, her expression, and it hit him full force. Fuck, his cock filled, hardened instantly. She was a smart girl. He hadn’t taken her to one of the playrooms. She knew what that meant.
She stared at him, unblinking, and shrugged. “What?”
Forcing himself to play Dom, he let his gaze move over her, purposely lingering on the delicate chain taut across her chest. He saw rather than heard her soft indrawn breath. He needed her to stop pushing him like this. Reaching out, he gave it a light tug, and she sucked in another breath.
He arched a brow, doing his best to play the role she expected, that everyone expected. “What?”
She pulled herself together fast, barely missing a beat. “I’m working. Why the hell did you pull me out of the cage?”
That flash of fire, the defiance in her words—Christ, it made him so damned hard. He struggled to say what he needed to, to reprimand her.
“Your job description does not include dancing. Get back on the floor and serve drinks like you’re paid to.” He made sure steel laced his words when he spoke.
Her jaw hardened, lips thinning.
Electricity fired between them. Being this close to her lit him up inside, made him restless, hungry. She crossed her arms, causing her heavy breasts to lift high enough that one of the tiny D-rings attached to her nipple clamps peeked out. “What’s your problem? I was only dancing. What the hell’s the big deal?”
“After that little display, you’re going to play coy?” He shook his head and let his gaze travel back down to that chain glinting between her breasts, tormenting the hell out of him.
She swallowed hard. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”
“No?” he gritted out.
She bit her lip but shook her head.
Why are you pushing? Let it go. Get the hell away.
“You need to know this isn’t some game. You’re playing in dangerous waters, Chaya. You dip your toes in again and a monster might latch on and not let you go.” He stepped closer, crowding her. “Might drag you under, into the dark waters with him. Are you prepared for that?”
She looked stubbornly up at him, but for once the wild cat was at a loss for words.
He forced his facial features into what he hoped was a bored expression “That’s what I thought. I don’t have time for amateur hour, sweetheart.”
A wave of pain washed over him—and not the kind he liked either, mixed with pleasure. Her emotions were all over the place and he wanted to reach out and touch her, soothe away the damage he’d caused. But he couldn’t.
And all the while, his incubus gorged on that emotion pouring off her. He hated himself for it, for the twisted feeling it gave him. The demon side of his nature wanted more. Anything it could have of Chaya, even her pain, and that messed with his head in more ways than he could count.
Which was why he needed to stay the hell away from her.
Being this close to her had become too much. He was close to coming out of his skin, and if he didn’t get the hell away from her now, he’d do something he couldn’t take back. She was looking up at him, waiting for more, for him to give her something, to acknowledge what was between them. But he fucking couldn’t.
“I’ve got shit to do,” he said, gut in knots, and headed across the club, trying to get far enough away that her emotions wouldn’t reach him. But he didn’t think that was possible, not with her.
The night dragged and his control cracked more and more until his skin was hot and tight and he couldn’t get a handle on the amount of emotion he was taking in.
He was leaning against the wall, and when he tried to straighten he actually fucking staggered like a damn drunk. Which wasn’t far from the truth at that point.
This was his addiction, something he lived with and fought every day. He glanced up, spotting Chaya delivering drinks over in her section. Emotion was his drug, and somehow every day he had to take enough to survive but not enough to fucking OD.
He glanced at Chaya again. And right there was his downfall—if he ever allowed himself to give in to temptation. Everything about her—her beautiful body, her wild spirit, and her sweet, intoxicating emotion—called to him like a love song. Like the best high he’d ever have.
Giving in to that need would be too dangerous, for both of them.
He needed to regain his control. Now.
A young demi stood a short distance away. Brent had seen him at the club the last few nights, his interest in what Brent could give him written all over his face. He was a beautiful male, but Brent’s stomach knotted, fisted, a sense of wrongness washing over him that made his palms sweat.
Before Chaya started working for him, he wouldn’t have thought twice about spending time with the male. Male or female, it didn’t matter to him. But he wasn’t who Brent wanted.
Unfortunately, the demon part of Brent didn’t allow him that luxury.
Brent crooked a finger at him.
He moved toward Brent immediately, hands loose at his sides, eyes downcast. The perfect sub.
Perfect for what he needed tonight, anyway. The only kind of partners he dared take into the privacy of the playrooms lately. He took the utmost care with his subs, always, but with the volatile emotions hammering him, he didn’t trust himself with a female. Afraid he might be too rough. He would never forgive himself if that happened.
But that wasn’t the only reason he’d been choosing males, he couldn’t deny it, not even to himself. There was only one female he wanted, and he couldn’t have her.
He couldn’t pretend with her.
Brent didn’t look back at Chaya as he led the guy to his playroom.
He couldn’t bear to, he might not be able to go through with this again if he did, and what that might lead to didn’t bear thinking about. God, he could still taste the pain he’d caused her, the humiliation.
He tried to tell himself that Chaya knew the people he took into those rooms meant nothing to him, that what he did in there fed his demon, nothing more.
Still, it caused her pain.
They were stuck in a fucked-up cycle and he didn’t know how to stop it.
What did she want from him?
Why did she stay?
Why couldn’t he let her go?
Brent admired Spencer’s once-pale skin. The other male’s ass was nice and pink from the paddle Brent had just used. Sweat slicked his flesh and his thighs trembled. Smacking the guy’s ass again, Brent forced the butt plug deeper, making him writhe and moan, beg.
“Come,” Brent said, low. “Now.”
Spencer cried out, doing exactly what he was told, humping into the spanking bench he was bent over.
Brent moved around to stand in front of him. The male was naked, strapped down, and helpless, and Brent gorged on the emotions pouring off him. All that hunger and lust, the satisfaction, the relief, the gratitude, not to mention the delicate, delicious wave of pleasure pain each time Brent had used the paddle.
Jealousy spiked through him.
He wanted that.
To be restrained, the sweet sting of a paddle on his ass, forced to come.
But not by some faceless male who used him when he was at his most vulnerable, but the female he craved more than anything else in existence.
Stop.
He sucked in a deep breath. Christ, what Spencer was sending out was a heady mix and the reason he needed the utmost control. If he didn’t keep it together, it would be so easy to get lost in it. To take and take, to gorge until he was lost, and accidentally hurt someone who had put their trust, their pleasure in his hands for the short time he had them in this room. The incubus he’d become was a greedy bastard, was all-consuming, never satisfied.
“I think you’ve earned a reward, Spencer, for being such a good little sub.” He stepped closer to the guy’s face, brushing his still-covered erection against his fevered cheek. He brushed his hand through Spencer’s damp hair, massaging his scalp, and the guy purred. “I’m going to fuck your mouth, Spencer.”
“Y-yes, please, Sir.”
He moved away briefly and the guy whimpered, already licking his lips. They were pretty lips, but that wasn’t the mouth he wanted. His voice wasn’t the one he wanted to hear. He grabbed a blackout blindfold hanging on the wall and moved back, covering Spencer’s eyes. Unzipping his pants, he freed his cock, and nudged it against his lips. Spencer opened without hesitation, like he knew he would, and Brent fed him his hard dick.
He didn’t want this, didn’t want this male…didn’t want to be in this room playing at being Dom, but his body, the incubus side of his DNA wouldn’t let him walk away, not after Chaya’s little show, and not after another failed attempt at drawing Garrett out.
It was either this or lose it completely.
Self-destruction.
The door was shut, he couldn’t see her, but Brent could still feel her just beyond it. Taunting him, calling to him.
Hissing a curse, he fisted Spencer’s soft curls and slipped deeper, began fucking the guy’s mouth like he’d promised. Closing his eyes, he tried to let sensation take over, to get lost in the feel of a hot, moist mouth, but all he could see was Chaya. The seductive way she’d danced in that cage, those spike-heeled boots. How, for a split second, she’d held his stare and he’d fooled himself into seeing something he wanted so desperately. Christ, imagined that she’d walked out of that cage, right up to him, and instead of him having to hurt her, she’d ordered him to his knees.
That she’d made him hers.
And then memories, twisted and vivid, invaded his mind like they always did. The confusion, the disgust, the fear—the desperate, unending craving for more he’d felt when he became a demi-demon in that place four years ago. The guilt and self-loathing over the way he’d begged for more every damn day.
He struggled with that even now, like it was yesterday. The damage it had caused, that Garrett had caused, was more than he knew how to deal with.
His balls drew tight, and as good as this guy was at sucking cock, it wasn’t enough. It never was. And the reason Spencer wore a mask. This was Brent’s shame, and his alone.
Reaching down, he fisted his balls and squeezed hard. Punishing himself was the only way he could get off now. Punishment for what he’d allowed them to do to him, for what he’d asked them to do.
The pain nearly buckled his knees. Familiar agony shot through him, nausea hitting him low in the gut.
With an agonized shout, he came.
Finally. Sweet release.