Burning Bright Read online

  Dedication

  From A. Catherine Noon:

  There are several I am grateful to: Issy, Meg, and Nina: for the beginning. To Sylvur for the leg up. To Gwen for starting it all, and the members of The Writer’s Retreat for the community: Byz, Darla, Dawn, Eden, Emma, Evey, Lucius, Maggie, Nikki and Pat. To Rachel for the sisterhood. To Dayna for the mentorship. To the Divas for being divas. To Krissy for the belief, and to Debbie for being magnificent (and pushing me out of the nest). To Michael for inspiration, and to Dorothy for the magic. Thank you and blessed be.

  From Rachel Wilder:

  To my father for showing me every day that you are not too old to start something new, even if it is a huge undertaking. To my sister for offering to beta when no one else would. To Nicole and Tabitha for being best friends. To the Writer’s Retreat for all your support. To Cody and Sullivan—I miss you guys! And to Noony for sharing this journey!

  Chapter One

  Dude. Where’s My Car?

  Sasha waved to Marty and Vince as the cab pulled away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned east toward his truck. Or was it west? He hesitated, the streetlights bleary in his vision. Driving himself home wasn’t an option, what with the number of drinks he’d let cute tops buy him tonight. Sharing his friends’ cab when he lived in the opposite direction wasn’t practical, either. Of all the nights to lock his wallet in the truck.

  Laughter came from behind him and Sasha glanced back. Two men, one in black jeans and a T-shirt and the other in a tight-fitting red net shirt over black leather pants, walked about fifteen paces back.

  “Devochka,” one called, and the other snickered.

  Fuck. He recognized the Russian word for “girl”. Irritation bled into the beginnings of nervousness. He turned back and scanned the street. Double fuck.

  He had no clue where he was, or where his truck sat.

  “Keep it together, Sasha,” he muttered.

  He turned right at the next corner. Leaving his wallet in the glove box for safekeeping because he wanted his pants to fit tight was proving to be an unwise decision. The club parking began at the side of the big building, and he hoped he’d picked the correct one.

  “Don’t run, devochka,” the other man called. “We just want to talk.”

  Dude, he didn’t look that feminine. Just because his sable hair brushed his collar didn’t mean he looked effeminate. He hardly even had curves, since he jogged as much as he did. Asshole.

  He approached the street corner. This side of the brick building housing the Factory lay quiet and unoccupied, its exterior lights out. On the other side of the narrower street, empty windows stared at him. Too rattled to read the name of the business on the placard, he turned right and glanced back after discovering no parking lot with his Chevy waiting.

  “Hi.”

  The voice startled him and he stopped short of running into the muscular chest of a third man, who stepped out from a doorway. He wore a leather trench coat over jeans, Russian gang tattoos visible on the naked skin of his upper torso.

  “Fuck,” Sasha blurted.

  He started to turn but the man’s hand shot out and clamped around his throat.

  “Where are you going, little girl?” he purred. A knife appeared in his other hand.

  Sasha yanked back and blocked the hand holding the knife. The blade clattered to the ground and the wrist Sasha held twisted under his hand. Too much alcohol in his system fuzzed his reflexes and he lost his grip.

  Of course, the guy behind him grabbed Sasha before he could move and held him in place while the one he attacked snarled at him.

  “What about the alley, Petya?” the third one asked as he walked up on Sasha’s right.

  “Good idea, Alyosha. Bring him.”

  Alyosha’s grip tightened like a vise and he dragged Sasha backward to rub his cock against Sasha’s ass. “I’m going to enjoy this, devochka.”

  Alyosha yanked Sasha along the building and around another corner. “It’s time we had some fun. It’s boring watching this shit box.” A narrow alley appeared, littered and dark, and Alyosha pushed him into it.

  “It’s my turn,” the third one whined.

  “No, Iosef. Let Alyosha have him. He’s just the right size.”

  They all laughed. Sasha tried to ignore them and summon his magic. That proved to be next to impossible while fear raced through him. When Alyosha stepped forward, Sasha lashed out with all his strength. His foot slammed into the bigger man’s knee with a crunch, jarring Sasha’s hip. He kneed Alyosha in the balls. As the bigger man crumpled, Sasha took off down the alley.

  The angry shouts behind him spurred him on, adrenalin making it hard to breathe. His stomach burned and his legs refused to function at normal speed. One of them got closer and Sasha pushed himself to run harder. Petya’s hand closed on his jacket and threw him sideways with such force he careened into the brick wall and slid down it, dazed. He pushed himself to his feet and caught Petya when he lunged. Using the bigger man’s momentum, Sasha threw him over his shoulder.

  Iosef sprang forward and landed a kick in his stomach, then grabbed him by the throat. He lifted Sasha with no trouble and threw him against a dumpster. He bounced and landed on his hands and knees, dizzy.

  “Watch for cops, Iosef,” Petya ordered. He unbuckled his belt.

  Sasha scrambled back and ran into the dumpster, slamming his head against the metal. The belt whipped out and tagged his cheek. Sasha’s head cracked against the metal behind him a second time, and he went limp with vertigo but didn’t quite pass out. Petya hit him with the belt again.

  Another set of footfalls approached and a big man appeared.

  “It’s Harrison.” Iosef stepped back.

  Sasha recognized the owner of the club. He’d only been staring at the man off and on all night. Muscular and clean-cut, Neal Harrison ruled the Factory with an iron fist.

  Petya slammed his foot into Sasha’s stomach and the air went out of him.

  He struggled to pull in a breath. Neal’s eyes flicked to his and then the big man spun. His foot lashed out and Iosef flew into the wall and tumbled into a pile of trash. He rolled to his feet and faced the larger man. Neal felled him with three lightning-fast jabs that sounded like a boxer hitting a heavy bag.

  Petya drew a knife and started forward. Neal watched him, and the big man whipped his hands out in a martial arts maneuver that Sasha only viewed on television. Then he slammed an elbow into Petya’s face and the Russian collapsed like a broken doll.

  Neal whirled and jogged over to Sasha. “Hey, kid. Are you okay?”

  Sasha tried to speak but a coughing fit took his voice. Neal caught him and held him steady. Sasha spat blood onto the ground. “I’m not a kid.”

  “Maybe not, but take it easy. You probably have a concussion.”

  Sasha tried to argue but a roaring started in his ears. Gods, he hoped he wouldn’t collapse right in front of the man. His body refused to listen and he went limp, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Neal hefted him like he weighed nothing. Neal’s big body radiated warmth and Sasha resisted the urge to snuggle. His head lolled back on his neck, cradled in the crook of the other man’s elbow.

  “Easy, I’ve got you.”

  “Boss. Boss, are you all right?” A man in black cargo pants and a grey T-shirt of the club’s sprinted up, followed by two others. The three pairs of black combat boots echoed in the narrow alley like thunder. “Fuck.”

  “Let’s get him back to the club, Carlos. I don’t know if he needs the hospital or not.”

  “No insurance,” Sasha managed to slur.

  Neal looked down at him. His eyes, seen from this close, seemed like warm cinnamon. “I’ll take care of it. Try to re
lax.” The sharp planes of his face were even better from inches away, like the statue of a Greek god, only warm and animated. The larger man’s dark hair, cut close to his scalp, seemed to highlight the hard angles of his face.

  “What if you’re the Big Bad Wolf?” he managed to quip.

  Neal’s eyes widened. “Then you’d better be Little Red Riding Hood, son.” He turned back to Carlos. “Get rid of this trash.”

  One of the others stepped closer and eyed the toughs on the ground behind them. “That one guy’s Russian mob, Neal.”

  “I know, Paul. What do you want me to do? Leave the kid here to get raped or worse?”

  “Fucking homophobes,” Paul spat. “I wish you’d let me take care of ’em.”

  “You know the rules,” Neal soothed. “City council doesn’t want any more trouble from the gay clubs after that shit happened in Boystown.”

  “But if the mafia is muscling in—”

  “Then we’ll deal with it,” Neal cut in. “All bets are off if that’s true. But we don’t know, and now’s not the time to discuss it. Take care of it, will you? I need to get him back to the club.”

  “He doesn’t look so good,” Carlos told him. “I think he needs the hospital.”

  Sasha started to argue but a wave of dizziness swelled up and he passed out.

  When he woke, he couldn’t feel his body. He lay cuddled on what had to be the most comfortable couch ever, rich dark brown leather and larger than anything he’d ever sat on. A whisper-soft ivory microfiber blanket wrapped around him like a cloud. His right arm peeked out from the cover, wrapped in neat white bandages with a few spots of red. Medical supplies were scattered over the coffee table next to him, including two syringes, more bandages and a bottle of water.

  “Hey,” a voice greeted. Neal loomed into view. “How’s our patient?”

  “Snug as a bug in a rug,” Sasha admitted. His voice sounded odd to him, tinny and faint. He blinked, embarrassed at saying such a stupid thing. “What in Hades did you shoot me up with?”

  Neal smirked. “Opiates. Why?”

  “How do you know I’m not a cop?”

  “Well, Doctor Soskoff, if you are, it’s sure deep cover.”

  Sasha laughed. “Riffling through pockets, now?” The leather cardholder that held his ID and one of his new business cards sat on top of his jacket nearby. The memory of his aunt when she gave them to him for his job search still made him smile. He should have put more cash in there, dammit.

  “Had to make sure you’re legal,” Neal murmured.

  “Twenty-eight old enough?”

  Neal winked and walked past the couch. “You want some juice?”

  “I’d rather have a bourbon.” When he went to sit up, pain shot through him from his chest to his testicles so fast it took his breath.

  “You okay?” Neal appeared again and this time, kneeled by the couch.

  It took him a couple times to speak. “My chest feels like shit.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder. You’ve got a couple ribs busted up.”

  Sasha stared at him. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  Neal’s lips thinned and he stood again. “I wish I was. You’re lucky you’re not at the hospital.”

  Sasha looked away. No job yet meant no health insurance. He didn’t want to admit that to the attractive club owner. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. How about that juice?”

  “Sure.”

  A fridge opened nearby but Sasha couldn’t crane his head around to look. Above him, a square skylight with panels of stained glass let in light. The ceiling gleamed, painted a rich ivory that looked like latte foam with a touch of coffee. Small halogen spots on an undulating track shone down, and the silver frames on the wall across from the couch showcased black-and-white nude photographs of men. He recognized Neal in one of them and heat flamed into his face.

  Figured, he’d develop a crush on the best-looking man in the club. You could get him as a top too, if you wanted; it cost about what a massage did. He’d never seen that in Madison and he wished he had the money to try it out.

  It was just his luck the man owned the damned place and had his pick of the best-looking lovers in Chicago. A twink vet from Madison wouldn’t be anything special to a man like that.

  He eyed the table and its syringes, wondering if what they gave him had any effect on the emotions. Neal sat on it after brushing the medical jumble out of his way. He held the glass for Sasha and moved a straw for him to reach. “Take it slow, you’ve been out for a while.”

  “What time is it?” Sasha sipped and it went down like crack, igniting all his nerve receptors and making his stomach growl.

  “Day time.”

  “What time of day?” Sasha demanded.

  Neal hesitated. “It’s about four in the afternoon.”

  “But…” He trailed off. “Fuck.”

  “Your friends called your phone, and I told them the scoop. Is there anyone else you want to notify?”

  His mom wouldn’t even know what day it was. Alzheimer’s stole even that from her, not to mention any memory of her family or her son. His aunt would just order him to come back to Madison. “No, that’s good you told them.”

  “Roommate?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t have one. I live alone.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  Sasha glared at him. “You know damn well I was at your club, Neal.”

  Neal laughed. “I wondered if you knew who I was. You didn’t ask, but I couldn’t tell if that was the drugs or not.”

  “Speaking of. What in Hades did you give me? Opiates covers a lot of ground.”

  “I have no idea, to be honest. Is it really important? I can call Steve; he was a medic in the Corps. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, Doctor.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I can’t feel anything.”

  “That’s the point,” Neal said with a grin.

  Sasha relaxed against the couch. If the bandaging was any sample of Steve’s skill, he didn’t need to worry about dosage levels. “Thanks. I mean it. I really appreciate you patching me up.”

  Neal smiled, pleased. He stood up. “Try to get some rest. You’re safe here. I promise.”

  Sasha wanted to argue, but the drugs or something else in his system surged to the fore and he floated away.

  Chapter Two

  Top Shelf

  When Sasha woke again, the savory aroma of onions and garlic made his stomach growl. Then his bladder announced it was Time to Pay Attention to Business. He sighed, unwilling to emerge from the cocoon of the blanket.

  “Yo, Sarge, he’s awake,” a voice called. A tall, gorgeous black man stepped into view, feet silent on the floor. His large eyes seemed kind in an expressive face. “Hey, Doc. I’m Steve.”

  “Hi,” Sasha greeted. “Thanks for patching me up.” He hesitated, then asked it. “Where’s the can?”

  “Back there.” Steve waved an imprecise hand over his shoulder. “You need a hand gettin’ up? You gotta be careful.”

  “Um…” Why did Neal have to surround himself with the best-looking men in the city? Sasha struggled to sit up on his own, but the pain in his chest took his breath. “Dammit.”

  Steve kneeled next to him. “Here.” He slipped a gentle arm under Sasha and eased him to a sitting position. Steve smelled good, like expensive cologne with an earthier undertone. The softness of his neck surprised Sasha, its warmth sinking into Sasha’s cheek.

  Sasha flushed. He was never this attracted to strangers. He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and Steve helped him to his feet. As the blanket fell away, he stood there buck naked. The larger man’s gaze swept over him and only wistfulness made him think anything more than clinical interest prompted it.

  Steve didn’t say anything, just stepped back. “The bathroom’s over there, on the far side of the dining room table.”

  “My robe’s in the bedroom, Steve-O. Grab it for me?” Neal called from behind him. Sasha looked over h
is shoulder at his rescuer as he cooked in an open kitchen.

  Steve went off to get the robe and Sasha wrapped the blanket around himself like a huge toga.

  “It’s just us,” Neal noted, smirking. “You can go commando.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Doc,” Steve countered as he walked back in. The thing in his hands in no way resembled a robe. “Here.”

  The fabric unfurled to reveal a luxurious, deep garnet silk robe and sash. Steve dressed him like a man-sized doll and tied the sash with efficient and careful movements. Sasha hoped his deep inhalation of the cologne left behind on the robe went unnoticed. Gods, Neal smelled good.

  A heavy knock at the door made him jump, and then Carlos and Paul strode in, their combat-style boots silent on the hardwood floor.

  “Dinner rush is starting, Boss,” Carlos said by way of greeting. “Hey. You’re awake.”

  “How are you feeling? You look like shit,” Paul noted.

  Carlos smashed a fist sideways into Paul’s arm. “Shut up, man.”

  Sasha blinked, unaccustomed to the easy manner in which these big and obviously gay men interacted. They seemed more like a military unit than bouncers at a gay club. Of course, maybe that’s how they did it in Chicago.

  Now that Sasha’s brain cleared of the alcohol fog, he studied the two men. Paul, taller by an inch, sported the same muscular physique as the others but seemed older, more mature. Mild crow’s feet around his eyes put his age around late-thirties, and the cold blue of his gaze speared Sasha.

  Carlos, on the other hand, seemed like a college kid, maybe twenty-three. His head came even with Sasha’s, which put him about the same height of five-ten. His warm golden skin glowed in the lighting, smooth and unblemished. He wore the same uniform as Steve, and Sasha noted that none had “Security” on it. Being mistaken for a busboy or waiter probably didn’t happen very often. Sasha couldn’t help but notice the swell at Carlos’s crotch. The Latino was exceptionally well hung. Sasha looked down to adjust his robe, praying the other man hadn’t caught him staring.

  He’d come to Chicago to widen his horizons, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d walked into a weird sort of G.I. Joe parallel universe or something. He greeted the newcomers in a soft voice and closed the bathroom door.