Stealing My Heart Read online

  At the inner door, he watched the guy ahead of him stick his hand with its arm band inside a scanner. The woman at the desk looked at her computer monitor, nodded, and waved him on. Marky took his turn. She glanced up at him, back at the monitor, and he tensed, but she just smiled.

  “Nice haircut. Suits you. Enjoy.”

  Inside the club proper, Marky had time to be impressed. A place with that much black lacquered wood, purple glimmer and chrome could easily look like it was trying too hard. He wasn’t sure how tasteful had been pulled off, but somehow, it had. Gay bars had never really been his thing, and just looking around the room reminded him why. He wouldn’t be allowed to just stand around and not spend money in a place like this.

  Across the room, a tall blond eyed the door, watched everyone who came in, and he watched Marky now. At a distance, no one should look that good. Marky swallowed, nodded slightly, and edged his way past the entrance. He felt the intense gaze follow and shivers cascaded down his spine.

  Since he didn’t have any money, the next thing to do was to find a likely prospect he could induce into spending money, but not have to put out for. He considered and dismissed approaching the blond. Something about the man’s stance marked him as other. Attractive, compelling, even, but far out of Marky’s range.

  He crept carefully closer to the shining hardwood dance floor, less than interested in going out there, but sensing this was how things worked here. Dance your little heart out, and someone would pick you up and make your body sing. The obviousness was more than a little creepy.

  “You look lost.” A deep voice and a hand on Marky’s elbow startled him into yanking away and spinning on the balls of his feet. For a split, heart-thudding moment, he expected to see the blond standing there. The excitement dissipated at the sight of a tall, muscular, olive skinned man instead.

  “Thank you, no.” His heart hammered up again, slamming his pulse in his throat, and he backed away. The man who’d addressed him, dark eyed, dark haired, wasn’t hard to look at, but something in his deep eyes warned Marky. He backed up another step.

  “Let me buy you a drink before you say no.” He smiled, his lips curling up and deepening a dimple on his left cheek. Nothing in the suggestive glint of his eyes changed. He closed a hand around Marky’s elbow again and turned him towards a dark, curtained booth.

  “Listen, I…” The man’s smile faltered, and a bouncer stepped forward. Marky nodded him away. He’d sit and have a drink with this guy. Better that than spend any more time wandering in the cold than he had to. One drink wouldn’t kill him.

  “Thanks.” He managed a tight quirk of lips as he slid into the booth.

  The guy retreated towards the bar, his fingers trailing down over the back of Marky’s hand. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”

  Marky should have left. But the prospect of catching the eye of one of the much less desirable onlookers did not appeal. The way their hungry gazes raked over gyrating bodies on the dance floor made him wary. If gay bars weren’t his thing, fetish bars were even less so, and he was quickly cluing in that there was more than garden variety courting going on here. Nothing said he had to leave with this guy.

  Outside the booth, the music picked up, bass rhythms thumped, and through a chink in the curtain, the blond fixed him with a look that made his pulse beat faster. Marky bit his lip, looked away. The curtain shifted, blocking his view of the dancers and the man. A tall glass with a paper umbrella appeared. His benefactor gripped his fingers as he shuffled up beside him and pulled the curtains most of the way closed again. “I thought for sure you’d be gone.” Only two tea lights on the table brightened the space, but it was enough to illuminate the dimpled smile. He indicated Marky’s frosted glass. “Long Island. Thought it’d be safe enough.”

  “Sure.” With its three ounces of liquor. Perfectly safe. Marky took a small sip and winced. Not three. The bartender was definitely not his friend. He set the glass down and leant back against the booth’s plush purple cushions.

  “So. I’m Jason.”

  “Joe,” Marky said, to the plush pillows on the other side of the booth.

  A protracted silence filled the cramped space. Jason leaned close. “Haven’t seen you in here before, have I?” His hand landed on Marky’s thigh, too distant from his knee to be comfortable, and Marky jerked. Though there was nowhere to pull away to, Jason’s fingers tightened, holding him in place.

  “No.” Marky pressed his shoulder to the wall of the booth, searching Jason for hidden whips or cuffs. A glittering chain dangled from his belt, but that was it. He regarded Marky coolly from beneath thick lashes.

  “What do you like, Joe?”

  “Like?” Marky twisted the glass around and around on the table, unable to control his racing heart or twisting nerves.

  “Unsure?” A wide grin replaced the calculating expression and Jason moved closer. “I can give you a few choices.” He was so close. The alcohol on his breath, mingling with the scent of mint, churned Marky’s stomach. He turned his head away. Jason settled for his neck, proceeding to lick and suck his way down to Marky’s collar bone. The abruptness of it warred with Marky’s acknowledgement that the man had a very talented mouth. He shuddered.

  It might have seemed an invitation, because Jason’s hand moved up Marky’s thigh, his fingers tucking into the crease between his leg and his cock, growing rapidly against his better judgement. Jason’s lips travelled back up along Marky’s throat and over his jaw. Marky twisted awkwardly to avoid meeting lip to lip. Jason just continued on along his jaw until he was sucking Marky’s earlobe into his mouth and between his teeth.

  “Shit…” Marky moaned, and Jason shifted, pressing him back against the wall and cupping his big hand over Marky’s groin.

  Too much…too fast…and not here. All raced through Marky’s brain, but somehow didn’t make it to his lips. His heart pounded, and his breath came in little gasps of something approaching fear.

  Jason didn’t seem to hear it that way. He kneaded Marky through his jeans, cutting off the supply of thought to Marky’s brain as his free hand slid up under the red T-shirt to play with a nipple.

  “Fuck…”

  “Here?” Jason’s lips curled against Marky’s neck. “Now?” He paused in his hard rubbing against Marky’s dick to adjust himself, something like greed in his dark eyes.

  “No!” Marky squirmed, but Jason’s hand had already moved, worming down inside the back of his jeans. “St—o—ugh.” The friction against his hard cock ground the word into nothing, and he rocked, trying to ease pressure that came too close to pain. It only gave Jason better access. The feel of a calloused hand on his ass sent a mewl of real fear past his lips.

  Not because he’d never done this before, but this was fast and demanding; assuming too much. He put a hand on Jason’s chest to push him away. Like shoving against a brick wall. Jason just chuckled against his temple and popped open the button on the front of his jeans, allowing his hand to slide a little further down Marky’s backside. His other ran along the back of Marky’s head, tangling in the gelled spikes. When he started pushing Marky’s head down towards his own crotch, fear won out over lust, and Marky shoved back hard.

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Jason’s grip tightened and forced Marky to lower his head or lose a lot of hair. It gave Jason just the right angle to slide his fingers between the cheeks of Marky’s ass, far too close to an intimacy Marky seriously didn’t want.

  He squirmed, and his scalp burned. No one heard his shouts above the raging music. Heart thudding, he swung, and Jason had him pinned against the wall in a heartbeat, wrists tight in one hand and the other holding Marky’s head against the wall by the jaw. “Easy. I wasn’t looking for a fight, Baby.” He thumbed the wrist band on Marky’s arm. “You’re wearing the wrong colour for this action, but if it’s what you want…”

  Marky could hardly protest with Jason’s hand holding his mouth closed. He couldn’t punch with his wrists captured. He kicked.
Left a boot-sized bruise on Jason’s thigh, and got his head cracked lightly against the wall for his efforts. Not enough to really hurt. Just enough to remind him it could hurt and he couldn’t do much about it.

  “I thought I was up for something lighter tonight,” Jason leered at him, “but you’re too much.” This time, his mouth closed over Marky’s, hard and demanding, smothering the last bit of desire Marky might have felt and propelling him into sheer panic. He kicked again, aiming higher than Jason’s thigh this time, and it earned him just enough freedom to squirm the rest of the way loose. There was no way out but over the table, and he took it, batting the curtain aside as he went. His still-full drink sprayed ahead of him just before the glass shattered on the floor. He landed almost on all fours, and was half way to his feet when Jason’s strong hand closed over his upper arm.

  “Before you make any more of a scene, if it’s force you want, we can take this into the back. Come on.”

  “I don’t want force!” Marky yanked, completely ineffectual against the big man. “I don’t want you! Let go!” Heads started to turn and his plan of inconspicuously passing a few hours in the stolen warmth didn’t look so good under the scrutiny. Behind Jason, the blond moved towards them, a concerned look on his handsome face.

  Jason pulled him close and leant down to whisper furiously in his ear. “You’re a piece of work.”

  Over his shoulder, the blond caught his eye, the only one who seemed to care what was happening. Then Jason was spinning him, propelling him towards the back of the bar, and he was on his own again in a nightmare of misunderstanding nothing he said was going to clear up.

  They’d made it to the entrance of one dark, semi-private back room when a big man, black shirt stretched across thick chest and arms, barred their way. Marky wilted with relief.

  “Everything all right?” His bass voice rumbled under the music and Marky had to read his lips to understand his words.

  “Yes.” Jason began to pull Marky behind him.

  “No!” Marky hauled against Jason’s grip. “Not all right.”

  Cool fingers closed over both his wrist and Jason’s hand. Marky looked up into eyes green enough to shine through even the flashing disco lights. The blond regarded him cooly, and his insides flipped. Obviously someone important, his presence straightened Jason’s shoulders, and changed his expression, from confident and greedy, to wary.

  The bouncer nodded to him. “Trouble, Mr Leibow.” He jerked his head towards them, and Marky wasn’t sure which one of them he meant.

  Mr. Leibow nodded and focused a dangerous glare on Marky’s captor. “Jason, isn’t it?” The voice belonging to the eyes and the hair was just as cool, just as intense as the rest of him. He looked Jason in the eye, both of them staring at one another over Marky’s head. “Jason Power?”

  Jason nodded, his fingers tightening under the blond’s.

  “Joss says trouble. He knows trouble when he sees it.” Every line of the man’s stance warned of danger. It set Marky’s blood racing the way just his scrutiny leeched a bit of colour from Jason’s face.

  “If there was a problem, Mr. Leibow,” Jason shifted his feet, but didn’t relinquish his grip. “I’m sure he would have used the safe word.” Jason’s fingers tightened again, enough to bruise. “He didn’t.”

  Leibow’s gaze moved back to Marky. One eyebrow went up.

  Marky flushed, caught somewhere between fear and fascination. His hands began to shake. “I don’t…”

  The other eyebrow went up. “You don’t know it?” Now Leibow picked up Marky’s limp hand and indicated the wrist band. “You don’t get one of these without knowing the rules.” He turned to Jason. “And you don’t get to keep it without respecting the rules.” He held out his hand, long fingers spread and waiting.

  “But I didn’t break any rules!” Marky winced under the pressure of Jason’s grip pulling him back again, as though he might hide his indiscretion. Marky resisted the tug, only to earn himself a glare, and a sharp, painful twist from Jason.

  “Rule number one.” Leibow pointed to Jason’s hand and the red marks around Marky’s arm. “Listen to your sub. He hasn’t said a word to you. I can tell looking at him he’s terrified.”

  The bouncer stepped up and uncurled Jason’s wristband, a shimmering blue strap, and replaced it with a black one. “Last chance, Mr. Power.”

  “Black?” Jason frowned at his new band.

  “Meaning you are under scrutiny. You don’t so much as breathe in the general direction of anyone who isn’t on my staff.” Leibow fixed a steady gaze on him. “And if any of my boys speak one word of concern, you never step foot in my place again. Understood?”

  Jason nodded, fury kindling in his eyes, and exiting the fingers still clamped painfully around Marky’s arm.

  Marky winced, bending slightly, over the pain.

  “Simon!”

  A pale young man, shorter even than Marky, stepped forward, his short hair gelled up to show off tattoos curling up the back of his neck. His hair was coloured to carry a bird’s rainbow design from skin to its feathered conclusion in the spikes. A line of silver rings tinkled along his ear as he moved. “Yes, Sir?”

  “You’ll take care of Jason? He needs a bit of stress relief.” Leibow tapped Jason’s white-knuckled grip and he let go of Marky, sending him away with a shove. Marky stumbled back rubbing his throbbing wrist.

  Simon grinned, ignored Jason’s pique, and reached to unclip the chain from Jason’s belt. He hooked it onto a ring in his own collar. “Sure thing, Boss.” He lead Jason off, though in a few steps, Jason took over the lead and Simon fell a step behind, hands behind his back and his head down.

  “You’re letting him stay?” Marky glared at Leibow. “He—” Thinking about it reminded him his fly was still hanging open, and he clutched it closed, flushing heat sliding up into his cheeks.

  “Better he’s here, learning from experienced subs, than out there really hurting someone.” Leibow waited for Marky to fumble his buttons closed again, then moved forward to straighten out his jacket collar. Marky shivered as cool fingers brushed his skin. “Come with me.”

  The heat in Marky’s cheeks flared, slithered down to coil in his gut. He nodded, unsure why Leibow’s proximity somehow didn’t inspire the fear Jason’s had. “Where are we going?”

  The bouncer tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and Marky swallowed, covered his stolen wrist band with his other hand, and nodded.

  Chapter Two

  They headed across the dance floor. Leibow slipped through the spinning crowd with smiles and touches that should have been inappropriate, but were given him as his due. Not a few envious looks glided over Marky as he followed. The motion of the bodies and the bass thump mesmerised him. Swaying hips and liquid smiles distracted his attention, and he almost missed the flash of familiar green until he was practically on top of it. The glimpse froze him in place. Someone slammed into him from behind, and an annoyed shout turned heads in his direction. Marky lunged, deeper into the twists and turns of the dancing, searching for blond hair. The man with the green wrapped around his wrist tossed a glance around, then went back to chatting with another bouncer who caught Marky’s eye then cooly looked past him and away.

  Marky’s frantic flight brought him face first into Leibow’s back, and he grunted. Leibow shot a questioning look over his shoulder, and Marky pointed, stretched up on his toes to talk into Leibow’s ear. “How did he get in here? He can’t see me. If… He’ll…” Marky was already turning back, itching to put distance between himself and the gang member who should not have been able to find him here. Where he would go once the bouncer pointed him out, he wasn’t sure. Even across the crowded room, he knew the bulge in the back of the guy’s jacket, knew what it meant that he was here.

  Leibow yanked him back around, though, pulling him through the crowd, around the corner of the glass DJ booth, and hustling him up a narrow set of metal steps camouflaged against the dark-painted brick wall. At th
e top, a small room looked out over the club through plates of glass. Leibow took up a place against the wall, hands in his pockets, where he could watch almost the entire bar and dance area.

  “So.” He peered at Marky, hovering at the top of the stairs, just inside the doorway. “Who’s the thug?”

  Marky moved forward to see down into the milling throng of bodies, but Leibow motioned him back. “It isn’t one way. If he looks up, he’ll see you. Who is he?” he pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one.

  Marky didn’t need more of a look than he’d already had to identify the intruder, though. “His name is Drag.” He frowned. “Actually, I think his name is Jose. He’s not a nice man.”

  “He has a big gun.”

  “How did he get it in here? Don’t you have security?” Marky’s voice rose toward hysteria.

  Leibow’s eyes flicked around the bar. Men in black shirts seemed to have emerged from the brick work. No corner, no exit from the main room, no inch of the club Drag could get to brought him more than five feet from one of them. If he even looked like he meant to draw his weapon, they’d drop him before he got it out.

  “Sometimes,” Leibow puffed on his smoke, voice a low drawl, “it’s better to let them in and watch them up close, see what they want.” His green gaze turned to Marky. “This one wants you?”

  “I—” Marky glanced back down at Drag’s tense back. “Maybe. Probably.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Leibow dashed out his half-smoked cigarette and his hands disappeared back into the pockets of his loose trousers, stretching the fabric across his ass in a way that tugged at Marky’s attention. He moved across the room to stand over him, depriving Marky of the view. Maybe it was his broad shoulders, or the way he smelled of spice under the bar sweat and stale beer. His proximity played havoc with Marky’s pulse, and it took a moment to get his thoughts back on track.