I stared at the kid. Assessing again. I smiled.

"Why should I do that? That price is far more than anyone would charge –"

"But you're not just anyone," the bastard beside the boy stated boldly, "you're the one and only Jayden Malroy! Anything you build will definitely pull in the crowds. Come on, forget the past," he droned with barely concealed arrogance.

I shifted my gaze from the kid to the blonde man with the ice-blue eyes.

"Why are you here?" I grumbled, facing him squarely, finally getting my initial rage under control. Pushing it down to where I could barely feel it.

A skill I had learned years after dealing with the sleek bastard I was facing. A man who looked like ice couldn't melt in his mouth, but was, in reality, a demon in human form.

"Didn't you hear my father?" he droned, almost sweetly. I wanted to burst my own eardrums.

I blinked. I turned to the old man. "I'm sorry, I must have missed something," I remarked slowly.

The elder smiled his patient smile again. He straightened his shoulders. "This is my son, Leon, and my youngest, Adrian. We want Adrian to learn about our business and would like you to work with him during the construction and decorating phases of the project."

I blinked. "I'm not a tutor."

"I understand."

"Nor a babysitter."

"Hence the price we are willing to pay. The lad is even open to putting a much larger sum down than required, but I think," he turned to his young son, "he may have just been too excited," he concluded politely to me, even as his eyes clearly scolded the boy.

I looked at the kid again. He was still pale, but his jaw was clenched. His brow was smooth. His eyes were steady on mine.

Shit! He's this fucker's brother? I cursed in my mind as I read his posture.

"And," Leon rumbled, sidling up to me, putting himself too much in my space, but I didn't move. I stood my ground even though I pressed against Martin.

Martin, my lawyer, my friend, right from the time when I and the fucker in front of us were acquainted, stood fast, supporting me against the devil himself.

"We get to hang out, too, of course," he concluded with a smile that held too much meaning.

I would have bristled, but instead, I just stared at him. Almost blankly. Controlling my expression.

"I won't work with you," I remarked flatly. No passion in my voice. I wasn't a sophomore anymore, and he wasn't my shining, flawless senior.

I was a full adult, independent and free, and he was still a pretentious bastard, only this time, I was fully aware of it.

"You'll work with me," the kid jumped in urgently, taking a step forward. "And only me," he pressed.

I turned to him even as his brother did not move an inch but kept staring right at my face.

"I don't think you understand –" the devil was saying breezily.

"Leon, that's enough," their father cut in, a sharp edge to his voice.

My gaze shifted to the old man. "Do you know about our history?" I asked slowly, my professional self fully engaged. My public persona running on autopilot.

The old man glanced to the side, then back. "He told me you went to school together. I see that you are definitely not strangers."

"You don't have the same last name. If I had known –"

"I need you for this job. My son needs a good guide," the old man cut in patiently. "As for Leon, he will stay away," the old man continued firmly, turning from me to his older son.

I glanced at Martin, who was squeezing my arm, his expression tight. I knew what my lawyer wasn't saying. We needed to close this deal. Too much was riding on it.

It wasn't that my company, or my lawyer's firm, needed money; what was at stake here was our reputation.

Masterson Emporium was not a project to fuck around with.

We had gone through three rounds of submissions and presentations to win the chance to sit down with the owner, a consortium of old-money families who wanted to design a showroom for the ages.

My family's name, my lawyer's firm's name were in the limelight for this work.

If it fell through, just like that, the backlash on our respective businesses would be significant.

But how did this fucker become Sir Sinclair's son? How?! I asked Martin with my eyes as he reminded me of what we both needed to do with his pressure on my arm.

"200," I retorted hoarsely, turning to our would-be client.

"Deal."

I nodded.

No. It wasn't about the money, but I wasn't about to let myself be steamrolled into a shitty relationship or circumstance without gaining anything up front.

I would not lie down and be trodden upon, not again.

Not ever.

If Leon was playing a game, I could play too.

I was not the kid he fucked with for two years. I was not the boy he ruined and threw away like the trash he must have thought I was.

I was something different now. Very different.

And if the gods or devils he served had deemed it fit for him to enter my universe, well, I would have to make do with that. Just as I've had to make do with every fucking nightmare that has been sent my way since I met Leon.

Since I met... him. My mind pulled me toward another. Reminded me of another.

My chest pushed out mentally.

Yeah, we can play, Leon. But this is one match you're gonna fucking lose. I declared privately.

I turned to leave, and Leon reached for my arm. My eyes snapped up to his, and I dared him to touch me. Without a word, I dared him to put his hand on me.

He smiled, that roguish smile that had swept me off course for two entire years, that smile that got me kicked out of my family, that smile that made me lie on my back for others while he filmed everything and sold it online, without my consent.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped back.

"Keep him away from me, or this deal is off," I said roughly to his father, now my highest-paying client, losing my composure for a split second.

The old man nodded, his expression a mix of concern, gratitude, and hesitation.

He doesn't know, I mused. He doesn't know what his son did to me.

I spun and walked out.

The kid's face flashed in my mind.

What am I going to do with this shit! My mind screamed as I headed to my car.

My phone buzzed and I almost ripped my pocket pulling it out.

I stared at it. Marcus Sullivan, my keeper, my prisoner. The man my mind recalled in the face of that bastard.

It was the first Monday of the quarter. I knew the drill.

We've been doing it for seven years. I didn't need reminders, but he sent them anyway.

I wanted to go to him immediately. That's how irritated I was. I wanted him to do what he did so well – fuck me blind, deaf, and dumb.

The man was a beast, both in bed and out of it. Mafia kingpin, five years running. I'd been waiting for someone to take him out, free me from his hold, but right now, I wanted him inside me.

My phone squeaked in my hand, and I loosened my grip, exhaling long and low through my nostrils as I leaned on my car with one hand.

It's not like I couldn't walk away from the client and his sons, but I needed to get out of the hole I had dug for myself thirteen years ago.

Thirteen!

I had kept track, kept score, thirteen fucking years of clawing back to what should have always been mine, but I had thrown away because of some sleek-looking, sleek-talking bastard.

A man I had dismissed in my journey of penance. Forgotten as I was salvaged by another. Never even considered when I became my savior's kept man.

Well, not exactly 'kept', but close enough.

I owed Marcus millions, and I paid every month. Whenever a balance remained, I would service him, once a quarter, have the interest added, and the cycle would continue.

Some months, I paid less than I could afford. I paid less to keep that door open. A door that I had become afraid to close.

Because if I closed it. What would I be? Who would I be?

I had my family's business to look after, but outside of that, I was an empty shell.

I had no taste for anything, or anyone.

I didn't go to the movies or go to sporting events.

I went to sex clubs and nightclubs. High-brow bars and exclusive hedonistic parties. for one thing and one thing only – pleasure. The only type of pleasure I liked.

I didn't do drugs, and drinking my life away wasn't an option – I had already tried that, it wasn't for me.

Sex, though, was just right. The very balance I needed. But I wasn't the type who went with every man that came my way. I had some regulars, some not regulars, and some one-night wonders.

But Marcus had become a constant. A reliable one at that. A good one, if I wanted to be honest.

And if I paid up quickly, if I let him go. What would I become?

With the new payout from the elder gentleman, I could be out from under Marcus' thumb before the year ended.

Had I taken that 500, I could be out today. But if I had taken that 500, Leon would have found a way to make me regret it.

I couldn't give him the chance.

My mind pushed the bastard out, and Marcus floated in. All 6 foot 9, 285 pounds of him. My mind cooled, and my body got hot.

I'm no lightweight myself. At 6 feet 6 inches and 250 pounds, I'm not small, but to Marcus... few were his match.

I could feel him as I closed my eyes, struggling to clear my mind, to focus as I thought of what lay ahead for me on this fucking project.

Tonight, I mused. I'll go tonight, on schedule. I can't have Marcus messing with me cuz I ran to him early.

Fuck!

I snatched my door open, jumped in, and skidded out of the parking lot.

My mind reeled with memories long forgotten, buried, but now threatening to consume me, blindsiding me out of nowhere.

==========

I had met Leon in my junior year at Uni. He was a senior, studying law. I was studying architecture. One fraternity meet, one beer too many, and I had fallen into his smile, his eyes, his boldness.

Things I didn't have around me in my tiny, careful world.

Things I didn't know about myself, Leon shone a light on and then ignited me, body and soul. He pulled me in, took me away from everyone and everything I knew, controlling me, using me, and then he spat me out, exposed, humiliated, alone.

My father disowned me. My mother had a stroke. My elder brother, the drug addict, mocked me, the good son, and my sister...best not to talk about Rina.

After two years of debauchery and wasting my parents' money on classes I was barely attending, then dropping out of school and becoming Leon's full-time bitch, only to later become his whore when he pimped me out to anyone who so much as glanced in my direction, I ran.

I left the city, left the country. I took the last money I had, cash I had gotten from selling the three watches I had stolen from Leon, and got on the first bus that hit the station.

I went across the border, with no destination in mind. No plan. Just escape.

I found work in clubs and bars, in various Canadian provinces, moving from one to the other, serving drinks and sometimes giving other services I had mastered under Leon's very precise tutelage. I was twenty years old and drifting.

I was older than most in the trade, so I stuck to serving drinks or manning bars. After a year, I was strictly a server or a host who drank with customers, and I had settled down in Toronto.

One day, a particularly raunchy customer put his hands on me, and I lost it. Nobody touched me without my consent. It had become a trigger for me, and I wasn't having it.

He pressed against me, with his friends seated around. They were all laughing.

Why do predators always laugh? That was the thought in my head as I stood up, determined to walk away. I had been at that club for almost nine months, and I wasn't going to throw my hard work out the door for some drunk fools.

I stumbled backward, taken aback as the customer rose to follow, reaching for me in the process. A large man with more muscle than necessary for any regular, standard human being.

Whether from surprise or fear, or perhaps it was anger or irritation, at everyone, at everything, at myself for being nervous, at the look in his eye that presented a picture I was too familiar with.

A gaze I had seen before from too many horny men, too many aggressive clients, a look linked to too much shame from my past, I smashed a wine bottle on his head.

His friends stopped laughing.

I turned to leave, and he grabbed me by the collar, ripping my silk shirt; buttons popped as the collar tore. I spun back to him, picking up another bottle and breaking it against the low table as I fell on my back on the food and other drinks that nobody cared or was quick enough to move out of the way.

As he tugged my belt, to rip my pants off, I stabbed him just below the collarbone.

The man howled and raised a large fist to either break my face or knock my head off my shoulders when someone pulled my head back by the hair and shoved his tongue into my open mouth.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I grabbed the new attacker's throat, and he pulled my hand away with such ease that I didn't feel the glass shards in my back as I struggled to slide away from him.

And it was a him. It had to be.

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open, and I bit down.

The madman let me go, and I slid to the tiled floor of the host club. Hands and knees on glass and food. But I couldn't crawl away. I wouldn't let myself do that. Such movement didn't bode well. The weaker one looked, the harder attackers pushed.

So, I sat, trying to clear my head, to calm my racing heart.

Everywhere was silent now, the music had stopped, and people had gathered.

The bouncers were there. They moved to help me up, but a large shadow got in front of them and squatted down in front of me as I gasped for air and tried to stop the trembling of my entire body.

Fear, anger, rage, I didn't know which one was shaking me so forcefully that my vision had blurred.

I blinked rapidly as sweat poured off my forehead and into my eyes. My back and my thighs were on fire.

I was trying to find my collar, but my hands were shaking too much; I kept reaching behind me, but couldn't grab it.

The offending customer leaned down over the large shadow. I couldn't see him, but I recognized his voice.

"I've got this, boss," the man rumbled, and the 'boss' replied, without any hint of being out of breath, "take care of that wound."

"Boss?" the offender retorted; I could feel his tight rage in his voice.

"Take care of your wound. I'll take care of this one for you," the 'boss' stated calmly.

I still couldn't see. I could barely hear, my own heartbeat and ragged breath filling my ears, but I wanted to scream, to yell, to curse at the bastards who were treating me like some insignificant object, but I couldn't form words.

My body wasn't working the way I needed it to.

I sensed people moving away. I wanted to call them back, but my tongue was heavy, thick in my mouth.

A sharp slap struck my face. Once, twice, then my arm went up, stopping a third strike.

My vision cleared.

"Are you fucking mad?" I growled, finally finding my voice.

Black eyes stared at me, and I stared back. My gaze moved to his lips, and I confirmed that he was the one who had accosted me.

I looked up from the bloody evidence.

"What do you think you're doing?" I spat.

"You've stopped shaking," he droned.

"What?" I gasped, then I blinked. He was right, the trembling had stopped.

I looked around. Only the bouncers remained; all other customers and workers had moved away.

It was that type of club. A nightclub for people with specific tastes, a certain amount of money, and a wish to be discreet, run by nefarious characters.

The man in front of me was a regular. But he usually drank, nothing else. I had seen him many times in the past year.

I pushed his arm away.

"What was that for?" I snapped at him, this time finding my torn collar and setting it right as I pulled my shirt at the front, closing the gap that exposed my firm chest and upper abs.

His eyes were fixed where my hands held my shirt together.

"What?" he asked lazily as I staggered to my feet. I could feel my back now, and the back of my thighs, a burning sensation, but I wasn't done with the behemoth that stood with me and caused my head to lean back.

I rarely looked up at people. I stared for a second longer than I should have, and he smirked.

I frowned and stepped forward boldly. One thing I learned in the past three years was that if you gave bullies an inch, they would take a mile.

"Why did you put your tongue in my –"

He did it again. This time, we were both standing, toe to toe. His large hands held my face in place as I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to stop.

After a moment, he pulled back.

He stared at me. "What? No bite this time?" he droned with the ghost of a smile on his swollen lips.

My arm came up and he caught my fist. He spun me around, pulling my arm up behind my back. I bit my tongue in an effort not to cry out.

The bouncers were still standing right there. Watching.

I turned my head back as he pulled my arm with enough force to pop my shoulder out of its socket, but was stopping just short of doing so.

"Let. Me. Go," I grunted through gritted teeth.

"Will you try to hit me again?" he rumbled in my ear, his chest vibrating against my prickling back.

I didn't answer.

He pulled.

"No!" I grunted, standing on my toes to relieve the pain.

He pushed me away, toward the bouncers. I didn't turn back. I kept walking. The bouncers, there had been three of them all along, parted for me to leave.

The black-eyed man called out behind me, "You belong to me now, just so you know."

I didn't look back, didn't acknowledge him.

I went to the back of the club, the changing room for male hosts. I ripped off what remained of my shirt, saw my back in the mirror, and smashed the fucking mirror with my fist.

That was how I had met the man I would learn was Marcus Sullivan.

He had kissed me in public to claim me and to keep others off me.

I pushed the memories away. I had work to do, things to move around, and, most importantly, I needed to give Martin a very hard talking to. But before that, I needed to get my dick down before I had a car crash.

==========

Leon's POV.

FUCK! He looks so fucking good!

I've seen the pictures, but...damn that fucker's even hotter than before! I almost came from watching him walk into the room!

And when his face transformed when he saw me, I wanted to take him right there! It was just like old times!

My mind was full of Jade Malroy even as my secretary sucked me off.

"Nngh."

My secretary pulled me out of my reprieve. I glanced down at her. I had trained her well. In under a year, she had become an expert at giving head. It was almost time to let her go, to get a new toy to play with.

My cock was full on down her throat as she took all of me in expertly, doing that thing with her tongue and throat muscles that had taken her four months to get right.

"Ha!" I bit down my voice. We were in my office, the door was locked, and the room was soundproof, but as I always told my protégés and sex partners, habits were simply routines you've mastered till you no longer needed to think about them.

I didn't make it a habit of crying out. That took a very special event.