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.

My secretary was deep throating me and clamping so hard, I knew she wanted me to finish quickly. It was almost noon, I had a meeting in five minutes, and... she was a really good secretary.

I shuddered. She swallowed. My head was tilted back as I swallowed air into my lungs; not because I was ecstatic, but because a different face and mouth were in my mind's eye, and I didn't want to sully it.

I exhaled, pulling my pants up and standing straight, as I pushed off the edge of my desk. My secretary got off her knees, wiping her lips, picking up the folder she had come in with for my signature.

She glanced back, sultry, as she headed to the door. I winked at her. She smiled and swayed her slender hips out, leaving my door open.

I went to my private bathroom to clean up. I pulled out my still hard cock and stared at it. I glanced up at my reflection in the mirror over the gold-trimmed sink surrounded by various grooming and cleaning products, and a few other special items, but those were in the drawer or cupboard.

My dick was hardening as I watched myself. My heart rate was picking up, and my chest was constricting as two polar emotions pulled at me at the same time.

==========

I had been out of the country for years. Working on my father's empire, securing my place as the new leader.

I had gone everywhere, Europe, Asia, and I had grown my personal operations. Checking on my clients, my suppliers, visiting black markets that I ran or played in, nurturing my contacts.

I had returned last year to reintegrate myself into the city.

And then, like a gift from the heavens, if there is such a thing, my father mentioned the lead prospect for that fucking mausoleum he and his generation of friends want to build. I didn't believe my ears.

When he said the name of the person he was negotiating with, my heart skipped. Literarily skipped. A feat not achieved in years.

I hadn't heard the name 'Jayden Malroy' in over a decade, but once my father said it, I saw his face. Those amber eyes, those full lips that didn't look like they belonged on a man, that deep voice that turned into something so light, so sweet, when you pushed him to the hilt.

I had shuddered at the force of the memory.

Then, I had dug into it, confirmed everything, and waited.

I knew that if I showed myself too soon, he would run. Jade was a runner, and I had always loved the chase. The little nudges I had to give, the light persuasions I had to whisper in his shell-like ears, then, the harder pressure I had to apply, up till he folded, bent, and bowed at my feet.

I had forgotten too many things, from back then, when I had tossed him away. Far too many things.

It had taken almost a year before I had realized what was missing from the parties, the club scenes, and the orgies I organized and attended, in equal measure.

That soft, yet large, delicate, yet muscular, well-toned ass. Those tight abs, that strong back, firm neck, legs, and arms of someone I had both taught and learned things from, with my own hands.

My muse. My personal test kit and canvas.

My creation.

I had molded him, transformed him, made him the most sought-after piece of ass in my circle.

A former athlete, he was strong; he could take things most others couldn't. A good boy at heart and deep in his soul, he had been obedient. So fucking compliant.

A middle child, he needed attention, care. I gave all that to him, and more. But he had wanted me to be gentle, attentive, and to be present when we fucked.

If I had wanted such shit, he would have been my boyfriend. Sure, I had let him believe he was, for a time, and that had been its own type of fun, but I was not made for soft shit.

He should have known that.

I pushed him, little things at first, then things I myself wouldn't do. And he did them. For me.

I was his god, and I loved that feeling. Some random fuck had become my reason for waking up in the morning.

But he had wanted his prayers answered; prayers of love, affection, care, but I wasn't that type of deity.

I threw him away, expecting him to come crawling back on his knees, ready to submit, to play the exact role I had given him. But he had vanished and I had dismissed him, only to miss him, but by then it was too late.

Even his family did not know where he was. His drug addict brother, the one who had given me my favorite plaything as payment for what he owed that he could no longer come up with the cash for his habit, was useless in giving me any information.

I abandoned him, too. The kid brother had been better than the elder one in every possible way.

To me, every time I fucked him, he was simply being his brother's ATM. Until I had slipped up and fallen into that worship he fed me.

Until I twisted into something I could not have imagined. I was hooked on his need for me. And I hated him for it. Punished him for it; while sinking deeper every time I pulled him under.

==========

I was fully erect. My secretary had done quality work; she was not the problem. Jayden, fucking Malroy was.

Those soft, brown eyes of his never failed to flip a switch inside me, especially when they were begging. Begging me to stop fucking him so hard, begging me to stop my friends from fucking him, double-teaming him from both holes while I watched.

And when he cried...when his tears spilled...

"Ungh!" I cried out, without reservation.

My bathroom was not only private, it was large and secure. A gun could go off in here, and no one would know.

I gasped as I held a second spill from my throbbing member in my hand.

How or when I had grabbed my dick and worked myself to coming a second time in under three minutes, I didn't know.

But those two emotions were threatening to rip me apart.

Passion, and hate.

I stared at my reflection. At my lightly perspiring face as I fought to control the tremors in my body.

"Jayden," I murmured. "You've gone round the world and come right back into my arms, where you belong."

My chest filled as I reflected on the man I had seen just a few hours ago.

"I've missed you, my crown jewel. My Jade," I whispered to his image in my mind.

I had found replacements after I had finally gotten him to leave. Finally gotten rid of a guy who pulled at my heart and mind in ways that vexed me. Vexed me so much that I almost killed him with my tests, with my urges. Urges he had driven me to.

But none had been his match. Not a single one.

"I won't make any mistakes this time, my pet. I promise. I'll keep you close this time. I won't let you go," I breathed into the silence.