by Aria Grace
Twelve For Two Hundred
Men of the Vault
Aria Grace
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Twelve For Two Hundred
Published by Surrendered Press
Copyright 2017 Aria Grace
1
Edge
As soon as I step inside the smoky building, I regret my decision to come. It’s been over a month since I’ve stopped by, but the last few visits have done more harm than good.
Coming to The Vault used to be an occasional indulgence I appreciated. An easy way to relieve some tension and get off. I’d drop a few grand and spend an hour with a guy eager to please me in any way I wanted. That was usually just a blow job and a fuck, in that order.
But the appeal is starting to wane. I don’t know if it’s me or them, but paying for fun is starting to feel…sad. It’s not that I couldn’t pick someone up in a club or just about anywhere else to get my rocks off. I could. But that’s more trouble than it’s worth. At least when I come here, I know what to expect. And they know what to expect. A simple exchange of power and pleasure between consenting adults.
Of course, some of the guys who have been here for a while tend to get a little friskier than others. And that’s cool. I haven’t accepted the more extreme offers, but when a cute guy is begging you to choke him while he comes or truss him up before being fucked, it can be hard to say no.
I’m not too proud to admit that I’m less kinky than some of my buddies who come here. I don’t get off on the violent shit they like. If I leave a guy bleeding, I prefer it be from bite marks on the back of his shoulder. And if his ass is tender, I want it to be from the pounding I gave it, not from being fucked with a wire brush or caned within an inch of his life.
But when someone asks for it rough, I can’t exactly deny them. Stupid shit like that can get a person killed. In my world, mercy is for the meek, and the meek don’t deserve to live.
But what gets other people off isn’t my business. Every member of Rod Tanner’s stable has a very clear idea of what he’s signing up for when he joins. Tanner gives them a contract for $200,000 in exchange for twelve months of their complete and total servitude.
And anything goes during those twelve months.
As I walk farther inside, the empty space seems desolate, but I know it’s part of Tanner’s front. The real action is behind the secure door hidden amidst the bland, mundane office maintained for surprise guests who don’t need to know about the real business. Cheap artwork hangs on the walls, and there are a few chairs in what is designed to be a waiting area for clients.
“Edge, my man. It’s been too long.” Asher is working the lobby tonight, as usual. He comes around the counter and pulls me into a half hug.
“Yeah, been busy.” I pat his back then step out of his reach. “You know how it is.”
“Oh, I know.” Asher laughs. “But there’re some things you just gotta make time for.”
I grunt and hand over my credit card. Even though we’re close, I insist on paying for my visits. Tanner is family, but he still has to earn a living. And as long as I can pay for my services, I will.
“Anyone new?” I tap my finger on the counter, anxious to get inside. I just need to get this itch scratched so I can get the hell out of here.
“Always.” Asher slides my card across the counter then hands me a receipt for Vault Consultants. That’s the front Tanner uses for his less-than-legal enterprises. At least this one. I don’t know all his businesses, and I probably don’t want to. The less blood on my hands, the better. “In fact, we’ve got a new batch of interns starting tonight. Definitely a few gems in there. You’ll have a good time.”
I nod as I turn toward the door. After my fingerprint scan is accepted, the light on the entry panel flashes green, and the door unlocks. “Have a good one, Ash.”
Smoke and steam fill my lungs as I walk into the dimly lit room. Tanner keeps the humidity levels high so his clients have an incentive to get in and get out quickly. No hanging around to cuddle. The added visual of seeing a thin sheen of sweat glistening off the hard bodies is just gravy.
Glass boxes are set on pedestals in the center of the large warehouse. Inside each eight-foot by eight-foot enclosure is a naked man. This process always makes me feel a little dirty. It’s not because I feel guilt. I don’t. But seeing these guys dressed in tight jeans and a snug t-shirt would be ten times sexier to me than just shopping among the flesh.
Instead of appraising the bodies of each man I pass, I lock my gaze on to each of theirs. I want to see life in their eyes. Interest. Too many of the guys on display are lifeless shells. Drones to their physical instincts without mental or emotional awareness. It’s easy to walk past those without a second glance.
Just as I’m starting to feel frustrated at the offerings, I catch a glimpse of red peeking around the hip of one man. His eyes are perusing my body, and he flinches when they meet mine. With just a slight change in posture, I can see his entire body tense up as I approach his cage and take a closer look.
The tattoo that initially caught my attention is a surprise. Not just because it’s only worn by members of the Nicola family but because no one in that family has been seen in the state in over five years. The family was run out of town after getting greedy and trying to take over the casinos as well as the drug industry here. I was about to cross the last three names off my list when the family got spooked and bailed.
Since then, I’ve been biding my time. Waiting for the right moment to exact the revenge that has been coming for over twelve years.
If this guy is actually a Nicola, Tanner is going to be in a world of hurt once they find out where he is. The only way to know for sure is to get a closer look. And with his full body open to my perusal, it’s easy to see the small tattoo of a lion holding a bloody lamp from his jaw. In the swirling lines of the golden mane is a coded serial number describing the person’s lineage. Even from the other side of the glass and with a foot of dim, muggy space separating us, I can clearly see the encrypted number.
He’s one of them.
2
Liam
The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up as the man in black jeans and a black leather jacket circles me. His gaze is heavy on my skin as he inspects every inch of bare flesh I have on display. I’ve spent the past two weeks practicing my stamina and technique with three of Tanner’s trainers, but nothing has prepared me for this moment.
Being caged up like an animal has made me question my sanity for the past hour. The money is good. Great, even. But now that I’m here and strangers are practically holding up rulers as if they’re measuring for window coverings, I want to pull the plug. I want to beg Tanner to tear up our contract and let me leave with my dignity.
But that isn’t possible. Even if he were willing to let me leave, which he made very clear would not be an option once the contract was signed, I will never have my dignity. I lost that a long time ago. Long before I ever heard about Rod Tanner and The Vault.
I thought I could handle it. I thought I was tough enough. But every time I glance down at the man just a few inches away from the thick glass walls, I realize I’m not tough at all. I’m a goddamn pussy, just like my uncle has been saying for the past ten years. Ever since my parents were k
illed in a car accident, and I was taken in by my dad’s brother.
Without realizing what I’m doing, my open palm drifts to my left hip and covers the tattoo there.
The tattoo I begged my uncle not to mar my body with.
The tattoo that represents everything I hate.
Everyone I hate.
I practically jump out of my skin when a low thumping sound on the glass catches my attention. When I look into those hazel eyes, my breath catches, and I have to force my eyes to stay open and on him. I’ve been trained not to speak unless spoken to and never to challenge authority.
And this man is dripping with authority.
Even through the glass partition, I can feel the power radiating off him. He looks like he’s about to reach for the tag on the door when another man places a hand on his shoulder.
Their interaction is brief, but I don’t miss the way those hazel eyes harden as they bounce between me and the new man. And before I realize what’s happened, the man in black leather is walking away, and I’m being pulled into the arms of the stranger with an evil smile.
“Am I your first?” The door to the private bedroom isn’t even completely closed before the man starts yanking off his shirt. He’s wearing a dark blue button-down that would be commonplace in any office building. But in this moist and dank room, it just looks uncomfortable.
“My first?” I want to cover myself with the pillow, but modesty isn’t allowed. That’s a rule. One of only three rules Tanner insisted we agree to before we signed on the dotted line.
No is not an option.
Modesty will not be tolerated.
A willing and pleasant attitude is expected at all times.
In return for my loyal obedience, Tanner promises to release me at the end of my twelve-month contract with no lasting physical damage. No lasting physical damage to my body seemed like an adequate expectation at the time I agreed to it. But now, imagining what this man and every other man after him will do to me, I realize the emotional damage will be far more significant than a broken bone or scar could ever be.
“Yeah. Tanner said you guys are new.” He rips his shirt over his head then starts toeing off his shoes. “Am I your first?”
“Uh, yeah.” I force a smile, remembering I’m supposed to be enjoying this. “Is that okay?”
The man stops in the middle of yanking his socks off with his pants. “Fuck yeah. I love breaking in the newbies.”
I don’t know how to react to that. Is he being funny? Will he be gentle? Does he like pain?
I don’t have to wonder for long because as soon as he’s naked, he walks to the small dresser next to the bed and opens up the bottom drawer. The scary drawer. The drawer with the tools that were never intended to be inserted into a human body.
He bends down and digs around for a minute until he lets out a satisfied groan. “This should be good for your first time.” He turns and looks over shoulder at me. “You haven’t tried this yet, right?”
I shrug, completely clueless as to what he's talking about. “Tried what, sir?”
A predatory smile spreads across his face as he holds up a sterile package. I can't tell what's inside the clear plastic window, and I'm not sure if I should be relieved or terrified that it's something that requires sterilization. “Sounding.”
“Um, well, we've done some training here, but that doesn't look familiar.”
He slams the drawer shut and stands up with excitement on his face that’s equal to the terror I feel in my belly. Despite the fear, I remember my place. I can’t screw up on the first night. Anytime we fail to please the client, whether it’s because of attitude or illness, a day gets tacked on to our commitment. And I’m already counting the days.
Three hundred and sixty-four after tonight.
“But, um…” I clear my throat and try to sound more confident and excited than I feel. “I'm up for whatever you want.” I'm so not up for this. Why the fuck did I think this was going to be easy money?
The man places both of his hands on my chest and begins to knead the muscle. “Don't you worry about a thing, doll. You just lie back, and I'll teach you things no one ever has before.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. “Okay.”
Lying on the queen-sized bed isn’t more relaxing. In this supine position, my anxiety only ratchets up to new heights.
“What’s your name, boy?” The man tears open the sterile envelope then sets it beside me on the bed.
“Liam.” I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the roiling in my belly and the weight in my chest. My lungs seem to have forgotten how to deflate on command…and I’m frozen solid on the bed.
His dick is standing straight out in front of him and already glistening at the tip. “I’m gonna do you first, and then you can do me.”
“Um, I’ve never done this before…”
His eyes squint briefly in a flash of annoyance, but he plasters that smile back on his face. “That’s why you’re going to pay close attention to what I do. This is what I like to refer to as hands-on training. I’m gonna put my hands on you, and then you’ll return the favor. You with me?”
I merely nod, trying to control my breathing as he squirts a large dollop of lube onto his palm before spreading it across the thin metal rod he’s pulled from the package.
So much for keeping it sterile.
“Alright, Liam.” He hands me a pillow to shove under my head so I can see what he’s doing without sitting up. “Just relax and enjoy the sensation. It’s gonna sting, but that’s how it’s supposed to feel. Like I’m fucking the inside of your dick instead of the outside.”
When he presses the tip of the metal rod against the slit in my cock, I squeeze my eyes shut. Please, don’t hurt as badly as I think it will.
“Uh-uh.” He gives my cock a firm squeeze to get my attention. “Eyes open. You need to be taking mental notes. I like it a little rough so this will hurt, but you’ll thank me later.”
My limp dick is getting smaller by the second, as if it’s trying to hide inside my body. Does a disappearing dick count as a bad attitude or illness? Fuck, I need to get my shit together.
“Sorry, it seems a little nervous.”
“No worries.” The man just smiles before dropping his head into my lap and sucking me into his mouth with a strong pull.
The distraction works, and my cock begins to fill with blood. Okay, maybe I can get through this. Maybe a semi will be good enough for his little tutorial, and then I’ll divert the attention to him as quickly as possible.
After just a minute of sucking my cock to semi-erectness, he pulls off and repositions the rod at my opening. “Deep breath…”
I barely have a chance to inhale before he buries the slick metal two inches into my dick.
3
Edge
When Bert Jackson asked me to step aside so he could get the first crack at Nicola, I wanted to laugh in his face and kick his teeth in. But that’s not who I am anymore.
Throwing tantrums and busting heads used to be my go-to move when I didn’t get my way. But I’ve matured from that punk-ass kid who punched first and asked questions later. Now I can step aside and let someone else take what I want as an exercise in self-control. Allowing Jackson the first round with Nicola isn’t an act of weakness. It’s a tactic I often employ to delay my own gratification. Now I’ve got something to look forward to next time. This kid will be here for the next twelve months. The longer I can put off my own taste of his pristine skin, the more I’ll enjoy it when it finally happens.
And the longer I have something to look forward to. Because once I have him, the anticipation will be gone, and he’ll be just another distraction from the monotony of my life.
Besides, it’s the kid’s first night. Jackson can have this night, and I’ll take my turn next time. Assuming there is a next time. Assuming I don’t piss off the wrong person or let my guard down for even a second and become another missing person that few people actually mi
ss.
In my line of work, enemies come in all shapes and sizes. And sometimes they appear as hot little twinks with terrified blue eyes that beg for mercy with just a glance. Whether he wants me to know it or not, I know who he is. The Nicolas are not my friends. They might not realize they’re my enemies, but I always find justice when I’ve been wronged. And I’ve been wronged by too many fucking Nicolas to assume this guy is just a gift from the heavens.
No, I’m not an idiot. I’ll be watching him, with or without my dick buried in that tight little body of his.
As I turn to walk away, I catch the eye of Damon. He’s been at The Vault for a while and is always happy to see me. As I approach his cage, his dick slowly rises in time with my steps. He’s always good for a quickie and knows how to take care of us both without much direction.
Damon turns and bends down so his chest is pressed against his knees…and his ass is just inches from my face.
I resist the urge to reach out and caress his skin. “It’s nice to see you too, Damon.”
He clenches his ass in greeting then giggles before standing up. “I’ve been hoping to see you around one more time before I’m outta here.”
Pulling the tag off his cage, I open the door and offer him my hand to help him climb out. “You on your way out?”
He quickly clambers out and into my arms. “One more month.”
“Then I got here just in time.” With Damon wrapped around my side, we walk into the private room beside the one I saw Jackson take Nicola into.
Damon is an easy fuck because he does all the work. I just have to be hard, and he takes care of everything else. That’s usually not a problem because I don’t get much action. I just don’t need more than the monthly visits here. And when a high-pitched yelp escapes through the vent connected to the room beside us, staying hard is easy to do.