Ice on Fire (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 1)

by G. R. Lyons

  “Could you check my degree progress?” Zac asked the clerk while she pulled up his file.

  “Certainly.” The clerk clicked through a few screens. “Looks like you have three more classes required, and…” She paused, clicking to another screen. “They're all available this term.”

  Zac did a mental fist-pump. “I'll take all three if they don't conflict.”

  “Not a problem.” The clerk rattled off the dates and times the classes were being held, and Zac mentally considered his schedule. He should still be able to put in enough hours at the diner to keep a small, steady flow of income in addition to the money he made at Underground. Things would be tight, and he'd have to be a bit more frugal than usual, but it would be worth it.

  Zac pulled out his bank card and handed it over to pay for the classes. He signed the receipt with a grin on his face. Finally, he'd be done with his degree, something he'd accomplished all on his own, despite his parents' constant offers of assistance.

  With his receipt and new class schedule in hand, Zac rushed off to the bookstore, pulling out his phone to send a quick text as he went.

  School's on!

  It was only a moment before he got two replies.

  Rock on dude! That was from Kade. Right behind it, a message from Smitty read, Fuck yes! See you there!

  Still grinning, Zac shoved his phone back into the tight pocket of his jeans and yanked open the door to the university bookstore. Thank gods there was only one guy in line ahead of him. Zac strode up behind the guy and looked over his schedule again while he waited.

  The bookstore clerk handed a few books across the counter while Zac made a mental note to run by the diner to give his boss a schedule-change request. Thankfully, the man had been super lenient when it came to Zac's schooling. With any luck, he'd have no problem getting his shifts changed around to accommodate his classes.

  “Thank you.”

  Zac sucked in a breath at the sound of that voice. The deep, masculine tone must have come from the blond guy standing in front of him. The voice had been low—almost shy—but it had sent a shiver through Zac's body nonetheless.

  He had a sudden urge to drop to his knees, stick his ass in the air, and beg the man to fuck him, right there in the bookstore.

  Good gods, how he'd love to hear a voice like that in the bedroom…

  The blond man turned away, and Zac did a double-take as the man shuffled out of the store.

  It couldn't be…

  Zac stared, trying to catch any details in the man's profile. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the tall, blond man was none other than his mysterious Mr. Shadow, but the man had his head down, his blond hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his face.

  Hells, if that was him, and that was his voice…

  Zac's whole body tightened at the thought. His mysterious fan, the man responsible for all of Zac's fantasies, combined with a voice that made him want to melt and fall apart and obey all at once–

  “Sir?”

  Zac snapped back to reality, torn out of his lustful thoughts. He took a moment to compose himself, though there wasn't much he could do in a hurry about the heat he felt on his cheeks, and stepped up to the front of the line, handing over his class schedule while he snuck a glance back at the doors. The blond man was gone, but Zac couldn't get him out of his head.

  Just what he needed. More fuel for his fantasies. He was simply going to have to hear that voice again. Somehow. If he could just catch the guy at Underground before he managed to disappear!

  Zac paid for his textbooks, gathered them up, and ran out the door. He scanned the small crowd of students rushing about, intent upon their various tasks in preparation for the semester, but nowhere could he see the blond mystery man.

  Damn it.

  Zac sighed. Oh well. He'd just have to wait until his next Underground performance. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be lucky enough to get to see Mr. Shadow up close, in person, and face-to-face for a change.

  And hear that delicious voice again.

  * * *

  CLUTCHING HIS books to his chest, Adrian stepped out of the bookstore and slipped on his sunglasses, ducking his head as he hurried away from campus.

  He sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, then let it out shakily, never slowing his pace as he crossed the street and headed back toward his apartment on foot. At least the bookstore hadn't been too busy when he'd arrived. Now if he could just make it back home through the crowds…

  Adrian took another deep breath, trying to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other rather than thinking about all the other people around him. He'd done alright in the bookstore, until he felt someone come up behind him.

  Then it had been all he could do not to run out of there.

  It was even worse when he finally grabbed his books and turned to leave. He only caught a glimpse of the guy who stood in line behind him, but it was enough. Too much. The long, dark hair violently streaked with bright red, as well as the studded and torn black clothes and accessories, just screamed trouble. The guy must have been one of those goth, punk types who always harassed Adrian and called him names as he walked across campus.

  Having one stand so close was just too much for his nerves.

  Thank gods the guy hadn't said anything. With only one anti-anxiety pill in his system, Adrian knew he wouldn't have been able to handle any face-to-face taunts like that kind of guy typically threw at him.

  Safely back in his apartment, Adrian shut and locked the door, then leaned back against it with a sigh. He took a moment to compose himself, then crossed the main room, set his new textbooks on his desk, and kicked off his shoes, trying to get comfortable.

  What he really needed was a distraction, something to take his mind off the anxiety. His thoughts immediately turned to the violinist, and Adrian felt the anxiety melt away as he closed his eyes and pictured the beautiful young man up on that stage at Underground: that sexy body merely hinted at beneath the dress clothes, the long, dark braid, the passionate expression.

  Gods, what Adrian would give to put that look on that man's face. Up close and in private.

  But that would never happen. Adrian let out a sigh. There was no way he could ever get close enough to any man—let alone his gorgeous fantasy—to be able to experience that blissful connection for himself.

  Maybe if he ever managed to endure a simple hookup, but–

  No. That was one thing he'd never survive. Too many pills would be necessary to get him into a nightclub, and that would mean a guaranteed inability to achieve an erection.

  Adrian glanced up at a decorative mirror that hung on the wall, something his father's interior designer had put up and Adrian was constantly tempted to throw out. He cringed at his reflection. He was handsome enough, he supposed, but it took more than that to gain someone's interest.

  Adrian Frost, perpetual virgin.

  How pathetic.

  Not that there was much he could do about it. Either the crippling anxiety or the arousal-dampening meds would constantly stop him from ever getting close to anyone.

  But it certainly couldn't stop him from wishing. Dreaming. Craving.

  Adrian closed his eyes as a groan escaped him. He could easily picture it: the violinist naked, tied up, and begging while Adrian indulged the needs of his own touch-starved body.

  “Fuck,” Adrian breathed. If only.

  Feeling his cock harden at the mere thought of having that man on display before him, Adrian reached for the button on his slacks and yanked it open. He got the zipper halfway down when his phone rang.

  “Fuck,” he spat.

  Adrian squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off arousal while he dug his mobile out of his pocket and answered without looking.

  He only ever had one caller, after all.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Your books are cheaper this term,” his father said without so much as a greeting. “Are you sure you got them all?”

  Clenching his jaw, Adrian
answered, “Yes, sir.”

  “I wouldn't want you going into class unprepared.”

  “I got them all, sir,” Adrian assured his father, pressing the heel of his hand against his crotch while he tried to force his fantasies out of his head.

  “And how does the material look?”

  Adrian opened his eyes and stared blankly at the wall, just managing to stop himself from letting out a curse. For the gods' sakes, he'd only just gotten back from the bookstore.

  “I haven't had a chance to look them over yet. Sir,” he quickly added.

  “You will be doing so now, I take it.”

  Not a question. Never a fucking question with him. Arousal fully gone, Adrian sank to the floor and leaned back against the wall.

  “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, yes, sir,” Adrian repeated in a firmer voice.

  “Very well. By the way, the company is having its annual gala next week. I don't suppose I can count on you to find a suitable date by then.”

  Adrian cringed. He was half-tempted to blurt out that he was gay, just to save himself from this conversation, but he could only imagine how all seven hells would break loose if Sebastian Frost ever discovered that little detail about his only son's identity.

  And a 'suitable' date would most certainly mean a woman. Though, not just any woman. A woman with enough poise and class to be seen on the arm of the son of the great Sebastian Frost.

  When Adrian hesitated to answer, his father let out a sigh. “Never mind. I shall handle it. As usual.” He paused. “Perhaps we should reconsider the option to alter your medication.”

  Adrian froze, his heart thudding in his chest. He'd tried different drugs before, and they had turned him into something like a robot, unable to feel any emotion whatsoever. Somehow, that was worse than the ever-present nerves, stripping him of part of his humanity. Of course, talk of his medication inevitably led to–

  “Or perhaps it is time to try some other…methods.”

  Adrian squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his free hand into a fist, sucking in a breath and holding it while his heart galloped away, the nightmare of the psych ward, invasive counseling sessions, and shock therapy coming back to haunt him.

  He gasped out a breath. “Father,” he begged, then sucked in another breath and held it, unable to speak, his entire body breaking out in a cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably.

  “I haven't time to discuss this now,” Sebastian Frost said. “I shall arrange your date for the gala, and I expect you to attend. Black tie, of course. I shall send the car for you.” He paused. “But we will continue this discussion at another time.”

  Adrian couldn't reply. Couldn't even breathe.

  “Now I must go to a meeting. Be sure to get a start on your studies today.”

  His father rang off without saying goodbye.

  Still shaking, Adrian forced his fingers to loosen just enough to drop his phone, then he scrambled up onto his hands and knees and raced for the washroom. Hyperventilating, Adrian threw open the washroom door, darted inside, and started yanking open drawers and cabinets, searching frantically as he tried to remember where he'd last hidden his razor.

  He had to constantly change the hiding place so neither his father nor the maids would ever find it. In his panicked state, Adrian couldn't remember where he'd last put it.

  A sharp pain startled him out of his panic just long enough to realize he'd found the razor. Adrian drew his hand back, and felt a momentary relief at the sight of a single drop of blood oozing its way out of the pad of his middle finger, then snatched up the razor, dropped it on the floor beside himself, and ripped his pants open before shoving them down to his knees.

  Leaning back against the wall, Adrian picked up the razor, pressed the blade to the inside of his left thigh, and dragged it across his skin.

  He gasped with relief as a red line appeared. Taking in a deep breath, Adrian did it again, harder this time, making a deeper cut next to the first. Then another, and another, cutting deeper every time until the blood ran down his leg and dripped onto the floor beneath him.

  Trembling all over, Adrian dropped the razor and watched as the blood oozed from his skin, feeling all the pain and fear fade away along with it.

  Chapter 4

  ZAC TOOK a deep breath and let himself into the rental house that Smitty and Kade shared. The steady thud of booming music surrounded him as he closed the door and peeked into the living room while he shrugged off his jacket.

  “Guys?” he shouted, barely able to hear his own voice.

  There was no one in the living room, but a few empty cups were scattered across multiple surfaces, which meant the small party was already in full swing.

  Zac tightened his jaw. He could do this. He'd done it before. One more night wouldn't kill him.

  Zac continued through the house until he reached the kitchen. The room was a mess: open food containers lying around, the contents half-eaten, bottles of whiskey open and half-drunk, cigarette butts in ash trays—and out of them—and what looked like used condoms dropped haphazardly on the floor.

  And that didn't even count the powder scraped into neat lines on the one bit of counter space that was relatively clean.

  “Blaze!” Kade threw his hands up, then wobbled on his feet. Drunk already, and Smitty didn't look too far behind.

  Zac managed a smile, until a group of squealing girls all stumbled drunkenly out of one of the bedrooms, most of them only half-dressed and two of them entirely naked.

  Fuck.

  “Blazey!” One of the girls—one of their regular groupies—darted across the kitchen and threw herself at Zac, groping him and kissing all over his face while she ground against him. An obvious invitation. One Zac knew he'd have to take, no matter how much it turned his stomach. He had to keep up appearances.

  “Dude, come try this shit,” Smitty said, waving Zac over to the counter with a bank card in hand. He scraped the card against the drugs, neatening a line that one of the girls had skewed, and picked up a straw.

  Zac shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. “Nah, man. Got an early shift tomorrow.”

  “Pussy,” Kade spat.

  Fuck. Zac raised an eyebrow, keeping his eyes fixed on Kade's face as he darted a hand out toward the nearest bottle of whiskey and tipped it back.

  He managed to chug a few swallows without choking, but it was a near thing. When he was done proving his point, he slammed the bottle back down on the counter, and got satisfied leers out of his bandmates.

  That would be enough. Zac could just pretend to drink the rest of the night. That bit of liquid assistance would get him through the charade without leaving him entirely impaired the next morning.

  He hoped.

  The girl still wrapped around him dragged him into a kiss while she tugged at his clothes.

  “Fuck me,” she murmured, obviously trying to appear sexy while being anything but. Even if Zac were straight, the damned woman was too sloppy drunk to be remotely attractive.

  While Kade and Smitty had their own women hanging all over them, the two managed to keep their eyes on Zac and the woman, cheering the drunken girl on as she got Zac naked.

  From somewhere deep down, Zac managed to unearth a leer. And an erection. The latter certainly wasn't for the woman groping him, but she had no reason to suspect otherwise.

  In the midst of the mess on the kitchen island, Zac found a condom, tore it open, and rolled it on while he shoved the girl forward over a kitchen stool before plunging right into her.

  “Yeah!” Kade and Smitty cheered him on, then finally got distracted enough by their own women to take their focus fully off of Zac for a few minutes. Thank gods.

  Zac grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to picture Mr. Shadow, trying to call up any and all of the fantasies he'd entertained about that man. Holding on to the stool more than the woman's hips, Zac continued to pound into her, ignoring her moans and tuning out
the other sounds of slapping skin all around him in the room.

  It was just him and Mr. Shadow, alone in his bed, with Zac's hands tied to the headboard while Mr. Shadow sucked Zac's cock into his warm, wet mouth. A gasp escaped Zac as the fantasy played through his mind.

  Totally helpless. Under Mr. Shadow's control. He couldn't touch the man, but he wanted to, so badly, almost as badly as he wanted to come while Mr. Shadow teased him mercilessly with his tongue and lips, right before he brought a hand up behind Zac's balls and moved a finger slowly, oh so slowly back…

  Zac came with a shout, squeezing his eyes tighter as he rode out the orgasm, biting his lip to stop himself from moaning out the wrong thing.

  When he came back to reality, he pulled out quickly, yanked off and tied the condom, and buried it in the overflowing garbage before snatching up his discarded jeans. He glanced around and saw his bandmates still busy with their multiple partners.

  His own partner was sloppily kissing another woman while they groped one another. Zac sighed with relief. At least he wasn't going to have to make sure the woman found release from him.

  Zac excused himself to the washroom, but no one seemed to notice. He splashed some water on his face and washed his hands, then contemplated himself in the mirror.

  Gods, he hated this shit, but he had to keep up appearances.

  When he figured he couldn't hide away much longer, Zac straightened up and padded back out to the kitchen, but found the orgy had moved into the living room, furniture shoved out of the way while bodies tangled and limbs groped. Everyone seemed to writhe together, except Kade and Smitty never got close enough to so much as lay a finger on one another.

  Zac shook his head. Even drunk and high, those two would never cross that line.

  Which was why Zac couldn't either. At least, not where they'd see.

  Figuring the whole lot of them were lost enough to the world, Zac pulled on the rest of his clothes and let himself out of the house. The brisk night air took away the last of the buzz he'd enjoyed from the alcohol.

  In its place, all Zac felt was sick.

  He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. Each time, it got harder and harder to pretend he actually enjoyed screwing a woman.