He shook his finger at the Marine, who appeared unrepentant. If anything, the other man’s smirk grew. Rather than waste his time trying to scold Mitch, he settled in to enjoy the shifter’s company.
And Mitch could definitely dance.
Where Dillon’s movements were all sensual promise, Mitch moved like he wanted to have steamy sex with him. While still on the dance floor. What would the other man be like with someone he had a chance with, considering how he seemed to view dancing as foreplay?
The Marine’s presence did keep away others that tried to bother Sasha. Mitch could switch from steamy to dangerous in two seconds flat if someone edged too close. Of course, some tried to edge toward Mitch himself, to which he seemed oblivious.
Mitch wore tight black jeans and the black combat boots of his uniform. He tucked the grey T-shirt into the back waistband of his jeans to swing around behind him like a tail. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his bare torso and Sasha had to admit that the other man was hot.
Not that he’d ever admit that to the big guy.
Considering the tiger’s smirk and sense of smell, maybe Sasha didn’t need to. After another song, Mitch tapped his watch and blew him a kiss before leaving. Sasha smiled and nodded. He loved the next song and let it sweep him along.
A stranger tried to dance with him, but he left the floor and worked his way to the bar. After wiggling into a spot, he nodded at the bartender, a black-haired man named Frank. Sasha mouthed “water” and got a smile and nod.
Frank came with a bottle of Dasani and gave him a look when he offered to pay. Having the boss as a lover definitely came with perks. Instead, Sasha put the five in the tip jar when Frank turned away.
The music changed, capturing his attention. Dancers on the floor slowed their movements and began jockeying for standing spots on it instead. Sasha turned to lean against the bar, waiting to see when Neal appeared. The top wore thigh-high leather boots with thick, chunky soles. Brown leather pants clung to his thighs like a second skin. Shirtless, only wide leather bracers wrapped around his forearms. Oil gleamed on the acres of bared skin.
Damn, his lover was hot.
Sasha watched as the top carefully examined the bondage furniture positioned on the stage. Neal ignored the clapping and comments called to him. What Neal inspected appeared to be a combination of a spanking bench and a set of stocks. Warmth filled Sasha as he gazed over the crowd. Sasha raised his arm and gave a little wave and the intent cinnamon gaze found him. Sasha basked in the envious looks that a few twinks sent his way.
The lights dimmed even more and a spotlight shone on the small stage. Another found Craig and Dillon waiting off to the side near where the Security Room hid.
Sasha stared at the pair and allowed himself a smutty, unfaithful fantasy. Craig wore a matching outfit to Neal’s, his done in dark red leather. On Dillon, only a white thong covered him, and barely at that. The smaller man’s hair glowed paler in the light, almost creating a halo. Considering some of the things the werefox hinted about the upcoming demo, any comparison to an angel was accidental.
Sasha watched, his cock hardening, as Craig locked Dillon into the piece of equipment with many long, lingering caresses. Neal circled them like the big predator he hid under his skin. When Craig secured the submissive, Neal strode to the rack that hung floggers. The other Dom joined him and they appeared to confer, taking down several and giving practice swings in the air. The audience loved this display. Dillon appeared to wait patiently, but even from the distance to the bar, Sasha could see the shivers of excitement that raced over the younger man’s skin.
Neal chose one and strode over the stage to caress Dillon with the suede strands, running them over his pale shoulders and back. Craig stood in front of the bound man, his hands tilting Dillon’s face up. The bondage furniture brought the submissive’s head level with the other top’s groin. Craig thrust his hips forward and let Dillon rub his face over the red leather covering his cock.
Neal drew back his arm and a thick thud seemed to echo around the almost silent club. Sasha watched, fascinated, as red bloomed across Dillon’s pale buttocks. Irritation flashed through him when a body bumping into him interrupted his fantasy.
Who would want to order a drink now and miss any of this?
A muscular young man leered at him as Sasha moved slightly. When Sasha glared back, the man’s grin grew bigger. Some guys couldn’t take a hint.
The newcomer’s gaze ran over him and Sasha didn’t consider himself vain to think that he looked good. He wore a midnight blue mesh shirt with a diamond pattern that matched the diamond cutouts running up the outside sides of his cobalt leather pants. They clung to his legs except where they flared at the ankle for his short boots. The shirt boasted a wide, curved neckline to show off that he wore no collar. He loved it when Neal’s eyes darkened earlier, and he wrapped a huge hand around his throat. Neal’s low voice had warned him to stay out of trouble.
Looks like that advice flew out the window. Sasha might be a sub, but getting pushed around got old. Fast.
Just when Sasha opened his mouth to say something, the newcomer looked past him. Sasha’s unwanted admirer’s beefy face paled as he backed away. Sasha frowned and spun out his empathy but it came back with nothing. So, no shifter stood behind him. He moved so his back leaned against the bar again and looked over.
A pale gaze met his, the eyes flat and dead.
Crap. Vadim stood next to him.
How long had the Russian stood there? It couldn’t be by accident that the Mob boss’s second appeared. Sasha tried to remember if the guys mentioned Vadim’s last name to him; addressing him by his first seemed too intimate in this setting.
“Uh, hi.” Sasha winced at the awkwardness of his greeting.
Vadim nodded as he sipped clear liquid from a squat glass.
Vodka, Sasha guessed. “What are you doing here?”
Broad shoulders shrugged under snug wine fabric. The silk tee showed the impressive muscles the suit concealed. Matching raw silk black trousers clung to lean hips and powerful thighs as the other man leaned against the bar. Black tattoos adorned the pale forearms, wrists and fingers.
“I cannot be visiting?” Vadim replied in Russian.
Sasha gestured around them. “This isn’t your scene.” He didn’t move his gaze away from the Russian. Vadim reminded him of a snake, all sleek and dangerous. Holding eye contact seemed prudent.
Vadim held his gaze. “You should consider leaving Chicago. This dispute should concern business, but for Pyotr Ivanovich it has changed to personal.”
“What do you mean?” Sasha let anger lace his voice, it hid the nervousness. He concentrated on Vadim’s words and the fact that he didn’t use Petya’s nickname. Was that a sign of dislike or of respect?
“With you, he lost face. Taking over this establishment should have made his mark in the organization. Instead, he is a joke.”
“How…what? He beat the shit outta me. How can that make him look bad?”
“You put out of commission one of the men under his control, making Alyosha useless. Something Alyosha is vocal about when others complain of him not doing his duties, blaming you and Pyotr Ivanovich. Also the other, Iosef.” At Sasha’s nod of remembrance Vadim continued. “He has, how do you say in English, a big mouth.”
“What do you mean?” Sasha answered him in Russian.
“You, a sissy man, flipped Pyotr Ivanovich, throwing him on his ass in garbage. Iosef is not shy in sharing that story.”
“They attacked me.” Sasha narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care about my welfare, anyway?”
Those broad shoulders shrugged again. “I don’t. Pyotr Ivanovch holds a unique position in the organization and I must deal with him. You are making my job harder.”
“Oh, gee, sorry about that,” he snarled in English.
Sarcasm laced Sasha’s tone but Vadim nodded gravely as if he’d been serious with the apology.
“Expanding from Uptown to
Edgewater is the next logical step. Instead, it has become messy and I abhor messy.”
Did Vadim expect him to apologize again? He had no intention of doing so, but this did present a golden opportunity to learn more. Switching back to Russian, he said, “Do the others on this totem pole you mentioned dislike messy as well? Pulling them into this must make you all look bad too.”
He watched Vadim frown and take a swallow of his drink. Before the Russian could answer, men started moving and shifting around them.
Sasha watched Steve push several patrons out of his way to come straight at them. He glowered, the anger tightening his face and changing it to an intimidating mask. As he approached, Sasha could read the concern in his eyes, but that didn’t change his lousy timing. Crap, he didn’t need rescuing. Couldn’t the big man have waited longer?
Sighing, Sasha moved forward and Steve’s muscled arms wrapped around him. Sasha inhaled the rum spice scent of his lover and guilt filled him. Steve only wanted to protect him and he pushed away his irritation. The likelihood of harm coming to him while surrounded by people was slim, but Steve wouldn’t see it that way.
Steve’s chest vibrated against Sasha’s cheek as he growled. The music around them drowned out any sound of it.
“Calm down, Steve, I’m okay.”
Steve’s gaze met his before swinging back toward the bar. A frown now crossed the larger man’s face.
“Where’d the Russian bastard go?”
Sasha turned. The empty glass sitting on the bar remained the only evidence of his chat with Vadim. The rangy blond had disappeared from sight.
“What did he have to say to you?”
“Actually quite a lot. I wished you’d waited before rushing over.”
Now Steve’s frown turned toward him.
Great.
“Well, you can tell us in Neal’s office. He’s headed this way.”
Sasha looked over to see Neal working his way through the crowd toward them. He didn’t look too pleased, either. And, Sasha missed most of his lover’s show.
Could the evening get any better?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Allies
On Sunday after breakfast, Sasha dressed for a run and set out, eyes everywhere. Neal would tell him to forego it after the bear scare and Kiril’s visit, but he refused to hide. Deciding to be careful and stick to well-populated areas, Sasha planned to keep his empathy up as an early warning system. Now that he knew what bears felt like to his empathy, he could go on a cat hunt. He could avoid any bears that might appear.
Since Felipe accosted him, he’d been expecting it again. On Friday when he’d run, he felt jaguars, but they watched him in silence and made no move to speak or even approach him. Yesterday, Mitch ran with him and the only company they’d encountered had been the mysterious bear. Now, Sasha would hunt them.
His shoes chilled his feet but warmed on the way to the lakeside path. His watch said 10:50, and most of the early morning crowd had thinned out, but enough people jogged or walked to set his mind at ease.
Two Latino men loitered ahead, taking a break and stretching. The one on the left turned and walked off toward the street, and his companion turned toward Sasha.
It was Felipe.
The jaguar turned and set off at a fast jog in the other direction. Struck by a sudden mean streak, Sasha took off after him.
They ran along the lake, past rolling grass parks all the way to Montrose. The path split, one toward the lake and one toward the harbor. Felipe headed for the lake and disappeared behind some maintenance buildings.
Sasha sped up and came around the first one. Felipe stood in the path, waiting for him. Sasha stumbled to a stop and they stared at each other, both breathing hard.
Sasha took a step forward and the jaguar backed up. They froze. Sasha grinned, he couldn’t help it. To his surprise, Felipe smiled back.
Okay then.
Sasha whirled and took off toward home. Felipe ran behind him, matching his speed. They raced between the trees and other joggers, even zoomed past several cyclists.
Once they neared the intersection where Sasha would turn to go back to his apartment, Felipe slowed and stopped. Sasha watched him but the Latino said nothing, turned to the parking lot and pulled his keys from a lariat around his neck.
Sasha followed. Playing chase had been fun, but he did want to speak with the man. Sasha just didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. Felipe stopped, waiting by the sidewalk that circled the parked cars.
“You’re Felipe, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “You’re the doctor.”
“Sasha.”
“Nice to meet you.” He hesitated and looked uncomfortable. “Sorry about—” he waved his hand, “—that.”
“No problem,” Sasha told him. “Neal explained it.”
“He did?”
Sasha nodded. “I’m an animal empath.”
Felipe’s eyes widened. He said something softly in Spanish.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Never mind.” Felipe cocked his head. “Why are you out here alone?”
Sasha blinked. “I live near here.”
“Yeah, but why are you here, alone?”
“’Cause I wanted to take a jog?”
“The Russians want you bad, guapo. It’s not a good idea to give them what they want.”
He went cold. “They don’t know where I live.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Felipe retorted. He studied Sasha. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“No?” Felipe countered. “Get in, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
He sighed and came around to the passenger side of a dark blueberry Corvette. The thing cost as much as a milking machine, for the love of the Gods. More, maybe.
“You really a doctor?” Felipe asked.
He nodded. “Veterinary trauma surgeon. I specialize in large animals and exotics. I did a lot of work for zoos and stuff. I came to Chicago to find work.”
Felipe’s eyes flashed at him, dark brown and curious. “Doing what?”
“At Northwestern University, they’re hoping to open a new facility. I’ll find out this week if I get it. Turn here.”
“I know where you live,” Felipe told him softly.
“How?” he demanded, a spurt of fear going through him.
“It’s part of my job. Have you thought of opening a clinic here?”
“A clinic?”
“For lycanthropes.”
He frowned. “Lycanthropes aren’t animals.”
“Our other form is,” he countered. “And there are many of us here.”
“I’m not licensed to work on humans, though.”
Felipe shrugged. “There are ways around that.”
“Yeah, that would land me in jail.” Sasha laughed. “I’m not going to take on the AMA.”
“AMA?”
“American Medical Association.”
“Don’t tell them.” Felipe pulled up in front of Sasha’s apartment. “Just think about it.”
“Why are you nice to me, all of a sudden?”
“If I was mean to you, you’d know it.” The shifter seemed very serious as he stared at Sasha. “I wasn’t being mean before, I was confused. You don’t smell right. You smell…too good.”
He blushed. “Thanks.”
Felipe looked impatient. “I don’t mean that. You smell…it’s like magic. You ever talk to a shaman?”
He blinked. “Yes…”
“It’s like that. It’s like you smell good to a shaman, you know? It’s confusing. But Kiril said the same thing.”
“Kiril.” His whole body went ice-cold. “Kiril, the bear?”
Felipe nodded. “He says you ‘feel’ good, but you smell good too. Like honey. And beeswax.”
He flushed hot enough he could feel his face burn. “Honey?”
Felipe nodded again. “Honey.”
The butt-balm used beeswax, and his shampoo had honey in it. Fuck. “I…”
Felipe laughed, his teeth very white. “Go. Be safe, Sasha.”
He blinked, not expecting Felipe to use his name. “Thanks. And thanks for the ride.”
He got out and watched Felipe pull away, the Corvette roaring like a large cat. Sasha eyed the street, but no one moved. The cars sat there, ignoring him and his fantasies of crazy Russians jumping out to assault him or bears coming to sniff him.
Chilled, he went inside and made double sure the lock closed and latched behind him. Maybe he should ask Neal for one of those guns the big man said he had.
Might need it, if Russians came calling…
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Quiet Evening
Steve brought him back to the Factory but then disappeared downstairs, saying something about an errand. Sasha started to get a feeling, but Neal made dinner without commenting.
Of course, the man could cook. “Another great meal. I love the vegetarian dishes you think up.” Sasha stood and started stacking the dirty plates.
“Sit down, let’s talk.”
Crap. “Sure, haven’t we been talking?” Sasha grinned and hoped it didn’t look weak.
“It’s about you playing with Carlos and Steve.”
Sasha nodded, hoping his face hid his dismay. He’d really enjoyed his time with the other men and would miss it. Multiple lovers, but ones who were committed to each other, was his dream. This new relationship building between himself and Neal rated high on his importance list too. Steve’s gentleness and caring, Carlos’s exuberance and humor, though, already won spots in his heart.
“I don’t mind it at all,” Neal said then.
Sasha’s heart flipped over. “You don’t?”
“There’s a ‘but’,” the big man said sternly, holding up one long finger.
Damn. There was always a “but”.
“No scenes with Carlos being the Dom. You can top him anytime, and rough sex is fine, but no further.”
Sasha frowned. “If Steve is doing it or is there?”
“Steve’s fine, everything he does is about giving pleasure. When the three of you play, Steve will be in charge. Carlos doesn’t have the experience or self-control to run a scene.” Neal’s face darkened. “Despite what he thinks.”
Burning Bright Page 15