by Jaime Samms
Ira wasn’t sure if he was impressed that Jed was being reasonable, or hurt that he wasn’t staking a claim and bundling him out of there. He shifted, and the money in its hidden pouch crinkled, the sharp polymer edges digging at his skin. He needed the cash. That was why he did this. No other reason.
Nodding sharply, he made up his mind. “Fine.” He tugged the misshapen knot loose and retied it, a nice, neat, square knot, pretending his hands didn’t shake as he did so.
Jed chuckled. “Sorry.”
Ira let his hands drop. “No, I—”
Jed lifted his chin. “It’s okay.” His face twitched. Like he was keeping his expression bland, but only just.
“You want me to do this.”
“I want you to make a decision that is about you, not me.”
Ira studied him. “I need the money,” he whispered eventually.
Jed said nothing, just cupped a hand at the back of his neck, kissed his forehead, and nodded.
“But no one touches me,” Ira insisted, as he carefully extracted his wad of bills from its pouch. “And we leave as soon as I’m done.” He held the money, uncounted, out to Jed. “Hold this for me?”
Jed agreed, wrapping a big hand around the cash and Ira’s hand, holding on to him for a moment. “I’ll keep it safe.”
“And I want to fucking hand this Bernie asshole his balls, first. So he knows you’re mine, that I want you out there protecting me. Lord knows his goons are useless.”
“I’m a goon now?” Jed lifted an eyebrow.
“My goon,” Ira said, as his voice settled back into the quiet brush he was used to, unsure how Jed might take such a declaration.
Jed grinned. “Let’s go, then. This I want to see.”
Bernie was sitting at the staff table with the dancers and a couple of bouncers. He looked up as they approached, even stood, fists clenched as he glared at Jed. The implied threat didn’t faze Jed in the least, coming from such a bean pole of a man. Even if Landon hadn’t appeared from the shadows at Jed’s side, he wouldn’t have been worried. Bernie’s threat was transparent and, worse, ineffectual when neither of the bouncers twitched a finger to back him up.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my dancers?” he growled.
Jed took a step, edging in front of Ira, but only ground his teeth, then backed off when Ira touched his wrist. This wasn’t his fight. At least, not yet.
“He did what these fuckups didn’t seem able to do,” Ira replied, his voice finding a strong, comfortable register, neither cracking and vaulting into the stratosphere, nor dipping too low to be heard. He pointed in the general direction of the bouncers at the table. One of them had a hand on Mitch’s but he still looked away when Ira glared at him. Mitch’s cheeks coloured and he pulled his hand away, with a quick, worried glance in Bernie’s direction. “And he’s going to do it again if any more of your fucking drooling douche-canoe customers jump the stage.”
“You don’t make the rules,” Bernie snarled.
“I fucking do when my ass is on the line. It’s my space up there when I’m dancing, and I decide who I want protecting me. Or I walk.” He glanced first to Mitch, who looked away instantly, then at the young dancer and Rob. Rob grinned a crooked grin and nudged the young guy, who started but nodded vigorously, though Jed was certain he had no idea what he was agreeing to. “And I take them with me”—he pointed at the two dancers—“because there is no excuse for what happened. None.”
“Now listen—”
“You listen,” Ira ground, taking a step closer to Bernie, who towered over him, his lanky frame dwarfing Ira. Ira poked a finger into the tall man’s chest. “This is basic entertainment etiquette. We bring in the crowd. You keep them civil and off. The. Fucking. Stage.”
Bernie pursed his lips.
“You disagree, fine. But we’re out, and trust me, I will not mince words if anyone asks what the gig was like or if they should trust you to find them work.”
“You threatening me?”
“Promising.” Ira snuck a glance at Jed, took a deep breath, and plunged on. “I’ve danced a lot of places. I know a lot of other dancers. You want quality acts in this dump ever again? The rest of this show goes how I say.”
“See if you ever dance for me again,” Bernie grumbled.
“Oh, trust me. That won’t be an issue after tonight.”
In the end, Bernie conceded, because what else was he going to do? Ira was a force, and Bernie was a limp noodle. Ira had the backing of the other dancers and acted like he knew what he was doing. If he’d been down this sort of road before, it was obvious he’d learned his lesson.
Apparently, tonight was the night Bernie could eat shit. Ira was over it.
Rob danced first in the second half, modelling sequinned green shorts and a fringed, cropped top that left a spangled afterimage of the seventies behind Jed’s eyes long after he’d left the stage. Farmer boy was up next, though he sported a hard hat, heavy boots, and cutoff shorts instead of the farm getup. The crowd was kinder this time, and he showed more confidence as the music geared up.
Jed couldn’t decide how he felt about that. He was glad the kid didn’t look terrified anymore. But he wasn’t a fan of the way the crowd ogled and leered, even though that was the point. He felt the scowl deepening on his face as he watched the men in front of the stage begin to crowd in.
Ira kicked him under the table and jerked his chin at the stage when Jed turned to him. “Go,” Ira shouted into his ear over the music. “You know you want to protect him. Go stand in front and look scary.”
“Ira—”
“Go!” Ira shoved at him, but also gave him a crooked smile. “Please.”
A weight lifted as Jed stood and pushed his way through the throng of men to the front of the stage. So what if Ira had been right about him wanting to help? Even if he hadn’t, that crafty little smile, the softly spoken please, would have done Jed in anyway.
Relief seemed to wash over the kid’s face when he noticed Jed standing there, arms crossed, glaring at anyone who seemed like he might be thinking about considering getting too handsy with the boy.
After a few minutes, Landon rose as well and joined Jed, standing on the other side of the stage’s front protrusion. The club’s bouncers were admittedly more alert this time around, but they both nodded at Jed, then went back to watching the crowd. Seemed like their presence wasn’t going to be an issue.
Ira was up next, and while Jed would have loved to drink in his performance, he wasn’t about to get distracted. Ira counted on him to keep things civil, so he kept his attention on the crowd. The performance was popular, if the crowd’s reaction was anything to go by.
He knew when Mitch came on stage because the bouncer he had been tongue sucking with suddenly riveted his attention on the stage. Jed peeked over his shoulder to see which way Ira had left, only to find he was still up there. Jed just about stormed up the stage a second time.
Mitch had a hand on Ira’s waist and his lips on his neck. Briefly. Which probably saved his life because before Jed could jump up there and kill him, Ira slithered free of his grip, waved to the crowd and sashayed off the stage.
Jed slipped around the side of the stage to meet him, but he didn’t have his bag when he came out of the change room. Instead, he sat at the large staff table and waved Jed back to his spot.
“What?”
“Mitch is still dancing,” Ira said. “So we’ll wait.”
“Seriously?”
Ira stared at him. “Seriously. Yes.”
“Okay.” Jed nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
By the time they made it out of the club, all the other dancers had escaped safe from molestation by either the clientele or their so-called manager. Most of them had left. Farmer boy had stayed to hang on Landon, who assured Ira he would get him home safe and untouched. With Ira satisfied none of the dancers were going to be taken advantage of, they left.
The market had closed long ago. Since
Jed had his bike, that was probably just as well. They wouldn’t have been able to transport much in the way of groceries anyway. Maybe he hadn’t thought the plan all the way through. He lifted the flap of his saddlebag and brought out the extra helmet. He waited for Ira to hand him his messenger bag, but nothing happened.
“You okay?” he asked.
Ira narrowed his eyes at the bike.
“Ira?”
“I hate those things.”
“What things?”
“Motorcycles.”
“Um.” Jed glanced from Ira to the bike and back again. “How did you think we were getting back?”
“They scare me.” Ira clutched the strap of his bag and shivered. “I’ll walk.”
“Alone?” Jed took his arm and pulled him a little closer, setting the helmet on his head. “No sir, you will not.”
The chin strap proved irritating enough Ira fiddled with it, repeatedly running a finger between his skin the band. “Jed.”
“Shush.” Jed lifted the strap of Ira’s bag over his head so he could tuck it into the saddlebag. It barely fit. He’d need bigger ones if this was going to be a regular thing. “This is safer.”
“Than walking?” he shrilled, then slapped a hand over his mouth.
Jed couldn’t stop the grin, but he turned to retrieve his own helmet to give himself time to school his expression. When he turned back, Ira was still eyeing the bike.
“I’ve been riding one of these since I was sixteen, Ira. Never had an accident. Not even a near miss. We’re going a few blocks. Hardly any traffic this time of night.” He swung a leg over the seat and twisted around.
Ira seemed petrified. Stuck inside his own head with whatever image made him afraid of the bike. Jed straightened and steeled his voice, pitching it to get Ira’s attention. It worked with some guys. If Ira was one of those guys, all the better. “Ira. Get on.”
Ira started, glanced up, pale eyes huge.
“Do as I say, please,” Jed said, more gently, but with no less command.
Ira put a tentative hand on Jed’s shoulder. “There isn’t even a back on this seat.” Ira ran his palm over the back edge of the bike’s saddle.
“Ira.” Jed took the hand from his shoulder and placed it on his waist. “Get on. Hold on as tight as you need to. I’ll get you home safe.”
“Promise?”
Jed leaned over and kissed him, lingering over the taste of Ira’s lip gloss again. “Swear.”
Ira’s eyes were big, his lips parted, and his chest heaved a tiny bit. “’Kay.”
“Good boy. Now get on.”
Ira did, without further protest.
Every bump jostled Ira’s bones as they cruised down the street. The bike vibrated between his thighs, making his balls sing with stimulation and his heart pound with fear. He wrapped both arms around Jed’s chest and hoped the man had meant it when he’d told Ira to hang on as tight as he needed to, because Ira clung like a spider monkey to its mother’s back. He wasn’t about to let go.
At the first stoplight, Jed reached down and patted Ira’s thigh. He let the touch linger, which completely undermined Ira’s attempt to ignore the way his balls continued to tingle after they had stopped. Maybe the touch was meant to be reassuring, but it only reinforced Ira’s feeling of vulnerability. He had no control here. Perched on the precarious death rocket, he had only Jed. As the bike slowly advanced at the green light, Ira clung harder.
They didn’t make the next green light, and had to stop again as it turned yellow. Ira silently cursed whatever god of traffic lights was conspiring to prolong his torture. This time, instead of caressing his leg, Jed reached around behind himself and gave Ira a quick squeeze.
Ira let out a soft moan at the strength of it, even in that awkward position. He wanted to say something, but as he struggled with what, a car pulled up next to the bike. Loud shouts came from the opened windows that Ira couldn’t quite hear, but it was enough to get his attention.
He looked over to see someone lean out the window to glare right at him. His stomach jolted at the familiar sight of greased-back hair and a gap-toothed grin. “Nice shoes!” He curled a lip and spit in their direction. “Babycakes.”
Shame heated Ira until sweat broke out over his back and made his hairline prickle. He glanced at his feet, at a worn pair of tasselled, heeled boots that he’d replaced the thigh-highs with, and for an instant, he wished he could tuck his foot out of sight. But no. He wasn’t going to let anyone shame him. Not anymore.
“Keep dancing, girly-boy,” the asshole shouted. “I’ll find your next show. See you then!”
This wasn’t happening again. Ira’s fingers curled around the fabric of Jed’s coat, and he pressed himself closer to the reassuring heat.
“See all of you, baby.” The guy winked and smeared his tongue over his lips.
Under Ira’s hands, Jed’s body stiffened. He clicked on his right turn signal and revved the engine. It was all the warning Ira had before he took off around the corner, leaving the obnoxious honking of the car horn in their wake.
Ira squealed and tried to wrap arms and legs around Jed, his heart slamming against his ribs as his ass slid a fraction of an inch backwards on the seat. The harsh sound of the horn dwindled behind them as Jed sped away. Ira clung, shaking and breathing hard until the horn was long gone and Jed had slowed.
“Okay?” Jed’s voice, right there in Ira’s ear, in his head, startled a gasp out of him. Helmet mics. “Ira?” A molten caramel warmth coursed through his body at the sound, and he nodded.
“You have to speak, darlin’,” Jed reminded him.
The velvety caress of his voice soothed Ira’s nerves, but did nothing to calm the rise of tingling heat through his body as Jed changed gears. The bike slid through the transition with a healthy, rumbling purr. “I’m good.” His voice snapped like brittle plastic over the words, making him wince and lower it to his usual whisper. “Thanks.”
Jed’s rich, deep chuckle smouldered down through Ira, setting him on fire. He was embarrassed, terrified, but thrilled at the same time. The emotions boiled inside, confusing, heady, and his cock didn’t seem to care about anything but Jed’s proximity and the stimulation of the bike’s vibrations. Maybe some apart of him liked the balls-deep fear that at any minute, he was going to go flying off the back of the bike.
“Sorry, darlin’.” Jed patted his leg, which made Ira squeak.
“Hands on the wheel!” He sounded like a mouse.
Another of Jed’s spine-tingling chuckles caught at Ira’s libido and distracted him from the embarrassing squeak of his voice. “Handlebars.”
Ira grunted. Whatever. He didn’t realize they had headed away from their building until Jed pulled into a parking lot next to a bar. When the bike stopped, he scrambled off and snatched the helmet from his head. “What the—”
“Easy.” Jed swung off the bike, took his time removing his helmet, and placed a calming hand on Ira’s shoulder. “Said I’d feed you, remember?”
Ira gulped down the moment of shock and spike of fear, and managed a nod.
“So since the grocer is closed, I thought this might be the next best thing. Hen and Hog. I work here.”
“I thought you were the building super.”
“I am.” He smiled. “But you know how expensive this city is. Gotta pay the rent.”
Ira realized he was fondling the bulge of bills in his hip pocket, mentally calculating if he could afford the extravagance, and stuffed his hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “Yeah.”
Jed pulled him into a hug before Ira had a chance to protest or sidestep it. It wasn’t sexual or confining. Just reassuring. Ira leaned into him without thinking it and couldn’t quite muster the wherewithal to pull away.
“Okay.” Jed kissed the top of his head. “Inside. We’re going to feed you.”
Ira was good with that, and glad Jed didn’t ask about the car full of men. Maybe Jed hadn’t heard what the guy had said. Or maybe he didn’t c
are. But no. If Jed had heard the demeaning words, he would want to know more. He’d want to do something about it, and Ira didn’t need him getting involved.
When Jed took his hand to lead him inside, he tucked his helmet under his arm and followed.
Inside, the pub was unlike any Ira was used to. Clearly, this was not the kind of place that staged strippers. Mostly, it felt to Ira like an English pub with all the dark wood and wide-seated chairs gathered at round tables on the entrance level. A slab of polished wood ran down the centre of the room for larger gatherings, reminding him of someone’s country kitchen table. The bar was at the back on a raised level with another dozen tables in front of it. A shelf near the door housed dozens of board games. There were far more men than women in the place, and Ira’s gaydar spiked like mad.
He felt immediately at home.
“Sit at the bar,” Jed instructed, guiding him towards a stool near the end with a hand on the small of his back.
“Who have we here?” A pink-haired woman set a napkin on the bar in front of Ira as he took a stool.
Ira held out his hand to her. “Ira.”
She blinked, her smile frozen on her face. Classic indication she hadn’t heard him and was trying to figure out from the movement of his lips what he’d said. He got that a lot. He didn’t get a chance to repeat himself, though.
“Hi,” she said brightly, shaking his hand as she turned from him to Jed with an eyebrow raised.
“Mel, this is Ira. Ira, Mel. Aside from Kearn, who owns the place, she’s the only one around here with more seniority than me.”
“And don’t you forget it, young padawan.” She winked at Ira. “What’ll you have?”
“Um. Water.” Ira cleared his throat. “Water, please,” he said more loudly, grateful his voice didn’t crack.
“Water it is.”