Broken Rules

by Michaela Grey

  “What’s in it for you?”

  Kimi shrugged. “Split the tips fifty-fifty?”

  Sanyam narrowed his eyes. “Seventy-thirty.”

  “Done,” Kimi said, so fast it was clearly what she’d been hoping for.

  Sanyam couldn’t help the laugh, and Kimi grinned at him.

  Shouting erupted from the table Delfia was serving, and they both spun as glass shattered and people shoved their chairs back.

  “Fuck.” Kimi grabbed her baseball bat from under the bar and charged into battle as Sanyam followed.

  They dove into the knot of people who’d gathered and pulled them apart. Delfia was on the lap of one of the patrons, struggling to get away as he laughed and tightened his grip around her waist, his other hand on her breast.

  “Let her go,” Kimi snarled.

  The man rolled his eyes but released her, lifting his hands in mock surrender, and Delfia scrambled off his lap and dashed away. Kimi dropped her bat and went after her as security arrived then in the form of the bouncers Logan and Elijah, muscles straining their tight T-shirts.

  “Back away, please,” Sanyam said to the onlookers. “This doesn’t concern you.” He turned back to the table. Where was the club owner? Why hadn’t she shown up to put this particular fire out?

  Logan leaned in. “Ava went home early,” he said in what passed for a whisper. “Want I should text her?”

  Sanyam shook his head and focused on the clients.

  There were four young men sitting there, and from the looks of them, they’d been drinking awhile. Sanyam’s first instinct was to call the police, and he knew Ava would back him if he did, but he also knew that a police presence tended to discourage cash flow. If he could handle this in-house, it would be better all the way around.

  The antagonist was white, rich, and clearly spoiled. His polo was open at the neck and his blond hair disheveled. He lounged against his seat, slinging one arm over the back of it as he looked down his patrician nose at Sanyam.

  “What’s the problem?” His tone was insolent, and Sanyam disliked him just a little more.

  “The problem is you harassed and molested an employee, and your friends are complicit,” Sanyam said. “What are your names, please?”

  “Jackson, and she was into it. This is Colby, Braden, and Fox.” He gestured at his friends, who all looked like variations on a theme. Tall, slim, expensive haircuts, and even more expensive clothes—Sanyam detested them immediately.

  “Jackson, I am acting manager Sanyam Desai,” Sanyam said. “It is clearly stated in many visible locations that touching the employees in any way is not permitted. Even if she was ‘into it,’ which she clearly was not, you violated our policies. You are not welcome back at this club.”

  Jackson’s face darkened, and he shot to his feet. “Do you know who my father is, you jumped-up little prick?”

  “Does he know you like to frequent BDSM clubs?” Sanyam fired back, stepping into Jackson’s space. “I will be happy to tell him. What’s his number?”

  “Fuck you,” Jackson hissed. “Let’s go, guys. This place is stupid anyway.”

  Sanyam took a step back as the young men filed past. Braden glowered at him, shoulders up and fists clenching, but Elijah stepped forward, and Braden flinched and scuttled after Jackson. Colby looked faintly ashamed, but Fox just seemed bored, as he flicked his hair out of his face and checked the time.

  “Good riddance,” Logan rumbled as they left. “Are they all blacklisted or just Jackson?”

  Sanyam considered. “Just Jackson, for now. Put the others’ names on the list, and if they return, let them know they’re on probation. I’m going to check on Delfia.”

  He found her and Kimi in the dressing room behind the stage. Delfia was curled up in Kimi’s arms, her eyes blank, as Sanyam knelt beside them.

  “He pinched her breast and put his hand down her pants,” Kimi said, her mouth taut with fury.

  “I should have called the police,” Sanyam said as remorse washed over him. “It’s not too late, Delfia. Do you want to file a report?”

  Delfia shook her head, burrowing closer to Kimi. “No. No cops. I just… want it to go away.”

  “Jackson is gone, and he will not be allowed back,” Sanyam said gently.

  Kimi rubbed Delfia’s back. “See, honey? You’re safe.” She glanced up at Sanyam. “I’m going to take her home.”

  “Good idea,” Sanyam said, standing. “Let Kimi take care of you, Delfia. I’m going home too. Kimi, call me if you need anything.”

  Kimi just nodded, her body curved protectively around Delfia’s.

  SANYAM LET himself into his apartment, and the tension leached from his muscles. Door shut and locked, he took his shoes off and padded into the kitchen, where he started the kettle.

  “Polly?” he called.

  He heard a thump and the pattering of paws down the hallway, and he smiled.

  Polly was talking to him before she even made it into the kitchen, a rapid-fire volley of tiny squeaking meows, and Sanyam laughed and bent to pick her up.

  “Hello, my darling. How was your day?”

  Polly snuggled in under his chin and began to purr thunderously. Sanyam rubbed his cheek against her long, creamy brown fur and turned to take the kettle off the heat and pour it over his tea one-handed.

  “We had some assholes at the club tonight,” he told her as the tea steeped.

  Polly trilled inquisitively.

  “Mm, yes. Someone molested Delfia, and there was quite the commotion. Not to worry, though—Kimi is taking good care of her, and that particular person won’t be returning.”

  He carried his tea and armful of furry cat to the table and sat down. Polly rearranged herself on his knees and settled in, kneading his thigh as her purring redoubled.

  Sanyam glanced around the apartment, stark walls and open spaces. He’d been drawn to the emptiness of it when he first saw it, the exposed beams in the ceiling and the posts scattered throughout the kitchen and living room area, but—

  “I need to decorate,” he murmured. He’d been in Vancouver for six weeks, but his time had been so taken up by the club that he hadn’t had a chance to make his apartment a home.

  “Tomorrow,” he told Polly, now fast asleep. “Tomorrow I will go out and perhaps find some furnishings. Some wall hangings would be nice, don’t you think?”

  That settled, he finished his tea and gently dislodged Polly from her perch to wash out his cup and get ready for bed.

  Chapter Three

  HE HAD a leisurely breakfast and then spent the morning curled up in bed reading, Polly a warm lump in the crook of his elbow. Around noon, he stretched and stood up as Polly protested.

  “Apologies,” he told her as she grumbled and rearranged herself in the warm spot he’d left behind. “I will bring you back a delicacy from the market, I promise.”

  Dressed in slacks and a sweater befitting the autumn chill, Sanyam ventured out into one of Vancouver’s bustling open-air marketplaces.

  He took the bus to Granville Market and stepped off into a swarm of people all talking, laughing, and shopping busily. Sanyam pushed his hands into his pockets and allowed himself to be swallowed by the flow of the crowd, wandering the aisles and admiring the colorful produce and wares.

  Not quite Crawford Hall, he mused as he walked, but it has a charm all its own.

  A little girl darted in front of him, and Sanyam stopped dead to avoid tripping over her.

  “Deedee!” The girl’s mother dashed by, apologizing breathlessly, and Sanyam smiled at them both.

  Deedee couldn’t have been more than four, fair hair pulled up into two high ponytails, her eyes big and blue, nose pink with the chill. She stopped and stared at Sanyam as her mother scooped her up.

  “He has a beard like Daddy,” she said in a high, clear voice. “Why do his eyes do that?”

  Her mother put a horrified hand over Deedee’s mouth. “Deedee, shh.”

  Sanyam’s smile widene
d, and he bent to address the little girl. “I am Indian. That is why my eyes are slanted. Not all of us have it, but I am one who does.”

  Deedee popped her thumb in her mouth and considered him around it. “I like it,” she announced. “You’re very pretty.”

  Sanyam laughed out loud and bowed to her. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re prettier.”

  Deedee giggled and hid her face in her mother’s coat as Sanyam straightened.

  Sorry, her mother mouthed.

  “It’s quite all right,” Sanyam said. “I hope both you lovely ladies have a wonderful day.”

  Deedee waved to him, and Sanyam waved back as they left. He was still smiling as he turned away and bumped into a tall, slim man, jostling his arm and spilling the coffee he was holding all down his front.

  “Oh fucking hell,” the man snarled, stumbling back as he pulled his drenched shirt away from his stomach. “Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going, you clumsy asshole?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sanyam said, horrified. “Are you burned?”

  “Well, it was really fucking hot, so you do the goddamn math,” the man snapped. He looked familiar, but Sanyam couldn’t place him. He spun before Sanyam could figure out how he knew him and stalked off down the aisle. Sanyam followed, some vague idea of paying for his shirt or the coffee at the very least driving him.

  The man ducked into a stall halfway down the row, where a girl glanced up, clearly startled. “Fox? What happened?”

  Fox. He’d been with Jackson the night before, Sanyam realized, and disgust welled inside him. He turned to go, but Fox flung a hand toward him.

  “This moron managed to knock my coffee all over my shirt,” he said. He jerked his coat off and peeled his shirt over his head, hissing through his teeth. His abdomen was reddened where the coffee had splashed him, and he prodded at the skin with one finger.

  “I really am sorry,” Sanyam said reluctantly. “Can I pay for your shirt?”

  “I don’t know, can you?” Fox retorted. “It cost two hundred dollars.”

  “For a T-shirt?”

  Fox sneered at him. “Just fuck off already. You’ve done enough damage.” He turned away, presenting a pair of sharply bladed shoulders as he bent and rummaged through a bag on the floor of the stall.

  The girl stood and held out her hand. “I’m Cricket, and I apologize for my brother’s rudeness.”

  Sanyam accepted it. “Sanyam Desai. It’s quite all right; it was entirely my fault.”

  “Goddamn right it was,” Fox muttered.

  Sanyam gritted his teeth and pulled out his wallet. Peeling off two hundred-dollar bills, he held them out to Cricket, who shook her head.

  “Oh no, it’s really not necessary.”

  Fox leaned across her and snatched the money. “Says you.”

  Cricket glared at him and turned back to Sanyam. She was a female version of her brother, tall and slender with long, dark hair and pale skin. Her jade-green eyes were apologetic.

  “I’d like to say he’s not usually this awful,” Cricket said, “but honestly, this is pretty standard behavior.”

  Fox dragged a shirt over his head and scowled down at the pink unicorn that now graced his chest. “What the fuck, Cricket?”

  Cricket glanced at him and burst out laughing as Sanyam’s lips twitched.

  “Serves you right for going through the donation bag, you idiot!”

  Sanyam glanced around the stall, realizing for the first time that it offered a variety of crystal and glassware. A tall, blue glass vase caught his eye, and he picked it up, caressing its smooth curves with reverent fingers.

  “Oh, this is lovely,” he said. He knew exactly where he would put it—on the high shelf in front of the windows that faced the rising sun, where the glass would catch the light. “How much?”

  “That one’s seventy-five,” Cricket said.

  “But for you, it’s an even hundred,” Fox chimed in. He collapsed in a folding chair on the side of the booth and stretched his long legs out.

  Cricket ignored him as Sanyam counted off another seventy-five dollars and held them out.

  “Do you make these pieces yourself?” he asked.

  Cricket dimpled. “No, I go to yard sales and flea markets and buy them, clean them up, and then sell them here.”

  “Slumming it,” Fox said, sotto voce.

  Sanyam’s lips tightened. Cricket flinched but said nothing as she took the vase back and wrapped it in paper, tying it with twine before slipping it into a small bag and handing it to him.

  “You have exquisite taste,” he told her.

  “Come back anytime,” Cricket said, smiling.

  “Preferably on a day I haven’t been roped into helping,” Fox said. He dropped his head back and gazed up at the ceiling, revealing his long neck.

  “My God, you’re no better in daylight, are you?” Sanyam said. He regretted his words instantly, but it was too late. Fox jerked his head up, eyes narrowing.

  “You. I do know you, you’re that asshole from—” He glanced at Cricket and cleared his throat. “From last night. What are you doing here?”

  “Shopping,” Sanyam said dryly. “Normal, ordinary stuff that most people do.”

  Fox curled his lip, but a couple walked up before he could reply. Cricket turned to help them, and Sanyam took a step nearer to Fox.

  “If you ask me,” he said, his voice pitched low, “you need to be taught some manners.”

  Fox’s mouth went flat, his eyes dangerous. “Are you offering?”

  Sanyam pulled a card from his wallet and handed it over. “Ask for me tonight and find out.”

  He walked away without looking back.

  Chapter Four

  FOX WASN’T there when Sanyam started his shift that evening, and by the time the night was half over, Sanyam had nearly forgotten about him, engrossed in teaching a new submissive the joys to be found in rigging, and indulging another in some pain-play.

  His phone buzzed as he was ushering a client out with a warning to stay hydrated and watch for a sub drop.

  It was Kimi. Someone here wants you for the rest of your night. Says you gave him your card. Paid up front.

  Sanyam straightened as electricity tingled through him. Send him back. He put a few supplies on the small table in the corner and settled in to wait.

  He was sitting on the sofa when Fox walked in, eyes wary and slim body taut with evident nerves.

  “Shut the door,” Sanyam said.

  Fox’s lips tightened, but he obeyed before turning back to look at Sanyam, his fingers twitching at the seams of his pants.

  Sanyam gestured with his chin at the table, and Fox took a hesitant step in that direction, then another.

  “What…?” Fox picked up the sheaf of papers and riffled through them. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Standard contract, lasting one night only. If you want to become a permanent or even semiregular client, then you’ll sign a different form. This one states that you’re a submissive, that you wish to be dominated, and that you accept my authority over you for the specified length of time. There’s a space for you to fill in your hard and soft limits.”

  Fox’s chin jutted. “I’m not a submissive.”

  Sanyam lifted an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I—” Fox shifted his weight, crumpling the papers in his hand. “I don’t kn—”

  “Sit down,” Sanyam ordered.

  Fox sat instantly. His mouth fell open in shock as he realized what he’d done, and Sanyam hid his amusement.

  “Read the contract. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But if you’re here, it’s because you need something, consciously or otherwise. Perhaps I can give it to you.”

  Fox swallowed hard and smoothed the papers out. His hands were trembling, Sanyam noticed, and he stood up and straightened his waistcoat. Fox watched him out of the corner of his eye, his head down as he ostensibly studied the contract, as Sanyam move
d up behind him. Fox needed to be taken out of his head, shown the peace that could be gained through surrendering control, and Sanyam could help with that.

  He said nothing, standing still as Fox forced himself to read the contract, and waited until Fox’s attention was fully on the page and the tension in his shoulders had relaxed. Then he slid a hand into Fox’s hair and dragged his head to the side.

  Fox dropped the papers, and they fell in a looping flutter to the floor as he reached up and back to catch Sanyam’s wrist.

  Sanyam leaned down and nosed at the crook of Fox’s elegant neck, corded with tension. “This throat of yours is criminal,” he murmured. “It’s begging to be marked up.”

  Fox dragged air in through his nose, clutching at Sanyam’s wrist. His eyes were closed, mouth soft and lax, and Sanyam couldn’t resist nipping—gently—at the skin under Fox’s ear.

  Fox jerked and made a needy, helpless noise.

  “That’s what I thought,” Sanyam said. He let go of Fox’s hair and straightened. “Pick up the mess you made, and then decide if you want to be here or not.”

  He sat down again and crossed his legs, watching as Fox fought an internal battle, his mouth working and his eyes angry. Sanyam draped his arms across the back of the couch and waited him out.

  Finally, Fox bent and picked the papers up. He dropped them onto the table with little regard for neatness, then grabbed the pen, signed his name, and glared at Sanyam when he was done.

  Sanyam held out a silent hand.

  Fox’s glare intensified, but Sanyam didn’t move. It was several more minutes of Fox fighting with himself before he picked up the contract and shoved it at Sanyam, who accepted it graciously.

  He clicked his tongue as he looked through it. “No limits at all? That’s rather dangerous.” Fox’s signature was sharp, jagged lines, and Sanyam looked closer. “Your name isn’t Fox?”

  Fox lifted his chin. “I—it’s Sterling. Sterling Reynard. My friends call me Fox because of my last name.”