Broken Rules

by Michaela Grey

  Cricket spun, shock blooming on her face as she took in the aftermath.

  Sterling tried to push himself up, sick guilt worming in his stomach, as Cricket went to her knees beside him.

  “I’m sorry,” he gasped.

  “Fox, you’re bleeding,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” Sterling said automatically. “Your glass, Crick, I broke it, I ruined it, I’m so sorry, I’ll replace it or fix it—”

  Cricket smiled, her eyes sad. “You can’t ‘fix’ this, Fox. But it’s okay—you’re more important. We need to get you to the hospital, get your head looked at.”

  Sterling insisted on carrying the box of shattered glass to the Rover, some vague thought of putting it back together pushing him to stow it in the back before Cricket drove him to the hospital.

  He put his head back as she drove, pain swimming sluggishly through his bloodstream as he held a hastily salvaged napkin to the open wound to stop the bleeding.

  The nurse was sympathetic but brisk, peeling the napkin off to clean the gash thoroughly as Cricket held Sterling’s hand.

  “You’ve sprained your wrist and you’ll have a very dashing scar,” the nurse told him. “You’ll be able to impress all the girls with it.”

  Sterling didn’t reply. He wanted, suddenly, desperately, to see Sanyam again. Pathetic, whiny, crybaby, a tiny voice sneered. Be a man.

  IT WAS midafternoon before Cricket drove him home in his Lamborghini, the box of ruined glass in the trunk.

  “I’ll get a cab home,” she said, waving off Sterling’s protests.

  “I ruined your whole day,” Sterling said, floating on misery and the painkillers the nurse had given him. “I’m sorry, Crick—”

  “Honestly?” Cricket said, squeezing his hand across the gearshift. “I’ve had a better time being with you today than I have in years.”

  Sterling blinked, confused. “But—”

  Cricket’s lips curved. “You’ve been nice today. Even before you broke the glass, you were asking me questions, you were interested in what I was doing—it was pretty cool, I’m not gonna lie.” She pulled into his parking spot and hurried around to help him out of the car.

  “I sprained my wrist, not my ankle,” Sterling said with a touch of his usual asperity. “I’m not going to collapse.”

  “No point in risking it,” Cricket said, slipping an arm around his waist. “Besides, you hit your head pretty hard.”

  She stayed next to him up to his apartment and settled him in the bed, taking off his shoes as he lay facedown.

  “What’d you do to your foot?” she demanded as she pulled his socks off.

  “Broke my bottle of aftershave,” Sterling mumbled through a yawn. “Then stepped on it.”

  “This is a nice bandage job,” Cricket said. “Did you do it yourself?”

  “San,” Sterling slurred.

  “Who?”

  “Complicated,” Sterling said, stifling another yawn.

  Cricket patted his calf. “Have a nap. I woke you up early and you’re high as balls. I’ll see you later—maybe this weekend?”

  “I’d like that,” Sterling said, surprised to realize it was true, and fell asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  SANYAM GOT an email from Ava on Wednesday.

  Can you come in early on Friday? I need to speak with you.

  Sanyam pushed down the spike of illogical worry and typed out a quick response.

  He arrived early Friday and went straight to Ava’s office, knocking on the door.

  “Come in,” Ava called.

  Sanyam stepped inside. Ava was sitting at her desk, busily typing, and she waved one chubby hand at him.

  “Sit anywhere, just have to finish this real quick.”

  Sanyam moved a pile of books and papers from the nearest chair and perched on the edge of the seat as Ava tapped away on the keyboard.

  She reminded Sanyam of a robin, small, round, and cheerful, with a way of puffing herself up when she got upset that was reminiscent of ruffled feathers. Sanyam had liked her immediately when Kali had put him in touch with her, and when she’d offered him the job in Vancouver, it hadn’t taken him long at all to decide to accept it.

  Ava hit Send and folded her hands, smiling at Sanyam. “Sorry about that. How are you settling in?”

  “Fine,” Sanyam said.

  “You’re very popular here,” Ava said. “Your nights fill fast, and Kimi reports that she’s getting a lot of people specifically asking for you.”

  Sanyam lifted a shoulder. “It is gratifying,” he admitted.

  “Gratifying,” Ava echoed and laughed. “I heard about the thing with Delfia that night I went home early. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. I understand you’ve just signed a semipermanent contract with one of his friends?”

  “I—yes,” Sanyam said.

  “And you think that was wise?”

  “Perhaps not wise,” Sanyam said. He resisted the urge to squirm, like a schoolboy being reprimanded. “But I… see something in him. Something his ‘friend’ is lacking.”

  “A soul?” Ava said, grinning.

  Sanyam almost smiled back. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “Or perhaps a sense of decency that he himself doesn’t know he possesses yet. All I know is that he is not like Jackson.”

  Ava leaned forward, fixing him with piercing blue eyes. “Are you dating him, Sanyam?”

  “No!” Sanyam said, horrified. “That’s against club policy. I know the rules, Ava. I’m only seeing him in a Dom/sub capacity, I promise.”

  “So you haven’t been spending time with him outside the club?”

  Sanyam opened and closed his mouth. Ava’s eyes were sharp and knowing.

  “I—went to his place to help him through a sub drop,” he admitted. “But I only did it because it was my fault. I did not warn him after our scene that he would likely experience it, and I was… worried.”

  Ava nodded. “You’re a grown man, Sanyam. What you do in your time off is your business, and I don’t own you. However, dating a client is against club policy, and I just needed to make that explicitly stated, so that there aren’t any crossed wires.” She smiled suddenly. “Go on, get out of here. Your room was restocked this morning. Have a good shift.”

  Sanyam closed the door behind him and ruffled his hair as he headed for his room. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d see Fox that night. He was honest enough with himself to admit that he wanted to. But they hadn’t spoken since Tuesday, and Sanyam had no idea what Fox had going on.

  His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. It was Kimi.

  Potential client. Sweet kid, wants a daddy Dom, has a lg kink.

  Sanyam grimaced. He had nothing against people with daddy/little girl kinks, but it wasn’t his favorite. Anyone else?

  Older couple, he wants to be dominated, she wants to watch. They look like good tippers.

  Send them back, Sanyam replied.

  “I’M MELODY. This is Raul,” the woman said by way of introduction. “I want you to wreck him.”

  Sanyam glanced at Raul, who nodded, his eyes eager.

  “He’s not allowed to speak except to answer direct questions or to safeword,” Melody said, running a fingertip along Raul’s jaw. “But we’ll sign whatever you need us to.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Sanyam said, and showed them both to the table and the contracts laid out.

  TWO HOURS later, he shut the door behind them. Both Melody and Raul had proven to be old hands at the game, Raul submitting to Sanyam’s touch gladly as Melody sat on the couch and made suggestions.

  It had been diverting, and Sanyam had the feeling that they would indeed tip handsomely. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense that he was… waiting. For something or someone, he wasn’t sure, but it niggled at him as he cleaned the room, and he wondered briefly how Fox was.

  His phone went off, and he reached for it.

  Kimi again. 911, cops called, need you.


  Sanyam ran for the main room, right into chaos. Someone was crying, another person was yelling, rage thick in his voice, and there were policemen everywhere, separating combatants still intent on throwing punches.

  Kimi caught sight of him and waved him over with the hand holding her bat, her other arm around Delfia. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the din.

  “Fox came back to see you. His buddies were with him, or followed him, I don’t know, but—”

  Sanyam spun, scanning the room. There, in the corner, two policemen were talking to Fox, who was deathly pale, blood on his face. Sanyam bolted in his direction as Kimi kept talking.

  Fox was unsteady on his feet, his eyes dazed and the beginnings of an impressive shiner developing on his cheekbone. He caught sight of Sanyam and took a step toward him before collecting himself and turning back to the policemen.

  He answered a question as Sanyam joined them, his slim body turned toward Sanyam like filings to a magnet even as he listened to the policewoman talking to him, a short, stocky officer with a serious face.

  Sanyam held out his hand to the other policeman. “Sanyam Desai. I work here. This is a friend of mine. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Officers Savage and Harwell,” the man said. “Harwell’s getting your friend’s version of events—we’ll be done in just a minute.”

  Fox swayed again, and Sanyam lunged to catch him as his legs buckled. Sanyam eased him to a chair, and Fox sagged against him, soft hair brushing Sanyam’s cheek.

  Sanyam turned to the officers. “Why hasn’t he been seen by paramedics? He’s bleeding!”

  Fox caught his wrist. “That’s old,” he said, his voice low. “Jacks… he clipped my temple, reopened the cut. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” Sanyam said flatly. He straightened, a hand still on Fox’s shoulder. “Can someone please tell me what happened while my friend gets some medical attention?”

  Officer Harwell beckoned, and a paramedic hurried over and knelt in front of Fox as Harwell addressed Sanyam, consulting her notebook as she spoke.

  “From what we can gather, Mr. Reynard had been here for about an hour when Mr. Whittier showed up and began causing a scene, along with their mutual friend Braden Thompson. Mr. Reynard tried to stop them, Mr. Whittier made an inappropriate comment, and punches were thrown.”

  “Where is he?” Sanyam demanded, fury blinding him.

  Officer Harwell pointed at the far wall. Jackson was on his knees, face contorted, nose swollen and dripping blood as he spat invectives at the burly officer holding him down.

  Sanyam tensed, and Fox tightened his grip on Sanyam’s wrist. “Don’t.”

  “Your friend is right,” Officer Savage said. “Please don’t make our jobs harder, sir. I think Mr. Reynard would prefer you stay with him, in any case.”

  “Did anyone else come with you?” Sanyam asked Fox.

  Someone slithered through the crowd and popped out next to the police officers, and Sanyam recognized Farid with a jolt of surprise.

  Fox shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was bored, I started drinking while I waited for you, and then Jacks and Braden showed up, and Jackson said something about the waitress, and I might have, ah….”

  “It appears he may have punched him in the nose,” Harwell said, amusement in her voice. “Although we can’t seem to find any witnesses to that, so we won’t be pressing charges.”

  “I saw it happen,” Farid said in his husky, gentle voice.

  Harwell swung to face him as Fox and Sanyam tensed.

  “Can you tell me what occurred, Mister…?”

  “Qadir,” Farid supplied. “Farid Qadir. I was a few booths away, and… occupied with something, but—Fox, is it?”

  Fox nodded, his eyes still closed.

  Farid glanced back at the officers. “Fox was in my line of sight, as was his companion. It was obvious his ‘friend’ was provoking him, trying to get a rise out of him. Fox was trying to de-escalate the situation, I could tell by his body language, but—”

  “What do you know about body language that would give you that information?” Harwell asked.

  “He’s a Dom like me,” Sanyam said before Farid could reply. “Not… professionally, but we’re friends, and trust me—he knows body language.”

  Farid inclined his head, a smile flirting at the corners of his mouth. “At any rate, Fox’s companion made a threatening move toward Fox. Fox’s actions were self-defense.”

  Harwell inspected him. “Would you be willing to testify to that?”

  “If it goes so far as trial, absolutely,” Farid said. He was neat as ever, his hair perfect and his three-piece suit not even wrinkled. He looked professional, competent, and intelligent, and Sanyam could feel the police officers relaxing.

  Harwell turned back to Fox. “Mr. Reynard, I think we have all the information we need, but you’re in no state to drive. Do you have anyone who can take you home, or would you like us to call you a cab?”

  “I’ll do it,” Sanyam said immediately. He helped Fox to his feet with a hand on his elbow and accepted his keys from him. He nodded at Farid, who smiled at him, and stuck close to Fox’s side as they made a more-or-less straight line for the exit.

  It was a cold night, and Fox shivered but shook his head when Sanyam hesitated, wondering if he should go back for his coat.

  “I didn’t bring a jacket. I’ll be fine,” Fox said. “I just… wanna go home. I parked over there.” He pointed, and Sanyam led him in that direction.

  The drive was silent, Fox resting his head against the seat, his eyes closed, long throat thrown into relief by the streetlights they passed under.

  “So how did you cut your face in the first place?” Sanyam asked as he pulled into Fox’s high-rise.

  Fox opened his eyes and made a visible effort to drag himself back together. “I was… helping Cricket, couple of days ago. Estate sale. I tripped. Dropped the box I was carrying, cut my forehead on it when I went down.”

  Sanyam winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry.” He parked and stepped out, hurrying around to help Fox to his feet.

  “This is getting old,” Fox muttered. He refused to elaborate, though, and pulled away when Sanyam tried to put his arm around his waist. “I can walk.”

  Sanyam directed him through the lobby, waving the doorman’s worried exclamations off with soothing comments, and got Fox on the elevator.

  Fox leaned against the mirrored wall, his shoulders sagging. “I fuck everything up,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

  “What do you mean?” Sanyam asked, moving closer.

  Fox sighed. “Nothing. I’m drunk. I can take it from here.”

  Sanyam just smiled. “If you think I’m leaving you in the elevator, you don’t know me very well yet.”

  The elevator rose smoothly, and Sanyam steadied him as the car slowed and stopped on Fox’s floor.

  Sanyam let them into the apartment and Fox made a vague gesture toward the bowl by the front door.

  “Leave the keys there. Thanks… for your help.”

  I should leave. Instead, Sanyam dropped the keys in the bowl and moved into Fox’s space, bringing a hand up to thumb over Fox’s dimple. Ava didn’t have to know. All he could think about was tasting Fox’s mouth again.

  Fox swallowed hard and leaned into his hand. “I want—I…. San, I want you—”

  “I know,” Sanyam whispered. “Me too, Fox.” He closed the distance and kissed him, Fox yielding and soft under his mouth, tasting like honey whiskey and peanuts. It took all his self-control to pull away as Fox made a quiet noise of protest.

  Sanyam touched his unbruised cheekbone. “May I take you to bed, Fox?”

  Fox nodded silently, desperately, and plastered himself against Sanyam’s frame. “Yes, yes I want that, I want you—”

  “Are you sure you’re thinking clearly enough?” Sanyam persisted. He wanted, needed, all of it, everything Fox could give him, but he had to make sure, he had
to know Fox was able to give consent.

  Fox gave him an annoyed look. “I’m not that drunk.”

  “Not concussed, either?”

  Fox pulled away and lifted both hands, middle fingers extended. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Sanyam laughed outright and reeled him back in to nip at the column of his throat. “You’re such an asshole. Why do I like you?”

  Fox wriggled out of his grip, swaying, and kicked his shoes off. “Beats me. Come on, bedroom.”

  He towed Sanyam through the apartment and pushed him backward onto the bed, flinging a leg over Sanyam’s hips and riding him down.

  Sanyam ran his hands up Fox’s thighs, smiling. “I suppose if you have the physical coordination to manage that, then you have the mental capacity to consent to sex.”

  “Your dirty talk is terrible,” Fox said, and kissed him, hot and hungry.

  Sanyam laughed into Fox’s mouth and rolled them, a flurry of limbs that ended with him on top and Fox looking stunned, eyes dark and lips wet.

  “That, uh… that works too,” Fox managed.

  “Do you have condoms?” Sanyam asked.

  “Bedside drawer.”

  Sanyam leaned across him and fumbled in the drawer, swearing under his breath as Fox worked a hand between them and cupped his shaft through his pants.

  “Mashalla, kit, you’re going to kill me yet.” He found the supplies and sat up triumphantly, dropping one condom on Fox’s chest and tearing the foil on the other.

  “Can’t get naked with you pinning me down,” Fox pointed out.

  “What a pity,” Sanyam murmured, scooting down the bed so that he was on Fox’s thighs. “Whatever will you do?” He lowered his head and scraped his teeth across Fox’s collarbone.

  “If you make me come in my pants, I will put itching powder in your—ah—” Fox jerked as Sanyam bit down and sucked a fresh bruise into his pale skin, overlapping the faint green-purple of the old marks he’d left.

  “I mean it,” Fox managed after a minute, when Sanyam showed no signs of letting up. “Goddammit, San, let me—” He pushed futilely at Sanyam’s shoulders, and Sanyam laughed against his skin but finally let go with a wet, sucking pop and rolled off. “Asshole,” Fox said, and dragged at his clothes with shaking hands.