"You're a sick, twisted individual," Stephanie shrieked, looking around for some support, but she wasn't getting any. Trent knew his comment about her threatening the club would keep most of the members out of this little scene. Stephanie might be head bitch in the club, but the club itself took precedent over her.
"No Stephanie." Trent let his own voice get louder and a little harder. "I'm a fucking Dom and if you want to get near my cock, then you'd better be prepared for whatever I want to do to you as my sub. You pushed this. You wanted this. You were prepared to start a fucking turf war over this. I knew you weren't into this scene, and I tried to let you down easy, but you wouldn't listen to me. Now I've been ordered to bed you and as I put the welfare of this club first and listen to my President, then I'll do it. So get your ass in the back room and cut the chatter."
"You're into that tying people up and beating them shit," Stephanie said, her voice a lot quieter now. Trent just raised an eyebrow at her and nodded, allowing a smirk to flitter across his face.
"Oh yes, Stephanie. BDSM. Tying them up, beating their asses until they glow bright red and then fucking them, good and hard. That's what the women I go with like to do, and that is what I want to give them. So you ready, or what?"
Trent reached out his hand and went to grab her arm. Stephanie swung the beer bottle she was holding across his arm, yelling, "get away from me, you asshole. I wouldn't go to bed with you if you were the last being on earth with a dick."
"But I have to Stephanie. Deals for this club are riding on this, so I need you to be riding me," Trent persisted. It was awesome that the woman didn't want him anymore, and wasn't likely to hit on him anytime soon, but he still needed the Epitaphs to get the gun order that Razor was threatening to send to the Black Skulls.
"Steph," Clive's firm voice rang through the room. "You wanted Trent to fuck you in exchange for making sure that we got our deal. Trent's offering, so what's the hold up?"
"I didn't know the guy was a certified freak," Stephanie said, running to Clive's side as though she really thought Trent would hit her in front of club members. Trent had never hit a woman in his life, not for fun, in anger or as part of a BDSM scene, and he didn't intend to start with Stephanie. But he figured it wouldn't hurt for her to think he would.
"Why don't you head off home," Clive yelled to Trent, his arm around Stephanie's shoulders. "Cool off a bit. Get those urges of yours under control. Come back tomorrow after lunch and we'll work on that deal."
Trent shrugged. "Whatever you say boss. See you later Stephanie." Feeling at least a dozen eyes on him as he collected his jacket, Trent sauntered over to the door as though he didn't have a care in the world, which in truth, he didn't. Sure, Marly was bound to be pissed at him, and he knew he had a spot of explaining to do, but right now, he was being ordered to head home, and for him, home was where his little mate was.
But when he roared up to his mate's apartment, Marly wasn't home, again. Fuck it all, where the hell the man gone now? Trent was sick and tired of loitering by Marly's doorway.
Chapter Eight
Hot semi-naked bodies, the smell of sweat with undertones of spunk wafting around his head, the strong bass beat of the music under his feet. Yep, Marly should have been in heaven but with his wolf whining in his ears, and his guts threatening to let everyone on the dance floor know what he had for lunch, he was finding it really difficult to have a good time.
Damn Trent and his Alpha genetics, his ripped muscled body, his thick cock and amazing scent. Not to mention his fucking overzealous teeth. Marly knew he had been powerless to try and stop Trent from taking his ass – he didn't have a problem with the sex side of things. He'd been horny from the moment he'd scented Trent. It was a mate thing, pure and simple.
But Marly had made it clear, twice, that he didn't want to be claimed. He knew that Trent was part of the club responsible for the beating he and Michael had gotten. He guessed that Trent was expected to be with a woman, and although the man clearly knew his way around a man's body, Marly wasn't sure how "gay" his mate actually was. Maybe finding out that his mate was a man was a shock to Trent, and he'd just succumbed to instinct and then regretted it afterwards. And damn it all, why the hell did that little thought crush his head and heart?
The most frustrating thing, Marly realized as he tried to let the beat of the music move his body and take him out of his conflicted head, was that he just didn't know anything about his new mate – not what he did for a living, his pack status, his sexual orientation or even how the man took his coffee. Did Trent even drink coffee? Because coffee was important. Really important.
"Hey sweetie, how's your night going?" Marly tensed for a moment as he felt two slim arms come around his waist, but he turned and saw the beaming face of Charles Fredericks, commonly known as Cat and one of Marly's closest friends. He accepted Cat's quick kisses to both cheeks, and then stood back to admire the man's outfit. Working in the clothing trade had taught Marly, that for Cat at least, if he didn't comment on the man's clothes, Cat could sulk for a week.
Cat was about the same height as Marly, but a lot slimmer. His dark hair was artfully styled to give that just got out of bed look that so many men at the club seemed to favor. Marly noticed that Cat was dressed down, at least for him. Usually sporting bright colors, glitter and at least three inch heels, Cat's current ensemble was muted and that was a polite way of describing it.
"Any reason?" Marly trailed off as he looked over Cat's smart suit pants with matching jacket in a soft grey. His friend had combined the suit with a plain black shirt, no tie thank goodness, and sensible smart black shoes. He looked good, but nothing like the man Marly knew he could be.
"After what happened to you and Mikey, can you blame me?" Cat's carefully sculpted eyebrows rose as if to indicate Marly's madness. "Did you forget that you were attacked in the street, in broad daylight, for no other reason than looking gay? Besides," and Marly was quick to note the hurt element that had crept into his friend's tone, "I think the straight look is in right now, and it suits me."
"You look gorgeous," Marly assured him, giving his friend a quick hug and then taking his arm. "Now come on, let's go and have a drink and you can fill me in on what you've been doing. I feel as though I haven't seen you in ages. New man on the scene?"
Settling in one of the back booths in the dimly lit club, Marly let his mind wander again as Cat chattered on about a man he had seen in a coffee shop. Cat's thing, for the want of a better word, was to lust after men without even knowing if they were gay. In Cat's opinion, the lust from afar business was a lot easier than dealing with the messy elements in a relationship. Marly felt sorry for Cat though, because he knew that deep down inside his friend truly dreamed of the type of romance only found in novels.
"Don't look now, but there's a tall, dark and moody looking your way from over at the bar. He can't take his eyes off you," Cat's voice broke through Marly's day dreaming. Thanking the Fates for the fact that he was sitting with his back to the bar, Marly resisted the urge to turn around and see who Cat was referring to. He had a tall dark and moody of his own already and he didn't need another one.
"Not interested," he told his disbelieving friend. "Have you seen Michael since he got out of hospital?"
Thankfully diverted, Cat explained that yes he had been around to Michael's home the day before, and that the poor man looked like a wreck. "He's talking about going back home to Alabama, can you believe it?"
"Why?" Marly was shocked. Michael had lived in Orlando for at least five years that Marly was aware of. The bubbly little man absolutely lived for clothes and Marly had enjoyed spending many an hour with Michael in malls, and trolling second hand stores for unusual and vintage items. From memory Michael came from one of the Amish areas in Alabama, some tiny little town in the middle of nowhere.
Cat patted Marly's hand on the table. "Not all of us are as brave as you when it comes to getting roughed up, sweet stuff. I mean look at you. Not a mark on you and out on the town just, what, three days after you were attacked. Poor Mikey can't bear the thought of leaving the house."