During a break in their conversation, Christian turned to him. “We’re thinking of going to the club after this winds down. Is that okay with you?”
“Absolutely.”
As Christian’s main bodyguard, Brett would accompany them to the club and then either wait for them to finish before accompanying them home again or leave and go back when they let him know they were done. Club Royal had a wonderful atmosphere—now the members had been culled of the ones who had supported the treasonous activities of some of the royal family. It wasn’t a hardship to socialise while waiting.
Also, it gave Brett the opportunity to observe the goings-on. He had taken part in BDSM before but only because Christian had seen his interest and asked him to train so he would know what to do if he decided to use it in the future. He couldn’t deny that it piqued his curiosity.
“You don’t have to wait for us. We can call someone when we’re done.”
Brett smiled. “It’s fine. You know I don’t mind.”
Christian cocked his head. “Have you found anyone yet?”
Brett shook his head. “I’m all good.”
Christian opened his mouth again, but Oscar saved him from any more potentially embarrassing questions. It reminded him of how much Christian saw. There was a reason he was sent as a spy for certain people. He was far too observant for Brett’s liking sometimes, though.
“I’ll let you know when we’re leaving,” Christian said, standing and slipping his arm around Oscar’s shoulders.
Brett nodded in acknowledgement and set aside his beer. Usually, Christian would drive himself places and Brett would follow in his own car. He’d have to see if that was the plan that night. It was a good job he’d barely drunk half his bottle.
In almost unerring accuracy, his gaze settled on Felix across the room. He looked to be in a serious conversation with Kai and Jason, but then he threw his head back and laughed, dispelling any thought of seriousness. Knowing those three, they would be cooking up another way to divest the guards of their hard-earned money.
Brett rose, stepping over to the trio. He crouched and waited for a break in their conversation before he caught Felix’s attention. “Are you okay to head to the club with them after this, or shall I find someone else?”
Felix shook his head. “I’ll do it. I haven’t drunk anything.”
“Good. You can drive. I’ve only had half a beer, but I won’t take chances.”
“Should someone else cover you?” Jason asked, and Brett frowned. Jason held up his hands. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean that if you’re being safe with the driving, wouldn’t that mean your guarding skills are the same?” He scrunched his nose and looked away. “Okay, shoot me now,” he muttered.
Brett couldn’t help the quirk of his mouth. “You are correct, but because we know the place and the people, I feel comfortable in my guarding duties. I just don’t want to take the chance with driving. For several reasons.” One being what happened with Felix’s uncle.
“Yes, driving under any kind of influence, no matter how small, isn’t advisable,” Felix concurred. He glanced at Brett. “What time?”
“Don’t know yet,” he said, rising to his feet. “They’ll let us know, but it’ll be once this winds down.”
“Okay. I have time for a nap then.” Felix grinned and winked at his friends.
“Good idea. Toddlers need their rest.”
Brett turned and walked away, smiling at the raucous laughter that followed in his wake, alongside Felix’s cursing. He wandered around the party, checking in with the princes and king to see who was going to the club afterwards so he could allocate guards. In the end, Freddie and Damon, Patrick and Kieren, and Henry and Robert were attending, but the rest were heading to their respective homes or suites. He spent a little more time organising who would cover which princes and then settled back into his seat to join Maddox, Eric and Sam’s conversation.
Two hours later, they were on their way to the club, Felix in the driver’s seat and their protectees in the car in front.
When they arrived in the main room of the club, the heavy bass of the music reverberated through the floor, mingling with the slightly raised sounds of nearby conversation as people tried to talk over the music and the occasional crack of a whip or moan of pleasure or pain. Soft lights bathed the space in a sultry glow. It was a place where boundaries blurred, where power was given and taken in the most intimate ways.And it was the last place Brett needed to be right then, standing next to Felix, with their protectees wrapped around each other on the other side of the room.
Brett kept his eyes forward, his face locked in the neutral expression of a royal bodyguard, but his mind was far from focused on the job. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d already refocused his attention back to the princes. The club’s atmosphere had always tugged at something deep inside him, stirring a restlessness he’d long thought buried, an uneasiness about where he might find what he needed. He shifted his stance, feeling the weight of Felix’s presence beside him as they stood near the wall so they could see over the heads of the members. The other man was close enough that Brett could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even through theirjackets. Usually, he would’ve stepped away, creating some space between them, but he found himself frozen to the spot, aching for more. Had that beer affected him more than he realised?
Felix was always close by. He had always been since they’d been paired together to protect Christian and Oscar. Being a royal bodyguard was a position of trust and responsibility—one that demanded complete focus—and with Brett having taken on his current role, it was more so. They all dedicated themselves to the job, but in taking on the Head of Security position, it meant he had needed to keep his true feelings hidden.
In a place like this, though, secrets had a way of surfacing. He had seen it many times. There was a reason Club Royal was deemed the place “where someone’s deepest desires were no longer a secret.”
A sharp sound cut through the music—a slap of leather against flesh. Brett’s attention snapped to the scene unfolding a few feet away. A man, bound to a cross, his wrists and ankles spread, his body exposed and vulnerable. Another man wielded a whip with practised ease, each strike precise, each movement calculated to elicit the perfect response from the one submitting—and although it wasn’t the purpose for the participants, also from the crowd. The man on the cross arched his back with every lash, his moans reaching above the noise, a mix of pleasure and pain that made Brett’s pulse quicken.
He shouldn’t be watching. Not at that moment. Not with such intensity. And not with Felix so close. But he couldn’t look away.
“What do you think?” Felix’s voice was low, almost lost in the music, but it cut through Brett’s thoughts like a knife, and he straightened, snapping his gaze away and back to where it should be—on Christian and Oscar.