“Are you just gonna stare?” I say, before I think. He shrugs.
“Why not? You’re nice to look at.”
What the fuck!
“Simon, are we leaving or what? I don’t pay you to stand around chatting,” Dima yells before turning to leave. But before I go, I can’t leave without addressing that flirtatious comment. In a club I would have dragged him to bed, but here, I just can’t.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but don’t,” I harshly whisper at him, pointing a finger in his face. I knew it. Arrogant.
“Just being friendly. You should go, your boss won’t be getting any happier. It was nice to meet you…Simon.”
I take a step back and assess him. He’s purposefully trying to piss me off. I can just tell by the smugness on his face. I say nothing else and turn and walk away from the nightmare that is about to take over my life.
It’s been three days since I saw Carlos. Three days since he was revealed to be our new supplier, and I can’t stop running it over and over in my head. I wasn’t prepared for him. I hate the unknown, to not know what I’m facing, to have surprises sprung upon me. Carlos entering my world put me off balance, as I’ve never had an urge for someone like that before.
Fucking hate surprises, good or bad. I hate anything associated with lovey-dovey bullshit. I hate Christmas, actually I hate all holidays. And people. To be honest there isn’t much I fucking like that doesn’t put me in a mood. Maybe not experiencing any form of happiness in my life has turned it into an allergy. Show me a smiling morning person and I wanna punch them in the face. That's why I fit in here with the boys, we’re the same. Life has no filter here, no rose-colored tinted glasses, it's raw, painful and bloody. Zero masks. But I’m not dumb, I know most people in the world aren’t like that. I think the world would be chaos without masks and lies. Who could deal with truth and brutal honesty one hundred percent of the time? It would be a disaster. Humans require actors in their lives, to portray feelings that are lies just to give security and reassurance. People being optimistic and looking for the good. Feeling the need to do good things just to make themselves feel better. Burying their inner thoughts and desires that if given the opportunity, without consequence, they could be honest about. Could end those that have wronged them. It's a prison. But a safe prison, as they need to be protected from themselves, and I don’t judge. Well, I judge a little, but that’s me being honest. I don’t doubt when I inevitably meet Carlos again, he will say something to me. Tease me? Flirt with me? Just him fucking talking directly to me will send me over the edge. I already hate the guy just because he smiled at me. Because he knew what I was.
Hate.
That’s a little over the top. I don’t hate him. I just hate how the smug arrogant bastard made me feel something. I’ve never wanted a person before, only used them to fulfill hormonal needs. That fucker had me wanting to know his favorite color and everything about him and I don’t do that shit. I’ve already witnessed Dima fall and that can’t be me. Especially for a man. Nobody here knows I love dick, which is stupid considering Lev and Dima love it too. But I can’t be open about it. Ever since I was caught with a boy as a young teen, the abuse I got conditioned me into keeping it hidden, and I’m unsure how to break free. It's not that I wish I wasn’t into guys. I just don’t know how to be open with it. You could say I’m a hypocrite considering I’m all about the truth, but this secret is sewn so deeply into every part of me that it doesn’t feel like lying.
Fucking hell, enough of the pity party.
I’m on shift tonight at Desire, which only means one thing. Sex. I can now officially say I’m bisexual. I like some girls, but not all. I fall higher on the scale of being attracted to men, but I get what I need from the girls. They know what this is and I'm attracted to a couple of them, so it gets things done. Until the urge is overwhelming enough to go track down a hot guy for the night. I have a routine and it’s pretty shitty when I think about it too much.
I need to leave in the next hour, so I make my way over to my wardrobe to select my outfit for the night. I live at the Kozlov mansion in one of the smaller rooms. Dima insisted I stay in one of the larger rooms upstairs, but I find the smaller space more comforting. It's what I’m used to. A larger room somehow makes me more claustrophobic when I’m on my own. Why? I have no fucking idea and the answer probably lies with a therapist, but I don’t care enough to find out. As long as I have a bed and access to a shower, I’m cool.
As usual, my dresscode is anything that is within the black shade. I might go wild and wear a white t-shirt or even gray, but dark and moody is my vibe. I put on a skin-tight black t-shirt that clings to my defined muscles and broad chest, highlighting the long prominent vein that runs down my right arm, along with my black pants with a leather belt. I have a few scattered tattoos that I’ve collected over the years. Only on my arms. I’m nothing like Lev who literally is an art canvas. I put on my two rings on my right hand, both silver, followed by my favorite bracelets, two black leather ropes and a silver chunky chain. I finish the look with my black leather jacket and quickly run my hands through my messy black hair. As I look in the mirror I study myself, happy with the look. I zero in on my eyes and study them, noticing the dullness in the brown pools. You always hear people talk about smiling with their eyes and I never have seen that in myself. I don’t think I have ever smiled with joy. Only laughed at other people's expense. Guess I’m a walking shell with no soul.
I walk out into the main entrance and grab the keys to one of the many cars the brothers own for us to use.
“Looking good, Si,” Jules says from behind me, just as my hand pushes down on the front door handle to leave. I turn and smirk.
“I always look good.”
Jules rolls his eyes but laughs. I like Jules. We’ve known each other for years, both being rescued by the brothers. He’s built like a wrestler and is a good guy. But the charming personality fools you, the guy can be a monster when pushed. We all can.
“Are you heading to your usual hideout?”
I frown. Hideout?
“What do you mean, hideout? I’m working at the club.”
Jules raises an eyebrow and my gut clenches. Another thing I forgot to mention about Jules is that he can read people. Is everyone suddenly a mindreader?
“You know you have nothing to prove, Si. But go do your thing and have fun. If you know what that word means,” he says, chuckling to himself as he turns to walk away toward the kitchen.
“Go fuck yourself, Jules,” I shout, ignoring his comment and making my way to the club.
As I walk inside, the familiar sounds and smells hit me and hold me in a reassuring hug. Hideout. Fucker. He’s got some balls calling me out. I know what he means. I drown myself in the fakeness of this club and the girls in it. It cuts my brain off and I can distract myself from the constant thoughts that fill my mind. Men. Or most recently. Carlos. Asshole. That should be his surname. Carlos Motherfucker Smug Asshole.
I walk over to the bar and greet Bonnie, the club manager.
“Hey baby, work and play tonight?” she asks, grinning as she pours a shot of tequila for a patron. Her thick curled brown hair tied up in a high ponytail.
“Always,” I say with my signature grin that's fake but effective as I lean on the bar. When she is finished serving she turns to face me.
“Usual?” she asks.