Too Dear for Deer

Chapter 1

1

SCOTT CAIRNS

The ocean off the coast of Miami bobbed our boat in a relaxing sway. The late-autumn sun bore down on us without a lot of heat, and it was a calm day for all kinds of activities—swimming, fishing, or killing a thief. We were fifty kilometers from land, and this was the perfect spot to finish what we’d started earlier in the day.

“Scotty, coppers are coming. Two klicks out.”

I stretched my shoulders and glanced in the direction Ransom had pointed his binoculars.

A large white vessel soared across the ocean toward us, its lights flashing on top. I straightened and shoved the fishing rod I held into the holder connected to the inside of our boat, then turned toward the three men with me, Ransom included.

“All right, fellas, you know how to play this.” I yanked open the minifridge and pulled out two beer cans, passing one to both Hashtag and Zombie before grabbing a bottle for myself. Ransom was our designated driver , or at least, that’s what we’d worked out for a cover story before we went hunting. In reality, we were all sober.

I tapped my foot on the hatch door in the middle of the floor. “This soundproof?”

Ransom leaned back against the side of the boat, arms crossed while shooting me a half smile. He reminded me a lot of his older brother, the kingpin of the Southern Hemisphere, Legend Sweeney. I’d only met Legend a few times, but it was more than enough, especially considering I’d worked for his enemies—the Italians—for a bit.

Wearing a white polo shirt, lairy boardies, and a pair of white thongs—or as the Yanks called them, flip-flops—Ransom looked all sorts of relaxed as he ran his hand through his gray-brown hair. The major difference between him and his brother was height. Legend was a big fucker, well over six and a half feet, while Ransom didn’t reach my six.

“Yeah, I made it for occasions like this. Plus, the fucker’s tied and gagged.”

He made a good point.

Hashtag rested back in the gray leather chair behind the wheel, taking a sip and popping his lips with an “aah.” The wind swept through his short dark hair, giving him the photogenic appearance that his fans on Instagram loved so much. He was classically handsome. Women—and men—ate him up on his social medias. There was a reason he’d gotten his nickname.

Zombie leaned against the opposite edge of the boat, rolling his shoulders. He stared toward the incoming cops, his cold gray eyes assessing the danger in silence. His long black hair fluttered in the ocean breeze, strands cascading over his slim shoulders. He glanced toward me, arching his scarred right eyebrow, and I gave him a short nod. If anything went south, he’d handle it.

My two American mates were complete opposites. They were life and death. Hashtag saved lives with his medical skills, while Zombie ended them.

I took a chug of my beer and winced. I’d been living in the United States for ten years, and I still hadn’t gotten used to the grog. I missed a good Great Northern from home—Australia—but I still drank whatever I could get my hands on. This time it was a Blue Moon because that was Hashtag’s favorite. Ransom and I were the only Aussies, while Hashtag and Zombie were both killing time in New York City, where I actually lived right now. I’d brought them with me to Miami to handle a situation.

The coppers slowed as they grew closer, sun reflecting across their white boat as they came to a stop beside us. As soon as they were near enough, I tilted my head at them. I counted two of them, both dressed in long-sleeved shirts—blue on the top half, black on the bottom—with a Miami PD badge printed on the upper left shoulder and their names on the right side.

“Officers.” I grinned at them. “How can we help?”

The bloke with short sandy blond hair and a pair of reflective green sunnies—his shirt said his name was OFC. N. Sherman —rested his hands on the ledge of his boat. “You English?”

I laughed. “Convicts. I’m Aussie, sir. This bloke here is, too.” I threw my thumb up toward Ransom.

“Visiting Miami?” Sherman asked, his shoulders relaxing, as though being Australian was reason enough for him to trust us. I almost laughed but chewed on my bottom lip to keep it in. If anything, I was professional.

“I am, sir. I live in New York and wanted to get away from the weather up there. I’m not used to the cold, if I’m being completely honest. Randy, here, lives in Miami.” I winked at Ransom, ignoring the flicker of annoyance on his face at the ridiculous cover name. He fucking hated it. “Thought we’d pay him a visit and do some fishing while we were here.”

The second cop, a short man with a bushy mustache and the name OFC. T. Masso printed on his shirt, laughed. “Good ole Miami. Our winters are nice, aren’t they?”

I joined in with his laughter. “Yes, sir, they are. They remind me of home. I might just move here.”

Sherman nodded, hooking his fingers on his utility belt. “We received an emergency call about someone screaming for help around this area.” He glanced at our surroundings; there wasn’t anyone but us. A boat had soared past earlier, and that was about the time we had our catch tied up and out in the open. He’d managed to get the tape on his mouth loose enough to let out a short burst of screams. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

I frowned and looked at the guys before shaking my head. “No, sir. We’ve been here for a few hours now, not so much as a bite. As you can see, there’s only us, and we don’t have a cabin or anything in this boat. Only our catch hatch.”

“Did you hear anything?” Masso asked.

“Not me.” I turned to the other guys. “What about you lot?”

The three of them shook their heads, all with murmurs of “no, sir.”

Masso nodded and straightened while his coworker did the same. “All right. Must’ve been an overreaction. Sometimes sounds are distorted on the water.”

“Sorry you came out here for nothing, sir.” I offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’d give you a beer, but I don’t want you to get in trouble on duty.”

They both chuckled while Sherman shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone wants to get caught drinking on the job. We’ll leave you guys to it.” He gestured at the fishing rod. “Good luck with that. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”

I gave them a two-finger salute as they headed back the way they’d come. We watched until they were nothing but a speck of dust on the afternoon horizon.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a pair of black gloves from one of the seats. I slid them on as I stomped to the hatch. Unlocking the door, I threw it open. Inside, Roger whined where he lay curled on his side, his wrists and ankles taped. He had a gag in his mouth and cried, wriggling.

Hashtag stood lazily and walked around the wheel. He pressed his hands to his knees as he crouched to stare down at Roger, his short dark hair catching in the breeze again. He gave me a crooked smile that his followers loved, those dazzling blue eyes his fans fawned over gleaming in amusement, and I shook my head, immune to his charm. No one loved Hashtag more than himself. He posted more selfies on his social media than anyone I’d ever met.

“What do you think, Boss?” Hashtag laughed. “Should we use him for bait?”

Roger whined, kicking his feet against the edge of the small space he was in. It was specifically made for catch, but Ransom had promised it was the perfect place for prey of a different kind until we got where we needed to go. He wasn’t wrong.

“Pwease. Pwease. I’m sowwy.” Roger was a mess, his greasy blond hair wet from sweat and sticking to his gaunt face, while his fuzzy beard was nothing more than a rat’s nest.

“Are you?” I tutted as I reached inside to grab the back of his collar, dragging him up onto the surface of the boat. He scrambled, nearly tumbling forward, as I threw him onto the floor. “You stole from me. You stole from Avery. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“Betrayed?” Zombie drawled, the setting sun casting a glow over his pale skin. How quickly did he burn? I’d never asked, but I suspected fast because he had the complexion of a vampire.

I snorted and opened one of the few tackle boxes Ransom had on his boat. We had to look the part, and no fisherman went anywhere without his gear. I snatched one of the hooks out—one of the bigger and heavier sizes—and spun toward Roger.

Zombie and Hashtag each seized one of his arms, and he jerked his head from side to side, watching them with wide eyes as he struggled. I stepped forward, pleasure at the thought of what I was about to do simmering low in my gut. I didn’t torture people often—I rarely had a reason for it—but when I did, the monster inside me peeked its head out from under the cage I built on top of him. I kept that side of me hidden, but sometimes he had to come out to play.

I ripped the duct tape off Roger’s mouth and yanked out the gag. He screamed, as though someone would hear him in the middle of the ocean. Tough luck for him. We were alone and lightning rarely struck twice.

“Are you done?” I asked cheerfully, when he finally shut up and his chest heaved. I grasped his bottom lip and tugged it out before jamming the hook through the delicate flesh.

The shriek that ripped from his throat was full of agony, and I closed my eyes to drink in the sound. My fingers tingled in excitement as his blood seeped down them and over the back of my gloved hand.

Hashtag and Zombie hauled him toward the edge of the boat as I snatched the biggest rod we had. I tied the line onto the hook, whistling as Roger whined and sobbed, blobs of tears streaking his dirty face. Snot accumulated at his nostrils.

When I was done attaching the line, I waved my hand, and the boys shoved Roger overboard with his wrists and ankles still taped together. He floundered in the water, screaming despite the hook through his lip, but he managed to grab the lower side of the boat, close to the motor. Luckily for him, it wasn’t turned on.

Roger shivered as blood oozed from where the hook stabbed his lip. He glanced around, worry flooding his gaze. “Shawks.”

“Really?” I chuckled and tugged the rod gently, just for him to feel the pull on his lip, and he wept. “I don’t give a flying fuck because the sharks were always meant to deal with you when I’m done.”

He sobbed harder. “What can I do? Pwease.”

“ Pwease , he says.” I rolled my eyes and passed the rod to Zombie. I leaned over the edge, closer to Roger. “Where’s the money you stole?”

He mumbled something I couldn’t hear, and I slammed a fist on his head. He screamed and let go of the boat, damned near drowning as he sucked in too much water and sputtered.

Zombie reeled in the line. Zombie would’ve ripped off Roger’s lip if he was any farther out.

Roger let out a mournful cry. “Pwease.”

“Where’s my cash, Rodge?” I shrugged. “Or you’re shark bait. If you tell me where it is without me asking again, I might be lenient.”

He scrunched his eyes shut, fingernails scraping the side of the boat. “I spent it. I’m sowwy.”

I huffed. Of course he fucking did. Why else would he have been on the streets of the city in a cheap-arse Florida-style Santa suit? He had the red boardies and Hawaiian shirt and everything. I shook my head.

“Let me tell you something.” I tapped him on the forehead. “Everyone thinks Avery’s the nice one. Club owner, pretty little sub, five foot two, a fake leg, missing fingers. They think he can’t hurt me . If it was up to Avery, he’d ask me to bring you back to St. Loren so he could deal with you, make an example of you. Any other day, I might’ve done that, but I’m feeling nice.”

Roger smiled hesitantly. Idiot thought I was going to let him go.

“I’m not taking you back to St. Loren. But I am going to make you regret stealing money while you worked for us.”

The smile disappeared and his eyes widened.

“The sharks are hungry, after all.” I grabbed the hook and yanked it, tearing his lip in the process. He howled in pain, but I didn’t give him a chance to argue before I shoved him away from the boat so he couldn’t grab on.

With his wrists and ankles tied, there was no way he could tread water. With the added weight of the Santa suit, he sank faster than an anchor. He struggled, but nothing was saving him now.

I waved. “See ya later, Roger boy.”

I straightened and opened my arms. “Let’s go home, fellas. The fish ain’t bitin’.”

* * *

Avery, my business partner and best mate, was many things—patient, pretty, and he was as obedient as a sub comes when he wanted to be—but he also had a filthy mouth.

“When I said I wanted to gut him like a fish, I didn’t mean for you to dump him into the bottom of the fucking ocean for shark food. Fucking hell, Scotty.” He grumbled more of his rant under his breath through the phone line, clearly unhappy. “I thought we were fucking mates.”

“We are,” I said nonchalantly, used to his temper tantrums. He really needed a good Dom to spank his arse more regularly.

I entered the lift in my building and jabbed the button for my floor. My apartment was second from the top in the tallest residential tower in New York City, and I paid a lot of money for it. In the sixty-five million range to buy. Sky High Tower was the place to live in the city, with an amazing view of Central Park, and it had its own restaurant for the tenants, ten different pools, a spa center, a tennis court on the hundredth floor, five gyms, and so much more. It was the perfect spot for me to conduct business and make connections.

“Then, why did you not bring him back to St. Loren? He stole money off us, and I wanted to teach him a lesson.” I could imagine his foot stomping.

I snorted out a laugh. “Because you make a mess, sweetheart. I don’t have the time for a cleanup. Killough’s called me in for a meeting tomorrow, and I can’t be jet-setting around the South a few days before.”

I couldn’t see him, but I could almost hear his eye roll. “Fuck him. You know all that bleach has rotted his brain and?—”

“Okay, enough. Christ, Avery, you’ve got a mouth on you. Does that Italian mobster you’re crushing on know about it?” I teased.

“Massimo Sabbatini’s straight,” he answered, without missing a beat, the same as all the other times I’d asked him about the Dom who’d caught his eye. “And I’m sweet as can be at the club, thank you. Unless someone causes issues.”

“Whenever you find a Dom, you are going to give them a surprise and a half.” The lift stopped on my floor, and I leaned down to let the biometric security scanner take a reading of my eye.

The lift doors opened, and I stepped out and straight into the entryway of the lounge room. People, other than myself, could only stop at my floor if they had a key card. Well, I suppose they also might try if they did something dire to me, but I didn’t want to go too far down that morbid mental path.

“It makes things interesting,” Avery said. “I need to find someone who can keep up with me.”

I chuckled. I didn’t think there were many men who had the power to dominate Avery. He was as cute as a button and had a penchant for wearing elf ears and being very mysterious, but he was also bratty, violent, and dangerous.

When we’d lived in Australia, he’d had a husband who’d decided he couldn’t deal with Avery and thought the only way to handle him was by feeding him to the crocs. As soon as I’d heard what the arsehole had done, I’d sped all the way to the local creek, grabbed Avery—or what was left of him—and took him straight to Legend Sweeney, begging for help. Sweeney set us up with a very confidential doctor, who wouldn’t run to Avery’s ex or the cops, and when Avery was healthy enough, Sweeney sent us to New York City under the agreement that I would use my ...expertise to help Sloan Killough, Sweeney’s ally. I didn’t know what Sweeney got in return and didn’t ask.

I made my way through the apartment. “I also need to make sure that whatever Dom you choose is good enough for you.”

Avery made a sound of disbelief. “Honey, platonic love of my life, best mate I could ever ask for, I am going to say this very delicately, but you need to get laid before you worry about me. It’s been months.”

I rolled my eyes as I dropped my briefcase on the marble kitchen island. “You got Hashtag and Zombie reporting back to you?”

“Hashtag. That guy gossips more than my nan ever did and that’s saying something.” There was the sound of a blender on the other side of the line, a sign he was probably making something for dinner. Avery had always been an amazing cook.

“I don’t need you or Hashtag to lecture me on finding someone to root.” I went into the lounge room and fell onto one of the white Italian couches before kicking off my shiny black shoes to relax even further. “I’m a busy man.”

“What are you making for Killough now?” he asked. “You’re only busy when you’re doing shit for him.”

“I’m not allowed to tell you that.” I smirked, knowing I’d piss him off by staying quiet. “Plastic bullets in a ghost gun to get through metal detection. Murphy says it can’t be done.”

“Ardan Murphy hates your guts. Nothing he says matters.”

I couldn’t agree more. Killough’s assassin had treated me as if I smelled foul from the moment I’d stepped through Killough’s mansion doors. I never made other people’s problems my own, though, so I shrugged it off and ignored him.

“What are your plans for tonight then?” The judgment was clear in Avery’s voice. “Let me guess. Beer, takeaway, and a crime reality show.”

I smirked and didn’t answer. He knew me like the back of his hand.

“You’re so boring, Scotty. You’re in New York City and it’s a Friday night. You haven’t had a sub since we were in Straya. Find yourself someone, even for a one-night stand. Get your cock wet. Woman or man. Just get laid.” He huffed. “Seriously. If you don’t, I’m going to hire a professional. I heard Killough’s got a few brothels around there.”

“All right. Bloody hell. I’ll go out, okay? For a few hours, I’ll find someone to suck my cock and then come home. Would that make you happy, Daddy?”

He laughed. “Oh, mate, you’re more of a Daddy than I am.”

I wasn’t. I didn’t do the whole Daddy kink, but I got where he was coming from. I stood and headed to my bedroom. “Goodbye, Avery.” I ended the call before he could retaliate.

I thought about lying and telling him I did everything I’d promised but shoved away the idea. He was right. I did need to get laid, even if I hated going out to find someone. My party days were over. I was forty-one years old and ready to relax into home and career life, not search for my One True Love, or in this case, One True Sub as Avery liked to call them.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find a person for anything but sex. Relationships were messy, and Killough always had me busy.

I dressed in a navy suit and left my apartment. It was an easy walk to the bar down the street. I could get a few drinks, maybe hit it off with someone who could suck my cock, and still have enough time to have a beer at home with my favorite show. Quick and dirty, what I preferred when it came to hookups.

A Class Above the Rest was one of a kind, full of rich older men trying to entice the local college girls from Manhattan Central U. There were all types in here, and the vibe of the bar suited their patronage. The décor was old school—all wood with a dark atmosphere, low music, and expensive drinks. The only difference since the last time I’d come was all the Christmas crap. Tinsel danced across the walls while lights blinked different colors along the back of the bar. A black tree with white lights and gold frippery stood in the right corner.

Otherwise, the place was the same as any other bar. There were women in short skirts and tops, who showed off their cleavage, and men pulling out wads of cash as though it was going out of fashion, but their off-the-rack suits gave away that they were show ponies with no real dough to spend.

I headed to the bar and took a seat at one of the stools. A young woman with rainbow hair and a lip piercing approached me, and she snorted when she saw who I was looking at—one of those guys with a stack of ten-dollar bills and a woman eating up every word he had to say.

“Even if they don’t catch their white whale, they get free drinks,” she said, as if she knew what I was thinking.

I chuckled. “And the idiot will be expecting something in return.”

“And she doesn’t have to give it, and he’ll be all women are dirty bitches for the rest of the night when she tells him to go to hell.” She rolled her kohl-lined eyes. “What can I get you, honey?”

“Any kind of beer, as long as it’s good.” I pulled out my phone and opened my mobile wallet. When she held out the pay pad, I tapped my phone and it beeped.

“Coming right up.” She winked and made her way down the bar again.

The crowd was buzzing, and as far as I was concerned, there were too many people, but I forced myself to sit still and not go home. I scanned the room, taking in any interesting sights, but there weren’t many. One bloke caught my eye, though.

Standing in front of an older man was a young guy wearing tight leather pants and a sheer black top. From where I sat, I could see his nipples under the low lights. He had longer dark hair that caressed the back of his neck and lips I could appreciate—the type that would look great wrapped around a hard cock. Leaning toward the older man, he smiled seductively and said something, but the other man shook his head and held up his palm, obviously not interested. That didn’t seem to dissuade him, though.

Curious, I grabbed the beer bottle when the bartender placed it in front of me and stood, making my way over there. I hovered behind the two men, lounging against the wooden wall and listening as much as I was able without drawing attention.

“Fucking a guy is no different than a woman,” the brunet said, voice airy. He had a Hollywood accent, very nondescript American. “You can pretend I’m one, I don’t care. Come on, I just need a chance to blow your mind and a little cash?—”

“I said fuck off. You’ve been around all night, trying to get into everyone’s pants. Just go away. Fucking hell.”

The brunet sighed and stepped back, but he tripped on something and would’ve fallen on his arse if I hadn’t wrapped an arm around his waist. He shot me a surprised glance, and I stared into the deep brown depths of his eyes. He was prettier than I’d expected, all pale skin, strong eyebrows, and a soulful gaze.

“G’day.” I grinned. “Why d’you need money? And don’t lie to me. I might be able to help.”