2. Marcus
“ C ome on, Marcus. When did you start behaving like an old man? ” Jacob whines to me down the phone.
I roll my eyes at his annoying tone, despite the fact he can’t see me. “I’m not old, I just have responsibilities.”
I resist the urge to remind him that he does also. But that’s not how I’m going to sort Jacob out. He’s already crippling under the pressure of said responsibilities, so highlighting that will only make things worse.
“Fuck responsibilities. We’re only twenty-eight-years-old, Marcus. We should be going out on a Friday night. We should drink too much, blow off steam, and fuck pretty girls, whose names we can’t remember the next day ,” he states, his voice raising in pitch as he no doubt becomes more animated on the other end of the phone.
I may not be able to see him, but I know Jacob well enough to be able to picture the way he’s animatedly waving his hands around.
I want to remind him that we actually spent most of our late teens and early twenties doing exactly that. Though our fathers made the responsibilities we were born with clear, they also knew what the pressure of being an heir was like. They too had been pressured by their fathers before they were ready.
As a result, and a bit of pushing from our mothers when we were born, it was always agreed that we wouldn’t be forced to work for the family business until we’d completed all of our education. And since we didn’t really need the university degrees we were studying for, we made the most of being young, rich, single students while we could.
I threw myself into my role after I graduated, but Jacob has never really wanted to let go of the freedom we had as students. Hence, the night out he’s trying to drag me along to.
I’ve been working all day, in and out of boring meeting after fucking boring meeting. And I didn’t even get to hurt anyone, which meant the whole day dragged. I want nothing more than to go home, drink some good quality whiskey, and do fuck all. But that’s not going to help with my assignment to straighten out Jake.
Oh, and taking him to a bar and getting fucked up alongside him will really help with the plan , I think to myself rather unhelpfully.
“I have an important meeting tomorrow, so I can’t get shit-faced,” I tell him with a sigh.
A loud whoop echoes through the phone, causing me to wince. “Yes! It’s been far too long since we had a proper good night out.”
I want to point out that we went to a bar just last week, and we meet up every month for our poker nights, that always end with us both consuming way too much alcohol. But I know that’s not what he means, and I immediately set about fixing his expectations.
“Don’t get too excited, Jake. I’ve agreed to come out, but this won’t be a night out like when we were younger. I don’t plan on drinking so much that we need to get our stomachs pumped. And your father will lose his fucking mind if you come home with a stolen, bright-orange traffic cone on your head again,” I remind him.
The way my best friend chuckles tells me he doesn’t look back on those incidents with the same feelings I do. “He’d still prefer that than the time I was brought home in a cop car.”
I groan, remembering how furious both our fathers were about that. Jake was the one who got arrested for getting his dick out and pissing in an alleyway. I got into trouble for not stopping him.
“We were just lucky the cop who found you was on our fathers’ payroll, or the outcome may have been really different.”
Jacob snorts. “Every cop is on their fucking payroll.”
He’s not wrong. Sometimes, I think this is exactly the reason why Jake is as unruly as he is—there are no consequences for his actions. His father may yell and scream, or punish him in some way, but that’s of no consequence to him. He knows the one real punishment would be to take away his role as heir…and that would be a prize for him, not a punishment.
“Even so, I don’t want any trouble tonight. In fact, we’ll go to Caged, so we can’t cause any problems,” I reply.
Jake’s groan echoes loudly down the phone, sounding more like a petulant teenager than a guy who’s not far off turning thirty. “Do we have to go to your club? You’ll just end up working. Plus, Maximus banned me from fucking any more of the girls who work there.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes again. “That was me, not my father, and I did it because every time you fuck them and never call them, it causes issues for us. We’ve not had to replace as many girls since we put the rule in place.”
“It wasn’t that fucking bad,” he grunts.
It really fucking was. “Mindy and Giselle tore fucking chunks out of each other’s hair fighting over you, and neither of them realised you couldn’t remember either of their names.” I remind him, shuddering as I think of how truly brutal women can be towards each other when the green-eyed jealousy monster grabs hold of them.
“I still don’t know who they are. But you should be thanking me for identifying your crazy staff members for you,” he states casually, not caring how much he must have hurt the girls involved.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been known to fuck a girl, not know her name, and not give a shit that I’ll never see her again. But the difference is…I make my intentions very clear from the beginning. No names, no feelings, and no repeats. If she can’t handle that from the off, I walk away. There will always be some woman who’ll agree to my terms, and sticking by that means nobody has any expectations that can’t or won’t be met.
“Whatever,” I reply dismissively. “I’ll meet you at Caged at ten?”
“Fine,” he grumbles.
“Oh, and Jake?” I say, grabbing his attention before he can hang up. “No fucking drugs.”
“Fu—”
I hang up the phone before Jake goes into a full blown rant. I’m not sure agreeing to a night out is the best way to work on Jake’s issues, but it’s as good a place to start as any. Though I’m sure my father will disagree.
I need to make sure I come up with an actual plan and quick, as I know he’ll ask me for the details soon. And right now, I have fuck all.
I arrive at the club by nine, even though I don’t need to get there until ten. Honestly, even though this is supposed to be a night off, I can’t help getting there early to check in with my staff.
Caged is just one of the legal establishments that we own, but it happens to be one of my favourites. It’s the only one I’ve made sure remains completely free of any illegal activity, so when I choose to retire, I’ll have a solid income. Not that I’ll be able to retire until I have an heir to take my place, but thinking about the future is depressing.
Even just a fleeting thought of needing an heir sours my mood. I don’t want kids. Why the hell would I want to bring a child into this world, and subject them to the same shit upbringing that I experienced?
If I were to ever have a child, I’d never want them to hate me the way I do my father, but that’s an inevitable outcome if they’re born with the same responsibilities on their shoulders.
Besides, to have an heir, I’d need to have a wife. The thought of a Morelli bastard would have all my relatives turning in their graves. No child with the Morelli name will ever be born out of wedlock, no matter how fucking archaic that might seem.
If I knock a girl up, I’ll have to marry her for life. We don’t do bastards or divorce. Which is why I always wear a condom, and no matter how much it pains me, I never come inside them. I pull out and take the condom with me.
After hearing horror stories growing up about how women could use my cum to trap me, the fear was enough to make sure I never allowed that to happen.
Why any woman would want to be tied to me, to this lifestyle, is a fucking mystery to me. Yes, I have a fuck load of money, and I’m not exactly bad looking, but there’s a dark side to my life.
The dark, broody, bad boy image pulls women in, but that’s all superficial. My life is full of danger and overwhelming expectations, and any woman by my side would be expected to fall in line with those. No matter how hot or rich I am, why would any self-respecting woman want that?
As I wander around my club, I take pride in how well the place runs, even without me there to keep an eye on things. The club is packed with people already, and everyone appears to be having a good time.
Everywhere I look, my staff appear to be doing their jobs. The guys behind the bar are making drinks with a smile on their faces as they chat to the customers. The DJ is playing a set that has the club pumped, and people are already grinding on the dance floor.
My security staff are blending into the background, like they’re not really even present, but the lack of trouble lets me know they’re doing exactly what I pay them to do.
Then there’s the dancers. The reason the club is called Caged is because there are cages all around the room, each with a different dancer inside. Some of the cages are big enough to fit two people in them, and they’re more for putting on a show.
There’s even one large cage to the side of the mini stage with a pole inside it. Needless to say, there’s always a lot of eyes on that cage in particular.
It’s not just half naked women dancing in the cages either. There are men too, as I like to appeal to all of our audience members. Most like to see a man and a woman dancing together in the big cage. There’s something very sexy about watching another couple lose themselves in each other during a sensual dance.
I didn’t want Caged to be just another stripclub that only attracted certain types of people. I wanted it to be a club everyone would want to come to, and to do that, I had to try and appeal to everyone. It didn’t take long for Caged to develop a reputation, and as a result, there’s always a line around the corner of people desperate to get in.
Miles follows closely behind me, keeping an eye on our surroundings, doing his job at all times. With the amount of security staff I have in this place, I’m probably the safest I’ll ever be, but that doesn’t mean Miles will relax.
He’s my Head of Security for a reason, and the only person I really trust to watch my back at all times, particularly when I have a few drinks and am more vulnerable.
I drop back a step until I’m in line with Miles, and he leans in closer to me, knowing I’m trying to talk to him over the noise of the club.
“Don’t let me drink too much tonight. And make sure I’m home by one. We have that meeting in the morning.”
A smile crosses his face and he chuckles. “You think Jake’s going to try and get you pissed?”
I grimace. “I know he is. He’ll probably try and talk you into it too.”
Miles simply shakes his head. Although Miles is one of my best friends, his role as my security takes precedence over our friendship. If he were joining us as a friend, he’d make sure to have someone else take over as our security. But if there’s no other security, he’d never abandon his role—no matter how much Jake might try .
“I’m here to work tonight. I’ll make that clear to him, if he asks, but we both know he won’t.”
“If you wanna call another member of security in and take the night off with us, you can,” I reply, cursing myself a little for not offering sooner.
I gloss over his comment about Jake not asking him to join us. I gave up trying to work out what is going on between them a long time ago.
We all used to be friends in school, then our final year of high school, something changed between them, and now they’re cordial around me, and ignore each other when I’m not there.
Miles shakes his head to decline. “No, the meeting tomorrow is a big one, and you have your poker night too. I can’t deal with all that if I have a hangover.”
Miles is repeating everything I said to Jake, about how I want to be firing on all cylinders for the big day we have planned tomorrow. It’s nice that Miles understands, as I know Jake will give me shit for saying things like that the minute he arrives. He enjoys shirking his responsibilities.
“That’s exactly why I need you to make sure Jake doesn’t try to lead me astray,” I grumble, knowing the effect Jacob can have on me.
We’re both competitive, and he knows that all he needs to do is make something into a game and I’m all in. But I can’t be led down that path tonight.
“I can keep a leash on you well enough, but I’ve never been able to tame Jacob,” he replies, a gleam in his eye that hints at something more than he’s saying.
Jacob seems to go out of his way to wind Miles up, and sometimes, Miles’ determination to not be rattled annoys Jake even more than when they argue. Though, when they fight, it gets heated quickly, and I’ve had to break them up on more than one occasion.
“I don’t pay you enough to tame Jake. Though I do need to come up with a plan to get him to stop fucking around,” I grumble, admitting to my friend that I’m no closer to finalising a plan than I was before.
We spend the next hour hashing out some ideas for how I might be able to get Jake to grow up. Admittedly, Miles’ suggestion of kidnapping him until he detoxes might not be the worst plan we’ve come up with—which says a lot about the rest of our shit ideas.
I’m on my second Jack Daniels and Coke—and my last—when I notice Miles’ face slip into a grimace, muttering a curse under his breath. I turn in my chair and follow the direction of his gaze, trying to find what it is that has him looking so uncomfortable.
He’s looking at the entrance to the club, where Jacob has just walked in with his usual cheeky smile and assured swagger. But I know that’s not what caught Miles’ eye. He’s looking at the girl who is standing a couple of paces behind Jacob.
Dressed in the shortest, tightest black dress that shows off her shapely arse and tits, and the most sultry red lips, is Chloe Santoro. My dick twitches at the sight of her, and it only takes me a few seconds to realise why Miles is so on edge.
Chloe already looks drunk, swaying on her ridiculous high heels, and she’s catching the attention of every man in the room.
My anger rises at the same time my cock does. Miles knows as well as I do, I’m going to end up getting into a fight tonight.
Whenever Chloe lets loose, I always end up having to stop her from doing something stupid.
She can hate me for it all she wants, but she’ll thank me tomorrow when she doesn’t have to make the walk of shame from some twat’s house, while her father lectures her about responsibility.
I tell myself—and Miles—that the only reason I look out for her is because of the peace treaty, and the fact that Jacob is my best friend. He’s too off his face to look out for her, so I do it for him.
Regardless of how many times I repeat that to myself, and to anyone who asks, it always sounds like a lie.
No matter how much I want to hate her, or how off-limits she is, there’s something about Chloe that pulls me to her. It’s a part of me I push down as far as I can, choosing to opt for the easy, obvious explanation instead.
Why is it we always crave something when we know it’s forbidden?