Chapter Seven
Torin
Torin followed Garett through the entrance of Cowpokes, his curiosity quickly giving way to shock as they stepped inside. The club’s interior was dimly lit, with red and purple lights casting an otherworldly glow over the space. The air was thick with a mix of leather, sweat, and a faint trace of incense. Music with a heavy bass line pulsed through the room, vibrating in his chest.
The patrons were dressed in an array of outfits that made Torin’s jaw tighten. Leather harnesses, corsets, and collars seemed to be the norm, while others wore far less. Some were adorned with chains that clinked softly as they moved, and a few carried riding crops or floggers as though they were accessories. Conversations buzzed around him, punctuated occasionally by sharp laughter or the smack of something hitting bare skin. Torin’s eyes darted everywhere, trying to take it all in without staring too long at anyone.
“Stick close,” Garett said over his shoulder, his tone calm but firm. Torin had no intention of wandering off. He stayed nearly glued to Garett’s side as they navigated through the crowd.
“What’s that long line for?”
“Look up at the stage. That’s Master Belle. Lots of the unattached subs line up and get spanked. Do you want to get in the line?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Torin saw a young man’s bare ass bright red from the spanking with a paddle over the knee. When he was done, another young man faced away from the audience, pulled his jeans down, and bent over.
“Place your hands behind your knees and hold them, boy!” Master Belle ordered.
He held the back of his knees as Master Belle picked up a cane, and whipped him five times; he screamed in pain at each blow.
“Maybe you might want to another night?” Garett teased.
“Why did he use a cane on one guy and a paddle on another guy?”
“He asks them what implement they want to be spanked with. No more than ten swats. You could say you want one swat over his knee.”
“I’m good. Showing my ass to everyone is not for me.”
Garett laughed at him in a good way and put his arm around his shoulders then he led him to a private room off to the side. The smaller space was furnished with padded equipment, an assortment of restraints neatly organized on the walls, and a cabinet stocked with various supplies. Garett methodically checked everything, ensuring the room was clean and all the equipment was in order. Torin hovered by the door, his hands jammed into his pockets as he tried not to touch anything.
“All good here,” Garett said, closing the cabinet with a decisive click. He turned to Torin. “Come on, let’s grab a drink.”
They made their way to the bar, where Garett ordered two Cokes. The bartender slid the glasses across the counter, and Garett handed one to Torin. They leaned against the bar, Garett’s posture relaxed while Torin’s was anything but. He could have used a strong drink, but he figured Garett didn’t drink on the job.
“What do you think?” Garett asked.
Torin took a sip of his drink, grateful for something to focus on. “I…I’m glad I’m wearing this,” he said, touching the collar around his neck. His voice was low, almost drowned out by the music. “The men here…they’re kind of scary looking.”
Garett chuckled, his expression softening. “They can be intimidating, sure. But the collar tells them you’re with me. They’ll respect that.”
Torin nodded, still keeping close to Garett as his eyes flicked around the room. The club was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and while it was overwhelming, he couldn’t deny a strange sense of safety standing next to Garett. As much as it unsettled him, he trusted Garett to guide him through it and protect them. Garett’s demeanor was direct and honest, with no hidden agendas or manipulative tactics. His words carried weight with Torin as well as with others. The way some of the younger guys looked up to him, with such admiration and respect, sent a pang of jealousy through him.
“What do these men do in those private rooms?” Torin asked.
“The Dom prepares a scene after talking to his sub, then they play.”
“Does the Dom chain him so he can’t get away?”
“If that’s what he likes. You should be aware of this kind of play before you jump into something you don’t know.”
“Are you going to take a guy into one of those rooms tonight?” Torin didn’t know if he wanted a Dom for a boyfriend, but he certainly didn’t want Garett to connect with anyone else. Looking at the guys in here, he wouldn’t be able to fulfill Garett’s secret desires, and he wasn’t ready to ask what they were.
“No. I will not be performing while you’re here with me. Right now, you’re more interesting to get to know than playing in a room. I’ll never make you feel left out.”
“Are we not having sex for a year?” Torin asked.
“Aren’t you healing from a broken relationship?”
“I didn’t say relationship. Sex? Or do old people need a relationship for sex?”
Garett leaned back, eyes closed, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he laughed at him. “You New Yorkers are something else.”
“Really? I just wanted an answer. I have this collar on, so no one will come near me here. If you’re with me all the time, how can I meet anyone?”
“You mend that broken heart first, learn your job, and gain my trust, then you’ll meet lots of guys, but not in here.”
Torin had to know where he stood with Garett, then he would look for someone if he wasn’t interested.
“How old do you think I am?”
“Probably fiftyish,” Torin teased.
“Wrong. Thirty-two.”
“Just kidding.”
Torin stood beside Garett at the bar, his fingers wrapped around the cool glass of his soft drink. He tried to look relaxed, but the weight of the unfamiliar environment pressed down on him. The club’s thrum of music and low chatter felt like a constant buzz in his ears. He shifted closer to Garett, finding some comfort in his steady presence.
A man approached, his silver hair catching the dim light and his leather outfit fitting him like a second skin. His sharp features and confident stride made it clear he was used to commanding attention. He stopped in front of Garett, a sly smile curling his lips.
“Garett,” the man said, his voice smooth and deep. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Mason,” Garett replied, his tone neutral. “What brings you here tonight?”
Mason laughed, his eyes gleaming. “Same as always. I’m on the lookout for a cute twink. Someone who’s eager to please.” His gaze shifted to Torin, and his smile widened. “And who’s this blond boy?”
Garett’s expression hardened. “He’s working for me.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I talk to him? Get to know him a little?”
“He’s not available. He belongs to me,” Garett said firmly as he pointed to Torin’s collar.
“You just said he worked for you. Why didn’t you say he was your sub?”
Torin’s cheeks burned at the possessive statement, but before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “You’re too old for me, anyway, Mason.”
Mason’s smile vanished, replaced by a frosty glare. “Rude,” he shouted over the music. “It’s sir to you, boy.” He turned to Garett and added, “You need to whip that boy into submission.” The man turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd.
Torin glanced at Garett, expecting his approval, but instead, he found Garett glaring at him with a hard, unreadable expression.
“What?” Torin asked.
“Be quiet,” Garett said, his voice low but firm. “No one asked for your opinion.”
Torin’s grip on his glass tightened, his frustration bubbling over. “Excuse me?” Torin cleared his throat. “You don’t own me, Garett.”
Garett turned fully to face him, his eyes narrowing. “When we’re here, you follow my lead. That’s how this works. Do you understand?”
Torin’s jaw clenched, his pulse pounding in his ears. “You can’t just treat me like some possession. I’m not one of those subs you can boss around.”
Garett sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Torin, this isn’t about control. It’s about keeping you safe. If Mason thought you were fair game, things could’ve gotten complicated. Next time, just let me handle it.”
Torin crossed his arms, still bristling but unable to argue with the logic. He muttered something under his breath and took another sip of his drink, determined not to give Garett the satisfaction of a full agreement. The tension between them lingered, heavy and unresolved, as the night wore on.
After checking more private rooms, Garett opened the door to another space to inspect its supplies. Torin trailed behind, his eyes flicking nervously around the club. As Garett examined the room, a young man approached them. He wore skintight shorts and a matching leather harness in place of a shirt, his pink hair styled into messy spikes. The guy ignored Torin completely, his focus fixed on Garett.
“Hey, Master Garett,” the young man said with a playful grin. “Think you’d have time to do a scene with me?”
Garett straightened and turned to him, his expression calm but firm. “I’m working right now, Cherry.”
The young man’s grin didn’t falter. “What about after closing, Sir? You’re always good to me.”
Before Garett could respond, Torin stepped forward, his chest tightening with irritation. He pointed to the black collar around his neck, the one Garett had given him. “Get lost, Pinky,” Torin said sharply. “Master Garett collared me. I’m his sub, and I don’t share my Dom.”
“My name is Cherry, not Pinky. smartass. I don’t know where you came from with that city accent.” The young man blinked, his grin fading into a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Master Garett,” he muttered, backing away quickly. “Didn’t realize he was with you and your sub.” He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Torin standing there, his heart pounding.
Torin’s temper flared again, but he bit back a retort, unsure if he was more annoyed with Garett or himself. The tension between them simmered, unspoken, as they continued through the club.
Garett turned to Torin, his expression expressionless but his voice firm. “We’re going to sit down and have a long talk about your behavior when we get home. You weren’t supposed to speak.”
Torin felt his stomach twist with rage. The young man’s dismissive attitude had already grated on him, making him feel invisible and insignificant, like he didn’t even exist. And now Garett was scolding him for standing up for himself. His jaw clenched as a storm of emotions churned inside him—humiliation, resentment, and a simmering fury that threatened to boil over.
He followed Garett through the rest of the inspections in stony silence, biting back every retort that burned on his tongue. By the time they left the club, Torin’s hands were balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The ride home was tense, the air thick with unspoken words. When Garett finally parked the truck, Torin shoved the door open, stomped out, and slammed the door, his anger radiating off him in waves.
He knew a confrontation was coming, and he was ready for it. Garett wanted to have a discussion about his behavior? Fine. Torin had plenty to say, and he wasn’t planning to hold back.