Chapter 20
Archer
I’m restless tonight. There’s no fight on the schedule. Freya had to get to bed early to assist on a catering job tomorrow morning. Julian is working at the club. I don’t have a damn thing to do, and I’m still riding the high from that date last night and restaurant shopping today.
Freya: I can’t stop thinking about the third property we saw today. The one in Montmartre.
Smiling down at my phone on the Métro, I type out my response.
Archer: It was the magic of that blow job I watched you give Julian.
Freya: Who, me? I would never.
Julian: Yes, you would. And you did.
Archer: So is number three the one?
Freya: I think so.
Freya: I’m nervous.
Julian: I could see you in that one. It was perfect for you.
Freya: Let me sleep on it. This still feels surreal.
Archer: My brother-in-law is a business consultant. I can have him run some numbers for us. He’ll give you all the advice you need.
Freya: Really? That would be amazing.
Archer: I’ll give him a call.
Freya: You’re the best.
Freya: I should get some sleep. I have to work at seven tomorrow.
Archer: Sweet dreams, Chef.
Once the text message thread dies, I open up a message to my brother. My fingers hover over the keys before typing. Is it wrong of me to ask for business help when I’ve hardly spoken to them in months?
Admittedly, I suck at this family stuff. I don’t call my parents enough. I don’t stay in touch with my brother or his family. I haven’t spoken to my sister in forever.
Sometimes I worry that they all took it personally when I scattered to the winds at eighteen. It wasn’t personal. I love them all. I just don’t like feeling…tied down. And it’s like that’s all they want to do.
Stay, Archer.
Come home, Archer.
Call us, Archer.
The more they try to drag me back in, the more I feel myself pulling away.
My brother might be pissed at me for asking for a favor without ever staying in touch, but it’s not like Nash is the shining star of familial relationships. The thirty-year age difference between us didn’t make it easy for either of us.
Archer: Hey. I have a friend opening a new restaurant, and I’m going to help her. Think Ellis could give me some numbers and tips?
It’s after ten at night, but if I know my brother, he’s still up. And when the typing bubbles pop up a moment later, I’m proven right.
Nash: I’m sure if you ask him, he will. He’s asleep right now.
Nash: Who’s this friend?
My leg bounces as I read his response.
Archer: Just a friend.
I lie, and I don’t know why.
Nash: How’s Paris?
I can practically feel the walls forming around me as my brother pries into my personal life. My dad never asks about my life, or at least not anymore, since I bit his head off and told him to back the fuck off.
But Nash has sort of been more of a dad to me anyway. Easier to talk to. Easier to impress. Easier to love.
My dad just…tries too hard.
It’s like he’s constantly trying to make up for what happened with the son he lost.
Archer: Fine. Boring, actually. I think I’ll take off soon.
Nash: The door’s always unlocked in Amsterdam. We’d love to have you back.
Archer: Thanks.
Archer: I’ll call Ellis tomorrow.
Nash: Call any of us. Anytime.
Nash: Love you.
My teeth clench, and my eyes sting. What the fuck is he doing? That one line is laced with accusation—I can feel it. Blaming me for leaving. For not coming around more. For not being a good enough brother or son.
Without typing a response, I shove my phone in my pocket, letting Nash’s last text go unanswered.
Glancing up at the stop on the Métro, I notice we’re in Montmartre, so without knowing why, I jump off before the doors can close. I have no real destination tonight. I just know I don’t want to be alone in my apartment.
Rex is on a date, so I don’t want to bug him. And I won’t get into any fights without him. I may be reckless, but I’m not that stupid.
Instead, I reach the city street level and pull out my phone, letting my feet guide me without fully accepting where it is I’m heading. I’m not even sure I can get in, so it’s a mystery why I even bother.
But within about five minutes, I’m standing in front of a discreet city club, the red letters above the door displaying the word Legacy.
Call me curious, but I just want to see where he works. Is that so wrong of me? I know he’s in there. I could text him if I wanted to and ask him to get me in. But that would be too eager.
Walking up to the bouncer at the door, I try to play it cool.
“Votre carte de membre?” he asks. When I wince, he asks, “Do you have a membership card, sir?”
“No,” I reply. “I can’t just get in?”
He opens the glass door. “You can request a one-night pass at the hostess stand. If they’re not all out for the evening.”
“Thanks,” I mutter in response as I proceed through and into the lobby. Music plays behind the thick black curtains, and there’s a cacophony of voices. From here, it sounds like any other bar or club.
There’s a short line of people waiting to get cards, so I stand behind them, awkwardly shuffling my feet. This is stupid. Reckless. The right thing to do would be to ask Julian if I can visit him at work, not just show up unannounced.
But I’m in a mood. It was that text conversation with my brother that set me on edge. Now it feels like I’ve got something to prove.
Like…I’m not in a relationship. Julian’s not my boyfriend. Freya’s not my girlfriend. I’m not tied to either of them, and I can come and go anywhere, anytime I please.
Even in my head, it all feels wrong. That’s not how I want things to be with them at all. What is wrong with me?
Maybe I’ll feel better once I see him.
So text him, you idiot.
“Can I help you?” The young woman behind the booth calls me forward.
“Uh, yeah. Can I get a night pass?”
“We have a few left. It’s two hundred euros for the night, and I’ll need some information from you first.”
She passes me an iPad with some questions on it that I quickly fill out before handing her my credit card. The list of rules I have to agree to are impressive. No phones. No fighting. No drugs or outside alcohol. Condoms are mandatory.
Then it goes through some quick guidelines about consent and best practices.
Nice job, Jules.
After signing it, I hand it back to her, and she offers me a selection of wristbands to choose from. Each are labeled. I pick up a green one and inspect it.
“That means you’re open to playing with anyone,” she says with a polite smile.
“Uh, sure,” I reply before slipping it on my wrist.
“Have fun,” she adds before I lift the black curtain and walk into the club.
I scope for Julian immediately, glancing behind the bar, around the tables, and up toward the second level, where it appears some windowed rooms overlook the club.
I pass by the bar and find the elevator that leads to the lower level. It makes me chuckle to myself, because of course Julian would have an elevator in his club.
“I’ll take the stairs,” I say to the security guard stationed next to it. After showing the pass to the bouncer, he lets me into the stairwell, and I jog down, eager for what I’ll find on the other side of the curtains here.
Another sign above the entrance says Legacy, and I slip through to a completely different vibe.
This is nothing like upstairs. The first thing I see is a woman with a pair of beautiful breasts with silver tassels hanging from her nipples.
She’s a server, delivering drinks to a table.
On the stage, there’s a pretty man with thick black eyeliner and glossy pink lips dancing in and out of a large birdcage.
Tearing my eyes away, I start to look for Julian again. This time, I feel a bit more anxious about it. If he finds me here, not just in his place of work but here, he’s going to be pissed at me. I’m overstepping. This feels intimate. Secret. Forbidden.
And yet at the same time, I’m even more desperate to find him.
I meander through the club, watching the different crowds and couples. None of them are Julian. And he’s nowhere to be seen. When I reach a doorway into a room that appears to be some sort of BDSM demonstration section, I veer away. He’s not in there. I can feel it.
Then I turn and find the back wall of the club with a large iron gate attached to it. And attached to that gate are a handful of people, and each of them is getting fucked within an inch of their lives.
Immediately, I know what this is.
My jaw drops as I watch it all unfold. One man is going down on another, whose arms are in leather cuffs above his head. There’s a woman getting railed from behind. And two girls, one bound while the other explores her body with her lips and hands.
So this is what Julian likes. This is his kink.
My cock was already hard in my pants before I found this, but now it’s throbbing painfully. Not just because of the displays of sex but because the idea of him doing this…turns me on like nothing else.
If I told him he could have free rein with me, what would that look like? Waking up with his dick inside me? Going down on him at dinner, my head under the table while he eats?
Reaching down, I adjust my cock in my pants. I really need to find him now.
Spinning around, I barrel right into someone. Putting out my hands to steady them and apologize, my blood runs cold the moment my eyes collide with Julian’s.
“What the fuck…” he mutters before glancing around suspiciously as if someone might be watching him.
“Hey,” is all I can manage at this moment.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came looking for you,” I reply.
“Why?”
My mouth opens, and no words come out. The simple answer: to get off.
The more complicated, harder-to-explain answer: because I get the feeling that with Julian, I can be myself. I don’t want to have to paste a smile on and be gentle and funny and happy all the time. With Julian, I want to be rougher, harder, and really let go.