Chapter One #2
“Yes,” Franklin rushed out, helpless to do anything else. “I paid Kershaw.”
“And what do you intend to pay Cameron to do if you succeed in tracking him down?” Arslan demanded.
Franklin tried to meet Arslan’s gaze and hold it, but it was damn near impossible to outstare a man who didn’t appear to need to blink.
As the seconds passed, it was all Franklin could do to hold his ground when his body begged him to take several rapid steps back. “That would be between myself and Caramel,” he managed to say. Habit held him in good stead. The words were neither as weak nor uncertain as he feared they might be.
Arslan made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat as he spun away from him. “Humans!”
Arslan ran his fingers through his sub’s hair as he re-joined him, perhaps in apology for insulting his boy’s species, perhaps not.
Franklin turned toward Kefir as he automatically sought out a weaker link to bargain with.
“You’ve seen him recently?” the little lion asked, his tone as mild as ever.
“A few weeks ago,” Franklin admitted.
“Where?” There was nothing mild about the way Ellery barked out his question.
Franklin considered his options. Searching for Caramel on his own wasn’t working. Would it really be such a bad idea to use this pride to track him down? They couldn’t do any worse than the private detectives Franklin had already invested a fortune in.
“In a night club on the other side of town,” he replied.
Within minutes, Kefir and Ellery had a whole selection of maps and notebooks spread out across the table on the far side of the room, and they were both pouring over them with Franklin.
The other shifters and their mates moved around them, tucking into the plates full of food that had been nudged to one side.
But, as the other lions turned their attention to conversations on other matters, Franklin stayed at the table with Kefir and Ellery.
When Ellery finally undid his cuffs so he could help them sort through the papers, Franklin found himself in his element. Putting together the clues wasn’t that different to putting together a business deal, and Franklin knew how good he was at those.
Kefir and Ellery had already done most of the grunt work.
No doubt they would be far from pleased when they discovered he had no intention of sharing Caramel with the pride when they finally found him.
Franklin gave a mental shrug and turned all his attention to the notebook where Kefir had neatly listed all the places that the dancer might be.
Their hurt feelings weren’t his problem. And, anyway, in his experience, there were few things that wouldn’t be forgiven if a man threw enough money at the offended parties.
* * * * *
Bastard!
Cameron let out a snarl as the atmosphere in the club changed around him.
The stripper who’d been getting changed next to him, almost fell over his own feet as he tried to pull on his trousers and scurry away at the same time. But Cameron barely spared a glance at his rapidly retreating colleague.
He was back.
Cameron’s claws crept out as the man’s presence filled his senses. He shouldn’t be here. He should have been back in that other club, the one Cameron had left specifically because he couldn’t bear to sense the man in the audience again. The man shouldn’t be here. It was wrong, and—
Cameron’s thoughts faltered as something else tugged at the edge of his senses.
Lions!
It had been so long since he’d been in the presence of another shifter, Cameron almost doubted himself.
Almost. But a man didn’t survive long working in clubs like that, or dealing with the kind of men who liked to buy more than a dance off the performers, if he wasn’t willing to trust his instincts and learn how to spot the warning signs.
Cameron always knew when the guy watching him dance was about to reach for his wallet.
And he could tell when the man who’d paid for the pleasure was going to reach for a whip, too.
He’d learned how spot when a punter was going to turn out to be one of those guys who delighted in seeing his friends beat the hell out of the boy whose body he’d purchased for the night, too.
But, for all he’d learned about humans, Cameron still bloody well knew when he was in the presence of other lions.
“Caramel—you’re on next! Move your—”
Spinning around to face the dressing room door, Cameron bared his teeth as he let out another snarl. The backstage manager retreated several stumbling paces. He only stopped when his shoulders hit the wall on the other side of the narrow corridor.
He pressed himself against the stained paintwork as Cameron stormed past him, heading straight for the scruffy curtain that separated the brightly lit stage from the shadowy world that existed behind it. He reached it just in time to see the last performer rush through the ragged gap in the velvet.
Sweat streaked his skin, dampening the notes that had been pushed into the strips of leather buckled around his limbs.
“The guys at table three are generous,” he rasped, more than a little out of breath after his performance.
“Table five’s drunk and even grabbier than usual.
The top table is just bloody well weird. ”
On another night, Cameron might have paid attention to any information another dancer was willing to share with him. Right then, with anger pounding through his veins, he couldn’t bring himself to care if the whole room was packed with sadists and skinflints.
Roughly thrusting aside the curtain, Cameron strode out onto the stage. Halfway down the raised platform, he stopped and stood perfectly still in the crosshairs of the spotlight.
The DJ in the booth on the far side of the club let the music play for a full thirty seconds before he seemed to realise that Cameron wasn’t dancing to his tune that night.
A harsh electronic sound shot through the speakers. The song died. Sudden silence invaded the room. Even the other employees at the club stopped serving the customers and turned their attention to Cameron.
Cameron barely noticed that. He only had eyes for the shifters.
The top table—the weird guys who’d freaked out the other dancer so much—Cameron should have guessed that was where the lions would be sitting. Cameron tilted back his chin, refusing to show any weakness before them.
Even from across the room, he could see everything in their expressions and their body language. Neither the pity they felt for him, nor their contempt, could have been clearer if they’d been nose to nose, claw to claw.
And they’d known he would be there. Cameron didn’t question that fact—not when every instinct he possessed screamed it at him. They’d known he would be there, and they’d all come to the club anyway.
They’d come there to see a lion dance for the humans, to shake his arse for their loose change and to whore himself out to the highest bidder at the end of the night.
Cameron’s gaze went from one lion to the next, skimming over any non-shifters who sat with them, until his attention finally fell upon the one human whose presence he’d been trying to ignore ever since he stepped onto the stage.
The man sat at the same table as the lions, but he’d moved his chair slightly away from them, as if he didn’t consider himself to be part of their group.
At least, there was no pity in that particular man’s eyes.
He was all lust, all desire—and not just to screw a pretty dancer, but a desire to buy, to own, to possess someone completely.
Cameron had learned how to spot the men who didn’t just pay for it because they had to, years ago.
He ran gaze over the man, from the neatly cut brown hair, over his expensive suit, all the way down to his handmade shoes.
It was obvious that the guy wouldn’t have any trouble getting laid in any club for free.
He was young and hot, and the only reason someone like him would choose pay for it was because he liked the control it gave him, because he liked the power to be able to order the man he’d bought to do whatever he wanted.
Dragging his gaze away from him, Cameron turned his attention back to the pride of lions. If they wanted to see a show, fine. He’d give them a show.
Closing his eyes, Cameron let the music start up inside his mind, picking up just where it had left off in reality.
Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, he started to rock his hips.
The DJ wasn’t an idiot, and he’d worked in those kind of clubs long enough to become good at his job.
He spotted the rhythm. Within moments, real music crept into the air to match what was playing inside Cameron’s head.
Cameron let his hips thrust forward a little more obviously as he reached for the hem of his t-shirt and ran his fingers along its edge. The music was starting to seep deeper into him now, coaxing his heart to beat a little more steadily, even as it led his hips to move more freely.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around the tables spaced out throughout the room. Pair after pair of entranced eyes peered up at him. Cameron’s lips twitched into a bitter little smile. This was how a guy survived in clubs like that—by showing the punters who was boss right from the start.
Stepping forward, Cameron lethargically pulled the tight white t-shirt up over his head and tossed it behind him onto the stage. Every eye in the club followed him. Another pace forward, and he left one battered trainer behind. His second shoe slipped off his other foot a moment later.
A silver pole was anchored firmly into the boards two thirds of the way down the stage.
By the time he was a yard and a half away from it, part of Cameron was willing to believe that night was no different to any other.
The rhythm of the music sped up another notch, and, right then, he wasn’t Cameron, he was Caramel, and he owned the whole damn world.