1. SIMON #2
Fucking hate surprises, good or bad. I hate anything associated with lovey-dovey bullshit.
I hate Christmas, actually I hate all holidays.
And people. To be honest there isn’t much I fucking like that doesn’t put me in a mood.
Maybe not experiencing any form of happiness in my life has turned it into an allergy.
Show me a smiling morning person and I wanna punch them in the face.
That's why I fit in here with the boys, we’re the same.
Life has no filter here, no rose-colored tinted glasses, it's raw, painful and bloody. Zero masks. But I’m not dumb, I know most people in the world aren’t like that.
I think the world would be chaos without masks and lies.
Who could deal with truth and brutal honesty one hundred percent of the time?
It would be a disaster. Humans require actors in their lives, to portray feelings that are lies just to give security and reassurance.
People being optimistic and looking for the good.
Feeling the need to do good things just to make themselves feel better.
Burying their inner thoughts and desires that if given the opportunity, without consequence, they could be honest about.
Could end those that have wronged them. It's a prison. But a safe prison, as they need to be protected from themselves, and I don’t judge.
Well, I judge a little, but that’s me being honest. I don’t doubt when I inevitably meet Carlos again, he will say something to me.
Tease me? Flirt with me? Just him fucking talking directly to me will send me over the edge.
I already hate the guy just because he smiled at me. Because he knew what I was.
Hate.
That’s a little over the top. I don’t hate him .
I just hate how the smug arrogant bastard made me feel something.
I’ve never wanted a person before, only used them to fulfill hormonal needs.
That fucker had me wanting to know his favorite color and everything about him and I don’t do that shit.
I’ve already witnessed Dima fall and that can’t be me.
Especially for a man. Nobody here knows I love dick, which is stupid considering Lev and Dima love it too.
But I can’t be open about it. Ever since I was caught with a boy as a young teen, the abuse I got conditioned me into keeping it hidden, and I’m unsure how to break free.
It's not that I wish I wasn’t into guys.
I just don’t know how to be open with it.
You could say I’m a hypocrite considering I’m all about the truth, but this secret is sewn so deeply into every part of me that it doesn’t feel like lying.
Fucking hell, enough of the pity party.
I’m on shift tonight at Desire, which only means one thing.
Sex. I can now officially say I’m bisexual.
I like some girls, but not all. I fall higher on the scale of being attracted to men, but I get what I need from the girls.
They know what this is and I'm attracted to a couple of them, so it gets things done. Until the urge is overwhelming enough to go track down a hot guy for the night. I have a routine and it’s pretty shitty when I think about it too much.
I need to leave in the next hour, so I make my way over to my wardrobe to select my outfit for the night.
I live at the Kozlov mansion in one of the smaller rooms. Dima insisted I stay in one of the larger rooms upstairs, but I find the smaller space more comforting.
It's what I’m used to. A larger room somehow makes me more claustrophobic when I’m on my own.
Why? I have no fucking idea and the answer probably lies with a therapist, but I don’t care enough to find out.
As long as I have a bed and access to a shower, I’m cool.
As usual, my dresscode is anything that is within the black shade.
I might go wild and wear a white t-shirt or even gray, but dark and moody is my vibe.
I put on a skin-tight black t-shirt that clings to my defined muscles and broad chest, highlighting the long prominent vein that runs down my right arm, along with my black pants with a leather belt.
I have a few scattered tattoos that I’ve collected over the years.
Only on my arms. I’m nothing like Lev who literally is an art canvas.
I put on my two rings on my right hand, both silver, followed by my favorite bracelets, two black leather ropes and a silver chunky chain.
I finish the look with my black leather jacket and quickly run my hands through my messy black hair.
As I look in the mirror I study myself, happy with the look.
I zero in on my eyes and study them, noticing the dullness in the brown pools.
You always hear people talk about smiling with their eyes and I never have seen that in myself.
I don’t think I have ever smiled with joy.
Only laughed at other people's expense. Guess I’m a walking shell with no soul.
I walk out into the main entrance and grab the keys to one of the many cars the brothers own for us to use.
“Looking good, Si,” Jules says from behind me, just as my hand pushes down on the front door handle to leave. I turn and smirk.
“I always look good.”
Jules rolls his eyes but laughs. I like Jules. We’ve known each other for years, both being rescued by the brothers. He’s built like a wrestler and is a good guy. But the charming personality fools you, the guy can be a monster when pushed. We all can.
“Are you heading to your usual hideout?”
I frown. Hideout?
“What do you mean, hideout? I’m working at the club.”
Jules raises an eyebrow and my gut clenches. Another thing I forgot to mention about Jules is that he can read people. Is everyone suddenly a mindreader?
“You know you have nothing to prove, Si. But go do your thing and have fun. If you know what that word means,” he says, chuckling to himself as he turns to walk away toward the kitchen.
“Go fuck yourself, Jules,” I shout, ignoring his comment and making my way to the club.
As I walk inside, the familiar sounds and smells hit me and hold me in a reassuring hug.
Hideout. Fucker. He’s got some balls calling me out.
I know what he means. I drown myself in the fakeness of this club and the girls in it.
It cuts my brain off and I can distract myself from the constant thoughts that fill my mind.
Men. Or most recently. Carlos. Asshole. That should be his surname. Carlos Motherfucker Smug Asshole.
I walk over to the bar and greet Bonnie, the club manager.
“Hey baby, work and play tonight?” she asks, grinning as she pours a shot of tequila for a patron. Her thick curled brown hair tied up in a high ponytail.
“Always,” I say with my signature grin that's fake but effective as I lean on the bar. When she is finished serving she turns to face me.
“Usual?” she asks.
“Yep,” I say and she nods. My usual is a soda. I never drink on the job.
Just as Bonnie hands me my drink, the lights change and the room becomes more sensual.
The darker setting with ambient lighting floods the room as one of the most popular dancers, Daisy, walks onto stage.
She’s hot, and knows it. You would think the crowd would be shouting, but it's silent, all the men are mesmerized with her moves.
The lines of her curves as she sways toward the pole and does her thing.
I walk over to the back of the club so I have a view of the seating area and drink my soda, without paying any attention to the dance.
My mind drifts, thinking about anything and everything.
I’m so zoned out that I don’t notice someone approaching me from the side, until a soft breath of a voice tingles my ear.
“I was hoping to find you here.”
I freeze. I recognize that exotic sexy voice. Carlos.
My head whips to the side to face him so fast I nearly drop my drink.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I say, gritting my teeth. Christ he looks good. Dressed all in black, his open shirt highlighting his firm chest, the gold chain beckoning me to come closer.
“I was looking for you. You left so fast last time I don’t feel like we went through proper introductions,” he says, standing too fucking close.
“Now we’ve been introduced. Bye.”
“Hey, why so cold? We’ll be working together. It's not unusual for colleagues to meet up.”
“I’m not cold. I just don’t see why you need to be talking to me right now.”
“I won’t say anything, if that's what you’re worried about?”
I look at him, my eyes unblinking, wondering what the hell is going on here.
“Worried? Why would I be worried?”
“You were checking me out. It was intense huh? Being attracted so fast by just a look. It's a shame we didn’t meet somewhere else.”
“My god, not only arrogant but deluded. Not interested.”
“How can you call me arrogant? You don’t even know me.”
“Did you not get the hint last time? Believe me, when a guy walks into a room swaggering like he owns the place like you did, it's not attractive.”
“Swagger? So you did like what you saw then,” he says, chuckling lowly and it annoys me that he’s right.
“This conversation is only proving my theory. I don’t know you, yet here you are forcing a conversation with me. Anyway, I’m not into guys.”
“How you lie so easily. You do know your friends probably already know.”
“There is nothing to know.”
“Such a little liar.”
“This little liar will punch you in the fucking face if you don’t stop calling me a little liar.”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down.”
“Are you always on edge like this? Do you hiss too?” he says, laughing like he’s a fucking comedian.
“I fucking bite, so don’t push it.”
If possible he moves closer to me and his eyes drift down to my throat where I know it looks like I’m trying to swallow a tennis ball. A sensation in my stomach builds that I only experienced once as a teen. Am I having butterflies?
“But I want to push it with you. Someone needs to set you free.”
“And you think pissing me off will do that? Fuck off,” I say, turning my face to look at the stage, and take a gulp of my drink. Hoping if I ignore him he’ll disappear. But he doesn’t. His mouth lingers over my ear and if my cock was any harder it would burst through my pants.
“You’re a temptation I won’t resist, little lion.”
I spin and glare at him, pushing my finger into his chest that I’ve only just remembered is bare. Fuck. His skin is warm and silky. I stop myself from palming it with my whole hand.
“Don’t call me that. In fact, don’t talk to me,” I snarl at him, but he continues to smile.
“I will do as I please. And soon you will too,” he says, leaving me speechless while he just walks away and out of the club like nothing happened.