3. Chapter 3
Rylen
MADS:
Don't worry, Felicia took care of my... problem.
I read the text message over and over, hating the way it makes my jaw clench, my teeth grind and my heart sink.
The tequila burns as it slides down my throat.
I'm not supposed to drink on the job, although lately, I've been doing a lot of things I shouldn't be.
I stare down into my empty glass, jaw tight, knuckles whitening around the rim.
The bar has mostly cleared out, half the patrons retreating upstairs for after-hours sessions, the others drunk enough to be herded out with soft suggestions and firmer hands. I should be doing something, making rounds, checking the thermal logs, but I’m not.
Instead I’m leaning on the bar like some lovesick amateur who just got told his crush fucked someone else. Which, to be fair, I was…
It’s been twenty agonising minutes since Felicia strutted off to Maddox’s office like it was all part of the job, and I’m still where she left me, unable to get her bullshit out of my head.
I told myself I didn’t care when his name fell from her lips, or that she toyed with me, again .
But now? Now I care. Because she didn’t do it just to get under my skin, she did it for the cameras, hoping he was watching, and something about that pisses me right off.
The doors to the elevator hiss open and my gaze immediately snaps up, zeroing in on the figure that emerges—Felicia, still in full domme attire, hips swaying like she’s hot shit.
Her silk cloak is hanging loose in one hand, and her skin is flushed.
Not in panic mode, she looks smug and blissful, like she’s post-orgasm.
She scans the room, eyes darting around, looking for what?
Applause? To rub it in? I already know she had his cock down her throat, I don't need to hear the words.
Her eyes make contact with mine, so the stupid bitch smirks as she reaches up to swipe a thumb down the edges of her full lips, the makeup already smudged.
My jaw tenses and a shameful jealousy creeps into my heart.
I stay where I am, not moving, not even blinking as I glare at her.
She walks off toward the prep corridor, heels striking the marble with casual dominance.
Flea thinks she runs this place just because the owner has her on her knees whenever he wants.
Maybe I should suck off Maddox too, might earn me some sway with this itchy fucking uniform.
I tug at my turtleneck and run a hand through my hair, forcing my thoughts under control.
My face feels flushed and my stomach's pulsating, I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, trying to dispel the image of me knelt before Maddox, fingers dragging down his zipper, reaching inside his pants and, no.
Fuck. Off. You. Intrusive. Fucking. Thoughts.
My knuckles crack from how tightly I’m gripping the rim of the bar.
I don't understand what's happening, why can't I control myself around him anymore?
We've been each others constant for the past thirteen years, and I've never struggled this much with this little—crush?
Or whatever you want to call it. So why now? Why is it suddenly all consuming?
A sickly heat prickles my spine, and beads of sweat break out along my hairline, with a desperate need to get this obsession under control. I force in a lungful of air, close my eyes, then slowly expel my breath and turn around to lean against the ledge, hardening my expression as I scan the room.
My eyes lock with some pretty little thing coasting through life on daddy’s money, he can’t even hold eye contact with me.
It makes me smirk watching him squirm under my gaze, as he tugs at the dark curls that frame his face.
I’ ve seen him before, he’s become a regular over the past few months, always watching Flea with hearts in his eyes, never booking anyone else.
What does he even want with a blood domme? That ice queen bitch would eat him alive and make the poor kid watch himself rip apart. My glass nearly cracks in my grip, until my earpiece buzzes and I relent, letting it go.
“Rylen. Meet me in my office. Now .” Maddox commands. Ugh. Here it fucking comes. I stand, spine rigid, sweat already prickling at my collar. At only twenty-four, Maddox handles this club with a cold, silk-clad grace that makes people forget he’s a wolf in sheeps clothing. Though I know better.
The walk stretches longer than usual. I take the stairs, even though I usually don’t, needing the extra seconds to roll up my sleeves and school my face into something neutral.
His office door swings open before I even knock and I almost collide with one of the cleaners, some little blonde twink, he's wide eyed and apologetic but I pay him no mind, stepping past his retreating form.
Maddox waits, perched on the edge of his desk, one hand braced against his knee. Suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up. He doesn’t look angry, so why the hell does that feel so much worse?
“Ry, my guy!” he says with that familiar flourish, a gleaming smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Come in. Shut the door.” I do, and the lock clicks behind me like a gun cocking, sealing my fate.
He's drunk. I can see it in the sway of his movements, the heavy unfocused look in his eyes and the stench of whisky that covers the same cologne he's been wearing since he turned twenty-one.
His smile morphes into a snarl the closer I get.
"When I call you, I expect you to fucking answer," Maddox growls, knocking back his scotch glass before slamming it down on the desk. He slips away from the rigid surface, striding to the fireplace on the parallel wall.
"Within these confines, you're not my best friend, you're the man responsible for the safety and wellbeing of the twenty-eight staff members at Velvet. Or does that mean nothing to you?" he snarks, eyes blazing as he stares down into the fire.
Guilt claws at my throat, the taste of bile bubbling up.
My eyes grow unfocussed as I stare off at a place beside his frame.
It feels all too familiar—the drunken rage, the lecture about how badly I fucked up…
I can't do it. Not from him. I feel my mind slipping away to that dark corner, the one I haven't had to retreat into since…
well, I'm not even entirely sure when the last time was.
Just knowing that Maddox is the one to elicit these feelings of despair is sicknening.
We're not supposed to hurt each other, not ever, we made a pact about it all those years ago.
I can hear fragments of information about why he's angry; the security system failing, letting my personal issues compromise my work ethics, but it all feels foggy, as if I'm standing behind a waterfall and he's just out of reach.
"I'm sorry, I won’t let you down again," I whisper. "See that you don't," he tuts, back still turned to me, but the fury is slipping out of his stance and his shoulders relax a little more with each breath.
The cameras fucking up is annoying for sure but it's not enough to have Mads this worked up, something else must have rattled him. I wish he would just tell me what's wrong. I rub at the emerging stubble poking through my chin, contemplating what information I'm missing here.
He just got a happy ending from that smug bitch Felicia, so he shouldn't still be this tense. Maybe she's losing her touch. The thought makes a smile flicker at the edges of my mouth before I'm able to banish it.
"Are you–" I hesitate, unsure of what I'm even asking.
He slowly turns to face me and the look of anguish in his stare nearly topples me over.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from reaching out and pulling him into my arms. Physical pain is better than the emotional turmoil of having him reject me right now.
"Please Ry, just stop," he slurs in a voice so low I need to strain to hear it. "I can't take it anymore."
My brows furrow. What can't he take? How am I supposed to stop something when I don't even understand what I'm doing?
I take a step forward on instinct, and grip onto his shoulder in a way that's meant to be comforting.
I'm trying to channel all my feelings into the point where our skin collides, hoping that he can sense the things that I'm too gutless to say.
That I love him, that I've got his back, that I'd tear the whole world to rubble if it would stop even a fraction of his pain.
A staticy click in my earpiece cuts through the moment like a chainsaw.
"Rylen. We've got a situation in one of the rooms. A silent alarm was pressed. Please advise." It's my second in charge, Nathyn. Good guy, even if he's got terrible timing.
I release Maddox's shoulder, sighing as the vulnerability in his features hardens before my eyes, and press the talk-back button letting Nathyn know that I'm on my way.
Maddox is still watching me with those shining eyes, and for a moment everything stills as I get swept up by the ocean within them. "I'll see you at home, okay?"
He gives a curt nod, folding his arms over his willowy chest and I walk away wondering why things feel so final, and what I can do to fix this chasm that's forming between us.
I take the north stairs, no rush, no noise. I’m not supposed to cause a scene, just make my presence known to the ones crossing a line .
Each suite is soundproof, that’s part of the appeal but it can also make some men feel invincible.
What happens behind those doors isn’t recorded, only monitored live by the security team.
That's what they pay the big bucks for. Though, of course nothing goes on in Velvet without Maddox or I knowing.
Discretion is our policy, but security overrides it.