Chapter 2
Chapter Two
TOBIAS
My chest is on fire.
I try to move but can’t. Everything fucking hurts. What the hell happened?
A repetitive beeping sound burrows beneath my skin like ants on the march. Someone shut that fucking noise up.
“Tobias?”
I attempt to open my eyes. Harsh overhead lighting makes me close them again.
“He’s waking up.”
That sounds positive. It means I’m alive, at least. I groan. Fucking hell. Did I get into a fight or something? No, it can’t be that. The other guy would be here instead of me.
Where is here?
Eye opening attempt number two: success.
Someone has turned down the lights. I roll my head to the side.
Dad and Xan loom over me like two fucking grim reapers.
Nicholas and Christian linger at the end of my bed.
My eyes sweep to the other side. Saskia's pale face catches my attention first, then her luminous brown eyes, swimming with worry.
“Jesus, it must be serious if you’re all here.” I cough, then hiss as pain lances through me. “What the fuck happened?”
“You don’t remember?” Christian asks.
“Yeah, I remember everything. That’s why I’m asking. Dickhead.”
“Insults are flowing,” Dad says. “He’s fine.”
“You were shot in the chest.” Saskia’s cool fingers touch my forearm. “Gave us a bloody heart attack, you prat.”
“Shot?” I frown, and for a few seconds, the space where my memories should be is still blank.
Then, like a clearing mist, it all comes rushing back.
The couple in one of the private rooms at The Lair.
Her horrific scars covering swathes of her back.
The look of pain and terror in her eyes as he railed her across the table. The gun.
Fuck.
“What happened to the woman?”
Xan’s eyebrows flicker up. “Woman?”
“Yeah, her husband tried to kill her.” Or rather, she tried to kill him until I talked her out of it.
“All we know is you were shot,” Xan says. “We came straight to the hospital as soon as we heard. You were in surgery for three hours. We’ve been waiting all night for you to wake up. I’ve no idea about any woman.”
I attempt to rub my eyes, but my arms weigh seventeen kilos each. No exaggeration. “I’m weak as a fucking kitten.”
“You will be,” Dad says. “The surgeon said you got lucky. The bullet went right through without affecting any organs or major blood vessels. Could’ve been a lot worse.”
“How long will I be in here?”
I can’t get her face out of my mind. The tormented look in her eyes, the way her hands shook, the sound of her voice as she whispered, “He hurts me.”
“Up to a week,” Nicholas says.
“A week? Absolutely fucking not. I’ll go out of my mind.”
“Some would say you’re already there.” Christian grins.
I find the strength to flip him off.
“Do as the doctors say, and you might get out of here earlier,” Xan says.
“Yeah.” My cheeks puff up as I blow out a frustrated breath. “I need to talk to Frank. He was there. Where’s my phone?”
“Never mind that now.” Dad pats my shoulder. “Plenty of time for all that. You just work on getting better.”
My family means well, and Dad is right, but I can’t rest with all these questions rattling around my head. I need answers that I won’t get with this lot hovering.
“I’m pretty shattered.” I yawn. “Think I’m going to get some shut-eye, and you all should, too.”
“A couple of us can stay,” Saskia says.
Definitely not. They’ll stop me from doing what I need to do.
“There’s no point. I’m about to pass out. Come back later.”
Reluctantly, they all leave. As soon as the door clicks shut, I flop back against the pillows.
I wasn’t feigning exhaustion, but I can’t sleep yet.
Huffing and puffing, I manage to open the bedside drawer beside the hospital bed.
Where the fuck is my phone? I grab the buzzer and press it. A few seconds later, a nurse appears.
“Everything all right, Mr. De Vil?”
“Do you know where my phone is?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, I don’t. It wasn’t with you when you were brought in.”
Must be at the club. “Can I borrow yours? I need to make an urgent phone call.”
“You should be resting.”
“I’ll rest after this call, I promise.”
One perfectly plucked eyebrow rises. Despite her obvious reluctance, she reaches into a pocket on her uniform and produces a phone.
“One call. Five minutes maximum. Don’t test me, Mr. De Vil.”
“Yes, Miss.”
She sighs even though her lips flicker up. I’ve always been able to charm those most determined to resist me. It’s a fucking shame all that charm is wasted. I’d freak the fuck out if she, or anyone else for that matter (male or female) made a move on me.
There was a time, before I created The Lair, when I thought I could be asexual…
until I learned that I have no trouble with sexual attraction to others.
It’s when that attraction sets its sights on me that I nope out.
The thought of being naked with someone, having them touch me, and me having to touch them? I feel sick at the thought of it.
I tap out Frank’s phone number, grateful for my higher-than-average memory. I wouldn’t say it’s photographic, but close enough.
“Yeah?”
That’s Frank speak for “you’re not in my contacts and you’re fucking lucky I answered.”
“Frank, it’s me.”
“Boss, thank fuck. I stayed until your dad showed up. Felt like I was intruding, ya know? You sound pretty fucking good for a dead man.”
I chuckle. “You know me. I’ve got nine lives.”
“Eight now.”
“Think I’ll be good.”
“I’m fucking relieved, I gotta tell ya. For a second, I thought you were a goner.”
“Frank, fill me in, would you? What the fuck happened?”
“You got shot.”
I roll my eyes. “The Comedy Store is about to call any day now. I mean with the woman and her piece of shit husband.”
“After he shot you, he turned the gun back on her. Cool as a fucking ice cube. I put two bullets in him, then called in the cavalry to help you.”
“Is he dead?”
“Dead as my love life.”
And mine. I shake off the familiar gut punch that thought brings. “What happened then?”
“Police questioned me, took a statement, then let me go. For now.”
“If the cops come sniffing around you again, you call me.” In situations like these, it pays to have my family’s power and influence. If the police attempt to charge Frank with anything other than providing a fucking service to humanity, they won’t get far. “And the woman? What happened to her?”
“Not sure. She was taken to a different police station to me.”
Fuck.
“See what you can dig up on her whereabouts. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Oh, and Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“My phone must be somewhere in the club. Can you find it, then swing by the hospital when you get five. Think I’m in here for a bit of a stretch.”
“Sure thing. I’ll head over there soon as. FYI, the place is crawling with SOCOs.”
I blow out a breath. It’s unsurprising that scenes of crime officers are in attendance, but I could do without the drama. “Brilliant.”
“In other shitty news, about half a dozen journalists are loitering outside the front entrance like a bunch of jerks who don’t take the hint that it’s closing time.”
This day just keeps getting better and better.
Ever since I opened The Lair, I’ve kept the club and my involvement in it out of the spotlight.
Now, I’m in the full blinding gaze of the media, and I have a sinking feeling it won’t end positively.
The fourth son of Charles De Vil owning and frequenting a sex club will go down about as well as a spit-roast pig at a vegan restaurant.
“And the kicks to my fucking nuts just keep on coming.”
“Chill. It’ll blow over. These things always do.”
Not when you’re a De Vil they don’t. “I hope you’re right. Before you go, one last thing.”
“Shoot,” Frank says.
“Find out who invited that wife-beating, abusive piece of shit to my club and rescind their membership. No refunds. They can fuck off.”
He wasn’t a member. I’d never seen him before, and I have a bloody good memory for faces. That means he gained entry on a guest pass. All members get two guest passes comped each month.
One of them is about to discover their actions have consequences.
“Leave it with me.”
The nurse reappears as I cut the call and holds out her hand for her phone. I reluctantly give it back to her. If Frank can’t find Rebecca, I’ll call the Commissioner at the Met, and he’ll tell me where she is.
I close my eyes, but every time I do, Rebecca’s face appears, and responsibility presses down on me. My club is a place of fun, of excitement, of a way to safely explore our individual sexuality. Yet somehow, an abuser slipped through the net.
A too-damn-loud clock on the wall reads ten fifteen. It’ll be hours before Frank arrives with my only contact to the outside world. If I wasn’t so shattered, I’d crawl out of this bed and fetch the damn thing myself. I hate feeling helpless.
I must drift off at some point, because when I next open my eyes it’s after one, and I need to pee.
There’s a door off my hospital room I presume is a bathroom.
Gingerly, I peel back the covers, careful not to disturb the cannula in my arm.
The hospital gown gapes at the back. I swear the entire medical community has colluded on this as a way of entertaining themselves in what, frankly, must be a depressing fucking job most of the time.
Fortunately, no one is here to witness my bare arse peeking through the gap in the material.
Gripping onto the pole, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. My knees wobble. I manage to keep upright and take a step—
“Fuck!”
My shoulder jars as it hits the floor. I lie there, panting and cursing. This is a fucking joke. If that bastard wasn’t dead, I’d wait until I was fully recovered, then murder him with my bare hands.
The door flies open, and in rushes Florence. That’s unlikely to be her name, but I’m too fucking tired to come up with something a little less cliché.
“Mr. De Vil. What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“Thought the floor would be more comfortable than the bed.” I flash her a well-practiced grin to detract from flashing my arse.
“You have a buzzer for a reason.” She hooks her arm through mine and, in a move I’m guessing she’s performed a thousand times, plops me back onto the bed.
“Well, this isn’t emasculating at all.”
“You are recovering from surgery. Masculinity has nothing to do with it. What were you doing out of bed?”
“I need to pee.”
“I’ll fetch you a bedpan.”
“No, you fucking won’t.”
She arches a brow and angles her head to one side.
“If you’re thinking of punching me, I won’t tell.”
Her lips thin, and she heaves a sigh loaded with irritation. “It’s either a bedpan or you hold it. I don’t advise the latter.”
“But the bathroom is right there. I can make it with your help.” I ply her with my most beseeching look. “Please.”
She rolls her eyes, clearly exasperated with me. Wait until she’s suffered a few more days.
As though she’s read my mind, she says, “I can see I’m going to have trouble with you, young man.” That arm of hers hooks through mine again, and she hoists me to my feet. “Lean on me, and take it slow.”
“And here was me planning on sprinting the sixteen feet to the door.”
She ignores me, but I can tell she’s one quip away from applying for a transfer to another ward.
The bathroom has rails on either side of the loo for me to grip onto. I grab one and then the other. Once I’m steady, she lets me go. I expect her to leave. Instead, she stands there, hands on her hips.
“I’m good from here.”
“And if you fall and crack your head, I’m responsible. Pee, Mr. De Vil.”
“It’s Tobias, and peeing is a solo activity.”
She pulls in her lips and closes her eyes for a second. “I’ve been a nurse for twenty-three years. I’ve seen it all.”
“Not mine, you haven’t.”
“Believe me, it’s nothing special.”
“Ouch. That’s hurtful.”
“But true. Now, pee. You’re not my only patient.”
“I can’t do it when you’re watching.” I can, but I’m enjoying the banter far too much. Got to entertain myself somehow while I’m stuck in here.
Her pursed lips blow out a steady stream of air. “Fine. I’ll stand outside the door. It remains open,” she adds sternly.
“You’re all heart, Florence.”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“Better than Nurse Ratched.”
Her eyes flash. Ooh, that one hit home. She’s planning my murder for sure.
After lobbing a fierce glower in my direction, she leaves me to it.
I finish up and even manage to wash my hands by bracing my stomach on the sink and sort of leaning into it.
By the time I flop back into bed, though, I feel as if I’ve flat out sprinted for a solid five minutes with how much I’m panting and sweating.
“If you want the bedpan next time, press the buzzer.”
“Not a fucking chance,” I mutter.
“You’re a stubborn one.” A small smile lifts her lips. “That’s good for me.”
“How so?”
“Because you’ll be out of my hair sooner.”
“And here was me thinking we had a future together.” I press my hand to my chest, careful to avoid my stitches. “I was about to swear my undying love.”
She almost laughs. Almost.
“I’m expecting a visitor at some point today. Name’s Frank. Can you make sure he isn’t stopped by the security I know my father will have put in place?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
True to her word, she appears with Frank an hour later. After she delivers her “Ten minutes, and don’t wear him out,” warning and sends a hard stare at both of us, she leaves us alone.
“She’s… strict,” Frank says, grinning.
“You don’t know the half of it. Phone?”
He passes it to me.
“Fucking lifesaver. I feel as though I’m in prison. What have you discovered?” He knows I mean Rebecca without spelling it out.
“I managed to locate which station she was taken to, but when I called, the duty sergeant told me she wasn’t there any longer.”
“Released?”
“I presume so.”
“I need her address.”
“On it. I’ll text you with the info.”
I nodded. “I guess we’ll have to stay closed for a while.”
“Death on the premises? Yeah, I’d say so. By the way, I found out whose guest pass the dead man came in on. Membership’s been terminated.”
“Good.” I don’t even bother asking who it was. Could’ve been the king and I’d have done the same thing. “I’ll message Bea and have her contact all the members with a reassuring email to keep them in the loop.”
Bea, my assistant, is definitely the woman for this job. She’ll calm any ruffled feathers and reassure the clients that this is a temporary blip. I’ve worked too damn hard to build this brand to have it destroyed by one violent arsehole.
Besides, I need it. The Lair is the only place I can be myself. The rest of the time, I’m playing a part—one I’ve mastered over the years.
Without my club, I’m fucked.