Chapter 23 - Trouble at the Vault
On Tuesday Callum visited Julian in the office, and both were very restrained, managing to be within close proximity for forty-five minutes and not jump each other.
There were arousals, but they had vowed not to act on them, and they did not.
When Callum left at the end of the session, he did snog Julian, he did grope Julian, and he did say ‘no’ to Julian when he suggested they go to the private suite.
Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder. Is that a saying? Callum wondered to himself.
***
On Thursday, after an uneventful day at work, more moans from Jack about the lease and the roof, and what felt like an ever-growing list of complaints, Callum was actually quite looking forward to just dancing his cares away at The Vault.
Julian couldn’t do a training session tonight because of some late meeting, so he busied himself at home, tidied his apartment, did some washing and then got ready to go to work.
When he arrived, it was Titanium Night, and the club was heaving. The bass through the speakers felt like a physical force, vibrating through his body from the soles of his boots.
Callum stood on his centre podium, the steel pole against his palms, like it was the only thing anchoring him to the room.
Looking around, he saw that the club was an ocean of moving bodies, shimmering under the erratic pulse of strobe lights.
Maybe swapping Saturdays for Thursdays wasn’t a bad idea after all.
Tonight, no harness. He was just wearing leather shorts and a light dusting of glitter powder that Leo helped apply.
He moved with a solid, deliberate grace, in contrast to the leaner dancers on the other podiums. He was the muscle man, the one the regulars flocked to see for the sheer power of his transitions and his legendary Flagpole, an inversion where his body was held horizontally away from the pole using just his arm strength.
This was a move not many dancers could do and one that Callum was rightly proud of.
It took a lot of upper arm strength, and his arms were big as a result of doing it.
The night went quickly, and Callum was on top form, sweat dripping down his body as the crowd got lost in the music. He used his break to replenish his water. He really was hot tonight, the heat from hundreds of bodies warming the room.
When he returned to his podium, the same group of guys he’d spied earlier were there, and he smelled trouble.
They were now very drunk; that much was clear from the get-go.
They were good-natured in the main, tossing bills, cheering, shouting for him to do the flagpole.
He obliged willingly at first, sliding up and down the pole, his body a frenzy, shimmering against the laser light.
But one guy, quite stocky and red-faced, started paying him just a bit too much attention, leaning over the low Perspex barrier wall and making physical contact, which was a definite no-no.
As Callum gripped the pole and hoisted himself into slow motion, showing off the rippling strength of his obliques and lats, the man reached out again to grab him.
Where Callum had kept moving previously, preventing him from taking hold, this time he misjudged his timing completely.
The guy didn’t just touch Callum’s leg; he grabbed it and wrapped his sweaty hand around it, pulling him from the pole and yanking him towards the edge of the podium.
Callum snapped, swinging down from the pole, his boots making a thud as he hit the podium with force and dislodging the guy’s hand. Callum glared at him, “Hey, man, keep your hands to yourself. Look, don’t touch!”
The guy just laughed it off, fuelled by alcohol and his buddies egging him on.
“Come on, pretty boy,” he drawled, slurring his words badly, “I’ve tossed enough dollars in there.
What extras can I get for my investment?
” He lunged again; this time his hand caught the pocket of Callum’s shorts, and as he moved back, it ripped the pocket almost cleanly away.
Callum now saw red. He was a second away from punching him, no matter the consequences, when suddenly a large hand reached in and grabbed the guy by his arm.
His saviour was a thick-set guy, shaved head, wearing a plain black T-shirt and trousers.
The drunk protested, but the guy said nothing, simply twisted his arm behind his back in one swift movement, effectively pinning him at his will.
The drunk screamed in pain as he was forcibly dragged through the crowd.
The last Callum saw of him, he was on a rapid trajectory for the front door.
His friends at first looked confused. They weren’t sure what was happening, but they turned and followed him through the crowd.
Callum hadn’t recognised his saviour. Maybe the guy was a new bouncer?
He got back on the pole and the rest of the night passed without incident.
He collected his haul, captured in the Perspex.
He had done very well by the wad of dollar bills he pocketed, but he would need to buy new shorts; the pocket was completely ripped and hanging down.
After his set, Callum shared with the guys what had happened, but none of them had seen it. He pulled his hoodie on and found Tony counting receipts behind the bar.
“Tony, who was the guy who rescued me tonight from that drunk prick who ripped my shorts? Is he new?”
Tony looked up, frowning. “I was about to ask you the same question. The guys on the door told me some dude had ejected a guest, but they were busy at the front, so they didn’t speak to the guy.
I checked the video cameras and I found him.
Definitely not one of ours.” He spun his laptop around to show a grainy still image of the man in black.
“I did show the guys on the door. We checked when he arrived, and he swiped in at the door with a Platinum Access pass that was only bought in the last few days by a corporate holding company, no individual name on file.”
Callum stared at the screen. Who was this guy, and where was he from?
“He didn't talk to anyone after what happened?”
“Nah, just told the bouncer he was keeping an eye out for trouble.” Tony shrugged. Tony had no more information, and Callum was now even more confused.
Of course, his immediate thought was Julian.
Was he behind this? Has he got people watching him and protecting him from trouble?
If so, it’s nice of him, but also kind of creepy.
The Vault was Callum’s thing and nothing to do with Julian.
Callum had always been able to take care of himself.
Did Julian now think he owned him in some way because they were officially dating?
Callum grabbed his gear and walked out of The Vault with the intention of going straight home and to bed, but this was festering in his mind, gnawing away at him.
He felt angry. He wanted to confront Julian about it and decided he wasn’t going to wait. He ordered an Uber to the penthouse. Let’s do this right now, he decided; you gave me the keys to the castle and I’m storming the keep.
On the way in the car, he thought about texting Julian to let him know he was coming, but no, he would just arrive unannounced.
He entered the building by thumbprint, closing his jacket around him.
He was still in the ripped leather shorts, a hoodie, and some Doc Martens.
Julius was on duty in the lobby. “Hey Julius,” he said as he passed.
“Evening, Sir,” was the response, with a polite nod of the head.
Still seething on the way up in the lift, he then started thinking about how to start this conversation.
The lift stopped at the top floor, and he stepped out into the lobby, hesitating. Was this the right thing to do, or could it cause a real argument? Should he just be grateful if it was Julian’s guy who had intervened, or should he feel owned? No, he needed to say his piece.
He thumbed the door from the lobby and went into Julian’s private quarters.
He put his bag down in the hallway. He found he was almost tiptoeing, even though he was about to wake him up.
He pushed the bedroom door open. Was there any noise?
Yes, he could just hear Julian’s breathing.
He walked around the low partition, and he could see him asleep in bed.
The light from the window was just enough to see his face.
He looked so peaceful. Was it right to wake him over this?
He turned, having second thoughts, but as he did, his trench coat caught on the bedside table and made a noise. Julian’s eyes opened.
He lifted his head. “Cal, what are you doing here? What time is it?”
“Sorry Julian, but I had to come and talk to you about something.” How to start the conversation, his stomach executing perfect backflips...
“In the club tonight, something happened, and I’m not sure if it had anything to do with you, but I need to know.”
Julian sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I know what happened Cal. The guy works for me. I arranged for him to keep a watchful eye on you, in case anything happened. Anything like this. And it happened.” He looked sorry, his green eyes, for once, dimmed.
“My guy messaged me immediately afterwards. I thought about texting you, but I didn’t.
I should have. I’m sorry.” He looked guilty.
Callum sat on the side of the bed next to him, processing the million thoughts running through his mind. “So, you paid someone to just watch me, for my protection?”
“Yes, I did.”