“Harder,” I say and brace, my hands tight in the restraints, spread-eagled on the Saint Andrew’s cross. “Do it.”

“Don’t make me gag you.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” As the lash falls again on my back, and it is harder than last time, I let my cheek rest on the cool wood of the cross, and let out a breath of relief. “Yes…”

“Don’t forget your safe word.”

Another lashing jerks my body, making my blood hum. “Shut up and work it, Logan. I said harder. You hit like a girl.”

Logan grunts as he delivers a flurry of hits to the back of my legs and my arms, then my ribs, careful to avoid my spine, crisscrossing the lines of fire until my body is shaking in its bonds, each muscle tense and my back arching.

He’s damn good. Despite my ribbing, he won’t go harder than he should. He knows his limits and mine.

We’ve been doing this for years. We’re friends. He likes to deliver pain. It relaxes him. I like to be tied up and lashed, among other things. It takes my mind off all the fucking bad things going on around me. The things I need to take care of and fix before it all goes to hell.

He begins to untie me. “Nipple clamps next?”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t you wish.”

I grin.

There’s nothing erotic about this. We’re both straight as arrows, and the moment he’s untied me and helped me off the cross and to the bench, he takes his hands off me and goes to get me a cup of sweet tea, like always.

Guy’s married and all. Has been, for the past twenty years. I sometimes wonder how that works for him and his wife. Do they talk about him tying me up and lashing me? Or ignore it like the big bad elephant in the room it is? Is she into something similar? Do they compare notes?

Damn.

He passes me the cup and sits down across from me, on a leather-padded stool, I sip at the tea. The sugar helps steady the shaking in my hands. I need this release, but it’s not like I don’t register the pain. My mind slides over it, but my muscles aren’t all that happy about it. I will be damn sore tonight.

But it was worth it. Oh yeah, it was. Maybe I’ll be able to catch some sleep tonight.

“Anything you wanted to talk about?” Logan asks quietly, tugging on his gray beard.

I shake my head. “Thanks.”

“You’re still not relaxed,” he grumbles, glaring at me from under his bushy brows. “Go get a massage. Elinor would be glad to put her hands on you.”

I grin. “She would, wouldn’t she?”

Elinor is pretty, and wild. She’s the masseuse here, at the club, and on occasion her massages turn into more. Girl digs me.

Maybe I should do as Logan says. Let some more steam out. He’s right, the lashing didn’t quite do the trick tonight.

With everything that’s on my mind—and on my damn plate—it’s no wonder. The sex is the fun part of my life, with the bondage and lashing and pain. I’m in control of this. I choose it. I enjoy it.

It’s the other parts of my life that are giving me trouble and won’t let me sleep at night.

“What you need is a girl in your life,” he says and pats his own knee as if he said something witty. “So she can take care of you every night. And every morning. Morning sex cures everything, my friend.”

“Yeah, yeah. The moment I find a girl who likes to play with whips, you’ll be the first to know.”

“She doesn’t have to. You can always come here, and I’ll lash you until you can’t walk straight. Find a girl who loves deep-throating and taking it up the ass, like I did, and you’ll be fine.”

And maybe this answers my earlier question. “Oversharing, Logan. You know how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you never talk about yourself. Maybe you should look into changing that.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Logan laughs. “That’s because you never talk at all.”

“I talk!”

“Only about things that don’t matter.”

“Because it matters to me that your wife likes to take it up the—” I wave a hand. “Know what? Forget it.”

“Sure. Scintillating conversation, like always.” He rolls his eyes. “Well, what can you do? At least I got in a good workout today.”

“Yeah. For an old man you didn’t do so bad.” I wink at him.

“Who you calling old, boy?” He slaps his knee again, then gets up to go grab a towel. “Wait till you get to my age, and we’ll talk again.”

He’s got me there. Logan’s body is super strong. He works out regularly, is at the club almost every night, and apparently has vigorous sex with his wife. A silver fox, at least fifty years old, and he’s running around like he’s thirty.

He’s right. When I’m his age, I damn sure hope to be like him.

If I reach his age, with this crazy-ass plan I concocted to take down the shady Organization that has been running my city, and my friends’ lives.

Fuck. I finish off my tea in one long gulp and slam my hand on the wall to get to my feet. “Got to go.”

“What you need to do is go visit Elinor and get that massage.” He wags his brows.

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

For a guy who just whipped me, he acts too much like my dad.

Well, not like my dad, of course. My dad’s a real asshole. More like an ideal father figure—one with a lash, a penchant for dirty jokes, and more kindness than my old man has ever possessed in his entire life.

Not that my mother’s any better, but let’s stick to the father figure for now.

His back is still turned to me as he towels himself off, then he turns to toss a fresh towel at me. “Catch.”

I groan, my arm heavy as I lift it. I miss, and the towel hits me in the face.

“Nice way to treat your friend,” I grumble, bending to gather it up from the floor. Fire races down my back, and I shiver with the pleasure of it.

Logan lifts his eyes skyward. “Patience, my God. I lashed you, didn’t I? Biggest show of brotherly affection. Now get out of here and find someone who will give you what you really need.”

“I’ve got all that I fucking need,” I say, starting to get annoyed. I towel myself off slowly as abused muscles and inflamed skin protest. “I’ll lock the room. Run along home to your wife and stop worrying about me.”

He sighs, rubs a hand over his furry salt-and-pepper chest. “You listen to me, boyo.”

“Boyo?” I lift a finger. “Think damn well about what you’re about to say.”

Thing is, I’ve never punched Logan, and never thought I would, but today might be the day. Just an extra bit of stress relief.

He lifts his hands and grins. Sly old bastard. “Was just gonna say you’re welcome to join us. For dinner!” he rushes to say when I frown, my right hand curling into a fist. “What did you think I was gonna say? Christ.”

You never know. You think you know someone, and discover they were someone completely different. Take my parents, for instance. Or Robert, once a friend, now an enemy.

And Evelyn. Hell. Talk about a stroll down memory lane.

“Thanks, Logan, not tonight.” I rub the towel over my chest and suppress a shiver. “Work to do.”

He nods as he pulls on his shirt. A flannel shirt, over his worn jeans and boots. He runs a hand through his hair. “You’d tell me if you needed help with something, right? Being old friends and all.”

I hesitate, then nod back.

That’s not the same as saying yes, is it? I mean… some things I can’t discuss with anyone. Not even with Storm and Hawk, my best friends and distant cousins, guys I was thrown in together with through our shared blood and our parents’ limitless ambition.

“Good. Just because you got money don’t mean you don’t need help, or a friend. Right?” He touches his forehead in mock salute. “You know I’m just a phone call away if you need me.”

“Yeah. I know. Thanks, Logan.” I watch him go, my vision going kind of blurry. He closes the door behind him, and I blink.

Well, shit.

Not that I’d involve him in this clusterfuck that my life is turning into, but way to hit below the belt, right where it hurts. Because yeah, I’m scared shitless that after all’s said and done, I’m alone. A lone wolf, without friends, without a girl who loves me, without…

Without what my friends have. Without what everyone in the world has.

And that’s bullshit. I’m not lonely, or alone, and I have a fucking important purpose in my life. One I have set for myself, and I’m not giving up on that.

My stupid doubts and fears can go fuck themselves while I make my way into the lion’s den and find a way to bring the powerful Organization down. I’ll make a difference, make the world a better place.

This is my last night before the great plunge, before I set my plan into motion and see where it takes me, if it will succeed or get me killed.

Tomorrow.

* * *

“Move over,” a familiar male voice snarls in my ear, and an arm drops over my shoulders. “Thought I’d find you here.”

I take another sip of my Scotch, glance sideways at him in the dim lights of the bar. “What the hell are you doing here, Hawk?”

He scratches at his blond beard and hops on a bar stool. He has his hair shorn short now, and his hearing aid is visible. At least I can be sure he hears me. “I needed a drink.”

“That right?”

“Ah huh.” Hawk looks like a badass Viking biker in his leather jacket and pants. But he drums his fingers on the bar and grins at me mischievously, like a little boy.

“Did you have me followed?”

“Why would I need to? This is where you come to drink.”

Seriously. “And where did you leave junior?”

“Nowhere. I’m right here.” A stool is dragged back to my other side, and my other distant cousin and best buddy Storm bares his teeth at me. “I heard this is a good watering hole for certain moody, grumpy assholes who won’t tell their friends what the fuck they’re up to.”

“You don’t say.”

“Oh yeah.” Storm nods at the bartender who approaches with the bottle of Scotch and two glasses. “Leave it here,” he tells him and takes the bottle. “We’re gonna need it.”

“Christ, Storm. Why don’t you two go drink on your own and leave me alone?”

“And miss the chance to bust your balls? No fucking way.” Storm gives me a shit-eating grin, and I slump on my stool, resigned.

What does a man have to do for a chance to drink himself senseless in peace and quiet? What I need is to avoid thinking about tomorrow and my plan, but from the shrewd looks Hawk and Storm are giving me, I’ll bet that we’re doing exactly the opposite.

We’re going to talk about it, and fuck this. Can’t do it right now, no matter how I appreciate the concern behind their appearance here.

I start to stand up. “Look, guys, I’m gonna head home. It’s getting late.”

Hawk tsks and grabs my arm, holding it down on the table. Guy’s as strong as he looks. “Talk. Don’t make me beat it out of you, Rook. You know I can. I’ve always beaten you since we were kids, at just about everything.”

“Your memories are skewed. Must be all those hits to the head you took as a child. Besides, beat what out of me exactly?”

“Your plan.”

“What plan?”

“Oh fuck.” Hawk releases me, eyes narrowing. “Tell me you’re joking. You have a plan, right?”

Storm grabs my glass and pours amber Scotch into it, then pushes it in front of me. “Stop playing stupid, Rook. It’s not your forte. You’ve been hanging out at that flogging club of yours every night. You canceled our weekly night out—which was tonight, if you recall—but you left the office early.”

“So cut the innocent act,” Hawk chimes in before I get a chance to reply. “You look surprised. What, you thought we don’t keep tabs on you?”

I roll my eyes and swallow half the Scotch in one gulp that burns a nice path down my chest. “Didn’t know you two had turned to stalking. Too bored at home with your girls, or what?”

“I’d kick your ass for saying something so monumentally stupid,” Storm mutters and raises his glass, “but this is good Scotch. I’d hate to spill it.”

I snicker into my glass. “Yeah? What is it, not getting enough action these days? Has Raylin kicked you out of her bed?”

“Fuck you.” But Storm grins. His girl is pregnant, and he’s over the moon. He’ll make the silliest dad ever—after Hawk. His reaction to becoming a father was historic. Fucking hilarious.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, dude,” Hawk says, shaking his head.

“I’m not missing anything,” I grunt, and what’s up these days with everyone thinking I want to be set up with a girl? If I find a girl who gets me, trust me, I’ll be all over her. No girl has had that effect on me yet.

Okay, maybe one girl—but I still don’t know why, and besides… it won’t happen. Ever.

She doesn’t even like me. I saw the way she looked at the marks of the whip on my chest that night I kissed her. She certainly doesn’t approve of the things I like. And that’s a big no for me. I am who I am, the way I am, and if I can’t find a woman who will accept me, then I guess I’ll be alone forever.

Miserable as that prospect may be.

“You’re heading to the hotel tomorrow, aren’t you?” Storm asks quietly, and Hawk leans forward, clasping his hands around his glass. “Cronin’s hotel.”

“Yeah.”

Ian Cronin is the man behind the infamous Organization, a secretive all-powerful criminal group Storm, Rook and I discovered. A group in which our parents played a leading role, killing whoever got in their way to money and power.

Cronin is its head, its brain.

It took time to find out that much, and Storm and Hawk put their lives on the line for that information. If Cronin goes down, the Organization will go down, too.

Question is, how do you take down a man like him?

“How are you gonna play it?” Storm puts his glass down. “And how are you getting out if things go wrong?”

What’s the safe word? I think randomly and barely stop myself from laughing out loud. “Getting out?”

“Yeah, you know, that part where you exit the building all in one fucking piece?” Hawk glares at me. “What’s your Plan B?”

Right. “I don’t fucking need one. I’ll infiltrate the hotel slowly, one night at a time. When I get the chance, I’ll go into Ian’s office and check for incriminating papers.”

“Damn, dude, that’s…” Hawk huffs, his brow furrowing. “In what century do you live, huh? You think he’ll have papers lying around? He’s not stupid, not to mention nowadays most transactions happen online.”

God, teasing him is too much fun. I swallow the rest of my Scotch. “I’ll bring a flash drive and hope his computer is unsecured, how about that?”

“I think pigs can fly, too,” Hawk says. “Don’t be stupid, Rook.”

I snort. “Okay, how about this: I’ll look for phones, external disks, flash drives and authentication devices. All right?”

“Rook… Christ.”

“Look, I got to try. Beats doing nothing.”

“What about your contacts in high places? Why not just hand the case over to them?”

“Because they need something to work with. You don’t just walk into Cronin’s office and arrest him, not without evidence, or he’ll destroy you and walk away unscathed. Who would want that?”

“We could wait Cronin out. Someday he’ll make the wrong step, and the FBI will get him.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We need to get him now, while he’s still off balance from the arrest of his right-hand men. Sandivar. My parents. We can’t wait, Hawk.”

“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch.”

I shrug. Tell me something I don’t know.

Doesn’t change my intentions.

“I wish you’d fucking told us about this earlier,” Storm grumbles. “Now we’ll have to rush things.”

“Rush what?” I snap.

“Creating your Plan B. And C.” He smirks and downs his drink, too. “You think we didn’t know you’ve been planning this for a while?”

I sigh. Of course they did. Can’t hide anything from them, can I? Not that I really tried. We’re in this together. It’s just that now they have families. People depending on them. They can’t get involved.

Unlike me.

“We’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” Hawk says, “and go through the possibilities. Don’t try and avoid us, Rook my boy, or I’ll go medieval on your ass, and I promise you won’t enjoy it.”

Didn’t think I would. “You’re both nuts,” I mutter and grab the bottle to pour myself another shot. “I have this under control.”

Storm chuckles.

Hawk sniggers.

“What?” Christ, I swear these two will be the death of me. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“We thought that, too,” Storm explains. “Every time. That we had everything under control. And look what happened.”

“I see.” I swallow my drink. “Is that why you ganged up on me?”

“Remember when Layla got me out of the taxi, so beaten up I couldn’t stand?” Hawk laughs. Like that was fucking funny. Asshole. “You should have seen your face. See, I thought my plan was flawless. I was so damn sure of it. But I barely made it out alive. Wouldn’t have, if not for her help.”

“Or when I got shot and you came to the hospital?” Storm is also laughing. Motherfucker. “I thought I was being so careful, and I got shot.”

“Oh shut the hell up, the both of you,” I say disgustedly.

“How about the time after I found Layla,” Hawk says, warming to his subject, “where I got shot in the back, and—”

“Okay, fine. Stop.” I tap my hand on the bar. Remembering those times is giving me an ulcer. “I’ll wait for you to pick me up tomorrow, okay? Happy now? Satisfied?”

They both shrug and go back to their drinks.

Fucking manipulators. Have been since they were born. I’ll never forget the pranks they pulled on me when we were still in fucking diapers.

“So this hotel…” Storm gives me a sidelong glance, one brow arching. “I hear it’s a kinky one? And you’ve been there before?”

“You’d better not be following me every night, Stormy boy, or I’ll spank your ass.”

“Nah. You mentioned the hotel once. You said there was a hot girl you kissed.”

I wince. He’s talking about Mia.

Fuck, I must have been drunk off my ass to let such a tidbit slip out. “Yeah, I go there sometimes. Which is why it’s the perfect plan for getting that info. They know me there. They won’t suspect me.”

My mind circles back to Mia, and the one kiss I shared with her in a darkened corridor of the hotel one night.

It won’t be seeing a repeat, that’s for sure, and not only because she said it was a mistake before walking away, but also because she works at the one place where I’m heading tomorrow to dangle myself as fucking bait for Ian Cronin. Where I’ll search for evidence of his crimes so that I can bring him to justice.

Sweet little Mia in her maid uniform and her prim ways has absolutely no place in my life, even if she’d been interested in me.

Yeah, that kiss was sweet. It was fucking hot, I won’t deny it, and it’s replayed itself so many times in my mind I don’t even know how much of the memory is real anymore. But it was just a kiss, and I need so much more. More than most girls are willing to even consider.

And first of all, I need to get that evidence and get out… preferably alive.

* * *

“Drink,” Hawk says, shoving a shot glass into my hand, and damn, that is a bad sign, coupled with his wolfish grin. “Bottoms up.”

We’re sitting in my library, the tall windows facing the back garden with its old trees and green lawns.

Well, I am sitting. Hawk is hovering and administering booze like it’s preventive medicine, while Storm is standing in front of a shelf filled with philosophy books and historical novels, hands in his pockets, studying the book spines.

Knocking the shot back, hissing when it burns a fiery path down my throat, I give Hawk a level look. “Not that I don’t appreciate good vodka, but you wanted to meet and plan. Somehow the vibe I’m getting from this intro isn’t good. Something wrong?”

“Apart from the fact you’re about to walk into that hotel, stick your goddamn nose where it doesn’t belong and get Ian Fucking Cronin on your ass… no, not really.”

I put my shot glass down on the low table and consider lighting up a Cuban. “I take it you two didn’t cook up an amazing plan that will get me the evidence I’m looking for without breaking a sweat. I’m fucking shocked. Pour me another, Hawkster.”

Hawk rubs a hand over his beard, tugs at his blond moustache, and totally ignores my command. “Look, man, you’re too old to be walking around, pretending to be a detective.”

“Really. You put yourself out as bait less than a year ago and got beaten within an inch of your life, and you’re, what? Two years younger than me?”

“Younger is younger.”

Stifling a sigh, I lean back in the leather armchair and close my eyes. He’s right, I do feel old, much older than my twenty-four years whenever I think of my parents dancing to the tune of the Organization, of the corruption running through the veins of my city.

“Rook.” I open my eyes as Storm turns around to face us, his gaze troubled. “Who is the higher power you’re gonna call on to catch Cronin?”

“Why should I tell you?” I mutter.

“We’re planning, Rook. To do that, we need to put all our cards on the table.”

“Except all the cards are mine.”

“Smartass.”

“Dickhead.”

Storm grins. “So who’s your contact in the government?”

“Who says I have one?”

Should I tell them? I was sworn to secrecy, but they have a point. If something happens to me, they’ll still need help to bring Cronin down.

Hawk takes my silence as refusal, apparently, because he pours me another vodka and slides it over to me. “Listen, Rook…”

“Did you mean, ‘drink, Rook’?”

He gives me a long, flat look.

I swallow the shot. “I’m listening.”

“You need to tell us who to contact if things go tits-up. Also who are your trusted people, who are in the know, and what exactly you plan on doing. We mentioned a back-up plan. Plans B and C. Well, we are your back-up plan, Rook.”

“You’re kidding me, right? This was your plan? To jot down my plan and my contact list and wait?”

“We’re gonna set up someone nearby to rush in if we notice something going wrong, and program a mayday call in your cell phone if you don’t use it for a set number of hours. Then we track you down whatever way we can. We’re gonna do all we can, but you gotta help us here, brother.”

Jesus. “And what about your plan C?”

“That is plan C.”

“And plan B?”

“Locking you up in the basement and throwing away the key so you won’t go off and put yourself in danger. But apparently,” he glares at Storm, “that’s not an acceptable plan.”

Storm shrugs. “You know he doesn’t like basements.”

I suppress a shiver. “Brody,” I whisper.

“What was that?”

“The name of my contact.”

“Brody who?”

“George Brody. He owes me a favor.”

“Senator George Brody?” Storm hisses. “He owes you a favor? How?”

Hawk takes my shot glass and pours another one, this time downing it himself. “Fucking hell, Rook, you let Senator Brody lash you?”

I shrug. “I might have.”

“Is that why he owes you?” Storm looks confused.

“No. Because I’m discreet. He appreciates discretion.”

Hawk produces a muffled snort and slams the shot glass down. “Fucking awesome. And for that he’ll butt heads with Ian Cronin for you?”

“I think…” I consider grabbing the bottle of vodka and getting shit-faced on the spot. Talking about all this makes me itch for the lash and the relief it brings me. “I think he has his own reasons, though he never came out and said it. Cronin stepped on many toes, walked over many bodies to get where he is. I get a feeling he made a fucking big mistake, and it has to do with Brody.”

Hawk tugs on his beard. “Okay. So your contact is Brody. And your plan? Plan A? Go on, surprise us with your perfectly laid out course of action.”

“I’m going to ask around, gather info about Cronin’s timetable and meetings. And I’ll break into offices, see if I find anything.”

“That bad, huh?” Storm sinks down in the sofa across from me.

“Huh.” Hawk says. “Not that I expected anything better.”

“Says the man whose plan consisted of being used as a fucking punching bag, hoping for a slip-up from his captors.”

“They did slip up.”

“You were damn lucky.”

“I was.” He sighs. “I hope you will be, too.”