It’s not every day you celebrate your twenty-first birthday. Your first time getting wasted—like, legally and officially wasted, with your brother, and buddies, in your favorite joint in town. Boys’ night out.

See, all the other times I got drunk don’t matter. Tonight, I’m seeing double with the blessings of the law.

A law that hasn’t been on my side, ever—not when my parents didn’t give a damn, and when they vanished one day with my brother’s hard-earned savings never to be seen again. It almost broke Ocean.

Doesn’t fucking matter. Life’s pretty good right now, this night, with a bottle of Jack on the table and the golden heat of it sliding down my throat, warming my chest.

Everything’s glittery bright and awesome, even if a chick keeps trying to sit in my lap and won’t take a hint when I keep pushing her off.

“Come on, Ryan,” she whines.

“Raine,” I correct her yet again, and chuckle, because everything’s outrageously funny when you’re three sheets to the wind. “Get off me.”

She pouts. “You’re cute. Take me home, Raine.”

I roll my eyes, and the ceiling fractures into prismatic rainbows. I grin as the bar slowly spins. “Not today, sugar.”

“Not ever. Right, junior?” Micah winks at me over the rim of his glass, blond hair cut so short it’s like gold dust on his head. Or, I am that drunk… “But wait. Maybe now you’re officially an adult, you’d like to give pussy a try, too?”

“Nah.” I flip him off and push the girl more firmly off me. “Thanks anyway.”

She shoots me a murderous look, then flounces off, a bit unsteadily, on her stilettos, looking for a new target.

“You sure?”

“Fuck you, Micah.”

“Heh. Nah.” He grins drunkenly at me and leans over to pat my arm. Then he stage-whispers, “I don’t swing that way.”

Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m the only one with zero interest in tits and pussies in this little group. The only one who likes dick. Also, being the youngest sucks. Getting called junior and kiddo gets old fast.

But I can’t really complain. The Inked Brotherhood and the Damage Boyz, they’re a damn fine crew. Good people. A family. I can see why my brother likes it here in Madison, working at Damage Control.

They’ve also sort of became my people over the three years I’ve spent here. I mean, sure, I don’t have the same connection to them as Ocean, but still. I’m always invited to all their get-togethers, and I seem to have suddenly found myself a bunch of older brothers.

Yay.

“Stop thinking so hard,” another voice says from my right, and I huff. “I can hear the booze sloshing between your ears.

Said brother shoots me a sharp grin and takes the glass from my hand. Didn’t notice picking it up again.

“S’up, Shun?” Shun as in Ocean, a nickname my brother only allows me to use.

Ocean sighs. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

“I thought it was called adulting. You guys do it all the fucking time.”

“Very funny.”

But it is, and I’ll never admit it, not even under threat of torture, but Ocean being protective and shit… I like it. Despite my bitching, I like him acting like the big brother that he is, my big brother—because for a long time he didn’t. He just wasn’t there. He sent me away to an aunt who hated my guts, and I didn’t get to see him for fucking years.

Which led to me missing him like hell, and simultaneously hating his guts for a long time.

Of course, now I know why he had to do it, but it doesn’t stop me from relishing these moments when it’s like a throwback to the time we were kids at the trailer park, and he was my brother, and my parent, and my everything.

“We should head home,” Ocean says.

Although seriously, right now he’s being an ass, so I grab my goddamn glass back from him. “Chill, Shun. I’m not driving. And it’s still early.”

“Early morning, you mean.”

Christ, forget about liking this shit. Changed my mind. “You go, man. Go home to your girl and calm your tits. I’ll grab a cab.”

“R. Come on. You work tomorrow.”

“Or one of the guys will drive me.” I nod at Zane who’s returning from the bar, carrying two beers. “Zane’s cool. He’s already said he’d take me, since he doesn’t drink.”

Ocean shakes his head, stares at something behind me, and sighs. “Why can’t you listen to me for once, kid?”

What the hell, right? I glance around at the others. They look as confused by all this as I feel.

“What the fuck, man?” Shane mutters, tucking long dark hair behind his ear where a silver dreamcatcher is dangling. “It’s our night out, and it’s his goddamn birthday. What just crawled up your ass and died?”

There. Couldn’t have phrased it better.

I lean back in my chair and level a glare at my brother. His blue hair is ruffled as if he’s been tugging on it. He’s been kinda stressed lately, with the wedding coming up and the new baby, but he’s happy. I know it. I see it on his face every single day.

He’s amazed and thrilled and grateful for his girl and his baby and his friends, and maybe, I hope, even a tiny fucking bit for me—so why does he look like someone pissed in his drink?

He sighs again, puts his glass down on the table and glances again behind me. Okay, what is back there that has him hooked like that?

I turn to look over my shoulder, and I see him. Jason. The sight is a punch to my solar plexus, and I let out an involuntary gasp.

Okay, it’s also not every day you see the man you can’t stop thinking about in front of you, the man you can’t stop dreaming about.

With another man.

That why my brother wanted me gone?

“I won’t pick a fight with Jason,” I say quietly, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“I’m not worried,” Ocean lies.

At least, I think he does. There’s a faraway look in his eyes I don’t recognize.

Jason Vega and me, we’ve crossed paths a few times. He’s friends with my brother and with Jesse Lee, one of the inkers of the shop where I work.

But the last time I actually talked to Jason was years ago, three years in fact, and I insulted him. Pretty damn badly. I hadn’t realized at the time, but I was pissed at my brother, pissed at the world, and Jason had happened to be there. An easy target, someone I could shout at instead of my brother, my only real family.

I’ve thought about this a lot since then. Why I called him out on being a hooker. Making it sound like he chose this life. Like he had a choice.

As if I don’t know. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and that’s the understatement of the year.

I watch him now, deaf to the music and the voices of my friends, as he leads this unknown guy by the hand toward the back, weaving through the people standing by the bar.

I’ve seen him on occasion on the street or in bars over the past three years. He hasn’t changed much since I first met him. My height, but slimmer. Wiry. Strong, with dark lines of ink winding down his forearms and snaking under his too short shirt.

He’s let his bleached hair grow out, and it’s now as dark as mine, dark like his eyes, and the shadows crawling in their depths. In his revealing clothes and gayliner, his nails painted black to match his too-tight top and pants, a touch of silver around his neck, he looks… exotic. Striking.

Hot.

Ocean refills my glass and passes it to me without a word. I take it and sip, choking on the Jack.

I can’t look away. Why the fuck can’t I look away from Jason leading this unremarkable stranger away? Toward the toilets, to suck him off, or to fuck, and the thought shouldn’t get me hard and riled up at the same time. Angry.

Angry at Jason, who’s after all only doing his job.

At myself, for giving a damn.

“You were right,” I tell my brother, slamming the rest of my drink down and getting up from the uncomfortable chair. “It’s getting late. Time to go.”

I toss and turn and can’t sleep all night. My dick’s been hard ever since I saw him at the bar, and my brain’s stuck on him.

Like every night, I try my best to empty my mind, think of other things, the good things in my life—my job, my apartment, my brother, my independence.

But my thoughts keep circling back to him.

Jason.

Not that it’s any surprise. This is a fucking constant these days.

Can’t get him out of my mind. Can’t stop thinking of his eyes, his body, his mouth curling in a smirk. Can’t stop thinking about that mouth on my dick. How it would feel. Seeing him on his knees in front of me, pushing my fingers into his tangled hair. Seeing those dark eyes turned up, toward me.

I roll on my back. The ceiling spins lazily as the alcohol works its slow way through my system.

He seems so much older than me. Not in appearance, no. If anything, he looks younger than me, way too young to be doing what he’s doing for a living.

Christ, as if there’s an age when it becomes okay to prostitute yourself…

Anyway, that’s not what I meant. It’s his behavior, his toughness, that darkness in his gaze that speaks of experience. Knowledge.

Shivering, I turn on my side and pull the covers up over my head. I just… I feel like a kid near him, like I know nothing, like… Like he can see right through me, and laugh. Laugh at my lack of experience, my naivety when it comes to sex and men.

Goddammit, why can’t I get this out of my head?

One night with Jason. One fucking night—or even just one evening, one hour… Jesus.

Ever since I met him that fateful day I ran away from Aunt Martha, when I turned eighteen and found him talking with my brother, the thought has been lodged inside my brain like a splinter.

Not that I’ve been celibate. I’m not a monk, I meet guys. I’ve been told that I’m not bad looking, and I keep in shape, training with my brother and his buddies. I’ve been with a couple of men over the years. Some even seemed interested in more than just sex.

But I wasn’t.

Why am I set on a hooker? A guy who fucks other guys for money? Except, he’s handsome, and sexy, and has the experience I lack, so maybe this shit’s normal.

What would it hurt? a little voice whispers seductively in the back of my mind. How expensive could he be? I’ve got money now. I can afford him. I only have to go and ask him, no, tell him I want him to suck me off, or bend over for me.

Other guys do it. All the fucking time.

With Jason.

Again, I’m both painfully hard at the image, and pissed as hell. How’s this possible? How’s this normal, huh?

It can’t be. I have to let go of this obsession. Three years, man. That’s way too fucking long. Ocean thinks it’s what’s keeping me back from dating, and lately even from fucking.

He’s got a point. He may be right, about all of it. He never said I should go pay Jason, though, for a night. And not only because he doesn’t think I need to pay someone to sleep with me, but also because he’s friends with Jason. He looks after him. He seems as protective of him as he is of me—and maybe this is what’s pissing me off.

This is what pissed me off three years ago, when I came back to town to beg my brother to take me in, ready to take off for good if he didn’t, only to find he’d taken Jason in instead. A substitute for me.

Or so it felt then. I’d been bitter for so long, hurt that he’d passed me on like a broken toy, although he’d promised, dammit. He’d promised we’d stick together through it all.

I remember seeing Jason for the first time. Bleached, white-blond hair, ripped jeans and a sparkly top that barely covered his chest. He was thinner than he is now, and his arms had been bare despite the cold, ropey muscle over strong bones, skin covered in dark ink.

Feral. Sexy.

My cock is so hard it aches. I wrap my hand around it before I realize, groaning in relief as I squeeze the hard length. I won’t get any fucking sleep tonight unless I take care of this.

Jason’s image winks at me in my mind. He turns to face me, those dark eyes lined with black, lashes long and mouth soft. His mouth always looks soft, even when his eyes are angry.

Angry at me.

His anger sparks something in me, gets me harder. In my mind, he grabs the hem of his ridiculously short top, then smirks as he slowly drags it over his muscular chest and over his head.

Oh hell…

His dark hair is mussed, and he drags his tongue over his lower lip, tipping his head back. Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, he drags his pants lower over his hips.

Sinner, a familiar voice whispers in my ear. Sinner…

Hissing, I stroke harder, tugging painfully on my hard-on. Chasing the voice away. Fuck you, memory. I close my eyes, trying to focus on my image of Jason, but it’s slipping away, my aunt’s voice throwing me back to the past.

Back when I didn’t think I deserved any happiness, when I thought I was going to hell for wanting boys, caught between a constant blinding rage and the mortifying feeling I was the biggest freak in the carnival.

I still and blink at the far wall, my hard-on sagging.

Well, fuck.

I should stop thinking about Jason anyway. And it’s not the first time I tell myself that. I think of him often. Way too fucking often, and I need to get myself under control. I have too much resting on my shoulders right now, too much on my mind to obsess over that damn hooker.

That damn annoying, sexy hooker, because I should be more worried about work. Setting money aside. College, maybe, like Ocean keeps nagging me about. Stop working two jobs, find time for classes. Deal with my parents—the very same who strung my brother along with lies, sucking in his hard-earned money like parasites, until they up and left.

And now they’re back.

Rage warms me up from the inside, a burning blade that takes my attention off my desire for Jason. My parents deserve all my focus. I need to make sure they’re out of our lives for good.

Revenge, you might think? Getting back at them for the pain they inflicted on their children over the years? Nah, not worth the trouble.

But they are back and want more, and I won’t let them sink their claws into Ocean again. He’s too trusting. Too good.

Unlike me. I never trusted them, never expected them to pretend they cared. And I’ll take care of this, without involving my brother. My turn to look after him, have his back.

Which is another reason I wanna go to school, or at least manage to get a better-paying job to take the load of responsibility off his shoulders. He has a kid now. He should stop worrying about me.

And shouldn’t have to worry about our freaking parents at all.

I’ll make damn sure of that.