Two weeks later

The shuffle of footsteps at the open office door demanded attention Bryan wasn’t enthusiastic to give. “Did you want something?” He met Leo’s stare as his friend leaned against the doorframe.” Or are you happy to stand there and admire me in silence?”

“What are you up to tonight?”

Bryan raised a brow. “Probably a whole heap of none-of-your-fucking-business. Why?”

“Shay asked if you had plans to play in the Vault.”

Great. Another woman to add to the list. “Tell Shay to get a life. I don’t want her vetting questions from the vultures down there.”

“Christ, you’re in a mood. Again.”

Bryan sank back in his chair with a huff. He was in a mood. This was his night to work the restaurant, and with Taste of Sin now closed, he should already be downstairs relaxing with a beer and a woman. Instead, he battled with annoyance.

He’d finally nutted out the particulars for the development night he would soon run in the Vault. Meticulous detail had gone into the first email to club patrons advising them of what to expect and what they could learn. Yes, he’d expected questions, and yes, there had been many, but all of them had revolved around his sex life and who he’d be fucking in the near future.

“I made the mistake of leaving my phone number on the email I sent to Vault members. Now I’ve got women hounding my ass. I’ve had two text me in the last five minutes, asking when I’m coming downstairs.”

“Holy shit,” Leo exaggerated a whisper. “You poor, defenseless bastard.”

Bryan scowled.

“Most men would kill for your position. But not you. For such a hard ass, you really are a pussy when women show any interest.”

Yes, he was. A remorseless bachelor for life. He refused to be tied to anyone. Not even temporarily. And if running from commitment-starved women made him a pussy, he’d be happy to wear the title like a badge of honor. “I’m not most men.”

“Clearly. But you do realize they’d back off if you settled down with a regular hook-up? If you remain single, they’re always going to look for an opportunity.”

“I’m not going to let one woman latch her claws for the sake of keeping the rest at bay. They should all know the drill by now. If not, I’ll have to give them a reminder.”

“Well, it better be friendly. They’ll be dripping in their panties if you pull the usual Brute routine.” Leo gave a half-hearted laugh. “I don’t know how you do it, but they eat up your bad attitude like a vanilla fudge sundae.”

That was the vicious cycle. He didn’t do nice. Never had. So, whenever he opened his mouth, the females lapped at his hostile sterility. “Do me a favor and don’t mention my routine and vanilla in the same sentence. We both know that’s more your style.”

“You know what else is my style?” Leo countered. “Committing myself to one woman, so the rest know I’m off-limits.”

“Everyone knows you’re off-limits because Shay threatens to slash them with a broken bottle if they get within two feet.”

“Yep.” Leo grinned. “She’s a keeper.” He pushed from the doorframe, making way for the person who entered.

Shit. Janeane. She was one of the text-message hounds. Long brown hair, dark hazel eyes, a body made for sin, and a determination for commitment that made his skin crawl.

“Looks like you’ve got a visitor,” Leo drawled. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“You need to hang around.” Bryan narrowed his gaze on his business partner, relaying an unmistakable message. “We still have things to discuss.”

His friend grinned in return. “I’d love to, buddy, but I’m going to be busy helping my girlfriend get a life. We’ll catch up later.” Leo gave a salute in farewell, then disappeared down the hall.

Fucker.

“He was in a hurry.” Janeane sauntered toward the desk, her hips moving with an exaggerated sway. “How you doin’, Brute?”

“Fine.” He gripped the armrests on his chair, holding his temper at bay. “You?”

“Good.”

He understood the look she gave him. It was siphoning. She was trying to get more sex out of him and wouldn’t succeed. He’d already slept with her once. That was the extent of their tally—past, present, and future. “What are you doing up here?”

“I thought we could discuss your upcoming development class. Do you still want me to be your assistant?”

He thought it over. After her text messages, and now the visit into the staff area of the club, he knew he should find someone else. But who? She was a carbon copy of every other woman in the Vault. Once he slept with them, his sperm became a potent commitment supplement making them rabid for more.

He really needed to figure out how to get that shit fixed.

“It’s not an assistant, as such.” He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, a picture of disinterest. “I only need someone to demonstrate on.”

“Then I’m your girl.”

Of course, she was.

“But I’d prefer to practice first.” She raised the hem of her skirt and started lowering her underwear.

“No need.” He pushed to his feet and strode around the desk. “I want the session unscripted.”

She batted her lashes and dropped her G-string to the floor. “No problem. Tonight can be just for fun.”

“Not interested.”

She slid forward and placed her hands on his chest. “Are you sure?” Her nails grazed a trail down his pecs, over his stomach, to his crotch. “I bet I can convince you.”

He’d happily take that wager. He’d even stake his house on it. “You won’t win.” He eyed her with apathy, knowing his flaccid cock was incapable of resurrection under her grip. He wasn’t interested. At all. And if she needed to grope him to get the picture, so be it.

“You’re not in the mood tonight?” She pouted. “What’s wrong?”

“You know I’m not a repeat offender, Janeane. We won’t sleep together again.”

Her palm paused on his cock, her brows knit tight. “But the class you’re teaching…”

“Is a one-off. It’s business. If you want to fuck, go downstairs and find someone else.”

Her hand fell away. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” He didn’t want an affiliation with any woman. And he definitely didn’t want her to latch her claws any deeper into the assumption that they had something between them. “I suggest you go back downstairs and find a guy who can treat you right.”

Her lips kicked in another vain attempt at seduction. “I think we both know that’s not how I want to be treated.”

Jesus Christ. For the love of promiscuity. He raked a rough hand over his beard, his fingers digging deep when his phone beeped again. This shit had to stop.

Janeane licked her lips, ignorant to the underlying tension in the room. “Come on, Brute. Do what you want with me.”

He cocked a brow. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“You know it is.” Her eyes brightened.

“Okay, then.” He gently grabbed her wrist and led her into the hall. “I’ll see you later.”

Her mouth gaped as he dropped his hold and inched back to slam the door in her face. Perfect. Peace and fucking quiet.

“Brute.” She banged on the door.

“For fuck’s sake.” He clenched his teeth. What did he have to do to stop these women from praising the ground he walked on? It was no secret he treated them with contempt. Apart from telling them to fuck off, he’d exhausted all other forms of rejection. But still, they came at him like defensive linebackers on a quarterback. “Unless you’re looking for your underwear, you need to leave.”

She huffed. “Fine. Keep them as a souvenir.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He picked the scant piece of material off the floor and threw it in the trash. He didn’t need a reminder. She had his fucking phone number and he was sure she wouldn’t let him forget.

“Bye, Brute.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Bye, Janeane.”

Peaceful silence followed, and he welcomed it with building annoyance. The Vault was supposed to be his sanctuary. His domain. He owned the ground it was built on. Literally. He’d spent years cultivating the perfect environment for his gratification, only now, fucking had become a chore. There was no thrill. No chase. Most importantly, there was no respect.

Sex outside of the club wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t date, and he refused to waste time searching for women morally capable of enjoying an uninhibited one-night stand. He didn’t have the patience or the motivation. Instead, he’d had to settle on growing the list of rejected women inside the Vault. The ones who kept coming back for more. Over and over. Without remorse or dejection.

That shit wasn’t admirable. And it definitely wasn’t attractive. The more a woman chased him, the less respect he gave her in an effort to put her off his scent. Even then, his form of rejection seemed to smell like the latest best-selling fragrance to hit the market.

He couldn’t fucking win.

“This is bullshit.” He yanked open the filing cabinet and sorted unorganized invoices to distract himself from where he wanted to be. Where he should be.

Another slicing beep sounded from his phone, and he slammed the cabinet shut in frustration. He pulled the cell from his pocket, the grind of his teeth harsh enough to cause damage. He’d turn the fucking thing off until morning. Then he’d get the number changed.

He was poised to shut down the device when it started to vibrate, the screen changing with an incoming call from an unknown number. His teeth should’ve cracked under the weight of his rage.

“If this is another woman…” He pressed connect, his nostrils flaring as he placed the device at his ear. “What?”

There was a beat of silence. A delicious beat where he hoped he’d given the caller enough reason to change their mind about asking him to hook up. Or fuck. Or whatever version of a proposition they wanted to use.

“Bryan?”

Yep. Another fucking woman. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Tera.”

Tera?

He frowned. He only knew one woman by that name, and he had less enthusiasm to speak to her than he did with the scavengers at the Vault.

“Bryan?” Her voice was timid, less forthright than he remembered.

He ran a hand over his mouth and contemplated hanging up. “Yeah.”

“It’s your cousin, Tera.” She paused, probably expecting him to spread a welcome mat. The poor thing would be waiting a while. “Is this a good time to talk?”

He scoffed. How the fuck did he answer that? Was now a good time? Really? Was now, more than ten years after being cut from the family, a good time to talk?

“Sure.” He didn’t hide his animosity. “I’ve been hanging out for the perfect opportunity to catch up. Who knew it would be a random Saturday night, a lifetime after you all turned your backs on me?”

“Bryan…”

“Don’t fucking Bryan me. Tell me why you called so we can get this over with.”

She sighed. “I called to ask you to come home.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Not even if your mom is sick?”

The rage disappeared. The bitterness, too. The world stopped. The sound of the club and the echo of his heartbeat pausing along with it. He thought this day would never come. That his family would always treat him like a pariah—unworthy of their attention. After a childhood chasing parents who tried to ignore his existence, he had finally been acknowledged.

“Bryan, are you still there?”

“I’m here.” He leaned against the filing cabinet, contemplating the need to hang up. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to care.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but she has terminal cancer.”

Fuck. He’d wondered if this outcome would ever eventuate from his mother. Not the karma that reared its head in the form of a disease with a death sentence. He’d always wondered about the regret—the moment she would realize she had a list of sins she needed to absolve before she passed into whatever holy land she thought was waiting for her.

“She’s been fighting for a while now. I’m just not sure how much she has left in her.”

A while. He really shouldn’t be surprised. “If she wants to see me, she can call herself.”

“She doesn’t even know I’ve called.” The words hung like a noose awaiting an unwilling neck. “Nobody does.”

In other words—they still didn’t care about him. Nobody did.

He gave a derisive laugh. The possibility of death hadn’t even inspired affection in his mom. Why, after all this time, did he expect something different from the stone-cold bitch?

“Thanks for the call, Tera.”

“Are you going to come home?” she asked in a rush.

“Tampa was never my home. My parents made sure of that.” He cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind of the past at the same time. “It’s best for everyone involved if you lose this number.”

He waited for an acknowledgment of his request—the slight hitch in her breath—before he disconnected the call and pocketed his cell.

He didn’t have a home. Didn’t need or want one.

He had a refuge, though, and it was time he reclaimed it.