Chapter 5: The Surprise Gathering
The hot water in the penthouse’s marble shower did nothing to soothe the tremor in his hands. It stung the fresh, tender skin between his legs, a constant, brutal reminder. He’d choked twice, vomiting up salty precum and phlegm into the drain, his throat scraped raw. When he stepped out, steam curling around his slight frame, Markus was waiting with a towel.
“Look at you,” Markus said, not unkindly, as he rubbed the thick cotton over Jamie’s skin. “Used top to bottom.” He tipped Jamie’s chin up. “Open.” Jamie obeyed, showing his red, abraded throat.Markus grunted approval.“Good.Tyrell liked that. Said you were a greedy little thing.”
Jamie didn’t know what to say. A part of him wanted to curl into a ball and weep. A larger, more frightening part glowed at the praise.
Markus tossed him fresh clothes from the duffel—soft black skinny jeans, a sheer mesh top, a pair of clean, simple black briefs.“Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Out?” Jamie’s voice was a raspy whisper.
“You think this is over?You’ve had a starter. Now it’s time for the main course.”
The club was called “Nectar,” a place hidden behind an unmarked door in a narrow Silom alley.The bass from inside was a physical pulse in the concrete. Markus exchanged a nod with a giant of a bouncer, and the velvet rope parted.Inside, it was another world. A cavern of stained concrete and brushed steel, throbbing with a deep, tribal techno. Strobe lights sliced through a haze of smoke and sweat, illuminating fragmented glimpses of bodies—men, mostly, and some like Jamie, caught in the ambiguous space between. They moved in a slow, drugged grind, eyes heavy-lidded, hands roaming.
Markus kept a firm hand on the small of Jamie’s back, steering him through the crowd. The sheer mesh top felt like wearing nothing; every glance felt like a touch.He was paraded, a prize on display. They reached a roped-off booth in a shadowy corner, slightly elevated. Tyrell was already there, flanked by two other men.
One was older, nigerian, with sharp, evaluating eyes and silver hair cropped close.He wore a tailored suit that screamed money. The other was a giant black man, taller than Markus but leaner, covered in intricate tattoos, his gaze hungry and immediate.
“This is Chad,” Markus said, indicating the older man. “And Lex.” The tattooed man’s smile was a razor slash.
Tyrell pulled Jamie down onto the leather bench beside him, his arm a heavy bar across Jamie’s shoulders.“How’s the throat, princess?”
“Sore,” Jamie managed.
“It’ll get sorer,” Lex said, his voice a cigarette-rough drawl. He was staring openly at Jamie’s crotch.“I heard about the cage. Let’s see.”