Page 9

LUCA

The overt sexual energy in every beat of the sensual music blaring through the speakers, pouring off of the men wearing nothing but G-strings or ass-hugging shorts as they weave through the crowd to deliver drinks or offer lap dances is a world away from the vibe inside Wonderland.

Wild—the only all male, primarily queer focused strip club in Wildcliff, maybe even the state—has been Lorenzo Moretti’s pet project since the day he took over The Family.

Maybe it’s the manufactured feeling of it all, like sex is an expectation here rather than a result of raw lust like it is at Wonderland.

Or maybe it’s just me. Here at Wild, there’s no escaping who I am.

Even the assessing looks from the dancers I pass have a touch of curiosity and fear, like they’re not sure if they want me to notice them or not.

My skin prickles and my frown deepens as the memory of Anders’s terrified expression last night flashes through my mind.

There’s no way he’ll go back to Wonderland tonight, which means I’m going to need an actual plan to track him down now.

I doubt Mads or any of the other guys know much more about Anders than I do, and obviously they aren’t willing to spill even if they do.

Not without a hell of a lot of incentive , and something tells me beating information out of the bartenders will make it awkward as hell to order a drink the next time.

It’s an option, but not the one I want to start with if I can help it.

A large, muscled man wearing nothing but a bowtie and black briefs steps into my path.

He looks me up and down slowly and then curls his lips into a smile that’s clearly meant to be tempting.

Maybe it would be if he were my type. I imagine a sassy twink in his place and give an involuntary shake of my head.

No, not even then. Anders is under my skin and no one else will do.

“Can I help you with anything, Mr. Moretti?” he purrs suggestively, and a memory of meeting him before flickers in my head. Lucifer, that’s his name, or at least the one he goes by here. He was one of the dancers I met while I was playing bodyguard to Dante a few months ago.

I shake my head again. “No, thank you. I’m here for a meeting.”

He puts on an exaggerated pout. “Bummer. If you change your mind, come find me.” He winks and saunters away with a sway in his hips.

I manage to reach Uncle Sal’s favorite table without catching the attention of any other dancers.

Tonight, he’s the well put together capo I’m used to seeing, dripping with a quiet air of ‘don’t fuck with me,’ from his stylish burgundy three-piece suit with a black undershirt and tie to the confident set of his shoulders as he sips a drink and watches the man on stage.

Dante . He’s the most popular dancer here, and not just because he’s painfully beautiful, although that doesn’t hurt.

No, the reason he keeps men panting for him is because he’s not content to simply shake his ass and shed his clothes to the same overplayed strip anthems. His routines are pure artistry, from his pole work to choreography that seamlessly lends itself to each item of clothing falling off one by one.

None of that is the reason Sal can’t look away though. No, that’s just pure, unbridled obsession with his husband.

Dante had to take a few months off after one of the Fitzpatricks attacked him, and I can tell by the look of ecstasy on his face as he swings around the pole that he’s glad to be back, if only part-time now while he works on setting up a dance studio of his own.

He does a twirl and kick move as he shrugs his shirt off of his shoulders, and one of the men eagerly pressed up against the side of the stage reaches for him, his fingers grazing the dancer’s calf.

A flash of fire heats Dante’s expression and he bares his teeth.

He drops into a crouch and grabs the man’s hand, twisting his finger roughly.

“Touch me again and I’ll break your fingers one by one,” he hisses. The man whimpers and yanks his hand back.

I chuckle under my breath. Uncle Sal was right, Moretti men have a type.

I pull out the chair opposite his, and he finally drags his attention away from the stage, away from Dante.

He glances at my face, his attention lingering only a fraction of a second, but it’s long enough for me to feel like I’m under a microscope.

I clear my throat and reach into the inside pocket of my suit jacket, pulling out a thick envelope filled with my collections for the day.

I slide it across the table and he takes it without comment.

I wait while he counts it and then spends a few minutes tapping away at the screen of his tablet, entering the corresponding amounts into his spreadsheets. When he’s done, he looks up at me again, raising his eyebrows and quirking his lips in a questioning smile.

“Well, are you going to make me come right out and ask?” He doesn’t pause long enough for me to actually answer, so I’m guessing that was a rhetorical question. “Did you find the ballsy twink who robbed you and profess your undying love to him, or what?”

I snort a laugh, and my balls give an involuntary throb at the memory of Anders’s knee plowing into them last night.

My chest tightens and I bite back a whimper.

If Anders knew how badly I wanted to kiss the hell out of him while he desperately tried to fight me off, he’d realize just how fucked up I am.

I don’t want him scared and I don’t want him to hurt, but seeing the fight in him, feeling the rage and fire and venom he’s made of only made me more determined to keep him all to myself.

“I found him.” I sit back, drumming my fingers on the table. “And I lost him again.”

Sal chuckles against the rim of his glass in between sips.

“I like this dude. He sounds feisty.” I narrow my eyes, and he makes another amused sound in his throat. “Relax. I’ve hit my quota for unhinged twinks who are determined to make my life difficult.”

“Are my ears burning?” Dante’s voice comes from over my shoulder. I hadn’t even realized his set had ended, but there’s another man on stage in his place now.

Sal looks Dante up and down slowly and the “unhinged twink” in question bares his teeth and flips my uncle his middle finger.

“Actually, yes,” Sal says. “I think your particular talents are exactly what Luca needs tonight.”

I choke on nothing but air and gape across the table, sure I must have misunderstood. No way am I about to accept a lap dance from my uncle’s husband.

“Is that so?” Dante purrs, putting his hands on my shoulders and leaning down so his hot breath ghosts over my earlobe.

“Does the baby Moretti need a favor from little ol’ me?

” He nips at my ear, and I jolt in my seat, more from the murderous look in Sal’s eyes and the way his hand twitches for his gun than any actual pain from the bite.

“Nope, I think I’m good.” I jump out of my seat and anxiously smooth down my tie.

“Sit,” Sal commands, and I glance between him and Dante again, trying to decide the least dangerous course of action.

Dante smirks and pats the chair. “Come on back, puppy, I won’t let the grumpy boss-man shoot you.”

I give a weak laugh and reluctantly sit back down.

Thankfully, Dante stops fucking with Sal and pulls out a chair of his own.

He crosses one leg over the other and looks between us with detached, professional curiosity this time, like he’s at a board meeting rather than at a strip club wearing nothing but a lace thong and a pair of knee-high boots.

“As I was saying,” Sal says, “I think you can really help Luca out with a little problem he’s having.”

“And that problem would be…?” Dante prompts, looking at me.

I shake my head since I don’t have the first clue how my uncle thinks Dante is going to help with any of this. Does he assume all sex workers in Wildcliff know each other?

“He needs to find someone, but it needs to stay off the Moretti radar,” Sal explains.

Dante’s eyes darken. “Is it the same kind of person you guys had me look into last time? Because I’m not sure—”

“No,” Sal says immediately. “It’s personal.”

Dante nods slowly and then licks his lips. “Okay, I can do that then.” He looks over at me again. “It’s going to cost you, obviously.”

Finally following the conversation, I shift forward in my seat eagerly. “No problem.”

Dante snorts a laugh. “I’m kidding, puppy. You can pay me back by coming by and making me coffee again one of these mornings.” He pats my hand. “I’m on shift for another hour, then we can sit down and talk, and you can tell me who I’m hunting down for you.”

With that, Dante gets back up and sashays away.

“There you go.” Sal stands up and straightens his suit, tucking his tablet and the envelope I gave him into his briefcase. He rounds the table and claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t say I never did you any favors, kid. Good luck.”

Once he’s gone, I pull out my phone to check where the nearest ATM is. And while I’m at it, I take care of some other business I’ve been thinking about all day before tucking my phone away again.

ANDERS

The dusty smell of the rarely touched books in this section of the library tickles my nose.

Tucked into the back corner of the medical science section with my back against the row of books on the bottom shelf and a psychology textbook open in my lap, this is the closest thing to a “happy place” I have in my life.

My lips move silently as I eagerly read through a chapter about schizophrenia, drinking in the information like a parched man in the desert. It’s almost as interesting as the chapter I read last week on bipolar disorder. Almost.

Sometimes when I sneak away to hide here for the afternoon, I pretend everything about my life is nothing but a wild daydream I cooked up to make my boring life as a college student more exciting. If only .