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CHAPTER TWO

ST. CLARE

The fist that flies at my head is expected, even if not appreciated. I try to duck, but Onyx is fast, and while I mostly get out of the way, their fist still clips my jaw. It’s a shockingly solid hit, and I stagger back a few steps, hands raised.

“ Mercy . Motherfucker.”

Onyx smirks, and I hate that they can still manage to look so sweet with their hands wrapped and raised, ready to hit me again. “I told you to block.”

“Colin,” I call out to my brother, who’s watching us from the side of the sparring mat. “Your turn.”

“I believe we agreed to five-minute sessions.”

“We did. Until Onyx tried to kill me.”

They laugh, securing more of their vibrant red hair back into their hairband. “It was a love tap.”

“You almost took my head off.”

The look they give me is pitying at best. “I thought you wanted to be able to defend yourself?”

“Colin needs it more,” I say, selflessly freeing up Onyx’s time for him.I’ve always been so generous.

My brother takes off his glasses and sets them purposely on the ground before replacing me in front of Onyx. Then I take off like the wimp that I am and find Lars on some machine that’s making his normally jacked-up arms look even jacked-ier.

“Am I bleeding? Bruised? Broken?” I ask, turning my head so he can see where Onyx got me. Like Onyx’s punch, the look he gives me should be expected because they barely clipped me, and here I am, acting like I’ve been through attempted murder.

“Dramatic?” Lars suggests.

I huff and take the bench beside him. “It’s okay for you; you’re used to being punched in the head.”

Lars has been my best friend for years, and when Colin and I were in the process of opening our nightclub, Saint Clare’s, an older club right by us started causing issues. When the owner, Yanni, threatened us, Lars quit his security job and became our full-time protection. The three of us are all in on Saint Clare’s, so we really need it to do well.

Also, Lars really needs to get his ass up and do his job because I don’t think bodyguards are supposed to let people punch their clients.

Even if I willingly accepted Onyx’s offer to teach us self-defense.

They’re still sparring with Colin, and from what I can see, both of them are having a much better time of it than I was. Colin’s actually laughing, which isn’t something he does a lot. He’s not someone who has a lot of friends or likes being social, and while I used to bug him about it, he’s happy enough doing his own thing.

It doesn’t stop me from feeling proud to see him now though. We hired Onyx a week before Saint Clare’s opened, and they’ve been a miracle of a night manager and are one of the only people besides me and Lars who seems to “get” Colin.

Lars grins at me, shiny with sweat, neck red and thick from whatever equipment he’s been using. “I’m sure I read something today about Capricorns running scared.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I drown out his teasing as I watch Colin and Onyx spar. Onyx isn’t rough with him . He doesn’t get punched in the face.

When they finally finish up, Colin walks over, bright red and sweaty, glasses slipping down his slippery nose. “Need to go home and shower,” he says through labored breaths.

“We have that meeting tonight,” I remind him. “With the journalist.”

Colin quickly nods, and his glasses slip so much they’re in danger of falling off. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be there.”

Considering what a stickler for being on time and fulfilling responsibilities that he is, I don’t doubt it.

***

Well, fuck.

Colin’s late. The party lights on the dance floor below swing wildly, temporarily lighting up my office, and I quickly look around, worry creeping down my spine like the exaggerated footsteps in a horror movie. This feeling of being watched has been intensifying lately, and I’m not sure if it’s for real or if Yanni’s threats have made me paranoid.

Colin is the reliable one out of the two of us. Always organized, always taking this business seriously, and it’s not that I don’t exactly, but I don’t think running a successful business and having no personality are mutually exclusive.

You need a sense of humor to deal with the shit we’ve been through.

Sometimes literally thanks to Yanni trying to scare us from opening.

I check my watch again, remembering opening day a few weeks ago when Colin bought us matching ones as a we did it gift. Colin and I have been talking about owning a club together since we were kids, and it’s wild to think we made it happen. Dreams come true and all that. He had our watches made custom, with the logo for Saint Clare’s on the watch face, my band platinum and his gold. Colors as opposite as we are.

But while we’re opposites and butt heads, we know each other inside and out, and I love my brother more than anyone. I also know that he is never, ever late, and it’s making me worried. I don’t want to worry. Worrying leads to wrinkles, and I’m already thirty. Thirty in gay years is practically ancient—I don’t need to look it as well.

I slide my phone from my pocket and open my recent calls, then click on his number.

Colin has a thing where he won’t answer his phone before it’s rung three times, so I relax, prepared to wait … It takes me a second or two of nothing to pull my phone away from my ear again. The call’s dropped out, and I’m back on his contact page.

I hit his name again, but after a second of trying to connect, it fails.

Well, that’s concerning.

I shove my phone into my pocket, glaring down at the full club. Word of mouth helped the buzz spread quickly, and we’ve been marketing our asses off for months. Colin did the behind-the-scenes stuff, and I brought the promotional ideas. It’s why we work so well together and why this place has been at capacity every weekend.

I pace over to the large window overlooking the street below. Seattle has great nightlife, and when this building came up with awesome lease terms, we jumped at the opportunity to finally open Saint Clare’s. From where I’m standing, I can make out a fraction of the red-front facade of Rev, the nightclub down the road. All the sight does is piss me off after everything they’ve put us through. Our liquor license was delayed, they’ve reported us continuously to the fire marshal, and our original shipment of lights went missing. All that, on top of sending us packages of actual shit, calling in bomb threats, and having seedy-looking guys with guns lurking out the front of our place, has been too much to handle while trying to open our first business.

It’s soured me to opening another one if this one does well.

Colin’s always been the entrepreneur between us. It was him who wanted to start that doll repair business when we were five, and him set up with an iced tea stand every summer, and him who was mowing lawns in the neighborhood as soon as he could push a mower, and him trying to charge kids entrance fees at the local park.

I was just there , in awe of his ideas, ready to back him up however I could. The doll’s missing an arm? Let’s give her a cyborg one instead. Iced tea? I made the sign and put together makeshift coolers so we didn’t have to run back and forth to the house. I was there to clean up the mowed grass and stop the kids at the park from ratting us out.

I’m the support person to his brilliance.

Which is why I need his ass here now.

A whistle comes from behind me, and I drop my head back at the sound. “Already?”

The music in the club below is loud, but I catch my best friend’s laugh. “You set the time.”

“Yeah, well, we both know I’m an idiot.”

“Brom’s taking them to the suite. You better get your ass down there.”

“Colin’s not here yet.”

“ Really ?” Lars’s incredulous tone echoes my thoughts. “Huh. Well, it’s not like that’s the worst thing. You want these guys to give you a good write-up, and his awkward rambling is fifty-fifty between being cute and being manic.”

“There’s supposed to be photos.”

“Again … good thing. Colin’s not photogenic either.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I can talk about our club without him here.”

“Then he should have turned up. You can’t keep them waiting either, otherwise who knows what the fuck they’re gonna write. It’s a feature piece about the young business owners of Saint Clare’s. They sort of need the owners to know who they’re writing about.”

I finally turn and give Lars my full attention. All six foot seven of his cocky playboy, security guarding, horoscope-loving self. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s not reading my mind and is still talking about the feature. “No, not the interview. The guy they’re sending, I looked him up. Cute as hell, single—I think—and openly gay.”

“Ahh.” Lars’s lips tremble. “You were going to try and sleep with him.”

“Bingo. But with Colin currently misplaced, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for more reasons than that, but whatever you need to go with.”

“Okay,” I say, giving in. The unsettled feeling in my gut is urging me not to do the interview at all, but we don’t need any more problems. I grab my suit jacket from where I’ve flung it across my desk and shrug into it. “How do I look?”

Lars eyes me. “Like a horny guy who’s been denied his favorite dick treats.”

“Well, that’s what I want them writing about me.”

“Guess it depends what you want out of the article.”

“To be taken seriously as a businessman?”

Lars snorts in a way that very clearly says anyone who takes me seriously can’t be trusted. “Well, that’s not going to do it, then.”

“No shit.” I scrape both hands back through my styled hair. “What if they ask questions about the businessy side of things?”

“I know I’m only the hired muscle, but how do you expect to be taken seriously as a businessman when you call it businessy and look like you’re ready to throw yourself out the window just from the threat of talking about it?”

This is why I need Colin. I can charm the pants off anyone when he’s the one talking about the boring stuff, and I’m worried that without him, I’ll come across as empty. Snarkily confident without any of the actual skill to back it up.

Lars walks over to give me a reassuring pat on the back. “Before you go down the spiral of whatever this is, remember that you’re the one who came up with the branding. You’re the one who worked to make the club look like this. You did the layout and floor plan to maximize how people would use this space, and you’re the one who set up all these interviews, who got the opening week buzz alive, who found influencers and reached out for cross-promotions with the businesses in the area. You know what you’re doing.”

I hate to admit that those reminders help. When it comes to Colin, I’ve always felt second best. It’s nothing that he or our parents did to enforce that, but when he’s the one who was a perfect student in school, who aced everything without trying, who constantly has something on the go, it’s pretty easy to look around and wonder what the fuck me and my C-grade average have going for us.

Lars never lets me sit with those feelings for long.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“Dude, I know. I can read every thought in your butthead brain.”

Lars needs to get laid . “Could you read that?”

“I could. And fuck you. My sex life is my business.”

For a self-proclaimed man whore, he sure does keep quiet about what he gets up to during his time off.

I can gripe at him about that later though. I can’t leave these guys from MediaCorp waiting any longer than I already have, and I’m going to need a good-sounding business excuse for the delay. I don’t think stressing about saying something stupid is going to cut it.

“If I say something stupid?—”

Lars finishes my thought. “I set a fire and evacuate the place. Got it.”

He might be a pain in the fucking ass, but he’s as much of a brother to me as Colin is.

“Keep trying to call him,” I tell Lars. “Late is better than never.”