Page 2 of My Ex’s Billionaire Brothers (Forbidden Hearts #5)

GAGE

Another night, another bout of boredom.

It’s not that I don’t love my life—I do. But sometimes, the predictability of it wears on me. I stand at the upstairs railing in Sins, leaning my forearms against the black metal as I observe the ebb and flow of the crowd.

From this vantage point, I can see everything—the red and purple lights rotating in hypnotic patterns across the dance floor, the clusters of guests mingling around dark velvet couches, the occasional hush of a negotiated scene behind gauzy curtains surrounding a semi-private booth.

I built this balcony with my brothers so we could survey the club in comfort—plus, the vantage point is excellent for ensuring no one’s breaking our rules.

Rules are the only thing that separate us from the animals outside.

As Carvers, Hunter, Theo, and I were expected to play by their rules.

The lying, cheating, cunning games of the upper crust never appealed to any of us, so we opted out.

We own other businesses that our mother can lord over her friends, bragging about her billionaire sons, but Sins is where we go to be ourselves.

Normally, it’s nights like this I live for. The music thrums in my bones, a steady heartbeat that reminds me I’m alive, that this club is mine . But tonight isn’t a normal night. I haven’t had a normal night in months.

That’s no one’s fault but your own .

The thought is partially true. But when I dig into it, I’m not sure. I don’t know how to blame myself for finding tedium in a world that most people wouldn’t dare step foot into.

Whips and chains are fun, but when you’ve done it all, what else is left?

“Another full house,” Hunter remarks as he steps beside me. He sips from a bottle of water. “I’m seeing a lot of new faces.”

Most of the crowd is new, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling restless. “It’s good,” I say, “but these folks might not know our protocols.”

Hunter gives a short nod. “Yep. We’ve got a fresh stack of liability waivers, plus the security team has been briefed. Nadine is handling the guest list, and Vivian’s going to do a second pass once the place hits capacity.”

Vivian Todd is our manager—practically the heartbeat of this operation.

She’s in her mid-forties like me, has a keen eye for detail, and can herd rowdy guests better than any bouncer I’ve met.

Vivian is a no-nonsense, no-bullshit kind of woman who leaves no room for lip.

She’s the one we trust to run Sins when we’re away.

I’d never cross her, and I’m her boss. More than that, she’s one of an elite club—the few women around here we’ve never touched and never will touch.

One time, I asked Hunter if he was into her, seeing as he’s the biggest flirt among us.

I might as well have asked him to punch a beehive by the look he gave me.

His exact words were, “I like my balls exactly where they are.”

I straighten up, eyes focusing on details in the crowd.

A pair of girls—twins?—flank a man in a leather business suit, each of them vying for his attention over the other.

In the far corner, a woman is strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross and being flogged to within an inch of her life.

Then, there are the caged. Chained and tormented, each with their safeword printed on all four sides of their cages, to let all the random players know when to call it quits.

Their monitor, Everly, keeps a close watch on them to ensure all protocols are followed.

For a kink club, Sins is the safest spot in town.

I grunt. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Fourth of July weekend is coming fast,” Hunter says, switching topics. “You set on leaving her in charge while we’re out of town?”

“I trust her to handle it. We’ve got other business to attend to.” Not to mention, we occasionally like to see our family during the holidays—or at least, the ones we actually want to see.

Hunter taps his bottle against the railing absently. “You heard from Theo?”

“He’s in the back office going over our expansion numbers. Something about the new spot in Manhattan.” I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension there. “I’ll check in with him before we head out.”

Hunter turns to go, but he pauses, eyeing me carefully. “Don’t look so grim. I know you love this place, even if you’re too stoic to show it.”

“I’m not grim or stoic. Just thinking.”

He heads downstairs to circulate, leaving me to my own thoughts again. From where I stand, the music is slightly muted, but I can still feel the bass pulsing in my gut. Not enough to get me onto the floor, but enough to keep my gaze moving.

There’s a scene going on in one corner—an elegant domme teaching her partner how to wield a flogger with precision. I watch for a moment, verifying that everything is safe and consensual, and then I move on.

I notice a familiar submissive near the bar, a petite woman in a sparkly bustier who’s been making eyes at me for weeks now. I can’t remember her name—Sasha, maybe? Or Samantha?—but I do recall that last time we spoke, she expressed an interest in playing with me.

She’s sweet, but as she approaches, I know I’m going to turn her down. Not out of rudeness, but because I’m…well, bored. Sounds harsh, but I can’t lie to myself. For the past few months, every flirtation, every potential new scene partner, feels too familiar. The same lines, the same angles.

I’m seeking something more.

She comes closer, then notices I’m perched above the dance floor.

With a small smile, she slips behind the rope barrier and climbs the staircase that leads to the balcony’s open lounge area.

Security won’t stop her because she’s a regular member, and this lounge is open to those who know how to behave.

When she finally reaches me, she bats her eyelashes, chest rising and falling as if she’s trying to catch her breath.

“Evening, Gage,” she purrs. “Another busy night, huh?”

I nod politely. “It is. Good to see you.”

“I was wondering if you wanted a drink?” She tilts her head, letting a strand of hair fall over her shoulder.

“No, thanks. I’m on the clock,” I say, though that’s only half-true. I could have a drink if I wanted—Hunter does, sometimes. But I rarely partake while overseeing the club.

She cocks her hip to the side, resting a hand there. I see the flirtation in her eyes, the invitation. She steps closer, places her fingers lightly on my forearm. “Would you like to…play tonight?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

Her lips part, disappointment flickering across her face. “Maybe another time.”

“I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for out there.” I jut my chin toward the floor.

She nods and retreats, not too crestfallen, but obviously not thrilled either. A twinge of guilt pinches my chest. It’s not her. It’s me.

I want to show someone the ropes—someone new.

That’s what’s buzzing in my head. I can’t shake it. I’ve been waiting for the kind of person who’s wide-eyed and curious, not jaded or performing a role. A part of me wonders if that’s too tall an order in a place like this.

I glance back at the crowd, letting my gaze drift. After a moment, I spot Theo emerging from the back office downstairs, flipping through some papers. He looks irritated, probably found a discrepancy in our finances. He’s a perfectionist, always has been.

Movement by the entrance catches my eye. The bouncer steps aside to let a woman pass, and my pulse stirs when I recognize her. Everything in my head, the music, even the people gyrating on the dance floor, it all stops.

The woman is wearing a tight black dress that hugs her curves in ways that make my chest constrict. Loose brown waves cascade around her face, cheeks flushed as she looks around anxiously.

Anya.

My mind staggers for a second. Anya Markoff is my half-brother Calvin’s fiancée.

The last time I saw her was almost a year ago.

She was in pearls, a conservative little skirt, and a sweater set, smiling sweetly at family dinner in Mom’s mansion.

And now here she is, stepping inside Sins alone, wide-eyed, obviously nervous.

I head down the staircase immediately, weaving through the crowd. If there’s one person I never expected to see at a place like Sins—especially without Calvin—it’s her.

As I head toward her, I see one of our more aggressive doms approach, a man named Derek.

He’s tall and broad, wearing a leather harness over his chest. He’s experienced, but a bit pushy in how he recruits new play partners.

I watch as he leans in, speaking to Anya.

She looks like a startled deer, eyes darting around like she’s trying to avoid a hunter.

I close the distance and place a firm hand on Derek’s shoulder. “This one’s with me.”

He lifts an eyebrow but steps aside. “Of course, boss. Didn’t realize she was spoken for.”

Anya exhales in visible relief, turning to me. The second our eyes meet, I see her tremble. She’s clutching her small purse so tightly her knuckles are white. Something’s definitely off .

I lower my voice, trying to sound calm and nonthreatening, but it’s hard to sound calm and nonthreatening when the music is this loud. “Anya. What are you doing here?”

She looks like she might burst into tears on the spot. Her lashes flutter, and she swallows hard. “Gage…I—” She falters, glancing around. The swirl of club music and the neon haze can be overwhelming if you’re new. Finally, she manages, “I just—I don’t know.”

I step closer so I can hear her over the music. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Calvin? Is he okay?”

The truth is, I’m more worried about her at this point.

Her expression crumples, tears glistening along her lower lashes. She attempts to speak, but her throat constricts. That’s it. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, gently guiding her toward the stairs at the side of the room that lead to the balcony offices. “C’mon, let’s get you somewhere quieter.”

She doesn’t resist. Up close, I catch the faint scent of her perfume, something floral and soft that I remember from that Christmas dinner.

It stirs memories I shouldn’t dwell on. Like how I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to slug my younger brother for talking to her first. Or wondering what her lips might taste like.

What sounds she makes with that breathy voice of hers when she orgasms.

I tuck the thoughts back into my spank bank as I reach the balcony office door. No good comes from thinking about what might have been.