Page 5 of With this Ring (Mastered #7)

Under the stark lighting of the garage gym attached to his caretaker’s cottage at the Den, Gregorio struck the heavy punching bag with a rhythmic thud, the power and precision honed by years of trying to outrun the past.

Shirtless, slick with sweat, he focused on each jab instead of the slight limp that left him a little off balance and the white bandage on his abdomen—a nasty fucking reminder of a recent mission gone south.

With each punch, pain flared, a soul-sucking contrast to the dull ache of his exertion. Ignoring it, he pushed through, just like he did with everything else.

Hell, he’d done it for so long it might as well be his life motto.

Endure.

This afternoon, he’d opted for silence over music, which meant the only sounds in the room were the repetitive echo of knuckles against canvas and the breaths burning his lungs.

Well-earned sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes.

On and on he went, clearing his mind with each combo, narrowing his world to a physical, brutal rhythm.

With a final, vicious jab, Gregorio stepped back to grab a towel.

As he wiped sweat from his face, the movement pulled at his wound, yet another in a long line that he’d needed to have stitched.

He was too old for this shit.

On rare occasions, and only on days the Den was closed to the public, he still freelanced for Hawkeye Security. But this one had been unsanctioned, and no one had known about it. He’d left a loose end when settling a recent score, and that bothered him enough to do something about it.

The bastard had died at his hand, but not without catching him with a knife and carving out a jagged chunk of flesh.

He’d allowed the doctor to do her work, as long as she skipped anesthesia. He was a physical man and wanted to feel every moment of his life. It reminded him he was still alive.

Muscles burning in a satisfying way, he headed back inside to get ready for the evening—ladies’ night at the Den. More newbies than ever were planning to attend. So many, in fact, that he’d marked the event as sold out.

Inside his small, stark home, he jogged up the circular metal steps leading to the loft that served as his command center.

In addition to his desk and a computer, he had a bank of security monitors which shared a feed with the ones in the main house.

A specialized app made by a genius ensured Damien and Gregorio were able to access every camera from their phones and watches.

Since everything was calm for now, he headed for the bathroom, ripped off the bandage, gave his wound a cursory glance—he’d probably pull out the stitches tomorrow, and have another scar to add to his collection—then took a quick, cool shower.

After toweling off, he slapped on fresh gauze and tape before dressing in his usual attire.

The moment his boots were on, his watch vibrated.

He touched a blinking icon. The catering service was at the gate.

Right on time.

He buzzed them through.

Their van was quickly followed by a shiny, oversize truck towing a trailer bearing a nearly full-size image of singing sensation Zephyr ‘Zeph’ Rockwell.

Unfortunately, this was likely the star’s last appearance here.

With Zeph’s meteoric rise to success, a tour bus was in his imminent future. Maybe as soon as next summer, he’d be a headliner, looking for bands to open for him.

After closing his front door and setting the alarm, Gregorio headed for the Den to open up.

For the next couple of hours, the Den—one of Colorado’s premier BDSM clubs—was a beehive of activity.

Countless small details went on behind the scenes to ensure guests and members were able to focus on their experience without anything dragging them out of the world Damien had masterfully created.

On the main level, a check-in table had been set up, and Lillith—a fairly new house sub—was preparing for the first arrivals.

She’d set up two electronic tablets and organized wristbands which would be assigned according to the role each attendee was assuming for the event—Top, bottom, house submissive, and more.

Additionally, several House Monitor armbands were also stacked nearby.

“Going to be a busy evening,” he observed.

“We’re as ready as we can be.” She nodded. “Susan will be here soon to help. And luckily Master Niles and Brandy already checked in the ladies who attended their event. All we’ll have to do is assign wristbands.”

Good plan since all the people would arrive at once, on the same shuttle bus.

Next, he greeted the woman in charge of the coatroom and ensured the valet stand was in place with extra personnel on hand.

Satisfied, he continued to assess progress.

Three bars had already been erected—one on the main level, another on the patio, and the final downstairs, near the dungeon.

The one outside had several blenders in place where frothy mocktails could be concocted.

Nearby, Zeph’s bandmembers tuned up, though the man himself hadn’t yet made an appearance. Planning a special entrance?

The catering staff began uncovering platters of small desserts, including chocolate-covered cheesecake on a stick.

Looking at the sweets for too long would result in a cavity, he was sure.

Satisfied everything was under control, he headed upstairs to a private area—the Den’s unseen hub of security.

There, he had an office of his own, as did Damien and Catrina—for the rare occasions the couple visited the club.

On a monitor, the owner himself keyed the gate open.

“Well, well.”

Less than five minutes later, Damien climbed the stairs to join Gregorio.

“Boss.” They shook hands. “Surprised to see you here.”

“Catrina is at a conference.”

Explains a lot.

A lifetime ago, Gregorio had been married. Maybe he still would be if he’d paid half the attention to his wife as Damien did to Catrina. “When is she back?”

“Monday night.”

By unspoken accord, they moved into Damien’s office.

“Whiskey?” Damien offered. “Cheap-ass owner of the company finally sent me a bottle.”

Gregorio schooled his face. Cheap-ass Damien could afford as much of the world-renowned single malt as he wanted. Maybe that hadn’t been true for a time, but Damien had pulled himself back from beyond the brink of disaster to reach even higher levels of success, something Gregorio admired.

“Thanks.” He shook his head. “No.” Because he wasn’t a cheap-ass, Gregorio had his own bottle of the limited release in his cottage.

Sometimes the fine distillate was the only thing that got him through the night, but because he wanted to be as sharp as possible, he never drank while on duty.

Damien nodded. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He pulled out the exquisite bottle and a glass, then measured out a couple of fingers. Drink in hand, he took a seat behind his desk and leaned back. “Update me.”

Gregorio dropped into a nearby chair.

Because Damien had been busy, they’d missed their last couple of weekly meetings, which likely said something about how much he trusted his second in command to keep things running smoothly, confidence Gregorio appreciated. “First cabin was finished this week.”

Damien lifted his glass in Gregorio’s direction. “Ahead of schedule.”

“Ready for your inspection.” The designer would be adding final soft touches in the coming days.

Plans to expand the property and add more amenities had been underway for years. Focused on that goal, Damien had methodically acquired adjoining pieces of land.

Not only did he plan on maintaining the Den’s status as the premier BDSM club in a five-state region, but soon members would be able to stay overnight instead of being shuttled back and forth to Winter Park.

“Bunkhouse is almost done.” And it was looking good. “The hall should be finished within the month.”

“Impressive.”

The gathering space with a full chef’s kitchen would be an ideal setting for weddings, collaring ceremonies, special events, parties, maybe even slave auctions.

Which meant Gregorio would be assuming a bigger role, but he wasn’t always around to fill it.

Recently they’d hired Ryder Wolfe, a young Dominant who’d turned out to be a great asset, even if he was too damn cocky for Gregorio’s tastes.

As if following the direction of his thoughts, Damien asked, “How’s the pup doing?”

“You mean the internet sensation?”

Damien sipped his beverage.

A BDSM video production company filmed at the Den, and Wolfe was their new super star. The videos he appeared in had more downloads than almost all of the other talent combined.

No doubt the Dom was part of the reason this ladies’ night had sold out.

But Gregorio wasn’t complaining.

The production company had just signed a new contract, booking additional days every month.

As a result, he’d bumped the fee substantially.

Wolfe’s appeal was putting cash in everyone’s pocket, which had been part of the reason they were able to speed up development of the rest of the property. “He’ll be doing a demo with Lillith.”

The woman was beautiful and willowy. He’d watched Wolfe interact with professional submissives in videos. Even though Lillith was not an actress or model, the pair promised to make a captivating team.

Beauty and elegance were secondary, however, to safety.

“I’ll look forward to being in the audience.”

Damien was a gifted teacher whose classes were legend in BDSM circles. “Unless you’d like to do it yourself, since you’re here?”

“Not tonight.” Damien shook his head.

Respecting your relationship with your wife-to-be?

Of course, with how much the two were in love, they didn’t have eyes for anyone else.

Gregorio respected that. And he fought back the uncomfortable nudge of jealousy that told him he might have had something similar.

If— He shook off the uncomfortable intrusion.

“Want a tour of the cabin while it’s still light? ”

Damien nodded.

Since the man was on the hook for well over a cool million in construction loans, he deserved the opportunity to see the building before anyone else.

Damien’s phone chimed. “Excuse me.”