Chapter 77
Tony, the lead bouncer called in the sheriff’s office for backup and Zeke Robbins, who was out on bail, was taken back into custody. Frankie would need a trip to the ER before he hit the Trenton jail. Reed was ready for that contingency by producing the agreement all guests signed before club admission.
Neither the club, nor any club patron is responsible for injuries incurred while stopping a patron from attempting non-consensual sexual play.
Before he left, Reed found out how he made it in the door.
The Sherriff’s Department found Joey unconscious behind a bush, and the door was untended. Robbins and Frankie had just walked in and sat down at the bar. The members assumed they and their party were vetted at the door. Reed suspended the privileges of all of the members who stood by watching as the boy got beaten and nearly raped.
When one of the wealthier members affected objected, Reed snapped, “Read the rules, you bent bastard. We only engage in safe, sane, and consensual sex. Can you comprehend the word consensual, or did your instructor leave that word out of your lesson plan? The boy was also clothed in white. There is a sign at the entrance and it is re-posted over every bar and hung, framed, at least four times in every room, saying a boy in white is being tested for collaring. He is under house protection and he cannot be touched or detained in any way, unless his potential Master expressly asks for your assistance.”
The man began to sputter, “But Bear did—”
Reed lost his temper, let loose with a punch, and broke the man’s nose. “Don’t even try to give me that lie. The only two people Bear asked to assist him were myself and my boy, Jim.”
“I’m going to own this club, Davis,” the man threatened.
“You are?” asked a voice, bellowing from the floor. “Is that before or after my boy files charges of attempted rape, assault, and assault with a deadly weapon against you? Tell me, what will you own then, Mazlo? I have more dirt on you than a bulldozer digs up building a shopping center the size of Quakebridge.
What are you doing here, Mazlo, working up to be the Mall of the Americas in dirty laundry? Get the fuck out of here, and while you are at it, get the fuck out of my town. Because if I have the misfortune to lay eyes on your face again, it will be permanently rearranged and you’ll find yourself posing as the cornerstone for my latest project.” Bear snarled, “Leave, now.”
The man scrambled to the door and safety.
Bear turned his attention back to Brian. “Can you sit up, boy?”
Brian tried, but he winced. He couldn’t help it, his right arm was very sore, and he knew from experience it would get worse.
He was so lost in his own mind, he hadn’t heard or seen anything around him. He had retreated into subspace where he felt safe.
Bear noticed the wince and snapped out one word, “Stand.”
Standing in a bar of about a hundred men, Brian stood exposing his privates at Bear’s one word command.
Brian was dizzy and in obvious shock. Bear picked up Brian’s arm and examined the bruising. The outline of five distinct fingerprints marred his white skin. Bear turned Brian and examined his back. When Bear ran his fingers over the base of his spine down toward his flaccid cock, Brian winced again.
The area felt abraded, but Brian could not be sure until he got to a mirror and looked. The deft finger moved downward and inspected his swollen ball sac. A drop of blood fell on Bear’s hand. Bear looked at him with a tight-lipped grimace of distaste.
He said one word, “Follow.”
Brian began to shiver from shock and fear. Someone had marked him. Another Master had touched him and Brian had not had sufficient skill and experience to duck the encounter. He had broken a rule. Bear hadn’t said he could speak, hadn’t given him a chance to explain. He wondered if he could keep it together long enough to pack his things.
The car was waiting below the porch. Bear took a thick-piled terry robe from an attendant stationed at the door and wrapped it around Brian. He carried him to the Cobra and placed him in the front seat without a word. He buckled his belt and went to the driver’s side. They rode back in silence.
Donald looked straight out at the road. Brian had his face covered under his arm. He shivered in despair. His unshed tears were choking his throat. Brian had failed. The word, “Failure,” pounded and pounded into his brain. He’d had his one chance at love and he blew it in a space of forty-eight hours. He knew he would not get another. To save any shred of dignity he had left, he must maintain calm. Donald’s face looked grim. Brian had not received permission to speak, so he remained silent. What had seemed a short distance on the way to the club, took forever on the way back.