Chapter 4

ADRIAN

“I need to talk to you Adrian.” Captain Morrison said.

“If it is about visiting that club and finding Damien Salvatore, then I’m sorry but you can’t change my mind on that front.” I said, more coldly than I intended.

“You either sit this one out Adrian, or I take you off the case entirely.” That stopped me short.

“You can’t do that.” I said, quietly.

“I am your boss, yes I can.” he spat, I could tell he was pissed at me, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care. I was pissed at myself too anyway.

“Fine the.” I mumbled. He didn’t need to know that I would be going either ways.

“Just take it easy, child. You are doing good.” He said, and walked back into his office.

***

It probably took to me longer to find the club itself, than to realize that there was nothing gentlemanly about the entire place.

This wasn’t my first time at this club, it was actually the third. The first and second were spent gathering as much intel as I could about Damien’s mannerisms, the kind of outfit expected around here, and just everything really. And tonight, I was going in as an entirely different Adrian.

I stared at my reflexion on the big glass doors like I had done with my mirror earlier. A mask covered half of my face save my mouth that was painted, and the other bore make up that was a disguise on it’s own, those two and my uncharacteristic outfit made me positively unrecognizable. 

No one knew I was here, for all Captain Morrison knows, I had caught a nasty cold and wouldn’t be around for some days. “You just get some rest, okay?” He had said gently. I almost feel guilty, but this is something that needs to be done and it didn’t seem like anyone but me was willing to do it.

I pushed the doors and went it, the looked exactly like it had the first time I had come here. Velvet and chrome everywhere, and sin. Every inch screamed exquisite back at you, and expensive. Very expensive.

There are a very few girls here as usual, dancing, the majority being guys who were either dancing or sitting with one of the men in the club, most of which I’ve noticed are regulars. It was that kind of bar.

Damien got married and had kids, so I was surprised at first that he would be found somewhere like this. But, I can’t say I am that surprised of course the almighty Damien still sees people like me as something beneath him to be used and tossed like he did with me.

I steeled myself, I wasn’t here to rehash all the ways Damien had hurt me. This was work, and distractions were not allowed.

I immediately saw Damien sitting at a dimply lit corner of the club and nursing a drink, he didn’t have anyone with him again this time. So why really was he coming here? Except this was a secret place for him to do business.

I got a drink at the bar, and downed it in one go. I needed the courage for what I was about to do. Dancing.

At first I worried about all the people watching me, I was the only guy dancing, and my steps were awkward but the warmth of alcohol spread through my chest and music and the tempo of good music resounded in my bones. It would be criminal to not do justice to the feeling that put in me. So, I threw myself completely into the dance, banishing every thought-at least for this one moment.

I grabbed a pole on the stage while I threw my head back, and lifted one leg at the same time. Most of my steps involved swaying, and touching myself like the girls were doing it when they danced. I traced the outline of my hips, and my exposed neck. I was in the middle of a spin when I noticed that Damien had sat up straighter and was watching. No, nit just watching, he was watching me. That, added a certain intensity to my movement. And when we made eye contact, I stuck my tongue out at him. Even from here I could see his jaw lock, I wasn’t just dancing for the sake of work anymore, I was dancing to torture Damien Salvatore.

His eye bore right into me, I could feel its heat on every exposed part of me-which was everywhere given the lightness of my attire. The entire club seemed to get darker except for the stage which had lights showing off the dancers’ best features.

Damien got up and walked towards me, eyes unblinking and I deigned to look him over. His face, his body, the definition of chest muscles under his fitting shirt, and lower…oh my god. 

A massive erection was tenting his pants and I was surprised he could walk this upright. Now, I was glad for the darkness of the club, even though he didn’t seem to care.

He motioned me over when he got close enough, but I shut my eyes and ignored him, grabbing unto the pole again and doing all of the sexy, tortuous steps I could think of, and then suddenly I stopped, something stopped me. Someone.

Damien was holding on to my arm, forcing me to look at him and I stumbled at what I saw in those green eyes, shade-shifting as ever. Desire, annoyance, lust, and then desire all over again.

I gingerly stepped off the stage and people whooped. Either my dancing was that good, or it was the first time Damien had ever picked anyone up, or it was both.

His hand slipped down to hold mine, and I refused to pay any mind to the goosebumps that had erupted as he led me away towards a different corner, one almost identical to the spot he had been, only more secluded and quieter.

“What is your name?” He asked, his head stooping close to mine. His voice and proximity were doing things I had not prepared for to me, and I fumbled for a name.

“A-Aaron.” I stammered out, and cursed myself. Why couldn’t I be as confident as he was. I hated the feeling of smallness, so I inched further even more towards him, tilted my head a little and looked right at him through glazed eye. “And what is yours?” I asked.

“Dean.” He said immediately. Liar. We both were.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” He asked searching what he could of my face.

“I’m new.” I realized I was grinding into him, when he cursed quietly and his eyes shifted shade yet again. I thought to stop myself, and decided against it. He just hummed to my answer and said nothing else.

I started to take a step back, when his lips came down on mine. Damien Salvatore was kissing me, again. 

No, no. Dean was kissing Aaron, very different, and while did that make me prickle with irritation? I kissed him back with fervour, telling myself that this kiss meant to punish. But which of us? I couldn’t tell.