Page 57 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

“Fuckin’ hell,” Furi muttered.

Mack had known exactly what he was doing. The money-grubbing bastard had blasted past fan favorite clips, ran throwback interviews, then sent out a newsletter calling him an “industry-defining icon stepping back in front of the lens for a final legacy event.”

Legacy!

He was a damn mechanic for fuck’s sake, not Mick Jagger.

Regardless, social media went insane.

And Mack was capitalizing to the max. He’d run a sale on new subscriptions, referral incentives for current members, even a new bonus credit system.

Then, because Mack’s appetite knew no bounds, he’d locked Furi’s videos behind the platinum member package. It wasn’t enough for people to subscribe. No, they had to upgrade and pay more.

He knew he shouldn’t be upset about the success of the release. They needed the money. His shop needed it. Their household needed it. The lights needed it. The credit cards, their vehicles, the insurance, the damned water bill.

Now, those problems were no longer problems.

His first check hit his account that morning.

Thirty-four thousand dollars in eight days—that also included the twenty-thousand signing bonus for all three videos.

Mack’s message after it launched was so cheerful it made Furi nauseous.

“Wait until royalties start posting from the Platinum conversions. You’re about to break my system, Furious.”

The deposit should’ve felt like oxygen, instead, it sat on his chest like a boulder, suffocating him…because he still hadn’t told Syn.

Years ago, when he and Syn had gotten together, he’d said he was finished with the adult entertainment business.

He had been. It wasn’t a lie.

He’d walked away from that world with no desire to ever go back. He never regretted what he’d done back then. He’d been good at it, and he’d survived his dire situation because of it. But he’d chosen a different life when he chose Syn.

Now, he couldn’t help feeling as if he’d betrayed him.

He hadn’t filmed with or even touched another man. Mack could’ve offered him ten figures and a damn Limited Edition Neiman Marcus bike, and he still wouldn’t’ve done that.

All his past videos and his three new ones were solo. No co-stars or manufactured intimacy by a stranger, no assistance to get him ready for filming, but he didn’t think any of those facts were going to get him a pass for doing it.

It’d been killing Furi to watch Syn work himself until he was drained.

He tried to hide it, but he knew his love too well. He was down, and disappointed.

His man should’ve been in Hollywood with his team, guarding one of the biggest actors in the world, working a real operation, doing what he was built to do, feeling useful.

Instead, he was delivering noodles, tacos, and overpriced salads to people who didn’t tip enough and probably complained when their sauce cup was missing.

Furi swallowed roughly.

Maybe now, with the money coming in, Syn could go join the other guys.

Furi perked up, thinking he’d buy the ticket to California and present it along with his confession.

Yeah, maybe he’d sit Syn down, show him the deposit, and explain everything.

He’d signed the contracts and already recorded all three videos. The first one had taken the adult entertainment world by storm and propelled Mack’s site back to the top as the highest-ranked one in the country. The other two were scheduled to be released over the next six months.

Furi would take Syn’s anger, absorb the disappointment, then smile and tell him to pack his bags.