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I was in trouble.
I’d known he’d be pissed. He was always angry when I worked these events and he’d caught me. He thought the job was beneath me, and he also hated me mingling with ‘these people.’ Even though he was one of them and mingled with all.
“Hello, Locke.” I placed the tray of old hors d’oeuvres down on the bar.
Locke was well into middle age but showed absolutely no signs of either an encroaching paunch or a rapidly surrendering hairline. If anything, he was looking leaner and meaner than ever since my father’s death. I was beginning to think he lived on hot black coffee or whiskey and not much else.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” His piercing brown eyes stared at me, and I could feel the weight of his concern as he watched. There was something both comforting and intimidating about his presence; a sense of authority that demanded obedience but also promised protection.
I shook my head and sighed. “I need the money, Locke. We’ve had this discussion a million times.”
“That’s no reason to slave away for these people,” he replied, his face looking more aged than before. He wasn’t the type to mince words. “You’ve got a trust fund. You don’t need this.”
“I’m not taking your money,” I shot back.
“It was your father’s.”
I rolled my eyes and patted his arm, eager to move on to the next topic. “We both know that’s a lie.” His eyes burned into meas if he could read my mind. I gave him a weak smile. “This is a good job.”
I glanced down at my hands and wondered if he could smell the remnants of fish. If he knew I was still working the docks, he’d be livid. He’d all but forbidden me from keeping up with that source of employment.
He reached for my wrist and pulled me close to his chest. He looked down at me, his eyes hard and his brows furrowed. “You need to stop working these jobs.” His face then softened. “But we’ll discuss this more over lunch tomorrow.”
“Yes, lunch.” I knew better than to ever think I could skip one of our bi-monthly lunch dates that he insisted on after my father’s death.
He stared down at me, his eyes glued to mine. “I mean it, Storee. We are going to discuss this need you have to be so independent. Stubbornly so. Before you know it, you’re going to be miserable, broken, and wishing you had listened to me. You’ve seen enough people on this island work themselves to death. I don’t want that for you.” He took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders, his domineering demeanor softening slightly as he regarded me with genuine concern. “But it’s been a long night for you.” He glanced down at my feet, which were aching, not that I’d ever confess that fact to him. “I’m sure you need to rest.”
I nodded, and with that, he released me and turned to leave.
“Tomorrow,” he said again over his shoulder.
Chapter 3
Locke
Owning The Vault used to give me a sense of pride, accomplishment, power even. Holding a dark secret of Heathens Hollow in the palm of my hands was a responsibility I didn’t take lightly. To own an invite-only sex club was not for the faint of heart and not for a man who didn’t tango deep within the darkness.
I remembered the day when I first laid eyes on what would become The Vault. It had been a dilapidated building, long abandoned by its previous owners. Once a mighty bank for the rich but left for ruin and forgotten. But I saw potential in it, as did my business partners: Merrick Creed, Soren Thorne, and Braken Frost. We saw a place where people could come and explore their wildest desires without judgment or shame. A place for rich and powerful assholes with a kinky taste in the bedroom just like us.
Over the years, we’d built a reputation for ourselves as the owners of The Vault. People knew that if they wanted to experience something truly erotic, they needed to come to us.
The Vault was a sanctuary for those who lived on the fringes of society, those who pushed past the boundaries of the norm.It was a place where they could live out every fantasy and feed every hunger.
And we delivered.
The Vault was Heathens Hollow. Heathens Hollow was The Vault.
But tonight, instead of feeling pride, accomplishment, and power, I felt frustration.
Storee Brooks being the center of the emotion.
I tried to keep my distance, to remind myself that she was my dead friend’s daughter. But at the same time, I had an obligation to watch over her and keep her safe. I was her guardian whether she liked it or not.
And it was pretty obvious she didn’t like it.
It took all my might tonight when I saw her working as the waitress at that party not to flip her over my shoulder, spank her stubborn ass, and carry her home where I could keep her locked away, so no one could ever come close to her again.
Nice and safe. Forever untouched.
