Out of the Dungeon (16 page)

"Yeah?" Dare asked.

"Yeah," Zach said, and grinned. The grin
brightened his face, changed his look from tired night nurse to
someone a lot more attractive. Appealing, even. The corners of his
dark brown eyes crinkled when he smiled like that, and a dimple
appeared on his right cheek, just above his jaw. It made the dimple
of his chin more noticeable. Dare couldn't help but grin back.

"Like what?" he challenged.

"Like Roman and Jeff's relationship is...
unusual."

Dare felt his jaw drop. He didn't deny it.
"How do you know that?"

Zach winked. "Exhibit A, Jeff came in with
some interesting jewelry, which I returned to Roman. Exhibit B, a
tattoo that says
slave.
Exhibit C, perhaps the most telling
of all, how Roman can control Jeff's physiological responses, his
pulse, for example, with just his voice."

Dare laughed. "Those are little pieces of a
much larger picture."

"Yeah," Zach agreed. "And then there's the
part where I heard Roman telling Jeff a story about a dungeon and
the things he did to Jeff there."

Dare blushed. "I can only imagine. So now you
think we're total perverts."

"Nah," Zach said. "Not really. I know a
couple of fetish folk. So I think Jeff, and by association, Jeff's
people, must be really interesting. It makes me want Jeff to heal
faster and wake up before my seven days off."

"You get seven days off? In a row?" Dare
asked.

"Seven on, then seven off. That's my
life."

"A lot of room for life."

"For sure," Zach said. "But usually when I
come back after my week off, the people I've been working with are
gone – to a step-down unit, rehab, or home – and I don't get any
closure."

"That would be hard," Dare said, trying to
imagine that kind of not knowing. "To never know what happened to
people you took care of."

Zach shrugged. "Well, I have a pretty good
idea, I mean, mostly they're moving back into their lives,
continuing to heal, finding their way back to who they used to be.
And the people who don't survive, the ones who
can't,
well,
we tend know if things are going that way."

Dare shuddered. He couldn't help it. "I don't
know how you do this work, being responsible for lives."

"I like it," Zach said, and the simple words
mirrored an honesty that Dare could see in Zach's eyes.

"Lucky for Jeff," Dare said, and Zach
laughed.

"Maybe," Zach said. "So far, so good. It was
nice of you to come and sit with Jeff. It's so important that
people not be afraid. You're a good friend."

Dare didn't know quite what to say to that.
"I don't know about that. I have great respect for Jeff, how he
manages Roman's complicated life, and all with Roman's comfort in
mind. Not everyone can do what he does."

"He's not really a slave, though, right? I
mean…"

Dare didn't know what got into him, then, but
he found himself nodding. "Oh yeah, he is. By written contract.
Rules and regulations and collar."

"I saw the collar," Zach said, and Dare
noticed that Zach's eyes zeroed in on his throat.

"No, I don't have one," Dare said, and found
himself blushing yet again. "I stumbled into Roman and Jeff's
relationship by accident. And now I'm leaving. I guess that's what
I needed to tell Jeff, that I was quitting, that I couldn't keep
seeing Roman. Not now."

Zach looked uncomfortable all of a sudden.
"You mean, like, you were both dating Roman?"

Dare sighed. How strange that he could tell
complete stranger things in the middle of the night that he could
hardly think about during the day. But who better, and what better
time, when the rest of the world was asleep?

"You must witness all sorts of confessions,"
Dare said. "Hear things people feel like they have to say in case
they never get another chance."

"Yep," Zach said. "Mostly people say 'I love
you,' or 'I'm sorry', or 'thank you.'"

Dare nodded again. "I couldn’t stand the
thought that he might be imagining Roman and I were having fun
without him. Having some kind of relationship without him. Guilty
conscience, maybe, for letting Roman yank me into their lives, even
though Jeff never wanted it."

"I can't imagine how a three-way relationship
would work," Zach said.

"I can't, either," Dare admitted. "It didn't.
Maybe it could, if all three people choose each other, or even if
two people choose a third together. But it was Roman who turned my
head, Roman who pursued me, and by the time I knew Jeff was part of
the package, I was too far in to turn back."

"But you're turning back now," Zach said.

"I have to. They've been together like…
forever. Whatever happens from here is for them to navigate as
partners. I can't help, all I do is muddy the water, create
complication and resentment, and I don't even want the life that
Jeff wants."

"That's the kicker, isn't it?" Zach said.
"The collar, the jewelry, the tattoos. Maybe it's not your
thing."

"Not like that," Dare admitted. "Not that far
in."

"But?" Zach asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Dare scrubbed his hands over his face, trying
not to blush yet again. "But there's a part of me that enjoyed
Roman taking control. I never knew that about myself before. Now I
do. It was unexpected. A week before I met Roman, I was prepared to
propose to my high school sweetheart. A woman. I was rehearsing a
speech, for God's sake. Because in the world I came from, that's
what comes next. After you get your MBA, you start planning your
wedding. After your wedding, you start planning your children. A
series of goals arranged in the proper order, and as you reach
them, one by one, you build a life. If you do it right, you'll be
happy. If you stray from the path, then everything before that
moment was wasted effort."

Zach laughed out loud. "Yikes," he said.

Dare shook his head, laughing at himself a
little. "Yeah. I strayed, I guess. Big time. But I don't have to
waste anything. That's the part I never understood. The more you
deviate from expectation, the more you learn about who you really
are. I'm in New York city and I have an MBA. And even if I don't
work for my father's company, I still have the education. It's
still worth something."

"I'd say it's worth a lot," Zach said.

"It is. And hopefully I'll be using my
education for a paycheck by the end of the month. I can't work for
my dad. Not now."

"Why not?" Zach asked.

Dare shuddered. "Way too uncomfortable. Maybe
Adair could have, the old me, the shy, scared vanilla boy who'd
never met anyone like Roman. But even he ran away before making a
marriage proposal. Because even when he couldn’t admit it to
himself, he knew he'd be making a big mistake, a mistake that the
girl in this story didn't deserve. I don't need the kinky stuff. I
don't need the dungeon. But I'll never be straight. And I'm not
going to live some life where I have to pretend that I am."

Zach was nodding. "The crux of everything.
You're just figuring this out now? You're old to be having this
crisis, no offense."

Dare grinned. "Hey, I was busy reaching for
the next goal. I didn't have time to figure out who I was."

"So," Zach paused, and then grinned. "Do you
want to go out sometime? I mean, once Jeff's out of the
hospital?"

Dare looked at Zach, startled. "Is that why
you asked me to eat with you? To ask me out?"

Zach rolled his eyes. "No. I asked you to eat
with me in hopes of finding out if you'd be insulted if I asked you
out."

"You wanted to make sure I was gay?"

Zach shrugged.

"Do you do this often?" Dare asked.

"Never. Most confessions happen at the
bedside, not the cafeteria."

"Huh," Dare said, but he was flattered. And
he was interested. Maybe he was vulnerable, maybe it was a
middle-of-the-night, too-much-coffee impulsive thing, and maybe he
was grateful that Zach was taking care of Jeff. But why not? "Yes,
I'd like that."

Zach smiled. "I'll give you my phone number.
When Jeff is discharged from St. Anne's, call me."

"I will," Dare said.

"Whew," Zach said and wiped imaginary sweat
off his brow. "We got that over with just in time for me to go back
to work."

Zach entered his number into Dare's phone,
and they shook hands. Dare watched him leave the cafeteria,
thinking he'd like to press his lips just where the jagged line of
Zach's soft brown hair brushed the back of his neck.

T
hursday nights were
not the busiest. But Suede and Vanessa had organized a benefit for
Jeff Friday night, so there were people rushing around like mad,
figuring out dancing boys here, and caterer's table there, and how
sturdy were the brass poles, anyway?

Roman watched the activity, feeling
overwhelmed and restless. He wanted to flog someone.

Unfortunately, the door guy hadn't shown up,
so Roman propped open the door and stayed close, checking
membership cards. The club would charge a cover and be open to the
public tomorrow.

Vanessa was on stage with a small group of
victims who'd volunteered to get the party started and dance around
a pole and strip for tips. Roman thought it was a trashy, but it
hadn't been done in recent memory, so people would enjoy it. Suede
had suggested it, and the way she had it figured, a person could
nominate his buddy to strip for tips, too, and let the crowd decide
"yea" or "nay" with their dollars. Vanessa was running a practice
session.

Roman figured it would be about as fun as
anything could be right now. Which wasn't saying much. He paced
into and out of the club, still restless. He watched an extremely
overweight man lumbering down the sidewalk. The closer the guy got,
the more slovenly he looked, until he was standing in front of
Roman. There was a food stain on the front of his shirt, and crumbs
caught in his mustache.

The man tried to peer past Roman, into the
club, and said, "Anything fun going on here tonight?"

Roman shook his head. "Members only.
Sorry."

The fat man's eyes narrowed, and he looked
Roman up and down. "You the doorman? I want the owner."

"You got him," Roman said, offering his hand
but wishing the guy would give it up already and just go away.

"Okay, then." The guy's handshake was clammy,
and he gave Roman's hand a weird extra squeeze. "Make me a
member."

Roman shrugged, said, "Wait here," and went
inside, pulling the door closed behind him. There was music now,
and Vanessa and her crew, four gay boys and one woman, were
laughing as they cha-cha-ed around the pole. "Mike." Roman
projected his voice over the music. "Where are the membership
applications?"

Mike rolled his eyes, disappeared into the
office, and returned waving a sheet of paper. Roman took it and
went back outside. He handed the application to the guy and said,
"Background check comes back seven to ten days after your check
clears. Have a nice night."

He went back into the club. The door opened.
Still the fat guy. "How much just for tonight?"

Roman shook his head. "Dude, we don't give
out memberships without a background check, period."

The guy got pissed. He stepped through the
doorway and lurched into Roman's personal space. "Bullshit.
Everybody sells a one day pass."

"Not me."

The music stopped, and Mike came out from
behind the bar, a baseball bat held loosely in his right hand.

Vanessa and her posse on the stage froze.

Four customers sitting at a table on the edge
of the dance floor stopped talking and went still.

One guy had been leaning against the bar
talking to Mike, and now he edged past Roman and out the front
door.

Everyone else waited for something to
happen.

"All right, ladies," Vanessa said to her
mixed gender group of volunteers. "Let's go find costumes." She
waved at the customers at the table. "Would you come and help us,
please?" They abandoned their drinks and followed her
backstage.

Roman stepped back, spread his arms wide, and
said, "Come on in. We'll call it a trial membership, Mr…?

"Phillips," the man replied. He stepped to
the bar and ordered a drink. Mike obliged.

Roman went down to the dungeon. Vanessa was
entertaining the customers with a tour, and tomorrow's pole dancers
were doing crazy pirouettes around spanking benches and flinging
their arms out in dramatic poses.

Roman shook his head, laughing, and offered
the lot of them free drinks for the rest of the night, then went
back upstairs to babysit the new trial member.

Mr. Phillips got bored within the hour and
stalked toward the door. "You'll be seeing my application," he said
to Roman, who followed him to the door. It sounded like a
threat.

"Sure," Roman said in an easy-going voice.
"Looking forward to it."

He wasn't worried. Above the Dungeon was
essentially a private club, so Roman could grant or deny membership
on any basis. This guy would be denied purely because he was an
arrogant prick.

* * *

Friday's fundraiser drew a crowd. Roman was
impressed, and thought they might even raise a decent amount of
money. The customers were having a ball convincing each other to
get up on stage and dance, flinging dollars in the air and
challenging their friends. Cries of, "Take it off! Take it all
off!" could be heard over the music.

Suede stalked the stage with a wooden paddle,
surprising the customers-turned-strippers with a wallop here and a
whack there.

Roman laughed out loud as one of the
flamboyant S&M bottom boys challenged Suede to make him cry. He
was wearing an odd costume that seemed comprised of a glittering
silver shirt, a pink feather boa, and some kind of bright orange
tights or leggings. He wrapped both hands around the brass pole and
leaned his chest into it, sticking his ass out as an exaggerated
target.