From the street they turned onto a path shrouded in darkness. A canopy of trees lined the walkway. Ahead of them she spied a small two-story Gothic cottage.
“And your mother was Danish? I thought she was from New Hampshire?”
At the gate, they paused. Suzanne stood looking at him, waiting for him to say something, do something.
“My parentage…it’s quite a long story,” he said, his gray eyes as shadowed as the path they’d just walked.
Suzanne swallowed. She should not be doing this, should not be alone with him. Not here. Not in his house.
“I’ve got time.”
* * *
A helicopter. They flew to the city in a freaking helicopter.
The entire way there, Michael sat at the window staring at the ground below, the clouds above and the horizon beyond… He couldn’t believe Griffin could conjure up a helicopter as easily as one called a cab. Griffin…Griffin must think he’s crazy. During the trip, as Michael nearly drooled over the view, Griffin only watched him with unconcealed amusement. Michael didn’t care if Griffin thought he was nuts—he couldn’t look away from the beauty of the evening at eight thousand feet.
“I’ve got my camera.” Griffin tapped Michael on the knee to get his attention. Michael loved the way Griffin looked in his aviator sunglasses with the helicopter’s headset on. “Want to take pics to send your friends?”
Michael shook his head and turned his eyes back to the vista below. After all, he didn’t have any friends to show any pictures to.
The helicopter set down on the landing pad of some building in Hell’s Kitchen as the sun finally sunk over the horizon. Michael followed Nora and Griffin as they headed for the roof door. In his plain cotton pants, white shirt and black jacket, he felt terribly undressed compared to Griffin in his black leather pants and black silk shirt. Nora wore a black suit too—fedora, suspenders, red shirt, black tie…the whole nine yards.
As they descended the stairs, Nora looked back and grinned at him.
“I’m going to keep you outta the papers, kid. Don’t worry. I’ve got a private room set up for us already. You’ll go there first while Griff and I cause a ruckus.”
“I love a good hard ruck…us,” Griffin said, grinning back as he took off his sunglasses and shoved them in his pocket. Michael blinked and forced his eyes away. He really needed to figure out how to stop staring at Griffin all the time.
They reached the bottom of the staircase and Michael heard the first strains of music. Nora went up to the door and knocked hard—three quick taps followed by two heavy ones.
“Secret code?” Michael asked in a whisper.
“Morse code for S&M.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Griffin shrugged and winked at him. “I have no idea.”
The door opened and a man stepped out into the hallway. Michael looked up at him and kept looking up. And up.
“Boys, say hello to my friend Brad Wolfe,” Nora said with an elegant and obviously facetious nod at the only man Michael had even been this close to who was taller than Father S. “Otherwise known as—”
“The Big Brad Wolfe,” Griffin completed, stepping forward and extending his hand. “You’re a legend.”
The man, who Michael guessed was about six foot six with as much muscle to him as height, took Griffin’s hand and shook it. He looked about forty years old and handsome in a way somebody like Nora would describe as “roguish.” He thought Griffin was the height of male perfection. But women seemed to like Brad’s look—chest hair and beard stubble. Nora obviously did from the way she smiled up at him.
“How’s my Big Brad Wolfe?” she asked.
He raised a dark eyebrow at her.
“Little Red Riding Crop, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?”
“Causing trouble. Care to help?”
“I don’t know. You still with…” Brad’s voice trailed off and he glanced meaningfully at Michael and Griffin.
“With my priest?” she finished for him. “Yeah, still together. Don’t take it personally. You’re still the second-best sadist in the city.”
“Damned with faint praise,” Brad said, chucking Nora under the chin. “But I can never say no to you, green eyes. What do you need?”
“I reserved a booth for the show. Can you get Junior to it without anyone seeing him?”
Brad looked at Michael, who squirmed slightly in place.
“Nora…how old is he?”
“He’s legal,” she said without batting an eyelash.
“Legal for what?”
Michael coughed.
“I can drive.”
“Good God,” Brad said, laughing and rolling his eyes. “You might actually be more corrupt than Kingsley is, Nor.”
Nora batted her eyelashes.
“You flatter me. Let’s go.”
Nora grabbed Griffin by the sleeve and the two of them disappeared down another flight of stairs.
“Come with me, little boy,” Brad said with a voice that suddenly seemed even deeper than before. Michael swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
They entered the club through the back door. Michael kept his head down and his eyes on the back of Brad’s shoes. But he couldn’t help but get an eyeful of the craziness going on inside the club. Everywhere he looked he saw celebrities, or at least wannabe celebrities, dressed in costumes. Well, they were dressed like kinky people—or at least how he imagined non-kinky people thought kinky people dressed. He saw lots of latex catsuits on the too-skinny women and the guys wore leather vests and harnesses. It looked more like a super-fancy Halloween party for too-rich teenagers than a sex club to him.
“And your mother was Danish? I thought she was from New Hampshire?”
At the gate, they paused. Suzanne stood looking at him, waiting for him to say something, do something.
“My parentage…it’s quite a long story,” he said, his gray eyes as shadowed as the path they’d just walked.
Suzanne swallowed. She should not be doing this, should not be alone with him. Not here. Not in his house.
“I’ve got time.”
* * *
A helicopter. They flew to the city in a freaking helicopter.
The entire way there, Michael sat at the window staring at the ground below, the clouds above and the horizon beyond… He couldn’t believe Griffin could conjure up a helicopter as easily as one called a cab. Griffin…Griffin must think he’s crazy. During the trip, as Michael nearly drooled over the view, Griffin only watched him with unconcealed amusement. Michael didn’t care if Griffin thought he was nuts—he couldn’t look away from the beauty of the evening at eight thousand feet.
“I’ve got my camera.” Griffin tapped Michael on the knee to get his attention. Michael loved the way Griffin looked in his aviator sunglasses with the helicopter’s headset on. “Want to take pics to send your friends?”
Michael shook his head and turned his eyes back to the vista below. After all, he didn’t have any friends to show any pictures to.
The helicopter set down on the landing pad of some building in Hell’s Kitchen as the sun finally sunk over the horizon. Michael followed Nora and Griffin as they headed for the roof door. In his plain cotton pants, white shirt and black jacket, he felt terribly undressed compared to Griffin in his black leather pants and black silk shirt. Nora wore a black suit too—fedora, suspenders, red shirt, black tie…the whole nine yards.
As they descended the stairs, Nora looked back and grinned at him.
“I’m going to keep you outta the papers, kid. Don’t worry. I’ve got a private room set up for us already. You’ll go there first while Griff and I cause a ruckus.”
“I love a good hard ruck…us,” Griffin said, grinning back as he took off his sunglasses and shoved them in his pocket. Michael blinked and forced his eyes away. He really needed to figure out how to stop staring at Griffin all the time.
They reached the bottom of the staircase and Michael heard the first strains of music. Nora went up to the door and knocked hard—three quick taps followed by two heavy ones.
“Secret code?” Michael asked in a whisper.
“Morse code for S&M.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Griffin shrugged and winked at him. “I have no idea.”
The door opened and a man stepped out into the hallway. Michael looked up at him and kept looking up. And up.
“Boys, say hello to my friend Brad Wolfe,” Nora said with an elegant and obviously facetious nod at the only man Michael had even been this close to who was taller than Father S. “Otherwise known as—”
“The Big Brad Wolfe,” Griffin completed, stepping forward and extending his hand. “You’re a legend.”
The man, who Michael guessed was about six foot six with as much muscle to him as height, took Griffin’s hand and shook it. He looked about forty years old and handsome in a way somebody like Nora would describe as “roguish.” He thought Griffin was the height of male perfection. But women seemed to like Brad’s look—chest hair and beard stubble. Nora obviously did from the way she smiled up at him.
“How’s my Big Brad Wolfe?” she asked.
He raised a dark eyebrow at her.
“Little Red Riding Crop, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?”
“Causing trouble. Care to help?”
“I don’t know. You still with…” Brad’s voice trailed off and he glanced meaningfully at Michael and Griffin.
“With my priest?” she finished for him. “Yeah, still together. Don’t take it personally. You’re still the second-best sadist in the city.”
“Damned with faint praise,” Brad said, chucking Nora under the chin. “But I can never say no to you, green eyes. What do you need?”
“I reserved a booth for the show. Can you get Junior to it without anyone seeing him?”
Brad looked at Michael, who squirmed slightly in place.
“Nora…how old is he?”
“He’s legal,” she said without batting an eyelash.
“Legal for what?”
Michael coughed.
“I can drive.”
“Good God,” Brad said, laughing and rolling his eyes. “You might actually be more corrupt than Kingsley is, Nor.”
Nora batted her eyelashes.
“You flatter me. Let’s go.”
Nora grabbed Griffin by the sleeve and the two of them disappeared down another flight of stairs.
“Come with me, little boy,” Brad said with a voice that suddenly seemed even deeper than before. Michael swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
They entered the club through the back door. Michael kept his head down and his eyes on the back of Brad’s shoes. But he couldn’t help but get an eyeful of the craziness going on inside the club. Everywhere he looked he saw celebrities, or at least wannabe celebrities, dressed in costumes. Well, they were dressed like kinky people—or at least how he imagined non-kinky people thought kinky people dressed. He saw lots of latex catsuits on the too-skinny women and the guys wore leather vests and harnesses. It looked more like a super-fancy Halloween party for too-rich teenagers than a sex club to him.
