The Brotherhood 10: The Salt of the ... Earth? Read online

  Alex idly continued on his way, turning left or right on a whim whenever he came to a fork in the hallway. The club seemed to go on forever. Not a surprise, really; the size of the building on the outside couldn’t have possibly held the dance floor alone, not to mention all the bars he’d already seen.

  It was a mystery. Ooh, yeah, he loved a good stumper.

  One turning led him to a dull and dirty corridor with, to his surprise, a bar in the center ‑‑ behind solid wood and glass doors. The name over the doors read “Last Chance.” Inside, Alex could see a red-haired man standing on a stool, waving his arms. Out of curiosity, Alex tried to enter.

  He heard a beep. “This isn’t the place for you,” a sullen voice said over some kind of intercom. “You don’t belong here.”

  Well! No one told Alex “no.”

  “Come on,” he wheedled, trying a door again. Locked. “Just a little drink? That redhead looks yummy enough to eat with my fingers.”

  “He isn’t yours.”

  Hmph. “Who does he belong to, then?”

  “Not you.” The voice hissed and crackled, as if the speaker were on a crappy intercom. “Keep moving. Go to the end of the hallway, take a left, and then another left. You ought to like what you find there.”

  “You’re sure I can’t come inside?” Alex caressed the doorknob ‑‑ then jerked back, swearing. A blue crackle of static electricity had arced across the smooth metal. “Well! No need to get violent. I’m on my way. See? This is me, going.”

  He heard a grumble, and then a click as the speaker cut him off. Alex raised his middle finger at the doors, took a healthy gulp of his seabreeze, which was nearly gone, and meandered on. He had half a mind not to listen to anything that grouchy old coot had to say but, oh, his curiosity ...

  Alex reached the end of the hallway, took a left, and then another sharp left. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d wanted to.

  And he didn’t.

  This hallway dead-ended in another bar. No lack of places to find a sweet little nook and cranny, is there? The joint was crammed full of men, some of them waiting in line outside. They looked ordinary enough, so how had they found their way back to this place?

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Alex approached. The music from inside the bar, a nice low-key alternative sort of sound, spilled out. Some of the men in the queue were dancing with each other, hands wandering down from sturdy backs to edible asses, cupping and groping one another. Not like he hadn’t seen plenty of the touchy-feely out on the main dance floor, but this sight still set Alex’s blood on fire.

  Mmm. I feel right at home already.

  He gave his blond hair a toss as he slid past the men. “You don’t mind if I cut, do you?” he asked, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss the cheek of one big bruiser of a man waiting in line. “I didn’t think you would. Ooh, you are strong, aren’t you? Buy me a drink later?”

  The tall, bulky guy looked comically stunned, just as if someone had hit him between the eyes with a two-by-four. “Yeah,” he said huskily. “Oh, yeah, sure. No problem. See you inside. Hey, guys, let him pass.” With his bulk, he cleared the way. “Go ahead, cutie. And don’t forget about that drink.”

  “Sweetheart,” Alex said, half-turning, “I never forget about a promise to a handsome man.” He lowered one eyelid in a wink and pouted. “Find me when you’re ready.”

  He heard several wolf whistles behind him as he moved along, deep into the heart of the bar. Smiling to himself, Alex let his body shimmy a little to the music. A little sexy undulation, and he had a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on him. Just the way he liked things.

  Carelessly depositing his now-empty glass on one edge of the busy bar ‑‑ and pinching the perfectly rounded ass cheek of a man sitting on a stool ‑‑ Alex roamed on, further and further in. Down the rabbit hole. But, oh, it’s so much fun.

  A wild round of whooping, yelling, and applause distracted Alex from his casual examination of first one hunk, and then another. He turned his head toward the far end of the bar, amused when he saw several men who were dressed in jerseys over their jeans focused on a huge-screen TV with a football game on. Big brutes. All of them pounded their tables with glee.

  “Go team,” Alex murmured. He did love a man who didn’t mind getting down and dirty ... nice and sweaty ... a man who was raw and real. He’d been in too long of a dry spell, and there were just too many pieces of man candy among the crowd to turn down a chance at one of them. He’d go find himself a place to sit, maybe get nice and cozy with one of the men in the jerseys. Get all close and personal, root for the team, and once the game was won he could suggest they take off for a little celebration.

  He had a feeling Amour Magique would provide just the place for a dab of post-game nookie.

  A voice interrupted his machinations. “What are you havin’ to drink?” Not fazed for a second, Alex turned toward the bar and the man who’d spoken to him ...

  ... and forgot all about the football fans. The bartender was grinning at him, a lopsided lift of the lips that went straight to Alex’s heart and made it give a lively pitter-patter. Taller than any man Alex had ever been with, six-foot-five if he was an inch, the bartender had all the muscles a man needed to go with his height. His arms rippled beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt, his collar was open to reveal a small patch of yummy dark hair, and his jeans had a seriously promising bulge hiding behind the zipper.

  “Depends,” Alex said, abandoning his previous plan and sidling closer. The other men there took one glance at Alex, smirked, and made room for him to stand there, resting his elbows on the scarred but polished wood. Alex reached out and traced patterns on the counter, imagining the bartender wiping him down, all those delicious muscles rippling as he worked with the towel currently slung over one shoulder.

  “Depends on what? Time is money, little one ‑‑”

  “Little one? Well, I never.” Alex huffed and put his hands on his hips.

  “You can’t be over five-foot-nine. That’s little. And you don’t look like you’ve never.” The bartender winked. “I’ve got a whole crowd of men to serve.” Despite his words, the man didn’t seem any too impatient. He lingered there with Alex, big hands at rest in front of him. They were interestingly scarred, as if he’d worked with them ‑‑ maybe carpentry or construction ‑‑ before turning to a life of serving drinks.

  Alex liked a man with a few marks on him. He’d had enough of soft, pampered fairies to last him a lifetime. “I just don’t know what I’d like best,” he said in a drawl. “Can I have a few minutes to make up my mind?”

  “You can take all night if you want, but right now, I need to have your order.” He winked again. “So, what can I get you to drink? We’ve got everything a man like you, all sassy and spicy, might happen to want.”

  “A man like me? And just what do you think I’d like?”

  “You? You’ll take whatever’s on offer if there’s a good time involved. But that’s in general. Why don’t you tell me what you want right this minute?”

  Alex let himself smile, his best seductive expression, one that promised a good time for everyone concerned. “Absolutely everything.”

  “To drink,” the bartender clarified, grinning as if he were willing to play.

  I could go for something long and tall. Alex discreetly checked out the bartender’s package a second time. Oh, yes, definitely long. Nice and thick, too. Absolutely perfect.

  “I’ll have a beer,” he said, stroking a finger across the back of the bartender’s hand. The man twitched a little, but his smile didn’t waver. In fact, it curved up even higher. “You choose what kind.”

  “I live to serve.” The man tugged at a lock of his overgrown, curling hair. “One beer coming up. Anything else you’d like? We have hot wings, mozzarella sticks ... lots of things you might enjoy.”

  “Just a beer for now.” And later? Well, we’ll see, won’t we? Alex took the foaming glass the bartender offered him and ta
sted it delicately, licking the froth off his lips with a slow sweep of his tongue. To his pleasure, the man didn’t look startled, but smiled at him instead.

  “Enjoy the game.”

  “Oh, I already am.” Alex turned away from the bar, but he didn’t go far. There was a seat opening up with a perfect view of the man he’d already chosen to play with. The guy didn’t know it yet, of course, but he would. Soon.

  Lifting his beer in a toast, Alex winked at the bartender. Ready or not, here I come. You won’t know what hit you, but I think we’ll both enjoy ourselves.

  Play time is officially on.

  Chapter Two

  The football game finally ended and, with a flick of his remote, the bartender changed the channel to nude mud wrestling. Not a one of the sports fans seemed to object.

  Hand curled around his beer, Alex turned to watch the screen with curiosity. “Now, usually, when I watch two men getting down in the dirt, it’s a good time. All those arms and legs grappling around. Whoever says that wrestling is not a gay man’s sport doesn’t know what they’re missing. Mmm.” He took a smooth, cool swallow. “Thing is, there seem to be a few limbs either gone or in the wrong places on those wrestlers.” He turned to the bartender. “Those are men, aren’t they?

  Alex’s smile was deliberately teasing, encouraging the big guy to answer his question. The bartender kicked the volume up and returned a matching grin to Alex. The sounds of moaning and groaning fit for a porn movie filled the room, along with the enthusiastic shouting of a commentator.

  “This isn’t exactly your ordinary wrestling.”

  “Well, no. For one, there’s all that slippery mud. All slick and soft ...” Alex ran a finger around the rim of his beer glass. “I’ve never played in the dirt myself, but it’s always interested me. This, in particular, looks fascinating.”

  To his credit, the bartender took every ounce of Alex’s flirting and dealt it right back, smooth and sweet like a deck of cards. “You should try grappling with a big man sometime.” The other man’s voice was rough as gravel and yet warming as a shot of whiskey going down. “It’s a lot more fun than advertised.”

  “Mmm. I might just try.” Alex put his drink down and edged closer to the luscious man behind the bar, which had emptied out a little as the other patrons rushed to watch the naked wrestling. A hue and cry was going up, bets were being exchanged, and several of the men added to the groans of pleasure. Alex nudged a beer mat toward the bartender. “Since we’re getting to be such close personal friends, how about telling me your name?”

  “Do you want another drink?”

  “Again, that depends. Is that the price for getting your name?”

  “Nothing’s free. Not even in Amour Magique.”

  “Put it on my tab.” Alex leaned forward. “Or we could do a straight trade. Your handle for mine.” He undid one button on his shirt so that it matched the bartender’s, teasing the man with a glimpse of his own hard muscles underneath. “Fair exchange and no robbery. What do you say?”

  The bartender’s rich brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “You buy a drink and give me your name. Then I’ll tell you who I am.”

  “Or what you are?”

  “Do you think I’m not like you? You are human, aren’t you?”

  Alex tsked. “Now, a man in your position shouldn’t make assumptions like that, should he?”

  “I can tell. You’re as human as half the men in here.”

  “I notice you don’t include yourself in that category.”

  “I,” the bartender replied, neatly pulling a draft for one of the football-cum-wrestler hooligans, “am something completely different. Not like you, anyway.” He passed the brimming glass over to his customer, made a note in a ledger, and put his hands on the bar. “Come on. Do we have a deal or not?”

  Ooh, Alex liked this one. Saucy and spicy as a good dish of peppers with Tabasco. “I’ll have another beer.” Alex deliberately didn’t reach for his wallet and said again, “Start a tab for me. I think I may be here a while.”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow. “No tabs for you and your Brothers. Everything you want is paid for in advance. The manager’s orders, per Liam’s words.”

  Well, well. “So you know who I am already.”

  “I know about the whole bunch of you. Doesn’t mean I know you personally.”

  “Is that a mistake we can rectify?”

  “Depends.” The bartender mimicked him, then leaned over for a moment, briefly crossing his arms on the scarred wooden counter. “Your name, first.”

  Alex weighed the man carefully. He was loving this little dance, one step forward and one step back, but as in some games, it might be a wise move to sacrifice a pawn.

  “I’ll give you a hint. I’m the Brother who works for one of the richest, gayest men in Charleston. Who is, by the way, not here tonight. He’s spending an evening with friends. On my recommendation, of course. Previous working acquaintances of mine are showing him a fine time. I don’t know what he’d do without me.” He took another long, smooth swallow, licking the foam off his lip, and noticed how the bartender’s gaze followed his tongue. Alex curled the tip of it around his teeth. “If you know so much, then who am I?”

  “I’m going to guess you’re Alex.” The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Am I right, or close to right?”

  Alex considered lying for a second, then changed his mind. “Aren’t you the smart one? All right, now you know who I am. Who are you?”

  “Call me Dylan. The bard of the bar.”

  “You do have a way with playing taps.” Alex admired the man’s hands as they once more danced over bottles and levers, effortlessly dispensing drinks without missing a beat in their conversation. “How about a shot of something special? I want to see what you’ve got.”

  Dylan’s eyes flashed. “Is that a fact?”

  Alex leaned a little further across the bar. “How about my drink, Dylan?” He let his voice caress the syllables of the other man’s name, drawing them out until they sounded as if he were whispering them in the throes of passion.

  “I’d advise against whiskey. Liquor before beer, never fear. Beer before liquor, never sicker.”

  “What if I asked for a boilermaker and split the difference down the middle? I’m good at compromise.”

  “Are you, now? What else are you good at?”

  “Mmm. All sorts of things.” Alex caressed the bar, running his hand over the old wood as if it were a lover’s hard flesh. “Care to try me and find out?”

  “Got to play the game by the rules, little one.”

  “Call me ‘little’ one more time and I’ll have your balls strung on a bracelet,” Alex said sweetly. “I may not be a giant, but I’m tougher than I look. I could take you down.”

  “You could try.” Dylan pulled another pint and poured a shot of something that looked dark, rich, and sensual. He tipped the contents of the shot glass into the beer, and passed it to Alex. “Don’t worry about getting drunk. All of the flavor, all of the buzz, none of the nasty side effects ‑‑ that’s what this bar is all about.” A particularly noisy shout sounded as one of the wrestlers on the TV pinned his opponent. “That would be why we’re so crowded.”

  “And you the only one on duty.”

  “It’s a living. Like I told you, nothing is free.”

  “Mmm.” Alex turned his attention back to Dylan, who was half-hunkered over the bar, grinning daringly. “And what’s the price for a little information?”

  “Let me think. I could ask for anything I want ... but I think I’ll settle for a kiss.” He twinkled at Alex with those delicious dark eyes. “Do you think that’s reasonable?”

  “I can bring myself to pay the toll.”

  “Be careful,” Dylan warned. “Once you cross the bridge, there’s no going back.”

  “What’s the fun in looking over your shoulder?” Alex leaned forward. Mmm, he could all but taste those sweet lips under his. Yeasty with beer, salty from pretzels, a
nd underneath it all, a hint of pure male. Tantalizing. “I’m up for the challenge.”

  Dylan’s glance flickered down. He couldn’t have seen the rising bulge in Alex’s cargo pants, but the look on his face said he knew it was there. “All right.” He reached out with one of his huge hands and, surprisingly gentle, pulled Alex to him.

  Their lips met. Alex closed his eyes in pleasure. He’d been right about the way Dylan would tease his senses. Sliding his tongue forward, he traced the seam of Dylan’s lips for a better taste. Dylan chuckled against Alex’s mouth and opened his own a little. Alex slid inside, stroking his tongue along Dylan’s, slow and easy.

  Dylan made a small noise and moved his tongue against Alex’s, tapping and tangling a bit, before he moved forward, deepening the kiss. Alex moved with him, his appetite whetted and ready for more. The other man had a mouth on him like few that Alex had ever encountered, and Alex wanted to make this last.

  Too soon to satisfy him, the moment ended. Dylan drew back, his irrepressible grin in place. “Drink up. I’m giving you first-class service here.”

  Alex pursed his lips in a moue of unhappiness at having the kiss, in his opinion, cut short. “This VIP wants another taste.”

  “You’ll just have to wait. Business before pleasure.” Dylan took the towel off his shoulder and began to polish the bar, wiping away condensation rings from Alex’s drink. A slight smell of lemons filled the air between them, and Alex inhaled with pleasure. He adored fruity aromas. Cherries, sweet pineapple, leathery oranges, crisp, mealy pears ... give him a bowl of fruit and he was a happy man.