The apartment was quiet except for the faint tick of the old kitchen clock. Grayson padded in barefoot, still groggy, rubbing at the knot in his shoulder. Holly sat at the counter, her hair tied back, sleeves shoved to her elbows. She was staring into nothingness, dabbing at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve like she didn't want to be caught crying.
He stopped in the doorway. "You okay?"
She startled a little, blinking fast like she'd just remembered where she was. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"Yeah," he muttered, "and I'm a fucking priest."
That got him a glare, but she didn't bite back. She stared at the wall like the answer might appear into thin air if she waited long enough.
"What happened?" Grayson crossed to the counter and leaned against it, studying her. She looked worn down, mascara faintly smudged under her eyes, a flush creeping high on her cheeks.
She hesitated. "I got fired."
He straightened. "What?"
"Last night. End of my shift." She gave a helpless little shrug. "Boss just said I wasn't a fit anymore. No warning. No reason."
Grayson's brow furrowed. "That's bullshit. You've been there what, a year?"
"Fourteen months," she said quietly. "Doesn't matter now."
"It matters," he pressed.
Her gaze flicked up, almost pleading for him to drop it. "It's done, Gray."
He exhaled slowly, his mind ticking through the possibilities. Sudden, no reason given, it felt too familiar. The way his own job had vanished overnight, only to be replaced with a shiny new offer from Kane. The same Kane who now owned the building they lived in. The same Kane who didn't let things happen without a reason.
He reached over and squeezed her arm. "We'll figure it out. Okay? We always do."
She nodded, but her mouth tightened. "I don't want you making this your problem."
"Too late," he said.
******************
By the time he was behind the bar at Elysium that evening, the thought had taken root and refused to let go. He worked his shift, fast hands, clean pours, smile when it was needed but his head was elsewhere. The knot in his gut only pulled tighter every time Kane moved through the club.
When Kane finally sat in his usual corner booth, Grayson didn't wait. He slid two cocktails down the bar to Tessa, wiped his hands on a towel, and made straight for him.
Kane looked up when Grayson stopped at the edge of the booth. "Problem?"
"Yeah," Grayson said. "Leave her alone."
Kane's brow arched. "Who?"
"Holly."
Something unreadable flickered behind Kane's eyes, and then he sat back, giving Grayson his full attention. "What about her?"
"She lost her job last night. No warning. Just like I did." Grayson's voice stayed low, even, but there was an edge in it. "If you had something to do with that—"
"You think I'd bother with your roommate?" Kane cut in, tone mild, but his gaze sharpened.
Grayson's jaw tightened. "I think you make a habit of pulling strings you don't admit to."
For a moment, Kane just watched him. Then his mouth curved, not kindly. "You sound very… protective."
"She's my friend."
"Is that what we're calling it?" Kane's gaze dipped before returning to Grayson's face. "Interesting."
"I'm serious," Grayson said.
"So am I." Kane's voice dropped lower. "Because if I thought she meant half as much to you as I do, I might actually be jealous."
Before Grayson could respond, Kane's hand closed around his wrist and he gave the slightest pull. Enough to bring Grayson a step closer, enough to break the thin strip of air between them.
"Sit."
It wasn't a request.
Grayson sat stiffly in the booth, the dim glow from the low-hanging lamp throwing Kane's face into sharp planes and shadow.
Kane didn't move for a beat. He just held his gaze, the air between them thick with unspoken challenge. Then, he leaned in, his voice right at Grayson's ear. "You want me to leave her alone? Maybe you should remind me who I'm actually after."
The implication hit Grayson just as Kane's hand moved sliding beneath the table, slow enough to make every muscle in Grayson's body tense.
"Kane—"
"Shh," Kane murmured. "You came in here like you were ready for a fight. Let's see if you're still that defiant when I've got my hand on your cock."
Grayson's jaw clenched. "That's not—"
"True?" Kane's mouth curved into something dangerous. "Feel like lying to me again?"
Grayson's pulse hammered. Kane's thumb stroked along his length through the fabric, a slow, lazy pass that made heat coil low in his stomach.
Kane leaned in, voice pitched so low Grayson felt it more than heard it. "Eyes on me. I want to watch the moment you forget her name."
Then his hand slipped under the waistband, skin meeting skin, fingers curling around him.
Grayson's breath broke on a quiet, involuntary sound.
"That's it," Kane murmured, stroking once, slow enough to make his toes curl. "No one else gets you like this, do they?"
Grayson's hands clenched in his lap, his thigh twitching under Kane's touch. "We're in the middle of—"
"A club I own," Kane cut in. "A booth no one will come near unless I invite them." His grip tightened, thumb dragging over the head until Grayson bit down on a groan. "And right now? I'm inviting you to remember who you belong to."
Grayson's head tipped back against the seat, teeth catching on his lip. Kane's hand worked him with obscene control — not fast, but with an unshakable rhythm that left no room to think.
"Good boy," Kane said softly. "Just like that. Let me have you."
The ache built fast, a raw heat winding tighter with each stroke. Grayson tried to fight it, to keep some distance between himself and the pull Kane had over him, but the pressure of that hand, the quiet authority in his voice, it stripped him bare.
Kane's other hand came up, cupping the side of Grayson's face, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Not thinking about her now, are you?"
Grayson's answer was a breathless, wrecked, "No."
"Say it."
"I'm not—fuck—thinking about her."
Kane's smirk was pure sin. "You're thinking about me. About how good I make you feel."
Grayson's breath caught. "Yes."
"That's right." Kane's strokes quickened, his thumb rubbing a slick circle over the head that had Grayson's hips jerking in spite of himself. "Come for me, sweetheart."
It broke him. His breath shattered, body tightening, and then he was spilling hot over Kane's hand, the sound of his own groan swallowed in the low pulse of the club's bass. Kane didn't stop until he'd worked every last shiver out of him.
Grayson slumped against the booth, pulse racing. Kane withdrew his hand slowly, deliberately, and brought his fingers to his mouth. He sucked them clean with unhurried precision, holding Grayson's gaze the entire time.
When he spoke, his voice was smooth, composed — as if he hadn't just undone him in plain sight.
"Now that you remember where you stand," Kane said, sliding out of the booth, "get back to work."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Grayson flushed, breathless, and with the crushing knowledge that Kane had just won another round.