How Rowan met Stefan

Warning: Adult content

Book 1 Story 8 – Itching for a new and more dangerous thrill, Rowan crashes Stefan’s party with a plot in mind

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One year and two months ago

Bom Bom Bom Bom 

Rowan lifted his drink before it could tumble off the shuddering bar. Whoever had done the sound in this place had spared no expense on the numerous speakers. Clearly proud of his or her work, they’d made sure it would be noticed by nailing the volume control to its highest setting – completely ludicrous. Any longer in here he would permanently lose his hearing. It was a shame really; the band was good, and he was enjoying himself.

Neither the music, the people nor even the drinks were the reason he was here. He had a plot. One that might satisfy the itch that intoxicants and nameless partners no longer seemed to relieve. A scheme that involved the spiky haired owner who was watching him now.

Good. He’d been careful to position himself where he could be clearly seen. To ensure he had the man’s full attention, he hadn’t broken eye contact for the past twenty minutes. The effect was encouraging. The little twerp was starting to get angry.

Not angry enough yet though. Rowan was aiming for livid.

Unfortunately, it would have to wait. Something else had commanded Stefan’s attention, causing him to momentarily step out which allowed Rowan a chance to feast his eyes on the spectacle before him.

The great hall was packed with a wide assortment of the depraved for its quarterly ‘open night.’  All were welcome, provided a paying member could vouch for them. Masters, mistresses, slaves, partners, bipedal pets and countless variations as far as the eye could see. They were dressed in leathers, rubber and PVC. Some wore nothing at all. Fetishes of all sorts were on display, as they always were in this place. 

Aside from their deviant nature, they all had one other thing in common – money. Stefan’s lavish resort catered only for the rich. It’s facilities and other offerings were beyond comparison, with no expense spared to ensure customer loyalty. 

Most importantly, it offered anonymity. Privacy was fiercely protected, though one could hardly tell by this throng. They weren’t particularly shy.

Many recognizable faces had passed him by already. Celebrities were common enough, so were politicians, CEOs and self-made millionaires. If ever one wanted to make an easy fortune, they could blackmail the lot.

Fortunately, the dom kept excellent records with plenty of damning evidence. Should one person try to extort another, their own perversions would be made public by morning. 

An even greater deterrent was the ironclad contract each member was forced to sign. If either they, or a guest, brought disrepute to the place, the fine was shockingly high and proportionate to the sum of their assets. In short, they could lose everything. It was hardly surprising there’d never been a breach. 

It all worked well, considering many in attendance were competitive and conniving by nature. All but the one.

Rowan had neither money nor clout. He had snuck his way in by simply looking as though he was meant to be there. He was minimally clad, in his PVC pants, tailored to fit his narrow hips and his impressively long legs. To ensure he would be noticed, he wore seven-inch black platform heels. Considering he was six-foot-two to begin with, he wasn’t a hard man to find, which was the point. 

He wore only one other piece, though it could hardly be considered clothing; a PVC strap, wrapped around his tiny waist so as to offer a handhold in case he got lucky. Or, should his plan succeed, a convenient grip that an enraged man could use to toss him around.

He made a quick check of the lengthy balcony to find his target had resurfaced. A hint of a smile appeared on his lips as he re-established his discomforting eye contact.

Stefan drummed his fingers on the polished wood railing with great irritation. He’d been in a good mood, until now that is. These ‘open nights’ weren’t as expensive to run as they appeared and were consistently fruitful. By the end of the night he expected to gain enough new members to cover the costs, and maybe buy another resident slave or two. 

The skinny one at the bar with the mess of black hair, however, was rapidly ruining his fun. He showed little interest in indulging in anything but the single drink he’d been nursing. He’d completely ignored the buffet opposite and hadn’t once joined the festivities on the dance floor. The man’s only interest appeared to be him.

Why?

Stefan ceased his aggravated rhythm in favor of crossing his arms on the railing and leaning in, intensifying his threatening gaze. The man challenged him back, neither ready to blink. 

“Who’s the scrawny one down there by the bar?” Stefan asked the man behind him, not taking his eyes off of Rowan.

“Which one Sir?” piped Scott, a young flabby man with a mess of blond curls. Though still counted as a slave, he’d been Stefan’s personal assistant for some time and the unfortunate recipient of most of his wrath, earned or not.

The already annoyed lord of The Manor’s head snapped around. Was the idiot so useless he needed help with his eyes?

He snarled, grabbing the boy by his thick leather collar. With a powerful jerk, he yanked him off his feet before thrusting his head over the railing.

“That one you fucking moron!” he screamed, pointing into the crowd, which only minimally narrowed the field.

Scott rapidly scanned the area, settling on a lone figure leaning against the polished counter. He was looking straight at him with a touch of curiosity. 

“I don’t know Sir,” the young man stammered. “I don’t recognize him.”

Stefan loosened his grip, considering his response. He was tempted to punish him for not knowing, but one of Scott’s most admirable qualities was his diligence. When it came to the members, he was a living, breathing database. He could list every one of their names, preferences, weaknesses, associates and even their banking information. It was all on systems, but when the master wanted details, it was best to answer quickly. 

Besides, it was hardly a fair question. So many in attendance were here for the first time.

He let his assistant go, narrowing his eyes at the man below. “Fucking cocksucker keeps staring at me,” Stefan muttered. 

Just as he spoke, a broader smile appeared on the stranger’s captivated face, looking like a cat whose prey had just stepped within reach.

Time to get this started.

Having ensured the diminutive master was sufficiently obsessed, Rowan glanced to the side at an approaching servant.

Paid employees hired just for such nights were well marked as such. Each was clad in a deep purple rubber body suit, a colour not usually seen on the guests. Only a slit for their eyes and mouth was permitted, though the latter was crudely sewn shut. Not securely enough to impede their breathing, but sufficient to discourage a drunken guest from trying to shove something in there. 

Each bore a tray carrying drinks, or canapes, chained to their wrist to ensure they didn’t get misplaced. The chains also served to further distinguish themselves as hired help. The last thing Stefan needed was someone to mistake one as a potential partner. Such workers were not easy to come by. Not only were Stefan’s standards exceptionally high when it came to poise and body type, few were that keen on some of the deviant acts they would witness in the course of an evening. The guests of The Manor weren’t averse to making graphic spectacles of themselves, nor were the stage shows designed to be family friendly. It was enough to make a few temporary staff jumpy.

To safeguard their loyalty, it was strictly forbidden to proposition, harass, or even so much as lay a hand on any one of them. Stefan had made a swift and public example of the few that had tried.

Just the act of disobedience to throw the intently watching dom over the edge.

Like all the rest, this particular servant had an envious figure that drew many an admiring eye. The click-clack of her dangerously high heels got lost in the din, but he could imagine the sound in his mildly aroused mind. She was curvier than the others, lacking their seemingly effortless look of restricted diets and daily regimes of yoga and toning. It was not to say she was unattractive by any means. Her ample chest alone put the others to shame. 

Rowan regretfully tore his eyes from the woman’s delectably shapely rear and returned to Stefan’s sullen face. Grinning mischievously, he lifted a hand, palm flat with fingers extended. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” the fearsome overlord growled, gleaning his intent. 

Without breaking eye contact, the man gave the servant’s buttocks a hearty slap, knowing it would enrage him. She was so shocked she dropped the tray. The few drinks that remained fell to the floor, shattering as the tray itself was caught by the chain on her wrist which swung painfully into her side. Rowan was sure she must have cried out, but it was smothered by the obscenely loud sound of the band.

What little remained of Stefan’s patience exploded into a white-hot fury. “FUCKING CUNT!” he screamed, almost audible to Rowan’s ears.

The slender miscreant chuckled to himself. That should do it.

Still grinning, he disappeared into the crowd, pointedly heading towards the far exit.

“Your whip Sir,” Scott declared, holding out one of the dom’s favorite implements.

“FUCK THAT!” Stefan screamed, elbowing his nervous assistant out of the way. He grabbed two lengths of slender cord from a shadow box and hitched them to a clip on his belt. 

“I’m dealing with this one with my bare hands,” he snarled so fiercely, frothing saliva spewed from the side of his bottom lip. Scott stayed well out of reach.

Stefan flew back to the railing, searching the crowd for any sign of the troublemaker, spotting him easily in his platform heels. He was about to exit the room through the only archway that couldn’t have been better selected. There’d be nowhere for him to go if he took that route.

A maniacal high-pitched giggle bubbled up from within as Stefan flew down the stairs, tearing into the crowded hall. People wisely moved out of his way, allowing him passage to the far end. He entered the archway, noting the weighty door at the end was ajar. He could swear it had been locked. It should have been. That wing was out of use for refurbishment. He grinned. It couldn’t have been sweeter. They’d be well out of range of curious ears. He then slipped through the space, his bare feet making no sound. Soon, the din of the party disappeared into the carefully designed dampened space, leaving only a throbbing murmur. He stepped into the darkness, listening for an errant footstep, or intake of breath. It was then that a fleeting shadow, a few tones darker than the air around him caught his attention. He had him. His hand moved to the clip on his belt, grinning as he tried to pinpoint where the figure had moved to when he realized his error. It had been nothing but an illusion, a trick of his overeager mind. The truth lay in the cold blade sliding across his throat, a hand from behind holding his arm fast.

“Why are you following me?” the stranger hissed, his breath hot and jarring on the nape of his pursuer’s neck.

Stefan froze. He was so rarely, if ever, caught unawares yet this man had managed to do it so easily. 

The knife at his throat had been well cared for, the edge razor sharp. Though it was not intended to harm quite yet, it had nonetheless left a mark of broken skin where it had been drawn across him with only the slightest pressure. It was not deep enough to bleed, but it was a warning. If he moved, even in the slightest, it would surely slice through, with or without the man’s effort.

Inside, Stefan was raging but he refused to give his captor the satisfaction of seeing it. He let go of his tension, his face the picture of apathy.

Irritated by the lack of response, Rowan pressed the tip of the blade into the skin above his carotid, drawing a bead of blood. He was trying to evoke a reaction but if the man before him had felt it, it didn’t show. 

“Where is that famous violent temper of yours?” Rowan hissed, disappointed. “All I see is a man without the balls to fight back.”

“You’re holding a knife to my throat,” Stefan quietly answered, calm and even. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Get mad, yell something, anything! Fuck you are boring. And short,” he remarked, though it was hardly original. “God you’re tiny. You only come up to my fucking nipples.”

Thanks to your seven-inch platform heels, moron. 

“What are you, five foot nothing? You gonna bite my ankles? Hop up and down to punch my face? Do people just tie themselves up ‘cuz you can’t reach?” Rowan snickered, laughing at his own jokes.

Stefan bided his time, growing tired of the juvenile insults. He’d never been that bothered by his fine structure and five-foot-five height. He more than made up for it in his strength, cunning and overall cruelty. He had yet to be bested, regardless of the size of his opponent.

What was interesting though, was that the man was overly fond of talking with his hands, including the one holding the knife. Ample opportunities were presenting themselves to counter the hold. A stupid mistake.

He bore the childish slurs a while longer, waiting for the right moment. When the hand holding the weapon dipped once again, he seized the moment. With blinding speed, he grabbed the knife wielding wrist, yanking it downwards. He twisted out of the hold so fast Rowan could hardly register what had happened. One minute he had the quietly smoldering sadist right where he wanted him, then in the next, the man was at his back, controlling him easily by one awkwardly positioned arm. Like flicking off a light switch, he forced Rowan to drop the knife with a well-placed thumb on a pressure point.

Stefan chuckled with rising lunacy. “Oh dear, you really fucked up, didn’t you?”

In an elegant continuation of his disabling moves while grinning, Stefan unhitched one of the cords from his belt and brought Rowan’s other wrist back, binding them both together. Stepping back, Stefan kicked Rowan hard sending him flying forward before pulling on his lower legs to ensure he fell exactly as he wanted him – appropriately prostrate.

By the time Rowan’s knees hit the ground Stefan had grabbed two fistfuls of hair, yanking painfully at the roots. “HOW ‘BOUT A LITTLE FUCKING DITTY TO BRIGHTEN THE MOOD!!?” Stefan screeched.

“Ginny Mae and Bobby Rae were banging on the bed!” he screeched in a deranged sing-song voice. “AND THE LITTLE ONE CAME KNOCKING WITH A BAM! BAM! BAM!!” he added, slamming Rowan’s forehead down with each BAM! in a hard, calculated manner. He wanted him bruised, not unconscious. Where would be the fun in that?

When the man’s cries of pain indicated he’d had enough, Stefan pulled his head right back up, revealing the whites of Rowan’s eyes. “Enjoying yourself?” Stefan asked in a fit of giggles before driving his forehead into the ground one more time. 

Stefan stood up to his full height to admire his handiwork. “All trussed up like a CHICKen,” he remarked, still emitting his crazed laughter. Suddenly he lunged forward screaming, “BUCK-CAWK!!!!”

Rowan lifted his pained head, eyes wide with terror as Stefan pulled the other rope from his belt and began looping it around his scrawny little neck. He then walked to his captee’s side and threaded the rope’s ends around his knees, binding him in a manner that would ensure he’d stay in one place. He finished it off by punching him hard in his exposed scrotum, relishing the dull smack. The agonizing sound that the mouth up front produced was even better.

Chuckling to himself, Stefan walked back before the man, casually positioning himself where he could be seen in full. When he’d recovered from the strike to his balls enough to lift his head, that is. There was no particular hurry. The dom was enjoying watching the plaything before him writhe.

The laughter faded as Stefan examined his new toy with interest. He was such a skinny thing, arrogant and stupid. He crouched down a bit and lifted the man’s head by his hair once again, looking him dead in the eye. “You need to learn some respect,” he said, scowling. Figuring one more bruise won’t hurt, he struck again, with a hard slap to the cheek. 

“Fortunately, I’m one hell of a teacher!” he said, before standing back up. 

Smiling with anticipation of his grand finale, he slipped his hands down to his leather pants and started undoing the button and zipper. Emitting a deep throated hum of pleasure, he pulled out his sex and started idly fondling himself.

His agony starting to pass, Rowan groaned, giving one last pitiful cry before opening his eyes. 

“Take a good look,” Stefan purred, the new terror in the man’s eyes hastening his erection.

He then tilted his head with a smile. “People usually pay me for this but you? I’ll do for free.” He chuckled again, higher-pitched and manic with rising excitement and left Rowan’s field of vision.

There was nothing for a moment. Not a sound, nor a sensation until Stefan’s cruel grip tore Rowan’s leggings down off his hips, leaving him exposed.

Realizing what he was about to endure, Rowan made one last desperate attempt to retaliate.

“GET OFF OF ME!” he screamed, struggling, but finding no way to fight back in this position. His head was too far forward to lift himself up, his wrists tightly bound, and his legs now propped apart by Stefan’s own.

Stefan grabbed the belt-like PVC strap around Rowan’s waist with one hand and spat a large wad of saliva into the other.

“Oh, I love this part,” he growled, wiping the slick mess where it was needed and then forced himself into him.

A piercing shriek filled the room as Stefan’s enthusiastic thrusts drove himself deeper, hands gripping the strap around Rowan’s waist to give himself more leverage.

Rowan’s cries of pain sent shivers of electrified pleasure through the dom’s cruel loins, hastening his climax. When the man beneath him began heaving with sobs, he could no longer hold back, releasing himself in an explosive shudder which soon transformed into a fit of wild laughter.

Still wracked with his climactic aftershocks, he loosened his grip on the strap and gripped the suffering man’s side, tearing at his flesh with his fingernails. The angry red lines he left would be a lasting reminder of his lesson.

With a pleasurable growl, he extracted himself, tucking his spent organ back into his leather pants. He regarded the thing below him. Disgusted by the now whimpering husk, he kicked him hard for good measure. Such a pathetic thing, made so by his own hand. He raised his arms high, stretching out the tiny remnants of tension within, reveling in the power he felt. Chuckling softly to himself, he left Rowan bound where he was. Someone would find him, perhaps, eventually. He could reflect in the meantime on his own stupidity.

He’d nearly made it to the archway when, to his utter surprise, he felt the slender intruder’s breath hot on his neck, his hand dropping a length of cord into his own.

“Thanks,” Rowan slyly said, placing the other length in Stefan’s stunned hands. “You were even better than I thought!”

Stefan remained rooted to the spot, staring stupidly at the rope in his hands. “How…?”

He snapped his head back upwards, eyeing the man now sauntering away with his hands behind his back, the sound of his heels echoing in the vacant wing. There wasn’t even a suggestion of suffering in his self-satisfied eyes and buoyant strut. 

For the first time in his life, Stefan was speechless, though not for long.

“HEY!!!” he bellowed, throwing the cords to the floor, his shock replaced by blind fury. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

Rowan casually turned around and shrugged. “What can I say, I like an aggressive top.”

Noting the lack of amusement in Stefan’s blazing eyes, he offered an alternate explanation. “I was aiming for your full and undivided attention.”

Stefan eyed the man’s bruised forehead, staggered. “ARE YOU INSANE!?” he screeched. “You did THIS because you wanted a conversation!?”

“Would you have given me the time of day if I hadn’t?”

Stefan’s mouth firmly snapped shut. Though his methods were outrageously extreme, this man was right. He wouldn’t even have been registered as human in the dom’s eyes. He was a lone passing tourist without a name or discernible connections. Unless he planned on producing the means to pay for his right to remain, he was less than nothing, and would be gone by morning.

“And if you’re wondering, and I can see that you are,” Rowan began. “That truly was one of my best performances. Fake tears and all.” He then brought his wrists together and then moved them slightly apart. “Also, you never tied me that tight in the first place, but you never noticed, did you?” 

His little revelation only served to further enrage the sadist. One humiliation had been more than sufficient. 

“I should have killed you!” Stefan growled, clenching every muscle in his trembling body. 

“Mm, but you didn’t,” Rowan replied sweetly, taking care not to overdo it. His knife was still out of reach, somewhere behind the infuriated man before him. His next words were a delicate risk. “Killing’s not your style. Nor is putting your victims in hospital. You prefer them awake, and intact, making wonderful memories.”

Now he truly had his attention. 

“See, I’ve been a busy little bee learning about you,” he continued, evenly voiced.

“Stefan Ackermann. Fetish Lord, heartless capitalist and torture rapist. Quite an impressive resume. Found a way to make his penchant for causing pain pay. All legally I might add.”

            Rowan titled his head ever so slightly, unable to hold back a smile any longer. 

“You couldn’t really go out and pick your playthings off the street, so you created this place. Night after night of filthy rich perverts happy to hand over their cash for the privilege of being abused. You get to do whatever you want with them, within certain limits that is. Limits you’ve become quite an expert on. You have the most exquisite control, as I’ve been fortunate enough to enjoy. It’s what earns you the big bucks and a lot of repeat customers, isn’t it?” Rowan said with a delectable shudder. “I won’t be forgetting how that feels for a while. Was it good for you?”

Stefan’s eyes flew wide with horror, backing up a step. The last ten minutes had swiftly gone from being a lesson painfully taught, to what appeared to be a homoerotic consensual act. A label that Stefan feared above all others.

Rowan continued, inwardly enjoying the look of horrified nausea on the dom’s face. Everything was going precisely as expected. He had something on him now. 

“Like I said, you could have killed me, or severely injured me, but you didn’t. You actually know what you’re doing,” he continued, smiling pleasantly.

“GET TO THE POINT!!”

“Imagine what would happen if the people out there knew you’d been bested, or worse, enjoyed a little anal penetration with a very happy, very consenting male partner?”

Abhorrent to reply with words, Stefan issued a deep throated growl, his body wracked with fury and tension. “If you’re trying to extort me, you didn’t do all of your homework. I don’t take kindly to threats.”

“What I want will cost you nothing, except maybe the odd drink.”

Mindful of the angry dom’s increasingly short attention span, Rowan stepped forward, extending his hand in a friendly greeting, not really expecting the man to shake.

“Let me start over on a completely different note. Hi, my name is Rowan.”

The look of revulsion on Stefan’s face suggested he remove the offending hand lest it be torn off.

“Yes, well, a bit too soon, isn’t it?” 

“I’m a performer with an annoyingly dedicated fan base. I’m looking for some fun somewhere where I don’t have to worry about getting harassed. Your facilities seem ideal. I don’t imagine there’s a single person here who’d come anywhere near my shows.”

“So!?”

Rowan took a casual look backwards towards the party still in progress, then returned his eyes forward. “I quite like this place. I wouldn’t mind being able to stay.”   

Stefan’s chest rose and fell with his simmering rage. He longed to strike out, to break his own rules regarding causing too much visible damage, but the man had already proven himself not to be underestimated. He bided his time instead, simmering.

“You don’t strike me as the type to afford my fees.”

“I’m not. I’m looking for a free pass.”

Stefan erupted into mocking laughter. “Why the fuck should I give you what others pay thousands for?”

“Because I’m not interested in what they are paying for.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want your slaves, your equipment, or your perks. I don’t care about your money or your power. I don’t want any of it. I’ll come for the parties; I’ll even bring my own intoxicants if I have to. I might even bring a book and just sit by the pool reading, if that’s acceptable.”

“You, just want to hang out?” Stefan asked, now thoroughly confused. If this was extortion, it was a strange one.

“A little oasis with an atmosphere that suits my taste.”

Stefan mulled it over for a moment. It seemed a ridiculous request. One that didn’t benefit him in the slightest.

“Why would I want you anywhere near me? What can you possibly give me in return?”

“You mean, aside from me keeping quiet about my little trick?”

Stefan snarled. The reminder was unnecessary.

“Think of me as an amusing diversion from the usual petty annoyances. You may even find me quite entertaining. And, so long as I’m here, you can seek your revenge, but I’m not going to make it easy, or dull. We’ll call it a game. A little cat and mouse, with a bit of uncertainty as to who is the cat.” 

Stefan narrowed his eyes. “Or I could just have you seized and strapped to my table.”

“Based on what just happened, are you sure I won’t enjoy it?”

There was sudden silence anew.

“Right. Changes everything doesn’t it? God forbid someone mistakes us for a couple.”

The horror on Stefan’s face told him everything he needed to know. He was starting to get the point.

“Therein lies the fun. How do you get your revenge if you can’t rape or abuse me?”

“I DON’T FIND ANYTHING ABOUT THIS FUNNY!!”

“You will,” Rowan responded, smiling as he turned to take his leave.

Stefan watched him casually walk away, humming some tune just audibly. As much as he wanted to break every bone in his scrawny little body, there was something about him that was gnawing at the back of his mind. Something that suggested this might be worthwhile.

Let him have his little oasis for now. Let’s see what this ‘amusing diversion’ entails.

Stefan stood on the balcony observing. It had been over a week, and nothing. That man, the one who went by the name of Rowan, said he wasn’t interested in his money, power or facilities and it seemed he meant it. He was doing exactly what he said he would. Hanging out. He usually stood at the bar, in the same place he had that first night, letting himself be monitored. Aside from that, he’d been seen wandering the grounds, relaxing in the gardens, and chatting to people here and there. He even took a swim once. It was as if nothing had happened.

There were plenty of people in the world Rowan could have befriended. What was the point of aiming this high? It seemed ludicrous to pull off what he had, just for the sake of a free membership he wasn’t even taking advantage of.

Every now and then he’d find someone of interest just to try his luck. He never got far. He was learning pretty fast that people in this place often had extraordinarily specific, and at times surprising, tastes.

Stefan did get the giggles once hearing he got all the way to second base with a woman taller than he was. By all reports, he made it as far as her suite, only to find out she was a man. It wasn’t normally a problem, he swung both ways, but the ten or so other slender men chained up in her room had been rather off-putting. He was a bit jumpy after that. It was fun to watch him freezing at nothing, or nervously looking over his shoulder.

Ten days after their initial meeting, Stefan was getting bored. He’d already devoted far too much time to the man, even cancelling a few appointments to keep an eye on him. It hardly seemed worth it. His network of employees could take over the surveillance. 

He took one last look at the bar in the great hall. The whole room was scheduled for a deep clean that night. Most had vacated by now, but there were still a few stragglers. It was a popular place for minglers, or impromptu stage performances by avid exhibitionists. 

It was then that Stefan grabbed the railing with alarm. Where the fuck did he go? He was right there only a minute or two ago.

As if right on cue, Rowan casually walked onto the balcony, idly sipping a cocktail. 

“Evening,” he remarked, then settled down next to his astonished observer on the railing.

After a moment’s stunned silence, Stefan jolted away from him, spitting with outrage. “How the fuck did you get up here?”

“Stairs,” Rowan replied nonchalantly, indicating the doorway behind him.

“How did you get past my security you cocky fuck?”

“You mean the gate?” Rowan asked, holding up a small set of lockpicks, then stuffing them back into a secret pocket of the PVC leggings he’d worn the first time they’d met. 

Stefan remained where he was, stupefied. 

Unfussed by the reaction, Rowan cocked his chin in the direction of the bar below.

“Who’s the she-hulk over there?” he asked, as if they chatted like this all the time.

Stefan kept his eyes on him, knowing precisely who he was referring to without having to look. A woman that made even him nervous. She had the face of a bad-tempered bulldog and the body of a bodybuilder who thought steroids were for weaklings without the balls to try the good stuff. 

“Mistress J,” Stefan replied cautiously.

“I bet you 20 bucks I can get her to sleep with me.”

Stefan burst out into derisive laughter at both the notion of him succeeding and the paltry amount wagered. He swept his arm outward. “By all means try.”

With an overconfident ludicrous grin, Rowan put down his drink and left with a bit of a bounce.

Stefan crossed his arms over the railing anew to watch the show. He knew the woman well enough to know her appearance matched her temperament precisely. This idiot was going to get himself killed. 

Back on the floor, Rowan approached the section of bar she had claimed as her own, coming up far too close for her comfort. She could smell his repulsive musk and considered flicking him away like a bothersome fly. 

He ran his eyes from her mostly shaven head to her often-licked heeled boots, wondering if he had gotten himself in over his head. She was a lot bigger up close than he’d realized. 

He helped himself to a peanut from a bowl on the counter, taking his time placing it in his mouth as suggestively as he could, and declared, “You are one ugly fucking dyke.”

Oblivious to what had been said, Stefan burst out laughing at the sight of the monstrosity grabbing Rowan by the shoulders and power driving her knee into his groin.

Scott’s eye flew wide. The sound that came out of his master wasn’t one he’d heard before. Stefan cackled, chuckled, and erupted into high-pitched, crazed maniacal screeches. This, however, was the relaxed uninhibited laugh of a man genuinely entertained by something so common, though uncommonly executed. A stupid piece of buffoonery only a swaggering male would be dumb enough to try.

“He did that on purpose!” Stefan cried, wiping away a lone tear forming in the corner of his eye.

Scott’s eyes flew wide in disbelief. He was well familiar with the sort of pain that man was now in. “Why!?”

“God only knows,” Stefan replied, still laughing. “Crazy ass freak is what he is. I think I’m starting to like him!”

Stefan descended from on high and walked across the nearly empty room, eyeing the man on the floor with amusement. He was sitting against the bar, cradling his groin in clear agony, his face contorted in an impressive attempt not to scream. Spotting the approaching spiky-haired sadist, he made a concerted effort to rearrange his tightly clenched jaw into a cheeky smile.

Stefan cocked his chin towards the bartender, who’d been debating whether to call for a medic. “Get the man another drink.” 

He then looked back down at the anguished husk on the floor. “You thought she was going to slap you, didn’t you?”

Rowan raised his eyebrows and blinked in response, determined to keep plastering a smile on his pained face. He nodded tersely. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Stefan chuckled. “She charges 500 a hit for that.”

Rowan tilted his head with a look of mock interest, still nodding.

“What else you got?”

Rowan cleared his throat, squeaking out a response with difficulty. “I once belched the alphabet.”

Stefan’s expression was one of revolted confusion with a hint of hilarity. “What good is that to me?”

“It’s not,” Rowan croaked. “It’s just funny.”

The bartender returned with a drink, handing it to Stefan who responded with, “Give him whatever he wants tonight.” 

He then passed the cocktail to Rowan muttering, “Crazy ass queer.”  

As he started to walk off, Rowan called after him. “Hey Stefan!”’

The man paused for a moment before turning.

“Keep your friends close, enemies closer,” Rowan said, finally finding his voice.

“Presumptuous of you to be calling me friend.”

Rowan lifted a balled-up hand and slowly opened it, revealing an expensive gold watch. 

“I’ll grow on you,” he said, before tossing the stunned proprietor back his accessory.

Dumbstruck once again, Stefan stared at the watch in his hand wondering who would be watching who’s back in this proposed little game. He then looked back at the apparent new addition to his circle and chuckled to himself. He really was an amusing diversion.

Stefan then turned to resume his exit, raising his other hand in a light wave. “Medical is past the lobby, down the first hall on the right!”

Rowan silently raised his drink in reply, grinning wildly. Let the games begin.