Barely Covered

Chapter One Boston, Massachusetts, thirteen years ago Where was that jerk? Kaz looked at his watch. Forty minutes was long enough to wait in a smoke-filled, noisy corner of this gay strip club Steve had talked him into as a meeting place. Pretty ballsy, especially knowing Kaz was leery of being here. It wouldn’t look good for one of Boston’s finest to be ogling nearly naked men writhing their hips and asses onstage, even on his own time. Kaz pulled his beeper from his pocket. It was Steve. Finally. Fighting his way through the crowd, he found a pay-phone by the men’s room. Setting his drink down on top of the phone, he dialed. The sound of the club was muted a bit, so he could hear when Steve picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” “Steve, where the hell are you? Are you all right?” Kaz plugged his other ear so he could hear over the crowd. “Oh Kaz! Damn. Sorry. I…got tied up. You know how it is.” Steve sounded a bit sarcastic and Kaz swore he could hear another guy in the background asking who Steve was talking to. In any case, the message was clear—the casual thing they had wasn’t working and Steve was trying his fortune with someone new, someone who wanted the real thing. The guy was passive-aggressive that way, Kaz had learned in recent months. Anger surged hot but then Kaz took a deep breath. Maybe he couldn’t completely blame Steve. Steve wanted to be more important to Kaz than Kaz’s career—or at least as important. But with the bad press the Boston Police Department had been getting lately over its “failure” to bring in murderers, being a detective in the BPD homicide unit took more hours than he had to give. “Yeah,” he said finally, “I know how it is.” Steve paused. The guy in the background called to him again. “Just a second,” Steve told the stranger then, “Kaz, is that it?” Kaz exhaled. The impulse rose to leave and go to him, but then it faded. No sense in stringing Steve along. He could be a jerk sometimes, but he didn’t deserve to be hurt. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” Another pause. “If you say so. Bye, Kaz.” “Bye.” He hung up the receiver and picked up his glass. It hurt to have disappointed Steve, but better now than when they had a place together, two dogs and a joint bank account. To break off with him then would be just plain cruel. Time to go. He went on duty at five the next morning, so better just to get home. Making his way back out to the main part of the club, he looked toward the entrance and huffed. The place was so mobbed it would take an hour just to get to the damn door. “And now, gentlemen,” the announcer said over the cheering crowd gathered in front of the dance platform, “pure hard-on material is coming onto the stage in two seconds. Get ready to drool, guys, and give a warm welcome to…Damien!” The crowd went wild, arms raised, practically rushing the stage. The sinewy, erotically driven beat of Berlin’s s*x started playing and colored lights blinked rapidly from one side of the platform to the other, making a light show in the center of the stage. The press of the crowd forced Kaz back toward the wall. Oh well. He decided not to jostle his way out and instead leaned against the sidewall, avoiding the crush of horny guys waving bills. This Damien guy seemed pretty popular, having roused the biggest cheers of the night so far. With an eye to the stage, Kaz took a sip of his Perrier, his cop instincts having told him to remain sober from the second he’d walked into the place. Club Moritz might be Boston’s premier gay strip club, brawny bouncers and all, but there was a feeling here Kaz didn’t like. Something smarmy that had nothing to do with… The spotlight panned to the far side of the stage where one arm appeared from the dark shadows. The mere sight roused another round of cheers, whoops and hollers. Kaz sipped his mineral water again. Theatrics had never impressed him. “Come on! Get the hell out here!” someone nearby shouted. Kaz’s gaze jerked to the owner of the voice, a big blond steroid monster in jeans and a t-shirt, drunk off his ass. Probably high too. Kaz had seen his type not make it into the police academy. Too much pumping iron mixed with steroid injections had drained all the blood from his brain. Kaz was big too, but being brawny didn’t mean a guy had to be a shithead. Had Kaz not been off-duty, he would have gone over there and questioned him in suspicion of being under the influence. More cheers drew Kaz’s attention back to the stage. This Damien guy was in full view now. Whoa. Kaz’s heart lurched. He lifted away from the wall and stared at the man, gaze glued to a strip of sinewy chest and abs just visible between the flaps of a billowy white shirt. Sweat gleamed on Damien’s skin and on the soft hairs glinting on his pecs. Kaz swallowed hard and he gaped openly at the treasure trail funneling down the center of Damien’s abs. Damien moved then, flipping his head back. That drew Kaz’s look back up. Shaggy hair, the color hard to discern under the multicolored lights, framed Damien’s chiseled face. Damien wore a big sexy smile and his large eyes flashed with promise. Wow, those were some eyes, heavy-lidded yet full of life. That wasn’t all, Kaz noticed, scanning the guy’s face as Damien drew closer to his side of the stage. Damien’s face was movie star perfection—softly sculpted lips, straight nose with one small bump, gleaming white teeth, right down to a tantalizing cleft in his perfect chin. As he danced across the stage and turned his back, his body-hugging black pants, shiny and smooth, set off his hard round ass so perfectly it almost appeared they were painted on. When he slunk back around to face the audience, those shiny pants did the same for that perfectly outlined package in front. Hot damn. Kaz’s mouth watered. If Damien was supposed to make a guy drool and want to fit that c**k in his mouth, he succeeded. The beat of the song thumped through the air, made the ground vibrate, a backdrop to the jeers and catcalls of the nearly all-male audience. Damien danced back toward the middle where he halted center stage, took hold of either side of his shirt and yanked it open. That tiny move earned another round of testosterone-filled yells. Kaz could only stare, frozen, as Damien slipped one arm of the shirt partway down, exposing a muscled shoulder. In time to the music, he wound his hips and then his upper body, making the shirt fall open just enough to reveal a coin-sized n****e. Hot blood pumped through Kaz’s chest and gut, right down into his c**k. He’d been watching hot guys strip up there for the last half-hour or so, but this Damien guy… “Get those f*****g pants off!” ’Roid monster’s drunken jeer sounded over the rest of the crowd. What a frigging douche bag. For some strange reason, Kaz found himself hoping Damien hadn’t heard the lewd remark. If Damien heard the guy, he gave no indication. He was busy teasing the crowd, whipping them into a froth. Slowly, sensuously he lowered the other arm of his shirt, exposing both shoulders, his chest and part of his chiseled abs. All the while those slim hips never stopped winding. Kaz blinked. When he opened his eyes, Damien’s shirt was off his torso and flying into the crowd, into a sea of reaching hands where it disappeared. Kaz salivated some more, wishing he’d caught the shirt. The urge to press it to his face and breathe in Damien’s scent seized him. Shit! What the hell was going on with him? Since when did he want to smell a guy he’d never met? There wasn’t time to wonder about it. Damien’s entire upper body showed now. The spotlight overtook the multihued lights, giving Kaz a glimpse of Damien’s real coloring—hair, a rich chestnut, skin tanned, n*****s the color of warm cinnamon. And eyes… Damien turned and wound his way downstage again, in Kaz’s direction, making Kaz especially grateful for his hawklike eyesight…eyes—a rich shade of green. The guy was magnificent. Kaz’s heartbeat sped up and heat simmered between his t-shirt and skin. Even the blond ’roid monster’s lewd yelling close by faded into the background as Damien continued to dance. Hands locked behind his head, Damien ground his hips in sensual circles, turning front and back, driving his audience to a pitch. Dollar bills cascaded through the air, showering the stage like paper rain. Damien’s face broke into a wide, dazzling grin. He halted, both hands on one side of his waist. The crowd roared. Kaz gulped. Damien was working open his pants from the side. The black material hid a zipper that…inch by inch Kaz could see ran the length of Damien’s leg. Slowly, torturously in time to the sinuous beat of the music, Damien lowered the zipper. Kaz shook himself. When had he started panting? Good thing the guys around him were at least as worked up as he was, caring only about watching the s*x god on the stage as he revealed one sloping hard thigh. Bit-by-bit the material fell away. Damien pivoted quickly, concealing his front from the crowd. They cheered and hooted. Damien rewarded them with a round of his hips and staccato flexing of his perfect, round ass cheeks, separated only by a G-string up the crevice. Hot damn. No wonder the crowd had gone wild when the announcer told them who was dancing next. Kaz’s mouth went dry. Never in his adult life had he wanted to tongue a guy’s ass as badly as he wanted to right this second. And yet, when Damien turned back to the front, Kaz found his gaze roving upward, wanting to look into Damien’s eyes again. There was something to him, a sparkle. “f*****g hot!” Kaz turned. The blond asshole again. The guy was practically slobbering all over himself, a glazed look in his eyes while he stared at Damien. So—that was the source of smarminess Kaz had gotten when he walked in. This guy, right here, a few feet away from him. Kaz watched him, sizing him up the way his police training had taught him. A big part of his instruction had been learning to trust his instincts. This character was trouble. Then Kaz thought of something else. Had he been staring at Damien this way? He hoped not. And why did he suddenly feel so protective of Damien? The guy was hot as hell, obviously in control of his body and of the bodies around him. He could take care of himself. Feeling chastened, Kaz tried to turn and couldn’t. He dared to let himself look up at the stage again. And felt a jolt right through his middle. The heat traveled right to the head of his c**k. Damien was just drawing down the zipper on his other leg to the pant cuff. He glanced up at his audience, his face a mask of teasing mischief. Catcalls and wolf-whistles practically drowned out the music. Damien ripped the pants away. The crowd went wild. “Over here! Over here!” various voices called out. Damien flashed them a grin. He swung the pants in several lasso-like circles over his head and flung them into the audience. The onlookers grabbed wildly as if a million dollars had been tossed at them. Like the shirt, the pants disappeared somewhere and Damien stood, naked, except for a tiny black pouch holding his package. Kaz swallowed. A lump formed in his throat. His brain felt mad with a strange fever and his heart pumped as if he’d been running. The now-golden lights shone over Damien’s sinewy, undulating body, glinting off his tanned skin, sweat beading like dew in his soft chest hairs and on the strip of hair that plunged down his sleek abs. All Kaz could do now was stare at the guy, transfixed on his incredible body, shaggy hair and movie star face. He’d have paid a thousand dollars right then just to lick the sweat off Damien’s chest. Kaz fought the urge to jostle his way up to the stage. He could easily have done it with his size and brawn, even in this crowd of men. Damien was dancing along the edge of the stage, dipping down, going to his knees, pelvis out so that the reaching hands could stuff bills into his G-string. Yet, strangely, Kaz was glad not to take part. Even if he hadn’t been an off-duty police officer, he couldn’t help a wave of embarrassment. Damien didn’t belong on that stage…not really, no matter how fine he was. Something about Damien spoke to him, told him this was a guy he could bring flowers to and propose to down on one knee and all that romantic crap. Maybe it was the vulnerable expression the guy seemed to have, even through the erotic tease he was giving. Crazy. That was crazy. Kaz didn’t really know such things just from watching the guy dance. This had to be an example of hormones overtaking instinct. However, when it came to the blond ’roid monster, there was no confusion. The guy was trouble. Just then, Kaz spotted the blond at the edge of the stage. When had he gotten through the crowd? “Get over here, Damien!” Even through the thunderous noise, Kaz could hear the ’roid monster yell, waving his large fistful of money toward Damien a few feet away. Damien danced a bit closer. Kaz saw him look down and then jump back. He hadn’t broken a step but Kaz didn’t miss the break in Damien’s grin as he avoided the blond. Kaz’s gut lurched. Did Damien know this creep? Had something bad happened between them? And why did he care? “Give a round of applause for Damien!” the voice on the loudspeaker announced through the din of cheers and catcalls. The lights began flashing again and Damien receded toward the rear of the stage, bills protruding at all angles from the strings across his hips. His hands were above his head and he was still grinning and grinding his hips even as the lights faded. Disappointment stabbed Kaz. He wanted nothing more than to slip backstage and try his luck with Damien. Then again, that would make him just another one of the slobbering jerks who lusted after Damien’s body after seeing him strip. Kaz drank the last of his water and set the bottle on the nearest available surface. Probably best just to go home. Except… The blond. Kaz scanned the space immediately around him. Only a few minutes had passed between the last part of Damien’s routine and the fading spotlight, yet the huge ’roid monster was already out of here. Kaz’s gut clenched. Why he should find the asshole’s exit so disturbing, he could attribute to only one thing—the guy had been thinking the same way he had moments ago. Only, the blond was actually going to try his luck with Damien while Kaz had decided to leave Damien alone and go home. No, he decided. It was definitely something else. The guy’s behavior exhibited signs of drug use. His aggressive attitude and the way he’d leered and gone up to the stage, no doubt to cop a feel of Damien’s jewels, were not the actions of a man who’d just come courting. Damien had obviously seen it too by the way he’d avoided him. Dance music pumped over the speakers, so loud, the bass made the entire building vibrate. Through the flashing lights, the writhing bodies on the dance floor in front of the stage flickered in a surreal way. But Kaz barely noticed. His heart pumped adrenaline through his body. That bad feeling he’d had when he first walked into the Moritz now plagued him. Jostling his way through the press of dancers and throng milling on the sidelines, Kaz made his way as quickly as he could in the direction of the back where he imagined the dressing room was. The corridor was darker, lit by only a couple of lights, the temperature not so heated by sweaty guys trying to feel each other up. However, a small crowd still lingered. Kaz surveyed the guys hanging around. No blond ’roid monster. Kaz tapped a guy on the shoulder. “What’s going on here?” he asked. The younger man jerked his thumb in the direction of a doorway. “Waiting to meet Damien.” Damn. There were probably twenty of them. Kaz’s uncomfortable feeling intensified and he found himself hating the fact that Damien probably did private dancing with any number of these men. That’s what many strippers did to earn extra tips. He turned back to the guy he’d questioned. “Is he in that room?” “Don’t know. No one’s seen him since he left the stage.” Kaz got a chill. “Did you happen to see a really tall blond guy?” The other man shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t seen him. Sorry.” Kaz sighed and turned around, hands on his hips. Another moment and he went off searching, that bad feeling like a fist in his gut. * * * * * Damien drew in a deep breath and pulled his tank top and jeans on in the quiet, dark corner of backstage only the performers knew about. Thankfully there were little back passages he could go through in this place and avoid the crowds completely. Which was exactly what he was going to do after what happened last night, even if he hadn’t had a whopping English Literature After World War I final to study for. A shiver passed through him, though he was still hot and sweaty from dancing. That blond creep had been there tonight again, trying to cop a feel. He’d said last night his name was Lance. Good thing they’d been surrounded by people. The memory of the night before was still too fresh. Best if he just got out of here tonight. He didn’t need the extra tips so badly that he’d risk running into that guy. He wasn’t even going to try to find the stripping outfit he’d flung into the audience so he could return it to the dressing room. Screw it. He’d replace it later. Shouldering his backpack, he slipped quietly into the back corridor, rushing past the door that led to the dressing room hall. No doubt there was a crowd there as usual, which probably included the bastard. Another few feet and he’d be free to go home, the only place he really wanted to be right now. The thought of another night giving lap dances and hand jobs, especially after the drunken blond monster had threatened to yank him down by his hair to swallow up his c**k, was unbearable. If he hadn’t had the forethought to pay a bouncer extra to keep an eye on him, he’d have been in real trouble. Damien pushed open the back entrance and stepped out into the alley, letting the heavy door click shut and lock behind him. He pulled in a breath of fresh air. Well, city air was never completely fresh, but compared to the smoky, sweaty air in the Moritz, it was. Ah, finally he could sneak out onto the sidewalk and catch a cab home. He turned and took a few steps. Just as a shadow loomed up before him. “Hey, Damien.” Damien froze. His blood turned suddenly cold. There, in front of him, blocking his path, was the blond monster.