Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(52)

Damián slid the notepad across the desk toward Adam. “If we could hire two or three acts—have a mix of styles—we can rotate them and keep things from getting stale.”

Adam pulled the notepad closer. “Sounds good. I’ll e-mail the ad to the online newspaper.”

After discussing some other business matters, mostly about ways to improve the experience at the club for members and their guests, Damián went to set up a new piece of equipment in one of the private playrooms.

Adam watched him leave his office. Damián wore his trademark black leather Harley vest and black jeans. He had long ago ditched the crutches, then his cane. He’d gotten used to walking on the prosthesis and, only when he was overtired, did he walk with a limp.

Here in Denver, Adam, Marc, and Damián had gotten to know each other as civilians and friends. Whenever he thought back to that day in Fallujah, where he’d nearly lost them both—and had lost Miller. Thank God they, at least, had managed to get the rest of the troops home alive.

And these two men had become his family. When he’d lost Joni, he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel he belonged anywhere again.

The three of them were pretty much at the service of any of the subs at Masters at Arms who needed a top. A number of bottoms came to the club solo, just wanting to have a scene with one of them. Marc was the only one who’d seen anyone seriously and that had lasted only a few months. Usually, the three of them were able to accommodate the subs, which might be why so many of them kept coming back and bringing their friends.

Damián told him about a girl in San Diego he’d dated once. Still seemed hung up on her, but he said he hadn’t been able to find her when he’d been home to visit his sister and her kids last Christmas. She must have been something to keep him thinking about her all these years.

Under Adam’s and Marc’s tutelage, Damián had become a knowledgeable and attentive Dom. Good thing, because Marc had become more and more scarce at the club in the past year. A few months ago, Damián had taken over the training of the new unattached subs.

Even though Damián served the needs of the masochists when he wanted to get off, his gentle side seemed to come out with the more inexperienced trainees. He was very vigilant to the needs of the subs, knowing how far to push them without going beyond hard limits.

“All done,” Damián said, returning to the office. “It’s going to be fun trying that one out.”

Adam smiled. Marc had recommended the new spanking bench. Said his SAR partner had made him one for his home playroom. He wondered when Marc had time to entertain anyone in that playroom. He didn’t seem to have his heart in BDSM scening these days.

“Son, have a seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When are you going to quit that ‘sir’ shit? It’s Adam. Hell, even Dad’s better than sir. I only want to hear Sir from a subbie.” He’d reminded the kid of that many times. Damián just smiled. He’d probably ignore the order this time, too.

“You’re doing a great job with the trainees. The subs are raving about what an excellent trainer you are. And the doms have noticed the improvement in the subs’ level of discipline, too.”

“Thanks.” Damián looked away. He looked serious. Then his gaze met Adam’s again. “Remember how you wanted me to find a cause—something that would help me make a difference for someone else?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think I have.”

“Great! Doing what?”

“The Patriot Guard Riders. They provide motorcycle escorts for military funerals, and keep protestors far enough away they can’t bother the families. I’ve been supporting them as a non-rider for a while now, but my Harley is just about ready down at the shop. I’d like to ride now, too, whenever the call goes out.”

Adam felt a lump the size of Minnesota in his throat. As he came around the desk to sit on the edge in front of Damián, he cleared his throat before trying to speak. “I think that would be the perfect cause for you, son. I know you’ve worked hard restoring that hog, too.”

Damián looked away, then back again. “It might mean going on rides when the club’s open.”

Other than the club and his work at a local Harley repair shop, this was the first thing the kid had gotten interested in since he’d moved to Denver. “To hell with the club. Any time you need to go on a ride, go. I can get people to help out here as needed. Hell, most of our regular patrons are ex-military. They’ll want to support what you’re doing, too.”

“Thank you, sir.” He cleared his throat and surprised the hell out of Adam. “I also want to thank you for pulling me back from the edge.”

Adam reached out and squeezed Damián’s shoulder. “God didn’t bless Joni and me with children. We lost a son…” Adam stopped until he could control the shaking in his voice before this turned into an all-out bawl-fest. He still couldn’t think about Joni or their stillborn baby boy without regret and pain. “I couldn’t have asked for a better son. I’m proud of you for fighting your way back.”

Adam cleared his throat before continuing. “I’ve told you this before, but I think of you more as a son than a business partner.” He felt Damián’s shoulders shake with emotion. The kid had been very close to his own parents. But his father had worked himself to death trying to support their family, dying when Damián was only twelve. Adam surmised the loss of his father and the need to protect his mother and sister had played a big part in what led him into trouble with the law before he joined the Marines. Reminded him a lot of Adam’s own misguided youth and reasons for joining the Corps.