1 Chapter One: Bars Never Pay

Valentine couldn't seem to get comfortable.

His clothes were too tight and exposing. His black skinny jeans, ripped to display his thighs, pinched in all the wrong places; his sleeveless grey turtle neck open on either sides, revealing his chest every time he leaned forward. The room was hot and crowded. The people beautiful, but overly sexual as they rubbed against each other with no shame. Valentine was an unfortunate member as an unwanted hand slid beneath the fibers of his ripped jeans.

The hand belong to Frank Sharpae: a short, pudgy, sweaty man. A sliver studded rolex laid heavy on his wrist, giving Valentine goosebumps as the cold metal grazed his skin. The watch was the only nice thing about the man. His suit was wrinkled, a yellow stain on the collar that matched the horrendous hue of his teeth, the first few buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a forest of black chest hair.

"Are you enjoying your drink?" He wipped the sweat that dripped down his forehead. His comb-over drenched, sticking awkwardly to the top of his head.

Valentine didn't touch the colorful alcohol that the man bought him. It looked like a galaxy of garbage, a concoction of at least a dozen different bottles. The warning look the bartender gave him as he set the glass in front of Valentine was enough to turn him away from drinking it.

"Yeah, it's good." Valentine lied, stirring the cosmos of alcohol with the straw. They both knew he hadn't even lifted the glass to his lips.

Frank's hand slowly moved up his thigh, leaving a tail of moisture like a slug.

Valentine could deal with the lack of hair, the dirtiness of the man, the yellow hue of his teeth, and the wrinkle of both his clothes and skin, but why was he so damn sweaty? The room was hot, but it looked like a river was being produced from his hippo-like body. If not for the heavy scent of alcohol and food, the dank scent of the man himself would probably make Valentine sick.

He smiled, revealing the row of yellow that left anyone who was unfortunate enough to glance over cringing. "You don't seem like the usual type to be here."

Valentine could only nod at the obvious statement. Compared to the other people in the room, Valentine was the only subpar looking person there. Beautiful women, thin with long hair; handsome men, tall with muscles and strong shoulders. Valentine was average height at 5'10", dirty blonde hair and blue eyed with the tiniest scar under his eyebrow. His arms and legs were thin, a flat stomach that held no definition of muscle, and the only good quality about his face were his cheekbones that sat high. Despite being twenty-three, Valentine was a virgin and probably the only one in the room. Though, it was surprising to think that anyone would willingly have sex with Frank, so maybe Valentine wasn't as alone as he thought.

With Frank's silence gave the underlying question of, why are you here?

Valentine shifted nervously, a mistake as the man lifted his hand only to place it closer to his crotch. Valentine tried to ignore it as he spoke. "I'm actually having some money issues with my college. My roommate recommended I come here for help."

To be exact, Valentine owed more than more that 150,000 dollars in debt, and during a drunk rant, his roommate mentioned the probability of a "sugar daddy". It was like an unwanted but needed hail mary.

Now, it was one a.m. and Valentine's search for a sugar daddy resulted in a sweaty, fat man who looked nothing like men under 'sugar daddy' google images.

The man hacked and Valentine recoiled in disgust. "Well," he smiled as he cleared his throat with brandy, "there are a fair amount of wealthy people here who would be more than willing to help with that. Of course, everything has a price."

Yet again, the clammy hand crawled up his leg. Valentine was beginning to think the price was too high.

It took every muscle in his body to remain seated.

"Of course," Valentine said, picking up the mysterious, murky drink. It couldn't be that bad and he opted to feel the buzz of alcohol rather than the man's continuous groping of his flesh. He threw his head back taking a large swig.

The alcohol burned like fire. The overly bitter taste causing Valentine to visibly gag as his tongue recoiled from the liquid. The bartender ran over with napkins, ready for Valentine to spit the vile drink out, but he forced it down, the liquid falling to his stomach like a boulder. Valentine hardly drank at all and whatever the man had gotten him was so strong his eyes watered.

Val turned to the bartender, taking the napkin and wiping his mouth. "What is this?"

Frank smiled with pride, answering in the stead of the bartender. "It's my own concoction I had the bartender make for you."

Valentine held no shame wiping his tongue with the napkin itself. It made sense the drink was made by Frank. It was disgusting, bitter, and heavy — just like it's creator.

"Can I get a glass of water?"

The bartender nodded, an apologetic look in his eyes. Valentine should have taken the warning gaze he gave earlier more seriously.

"Weak to booze?" Frank drank the rest of his brandy in one swallow, showing off his alcohol tolerance.

Valentine was not impressed. "Unfortunately."

As soon as the water was served, Valentine held no reserves in chugged it down in an attempt to erase his earlier mistake. Though it seemed the mistake was coming to the club in the first place.

Why was he even here?

There was no way he was going to be able to maintain this type of lifestyle. Dark, loud places where people pulled each other behind closed doors scared him. There was a firm doubt that he would be able to calmly lay on his back and be crushed by this man like a baby seal. No one would want to be a sugar daddy to a man who literally fears sex. The only type of sex Valentine could deal with was the chapter in his medical book that was both short and underwritten.

"You're so innocent," the man verbalized Valentine's thoughts. "It's like you've never even had sex."

His face flushed red with Frank's bluntness. There was an unbearable silence between the two as Valentine struggled to find something to say.

His inability to respond only seemed to overjoy the beer-bellied man. The smile, full of yellow teeth, caused his stomach to churn. The flashing neon color only accentuating the sickly tone of his skin. Sex terrified Valentine, but the mere thought of even kissing this man completely revolted him.

Frank spoke with a flirtatious tone that surprisingly made him more disturbing than before. "Do you know how great that is?" His hand finally made its way to Valentine's crotch. After a few seconds of groping, Valentine was ready to throw up the vile drink the man made for him.

Money or no money, this wasn't worth it.

Valentine stood, pushing Frank's hand off himself. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this."

Frank gave a panicked look, standing with him. "You can! I can take care of all your money problems too. All you'd have to do is listen to me." He gave a desperate smile.

Valentine gave a tense smile. There is no one more dangerous than a desperate man. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene. People were already glancing over and the bartender watched intensely, almost ready to intervene. All Valentine wanted was to go home, drop out of college, and finally let his debt drown him.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not very good at listening to others."

It was a truth Valentine instantly regretted speaking as Frank's face brightened into a satisfied smile. As if his words were the key to the lock.

With a clammy hand, he grabbed Valentine's shoulder. Val could only feel disgusted as the moisture traveled through the cloth of his shirt and smeared against his skin. "This is perfect!" He exclaimed, gaining the attention of a few patrons. His voice turned soft, a skewed soft voice that someone used when faking remorse about the rabbit they hit on the highway, "And it's okay that you're a virgin, despite how I look I can be very gentle."

Valentine's jaw dropped as his face heated. So much for not making a scene. Everyone started watching, staring in judgement with vulture eyes. To say that — to say something like that OUT LOUD — was unbelievably vacuous and humiliating.

Frank pulled Valentine forward. "Come with me."

Valentine pulled back. There was no way he was going anywhere with the creep. "Let me go." Valentine pulled back again, but he moved his hand to Valentine's arm, strengthening his grip. Valentine felt the cold, painful pinch of metal. He looked at his arm to see golden ring hugging the man's sausage finger.

He was married.

"Let me go!" Valentine let the disgust he had been thinking about the entire time drip from his words.

Frank frowned, angry as he jerked Valentine forward. He fell forward into the man's chest.

The stench was pungent.

A dank body odor that only came with days of no washing; the stale sent of cigarettes clung to the fabric of his jacket; his shirt, moist with sweat and cologne that he probably poured on himself to mask the stench of everything else. Frank growled into Val's ear, "Just. Come."

Valentine was a pushover, but he wasn't going to let this freak do whatever he pleased. "I said no!" He pushed him, surprising him enough to get his arm free.

Frank fell back, causing the people behind him to tumble down. Drinks spilling, glass breaking against the floor. Valentine turned on his heels only to run into a solid chest that was nothing like the wet jungle of Frank's. The black shirt had a label that both relieved and worried Valentine.

Security.

Getting thrown out at this point was actually looking pretty good.

"You little bitch!"

Valentine turned to see the man's hands going for his face. He clenched his jaw ready for the impact of the fist. It wouldn't be the first time he was hit, but each one hurt just as much as the last.

A thick arm wrapped around Valentine's waist, taking him for surprise. Being pushed into the security man's solid body as he reached forward, grabbing Frank's wrist, twisting it, earning a pig like squeal.

"You've seemed to have drank a bit much, Mr. Sharpae. We have a driver outside to take you home." The voice was smooth and deep. Valentine could feel the vibration of the sound through his back, along with the strong, slow pump of the man's heart.

Frank pulled back, only able to free himself as guard allowed him to. He rubbed his wrist and patted down the sleeve of his jacket as if it weren't already wrinkled. "Thank you, and expect a bill for damaging my suit."

There was no reasonable way Frank was going to refuse the ride. It was a way out of any more public embarrassment, and the fact the the guard knew his name showed that this wasn't his first scene.

"Of course," the guard said, keeping his arm firmly wrapped around Valentine until Frank was visibly gone. As Frank left, the room returned to it's relaxed, sexual atmosphere, people picking themselves up and chatting about the incident that had just transpired. Valentine was released and ready to get thrown out himself.

Valentine faced the man, or rather looked up at him. He towered, at least 6'4", shoulders broad and built; it wouldn't be a surprise if he had to turn to walk through doorways. His hair was dark brown, matching eyes that looked black in the dim room.

"Good evening."

Valentine stood in silence for a moment, having expected to be escorted out rather than greeted. He tripped over his words. "G-Good evening. How are you?" Valentine mentally face palmed himself for asking the question out of habit. He should just leave rather than starting casual conversation after almost starting a brawl.

The guard smiled, showing a straight line of white teeth."Good, thank you for asking. Would you mind coming with me to discuss the incident?"

Valentine agreed, following the buff man behind the bar into a hallway of doors. Valentine made sure to note the man's entrance through the doorway. His shoulders made it through with a few inches to spare.

The hallway was as dark as the club itself. Narrow and lined with blood red doors. Despite all the doors being painted the same, they each had a black plaque with a different color.

Blue. Green. Black. Purple. Red. Orange.

Valentine had no idea what the titles stood for, but he could swear he heard the light sound of voices behind each door. More noises than words. The shuffling of people.

A loud snap erupted from the red room. Valentine jump. The guard paid it no attention.

They stopped at the end of the hallway, the last door holding no label nor the sound of life from within. Neither of those facts calmed the erratic pounding of Valentine's heart. The same feeling of nervous guilt that he got as a student being escorted to the principle's office laid heavy on his shoulders.

As the man opened the door, Valentines's eyes burned from the flood of light. He squinted, it was an office. A plant sat in the far corner, a painting of the ocean behind the desk, a small picture frame on the desk. It was surprisingly — relievingly — normal.

"Please, take a seat." He walked behind the desk, taking a seat as Valentine did in front of the desk.

In the light, Valentine could see his features clearly.

He was desvistatingly handsome.

As he turned to look the left, Valentine saw the sharpe definition of his jaw line and the smallest mole under his ear. His eye lashes were long, framing his eyes like a painting. His hair sleek, looking soft and full, inviting one to take a fist full of hair. The black shirt fit tightly around his body, the sleeves stretched around his biceps. He leaned forward on the table, holding his hands together. His arms flexed with the movement, muscle taut and defined. The fact that the man was a security guard and not a model left Valentine dumbfounded.

He cleared his throat, gaining Valentine's attention. His face flushed as he was obviously caught gawking.

The guard gave a kind smile in response. "My name is Jason Sway, and I'd like to apologize for the incident with Mr. Sharpae. He has a history of bad behavior at this establishment."

That was no surprise. The rank man probably had a history of being a pigheaded bastard at every establishment.

Valentine crossed his legs, grabbing the tight fabric of his jeans hoping to seem as calm and comfortable as Sway. "My name is Valentine Lent, and it's fine. It's my own fault for coming here."

"Not at all." Sway spoke with a light tone, as if they were friends having a casual conversation over lunch. "Club Moonlight has higher standards than that, and you deserve better. No sub deserves to be forced into a relationship and any member of the B.D.S.M. community deserves the utmost respect. In and out of their relationships."

Valentine thought for a moment. He understood the ideals, but was confused after the first sentence. He didn't know where Sway got the idea he was a substitute and what this "community" Might be that he was talking about.

Valentine took the chance of sounding stupid. "B.D.S.M.?"

Sway gave a blank stare. Valentine shifted in his seat — maybe asking wasn't the right thing to do.

"You're not in the sex scene?"

Valentine gave a bubbly laugh, scrabbling to find something to say, "Hardly, I've never even had sex before." Valentine covered his mouth in shock and humiliation. The realization of what he said hitting him like a truck. The bluntness of Frank coming out of his own mouth.

Sway laughed, leaning back in his chair. His laugh was deep, carrying through the air with ease. It wasn't directed at Valentine, but at the situation. The sound took the shame right off his shoulders, allowing Valentine to join him with a small laugh himself.

"Let me just say," Sway leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table, "it's a world worth exploring." With a quick wink, he continued with the topic at hand. He spoke in a professional manner, as if there was no joke to begin with, "Moonlight would like to compensate you for your troubles. Would five thousand suffice?"

Valentine was taken aback. That was a large sum of money, more than he had never had at one time, let alone been offered. Sway had said it with ease as Valentine's mind turned gears to even imagine the amount.

"Is that not enough?"

It truly wasn't. Accepting the money wouldn't help his situation in the least and would only leave Valentine with guilt. There was no reason to accept the money, or to stay.

Valentine stood, Sway mirrored his actions. "I'm sorry, but I can't accept the money. I really should be going."

"Mr. Lent please." Valentine turned and made his way towards the door as Sway continued to call out to him, following close behind. A single step of his was equal to Valentine taking two extended strides. Valentine was reminded that the man would have no problem stopping him as his hand easily slammed the door Valentine had opened.

"Valentine." The man saying his first name made his muscle tense. A warning tone that made Valentine's fingers ache as he gripped the doornob harshly. "I can't let you leave like this."

Sway was going to kill him. Why else would he bring him all the way back into the depths of the building? By the look of his arms, Sway could crush his skull like a melon — a mesh of red everywhere and then he would call his clean up crew and clean up the mess of Valentine. The only upside of the situation would be his loss of debt with his gain of death.

Valentine turned to look his soon-to-be killer in the face, only to feel a calmness wash over him. Sway's eyes were soft, holding nothing but comfort and kindness. He offered a warming smile that left Valentine feeling protected, even as he towered over him. The menacing feeling that usually overwhelmed Valentine when being so close to another person seemed to be an afterthought with this man. A light trust formed just from looking him in the eyes.

Sway reached forward, cupping Valentine's cheek. He ran his thumb under Valentine's eye.

His hands were rough. Valentine could feel the calloused skin, the hours of hard labor he must have done. Despite the harshness his hand seemed use to, it was gentle as it grazed against Valentine's skin.

He pulled away.

Valentine shuttered at the lack of warmth.

He put his thumb between them, "An eyelash."

Valentine felt oddly stupid. Disappointment washing over him like cold water. Sway's eyes seemed to dilate, captivating Valentine's as he blew the small hair away.

There was a moment of silence. A moment were Valentine couldn't find his breath. His lungs burned, his mouth felt dry. Sway kept his eyes trained on him, and like a spell, kept him still.

"Breathe," the man whispered, allowing air to flood Valentine's lungs.

The courteous smile returned to his face, the friendly gleam back into his eyes. Sway dropped his arms and his body to move away. It felt as if a wall had shifted, letting the claustrophobic feeling wash away.

Valentine was both confused and flustered.

"At least allow the club to drive you home, free of charge."

Valentine nodded. He has actually walked here, spending an hour on his feet just to get to the club itself. They ached, and walking in the dark wasn't ideal. Sway's tone also left no room for rejection.

Valentine stepped forward, allowing Sway to open the door. They walked back into the darkness, Valentine's eyes struggled to adjust. He stumbled over his own feet. Sway grabbed him.

"Are you okay?"

Valentine nodded, realizing Sway couldn't see the gesture in the dim room. An immense man, but his eyes needed to adjust like anyone else's. "Yes, thank you."

Sway cupped Valentine's elbow, escorting him down the narrow space. The sound of breaking glass and a screaming voice rang out through the main door. There was an obvious situation that needed his attention.

"Stay in here." His voice held command that Valentine wouldn't disobey. Sway left without glancing back.

All Valentine saw was the rage of a women brandishing a broken wine glass before the door snapped close.

It was dark and quiet. Valentine was left unsure of what to do with himself. His reached for his phone, only to feel the emptiness of his pocket. There was an initial moment of panic before Valentine calmed himself down. It must have fallen in the office or at the bar and could easily be found. No one here looked like they needed to steal a phone and it would likely be turned in to lost and found if anyone did pick it up. Going back to the office would be fast, and Sway probably wouldn't even know.

Quickly, Valentine turned around and made his way back to the office. He went in as fast as possible, pausing in silence, listening to the outside for any movement. No sound. The coast was clear. He rushed to the desk, looking around the chair for his phone with no luck.

It was possible it fell out when he stood and went under the desk. Valentine hurriedly went around the desk, searching the ground for his phone. It was there, on the ground, luckily undamaged.

He stood, his mission complete without issue. As he stepped to leave, he noticed the framed picture on the desk. This time he could see the image.

It was Sway and a smaller man. His hair was dirty blonde, his skin a single shade from pale, his eyes holding an frustration that he did no try to hide on his face. They were in the woods, a dark blue tent in the background with the ambers of a dying fire not far off. A camping trip, one Sway seemed to enjoy more than his companion. Sway was dressed in old jeans, boots, and an faded dark green long sleeve. He looked in his element, a slight beard on his face, his heavy arm around the shoulder of his shorter friend who wore black skinny jeans and an override grey long sleeve that went over his hands. A vacation of sorts. Valentine had always wanted to go on Vacation, but each spare moment no dedicated to studying was filled with work.

There was no more time to stare at the picture, enough time had already been wasted on it and who knew when Sway would walk right back in. As Valentine made his way to the door, the handle turned, the door opening leaving him to cringe with guilt of being caught.

"I'm so sorry I —"

"Who the hell are you?"

The man's eyes were blood shot, his hair disheveled and matted down with a dark substance. He stood in the door way, hunched, breathing heavily, his suit torn, buttons missing and neck scratched. His bottom lip was split. He was holding his hand in a red stained towel. He was badly hurt and he look furious.

"I'm Valentine," Valentine said with a shaky voice. There was no telling what this man would do. He was obviously drunk, if not high on gods knows what.

He let out a crude laugh, bellowing as if he has heard a snarky joke on his name. He looked at Valentine as if he were raw meat in the shop. He looked at Valentine as if he wasn't human.

"Valentine? Is that your dancing name? You're just one of her yellow bellied whores ready to lay on your back and set me up aren't you?" He sneered, his teeth tinted red with blood.

"No I'm —"

"Enough!" He yelled, walking in and slamming the door behind himself. "She thinks after all this I'll still fall for the same old tricks. Do you think I'm stupid?"

Valentine wasn't sure what he was talking about but the last thing he wanted was to escalate the situation. "Sir —"

"Sir? Sir!" He laughed manically. "Aren't you a fresh one, Valentine. A different strategy I suppose, and I must say I like it."

He began walking towards Valentine, Valentine began to walk back.

"Sir, I think you're drunk and confused."

"I know what's going on, and you should stop and just take what's coming to you."

The man ran forward. Valentine stood his ground, dodging as he got close enough. The man stumbled forward, knocking the framed picture off the desk, falling to his hands and knees. Valentine took the chance and went around the desk, heading straight for the door. There was no trying to reason with this man, there was no trying to fight him, and Valentine had learned from experience to run when the chance was given.

He grabbed the doorknob and felt a yank on his shirt. The cheap turtleneck ripped under the pressure. Valentine held no hesitation as he turned around, throwing his elbow out, nailing the man straight in the nose. Valentine fought for life, not for freedom and now would be no different.

The man yelled, his hands going to his face, blood pooling from his face onto the floor. Valentine opened the door, only for the man to slam his body against Valentine's, sending them both into the door, closing it with the force and bending Valentine's wrist against the metal knob in the wrong direction. Pain travelled up his arm, throbbing. He let out a cry, pushing back. The man held onto Valentine and they both went tumbling to the ground.

Valentine held his limp wrist, attempting to stand. The door was right there. All he had to do was stand and open it.

The blood drenched man jumped on-top of Valentine, slamming him to the ground and grabbing his damaged wrist. Valentine let out a bawl of pain as he saw stars. Valentine went limp, the man holding onto Valentine's wrist.

"There we go," he cooed coldly, "was that so hard?"

He squeezed Valentine's wrist, causing him to cry, tears running down his face.

"I saw you earlier, talking to that snake, Sharpae. I heard you have debt," he leaned down, his lips grazing Valentine's ear. Valentine turned away, earning a harsh grip to his wrist that made his body curl in pain. "I heard you're a virgin."

Valentine kicked as he cried, kicking through the pain as the man sat on top of him. He twisted his wrist and Valentine could only scream as he saw red.

"Listen to me!"

Valentine stopped, his tears flowing as he looked up at this damaged, horrific man.

"Good boy," he smiled, rubbing his thumb against Valentine's hand. "I have one condition and I can fix everything in your life. I can erase your debt. I can give you a life of luxury. Are you curious as to what it is?"

There was silence.

Valentine refused to answer. He wouldn't play this game. He didn't want whatever this man had to offer.

He began to slowly turn his wrist, Valentine bit his lips until he couldn't take the pain. He felt like passing out and who knew what this man would do to his unconscious body.

"I'm curious!" He yelped in defeat.

A smile. A smile of satisfaction. A smile that made Valentine's stomach churn. "Call me Master."