The Brotherhood Vol. 2

The Brotherhood Vol. 2
Willa Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2024 Willa Okati
Excerpt from The Out-of-Towner

Eight forty-five and showtime, showtime! Micah all but wiggled in the back seat of the nicely appointed taxi he’d splurged on. Not as good as a limo, but if he’d gone the stretch route he wouldn’t have been able to afford his gym fees for a month. He’d weighed the decision carefully, gas fumes against looking good in the future, but in the end he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of letting himself go to seed.

God! Micah made a moue of distaste. He’d end up like David, or Collin -- or worse, Bree. Shameful, all of them, and they should have known far better. Who would they ever manage to catch, the way they looked? So many people who needed savvy fashion advice, so little time!

Speaking of looking… Discreetly, so he wouldn’t catch the eye of the uniformed driver -- this was an excellent taxi service, catering only to the rich elite -- Micah checked himself over. No wrinkles, sags, tags, tears, or rips? No. Good. He’d been delighted when Luis’s outfit had fit him, and all through the hour he’d waited, he had hardly dared move for fear of mussing anything.

Of course, the situation was about to change. Micah let himself smile broadly, indulging the stretching of his facial muscles. Pity, that to avoid plastic surgery and having a mask for a face, one couldn’t really show any emotions, which made for another type of mask. Ah, well. He’d live. And if he got lucky at Amour Magique… well, he’d be able to afford any enhancements he might need in the future.

Oh, if only this were a limo, Micah lamented. I’d pour myself a glass of champagne and toast the night ahead.

He checked his watch. Eight-fifty. They were supposed to be at Amour Magique by nine, but whoever heard of fashionably early? No, no, looking too eager just wouldn’t do. He’d step out of his lovely taxi at about nine-fifteen, cool and polished, looking slightly bored -- he paused to practice the expression, though not long, as it was familiar to him -- and ask, “Is this the club?” Just as if he’d had a dozen better things to do instead, but had decided to grace them with his presence. The perfect impression to give the locals and the hopeless blunderers waiting in lines.

Oh, yes, there would be lines. Micah wasn’t any stranger to Amour Magique. He kept up on his gossip. It could take hours to see if you’d be allowed inside. They skimmed the silver and tossed the dross.

Lucky for Micah his little pass made him shine.

He shifted uncomfortably. If there did happen to be a deliciously rich fish nibbling at his bait, would he have to display all his goods to hook them? He hadn’t… not since Luis… and, well, the body had to adjust, didn’t it? He might have always been a bottom, but the body had elasticity. Things snapped back into virgin tightness if they weren’t put to use for certain purposes in a while, and Micah just couldn’t fathom himself bending over without a lot of TLC to ease the way. Unfortunately, men with the kind of money he hoped for weren’t usually big on taking sex slow and gentle. He’d tried easing his way back into things -- so to speak -- with a few toys, but he knew they weren’t anything like the real McCoy. Silicone didn’t compare to meat.

Well, he’d just have to coax them into a romantic mood. With any luck, like the best clubs out there, Amour Magique would have several rooms besides the main dance floor. Surely there’d be something with elegant classical music and candlelight in one cranny or another. He’d just have to tease his catch in and soften them up. He knew how to do the job. Melt them like butter in his mouth, or possibly melt them in his mouth, if push came to -- well.

Sounded like a plan to him. Satisfied, Micah leaned back, careful not to wrinkle, and peeped at himself in the rearview mirror. Looking good, looking fine, he reassured himself. Hair falling attractively into his eyes, eyes sparkling with excitement -- better tone that down, he warned himself -- and clothes worth a fortune hugging a body fit to kill for.

Oh, yes. He was more than ready to knock the metaphorical socks right off Amour Magique’s feet.

A cell phone trilled politely from its mount on the dashboard. Micah cocked one eyebrow in mild curiosity. Of course, a company like this wouldn’t be so crude as to use walkie-talkies or a CB system, but he’d thought their schedule was appointments-only. Surely no one would be calling in to direct the driver to his next “fare”?

The driver seemed surprised by the interruption. Clearly resisting the urge to turn and apologize to Micah, he lifted the phone with one gloved hand and rested it carefully by his ear. “Yes?” he murmured.

Silence. The driver’s eyes widened with first confusion, then indignation, shifted briefly to indignation again as a voice warbled loudly and overly cheerfully from the other end, then finally settled into mostly concealed disdain. He pulled the car gently onto the shoulder of the road and turned to Micah. “Sir?” he asked, nodding his head in a show of respect. “I do believe this call is for you.”

Years of training kept Micah from bellowing “What?” and snatching for the phone. He managed to keep it to a blink and a slight tic before gracefully extending his hand. If there was ever a call he didn’t want to take… not that he minded people craving his presence, but only one person knew he’d be taking an escort service instead of his own low-class car to the club. Only one person, who, coincidentally, would be the one with enough balls to wreak havoc in the careful order of the company and track him down like a common country dog…

He put the phone to his ear, asking without really needing confirmation, “Liam?”

“Micah!” The crazy little freak’s voice bubbled exuberantly out of the speakers, loud enough that Micah was sure the driver heard. He could almost see, all but floating over the man’s head, another check-mark going down in the “unsuitable client” list.

Hiding a wince, he lowered his voice to murmur. “Liam, quietly, please.”

“Oh! I suspected I was perhaps too ebullient for such rarified company,” Liam said pertly. “Really, how rude people can be in the name of genteel manners! Don’t you find this to be the case?”

“Liam, please,” Micah hissed. He could see the driver watching him in the mirror now, no longer trying to hide his distaste. “Do you need something?”

“A kind word would not go amiss, but I’ll get none of those from you, now, will I?”

“Liam…”

“Oh, go on with your scolding and your lessons on what is and what is not done. You are late, Micah. Five minutes late already. I said nine o’clock, did I not? I recall being most specific on that point. All of us are gathered here save for you and Bree.”

“Yes, well, Bree probably won’t be coming, that prick.” The words escaped Micah’s mouth before he could censor them. Another check-mark appeared on the driver’s list. Micah scooted down a bit, still careful of his clothing but too humiliated not to hunch. “Liam, I’m on my way. I can’t be more than ten minutes away.”

“You do not seem to appreciate the importance of this gathering,” Liam said, disapproval radiating from his voice. “I paid a price to ensure our entry into Amour Magique tonight. Just because it would not register on your scale of costliness does not mean I did not sacrifice to make certain this night would be perfect. Perfect, I tell you! And you? You have the nerve to play at being so in style and late enough to drive us to distraction?”

Micah felt his cheeks coloring. Another thing he hated about Liam: after all the modeling and the lifestyle, no one should have been able to make him blush or feel small, but let the tiny man set up a rant, and he flattened Micah every time.

At the moment, Micah almost hated him. “I? I have nerve?” he snapped -- softly. “Liam, let me inform you that you don’t understand me. I’m doing you all a favor by joining in with this little spree. I’m in demand. You should see the stack of invitations I turned down, hear all the phone calls where I said ‘no’ to --”

“I could not, because they do not exist.”

Micah fell silent, stunned.

“You still think yourself so much better than everyone,” Liam went on, sounding angry himself. “Very well. I will do what I had hoped I would not have to do, and you will not like my plan.”

“What are you going to do?” Micah flung back. “Revoke my invitation?”

“Yes. I am.”

Micah’s mouth fell open most unattractively. When he gathered himself enough to speak, the line had gone dead. “Liam? Liam!”

No answer, of course.

At some point, the driver had started his taxi up again. They purred to another stop, this time with the sounds of music and the chatter of crowds surrounding them.

“Sir?” The driver no longer bothered with respect; he sounded bored. “We have arrived, sir.”

“We have?” Micah said, half-dumbly.

“Yes, sir.” The driver’s eyes were sharp in the mirror. “Please return my phone to me, sir.”

Heat flooded Micah’s face again. Did the man actually think he’d steal? Angry and not bothering to hide it, he slapped the phone into one outstretched hand and tugged at the door handle. Normally, the driver would come around and let him out, but he wouldn’t stay in there a moment longer.

He had a bill tucked into one flat pocket for a tip, but would he pass it over? He thought not. In fact, he thought he might just write a letter of complaint to the company. They owed him for interrupting his privacy with Liam’s call, for their driver’s rudeness, for everything that had gone wrong.

Revoke his invitation? Liam couldn’t! The passes were for the whole group, and Micah was part of the group. Liam would just have to see reason.

Slamming the taxi door behind him, he barely registered the sound of the car pulling away in a most rude sort of hurry, an automotive “fuck you” if he’d ever heard one. He stood on the curb, staring up at Amour Magique. His Taj Mahal. The stately pleasure dome. If he couldn’t get inside, if he couldn’t try to seize his chance --

“Micah!” he heard Liam call out -- warningly? Frowning, Micah glanced across the way, toward the entrance, and froze. Solid as ice in his tracks.

Liam appeared to be breaking up a fight. He had his hand planted on Collin’s chest, and he was shaking his head at the other opponent, dressed in black leather that would shame a prostitute.

Himself. No, someone who looked just like him.

Wearing horrible clothes.

Micah thought he might die of humiliation -- after, that was, he figured out just what the hell was going on. What had Liam done, gotten an impersonator? He’d show the runty twinkie a thing or two about respect and manners and timing and --

Micah didn’t see the obstacle coming, because to all appearances, it wasn’t there. However, he certainly registered it as, with a resounding clang, he ran head-first into something invisible and fell backward, too stunned to yelp.

Micah himself wasn’t what he would call a truly moral man. After all, just like good old Luis, he’d fucked and sucked his own way into small-time stardom -- but he did live life by a code.

Never scowl or frown or pout; it makes wrinkles. Never show your fears or shed your tears. Outer perfection is what counts, so stifle your inner voices. Be as two-dimensional and pretty as your pictures, because they’re all anyone wants to see when they meet you in person.

When he thought about where he’d ended up, and why, Micah found himself swimming in a sea of confusion. Like a child or a very old man who’d dropped his ice cream, he found all the good times and tasty bits of his life missing, but couldn’t figure out where they’d gone… or how they’d led him here.

So he’d done what he always did, more or less. Applied his code to life when he went out in public, let his inner bitch rip at The Brotherhood, and kept searching for a way back into the good life he’d loved to live. Realizing day by day his chances of finding another doorway leading inside the golden circles were getting slimmer and slimmer.

Who wanted a has-been?

Amour Magique had been his shining star ever since Liam had mentioned the group would be visiting en masse. He’d clung to a slender, fragile hope that inside the club, he’d find himself a prince. Whether old and fat and ugly or young and strong and beautiful, he didn’t care. Just someone to take care of him, because he had no idea how to live life on his own two feet, and he wasn’t about to ask anyone like Simon or Liam.

He’d known he would get lucky.

Which was why, as Micah raised himself from the pavement, dazed, his ears still ringing, he stared at the sight of The Brotherhood and his doppelganger vanishing inside Amour Magique, and would have screamed out a protest if he’d been able.

Instead, he scrambled up off the pavement, did a frantic pat down of his doe-supple pants for rips and his ivory shirt for smudges, breathed a prayer of thanks when he found nothing but a tiny stain dim light would hide, and ran hell bent for leather to catch up with the others.

He did pause long enough to test the whatever he’d run into. Felt pretty foolish, but he thought he was discreet in how he handled things. A slight kick of the foot, a lean forward with one shoulder -- and nothing there to get in his way. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, he slowed his pace to a sexy, “The world is my oyster, and woe betide the fool who doesn’t know it” lope.

The lines of men behind the velvet ropes set up a growling as Micah walked past. He heard everything muttered or shouted behind him as he moved forward outside the queue with deliberate carelessness.

“Bastard!”

“Hey, you can’t cut in line like that, man!”

“Who does he think he is, fronting everyone?”

“Who is he?”

“I know I’ve seen his face before. Maybe in a magazine?”

“Is he a movie star?”

“I don’t know. He kinda looks like that guy who was in the film about the aliens, you know, the one with the messy hair…”

“Honey, his hair is not messy. It takes a couple hundred dollars at the stylists’ and a few dabs of hair gel worth its weight in gold to get his ‘tousled’ look.”

“Like you’d know.”

“Sweetie, this kind of glamour you don’t see on ordinary mortals. I’m telling you, he’s either someone famous or someone rich.”

Micah hid his smile at the campy praise and kept moving. To his pleasure, the mutterings were turning more or less positive.

“God, he’s gorgeous.”

“You’re telling me? I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

“You should be so lucky.”

The two men who’d made that particular exchange burst into laughter. Micah stopped his frown of confusion just in time and kept on slinking at his own leisurely pace.

“Maybe he’s a porn star,” a youngish voice said, just about college age and finally, eagerly legal to drink. “I think I saw him in Little Gods of the Big Top.”

“Oh, yeah, right! He was one of the Nelly bottoms.”

“You’re crazy. Someone as smooth as he is? No way. Top.”

“I’d put money on it.”

“Put the cash where your mouth is, then.”

Micah fought to hide a scowl. He did not look like the cheesy, sleazy actor they were comparing him to. He was… Micah almost wilted… younger. Better endowed. Indubitably higher class.

Stop thinking. Keep walking. Don’t let them know you’ve heard what they’re saying. A star never stoops to gossip. Almost there.

“Me, I think he is beautiful.”

The simple statement almost stopped Micah in his tracks. Despite all his training, he couldn’t stop turning just a bit to see who -- oh, God. His eyes flickered up and down the huge man waiting in line, muscles bulging deliciously beneath his tight button-down shirt. Ugh, department store goods! Expensive, yes, but so common! A shame someone so gorgeous didn’t have better sense…

He realized he was staring when the giant gave him a timid smile. “Hello.”

Micah quickly looked back toward the bouncer. Just a few feet away. He’d be there in no time. He didn’t mean anything harsh by ignoring the ill-spoken big guy, honestly. But who on earth said men were beautiful? Add that to his complete lack of clothes sense and Micah’s radar pinged, Loser!

He couldn’t afford a loser, no matter how nice he seemed or how downright cute he was. No matter how much he might wish otherwise.

Wait a second! What, was he slipping?

Micah boggled at his thoughts. He did not go and fall for every Johnny Hayseed who happened to have a cute face and a voice made of pure sex. He was there at Amour Magique for one reason and one reason only: to hook a huge prize out of a vast pond. There’d be competition, sure, but if he knew anything, Micah was well aware he had the face, the body, and the inner wellspring of charm to draw on when he felt like making use of his infrequently tested talent.

Just a few more steps. Micah carefully regulated his breathing, dropped his eyelids to half-mast, and ignored the men behind him hooting at Babe the Blue-Shirted Ox.

Think sultry. Project confidence. Exude sensuality. No one can turn you down. Now, come on, boy, and get this party started!

He pulled to a stop in front of the bouncer, tilted his head fetchingly to one side, and began, “My friend Liam said I should mention his name --”

A huge hand flew through the air to land palm-first fractions from his nose. “Liam?” a voice welled from the pit of the bouncer’s burly chest. “I already let him and his friends in. Twelve guys altogether. Them’s all who get to get in VIP and free.”

“Yes, but there had to have been some mistake --”

“Nuh-uh. I counted. Twelve. T-w-e-l-v-e. One guy who looked kinda like you, ‘cept he was about to bust through his go-gos.” The crowd behind the ropes burst into laughter. Micah’s ears burned. “You might be his twin or somethin’, but you weren’t with the group Liam said could go in.”

“But I was supposed to be with them! I -- he -- me --”

“Duh, duh, duh,” the bouncer mocked. “You think I give a flyin’ fuck, Miss Priss? Get your pretty ass to the back of the line. You weren’t with Liam, so you don’t get no special treatment.”

Micah stared, mouth hanging slightly open.

“I don’t take bribes, neither,” the bouncer said, flicking Micah’s lip with his thumb. “But, hey, maybe you come see me later, off shift, huh?”

“Why, you ill-bred, unmannered --”

“Oh, get to the back, Princess.” The bouncer shoved Micah, hard enough to make him stagger. “No one wants you up here. Just about don’t want you at all. Ain’t no one here who’d let you jump them in line, either. That right, men?”

Crowds, always so fickle. As if delighted to see Micah brought low, every last one of them, from the hecklers to the admirers, burst into a ragged cheer.

All, that was, except one. A familiar voice, as husky and dark as molten sugar cane juice, burred out, “He can take my place in line, if he would like to.”