"Jack" Series, Part 3: Jack Accepts

8. Presumption

Tiran really did have a penchant for troublesome tricks, and his serial infatuations were a constant source of low-level inconvenience for those around him. The boys all knew that Tiran’s romantic entanglements had a big impact on his mood, and also often kept him away from home for long periods, since Tiran is one of those rare people who can literally go to the ends of the earth to follow his heart.

Among the people who actually worried about Tiran’s well-being, it was generally agreed there was no point trying to stop his amorous misadventures. The idea was to try, instead, to limit the damage and be around to pick up the pieces afterward.

To that end, there was an undercover security contingent who kept an eye on Tiran’s escapades and helped us avoid any unpleasant surprises, like overdoses in the bathtub or what have you. There were a couple of investigators who did a little proactive research on each new inamorato – or inamorata, he had a few of those too – and lined up information to be used in later stages of negotiation. I saw that Rocky and Paul did their best to keep Tiran’s most excessive instincts in check, but they tended to worry more about physical risks than financial ones, and seemed almost amused by whatever damage was done to Tiran’s dignity or ego while he was in the throes of a new infatuation.

It’s the rare love interest, I found, who’s willing to walk away from a previously smitten gazillionaire without expecting any compensation for his troubles. Tiran’s financial advisors were used to finding creative arrangements to facilitate quiet exits, and he had a whole stable of contacts who could find future positions in the movie, fashion, or other high-glamour industry for former objects of his affection. By the time I came along, the whole enterprise was a bit of a well-oiled machine.

But all that kicked in after the fact. The period when Tiran’s interest was first piqued was sometimes harder to anticipate or control. That’s when the rest of us had to be a little more alert.


**********


One night, after a few uneventful months, we went to a new club in town where the crowd was a little unfamiliar to me. By this time I was getting used to the faces we usually saw around us, but tonight was a little different, and I felt slightly out of my element.

Rocky and Paul were with us, but as usual everyone was spread out doing their own thing for most of the night. I had gravitated to the side of the room where the strong/silent doms were standing, and we were drinking and making occasional sardonic observations about the young attention-seekers in the middle of the room. Paul and Rocky were off to the side with some friends, and I had sort of lost track of Tiran.

I looked around idly at one point, and found Tiran standing in the middle of his usual crowd. But he was ignoring the people around him, and I could see instantly that something – someone – else had attracted his attention. I followed his gaze across the room and easily picked out the object of his interest.

The boy wasn’t his usual type. He was young and beautiful, as always, with long black hair and a slightly exotic flair – like maybe his first language wasn’t English – but not quite as flamboyant as usual. He didn’t look like he was trying to attract attention; he was just sitting quietly at a table with a small group. As I watched, he glanced up and met Tiran’s open, rapacious gaze, and I saw his colour change. He looked away quickly and I thought I saw some amused exchanges between the others at the table.

I went back to my own group, figuring I didn’t need to see this play out to know how it would end. So I wasn’t really paying attention to what happened next, though I do remember seeing Tiran stroll assuredly across the floor at one point, and thinking to myself that the game had begun. The next thing I noticed, a few minutes later, was that Rocky had stopped chatting to his friends and was watching something on the other side of the room. I followed his gaze to where Tiran was standing at the black-haired beauty’s table.

Something was off, I thought. The boy was still sitting at the table, his eyes cast demurely down, but two of his friends were standing up, on either side of the Tiran, and they didn’t look friendly.

Tiran can be almost irresistibly charming when he wants to be, and with that much charm combined with that much money, it’s not very often that he hears the word no. Maybe because he hears it so rarely, I think he has no real understanding of what it means. I had a feeling that’s what was happening tonight.

As I took in more of the situation, I realized that the men standing beside Tiran probably weren’t so much the boy’s friends as someone’s security system. They were large, stoic, stolid men who didn’t seem to be interested in making conversation. Looking around the table, I quickly picked out the relevant party I’d skipped over last time – a slightly older, self-assured looking man who was probably the boy’s partner. The older man wasn’t a dom or a master, and he didn’t seem particularly territorial or aggressive. Whether it was the boy or the security system he had faith in, he actually looked quite unconcerned.

The henchmen held their positions, obviously poised for action, but the older man at the table seemed to be speaking mildly to Tiran. If anything, he was a little amused, or maybe he found it flattering to have Tiran Marx express an interest in his boyfriend. Either way, it didn’t look like he was going to take his dogs off the leash anytime soon.

Of course Tiran was in no danger even if he did. We had our own security in the room, as always, and there were plenty of others who would have leapt to Tiran’s aid, not even counting me or Rocky. But you know how it is when you see a confrontation materializing in front of you and you start mentally bracing for action.

I shot a glance at Rocky, and he was still watching Tiran quietly. Back at the table, Tiran seemed to be speaking directly to the black-haired boy, who looked away shyly. Tiran’s voice rose a little, and now people at other tables were starting to notice the scene. I saw a few curious glances, and the background noise in the room dimmed a bit as people broke off their conversations to listen.

Tiran was definitely off his game tonight. It was obvious to me, and everyone who was watching, that he wasn’t going to be getting any of that boy and the longer he prolonged the whole thing, the more people were going to see it. He should have backed off long ago, but instead he was escalating the scene. I frowned, wondering what to do. Physical danger I knew how to protect him from; but how to prevent the pure public humiliation he was setting himself up for?

And then I noticed Rocky was at the table. He had casually joined the group, with a laid-back air and a light hand on Tiran’s shoulder, and appeared to be exchanging pleasantries with the boyfriend. I felt an odd knot in my stomach as Rocky chatted calmly and the tension at the table ebbed away visibly in front of my eyes. As always, I saw the intimacy, the practised confidence and years of familiarity, in Rocky’s adroit handling of Tiran. It was almost painful for me to watch.

On any other occasion, Rocky’s skilful management would have worked perfectly. Already, the crowd had lost interest in the scene and people had returned to their own conversations. The heavies standing beside Tiran were beginning to relax; the boyfriend was immersed in his conversation with Rocky. All Tiran had to do was walk away to save face completely. But he didn’t.

He’d been standing silently, sullen and put out but not speaking, under Rocky’s light touch. I think Rocky had just added a little pressure, probably starting to turn Tiran around and guide him away, when Tiran suddenly balked. Pulling out of Rocky’s hold, he reached over to grip the black-haired boy’s jaw possessively and turn it, forcing the boy’s gaze toward him – insistently, peremptorily.

It was a blatantly provocative gesture, and the henchmen standing beside him closed in on Tiran instantly; the boyfriend broke off his conversation with Rocky to stare at Tiran in disbelief. Around the room, I felt an instant stir as Tiran’s own security people snapped into alert, and the rest of the crowd noticed too. Once again, all eyes were glued on the scene at the table. Which meant that everyone clearly saw the black-haired boy pull away from Tiran’s hand with freezing, contemptuous disdain.

It was about as humiliating a public rejection as you could imagine. I could hear breaths being taken in around the room, and I saw the colour rise high in Tiran’s face. For a moment nothing seemed to happen; it was as though no one could quite believe what they’d just seen. Then the boyfriend put his arm around the black-haired boy and looked up at Rocky, and I could see the warning in his words without needing to hear them. Rocky didn’t need to be told; already I could see his look of exasperation as he reached for Tiran and started to say something to him.

But Tiran’s shock had turned to fury; he shook Rocky off angrily and looked around the room, obviously calling for his own forces. I could see them obey; security men stepping forward, ready to respond. Instinctively, I did the same, feeling the adrenaline rising in my veins. I’ve been in my share of bar-room brawls and I’ve never backed away from a fight; if anything happened now, I was ready to be a part of it.

It wasn’t until later that I realized how disastrous it could have been. A fight like this wasn’t going to mean a few broken glasses, a couple of thrown chairs, a few scars and a clean-up bill. Tiran’s security is the real thing; they carry serious weapons and don’t hesitate to use them. Open warfare in a small, crowded space like that club would have been a catastrophe – bystanders hit, lives lost. And it would have been a patently unprovoked attack on Tiran’s side; he could never have claimed self-defence. Whatever happened to the black-haired boy and his entourage, Tiran’s life would have been destroyed.

I’m still grateful, sometimes, that it wasn’t up to me that night. No, it was Rocky again who took control of the moment. He gave a quick, curt command to one of Tiran’s security men and the whole contingent backed down immediately. Tiran saw what was happening and turned to Rocky, incensed, but Rocky didn’t seem to care. He gripped Tiran’s arm and pushed firmly, using his greater strength to steer Tiran away from the table and back towards our side of the room.

Tiran was still livid with anger, resisting Rocky’s lead, and somehow I also found myself angry at Rocky. As they came towards me, I gave Rocky a look that made him let go of Tiran instantly and start to say something to me, but I cut him off. By this time, the full impact of what might have happened back there had begun to sink in to me, and I couldn’t find anything to blame Rocky for in averting the obvious disaster. But I didn’t have to like it.

"That’ll do," I said coldly, dismissing Rocky, and he stepped back obediently, leaving me to take over with Tiran.

A few minutes later I almost regretted it; Tiran was unmanageable. I saw why he’d been so off tonight – he was obviously on something, and it wasn’t doing anything for his judgment. He’d been bad enough earlier, but now he was strung taut, still stinging from the humiliation, wounded, thwarted, frustrated, furious.

I tried to coax him to leave, but that wouldn’t do; he wasn’t going to be seen as driven off and defeated. The black-haired boy and his friends actually left soon afterwards but even then Tiran couldn’t be persuaded to move on.

I could see that he was still irrationally angry at Rocky for ending the confrontation. After a few minutes I ordered Rocky back over, hoping an apology would help Tiran let go. As always, Rocky was more than willing to surrender; he dropped to his knees without prompting, in the midst of the crowded club, and begged Tiran for forgiveness.

Rocky’s open submission almost worked – I saw Tiran’s eyes gleam, his pride soothed and his usual assurance beginning to return. But he refused to forgive, turning away from Rocky imperiously.

"After what you just did to me, Van Valkenburg?" he demanded. "Try again after Jack takes care of you and we’ll see how I feel," he added, nodding at me expectantly.

I looked down at Rocky. He held himself in position, eyes down, hands behind his back, waiting, while the crowd around us held their collective breath in anticipation.

But I had nothing to fault Rocky for. I thought again of his light, deft handling of the earlier scene, the graceful, face-saving exit he’d offered Tiran, the potential powder keg he’d defused with no greater damage than the wound to Tiran’s pride. The memories irritated me strangely, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to punish Rocky just to satisfy Tiran’s bloodlust.

"I’ll deal with it in the usual way," I told Tiran gruffly, and he stared at me in surprise. Ignoring him, I added, "Up, Rocky."

The haughty confidence drained from Tiran’s face, rage and resentment returning as he turned away from me. Rocky climbed to his feet slowly, watching Tiran; then he turned his gaze to me searchingly, as though trying to understand my plan.

Plan? I had nothing. I felt useless and ineffectual; I had no idea what to do with Tiran or how to manage him. All I’d done so far was extend his anger from Rocky to me. Exasperated, I looked around for a drink. There were no waiters nearby so I ordered Rocky to get me a beer.

And he said, "No."

What? I thought I misheard him and turned back, puzzled. "What?"

Rocky’s eyes met mine, and for a second I thought I saw something odd and ineffable in them. But then his glance shifted over my shoulder and his expression changed. Hardened. "No," he said again, clearly this time over the noise of the room.

I stared at him in amazement, still not quite believing it. "Did you just say ... ‘no’?" I asked incredulously.

Rocky took an instinctive half-step back, and then stopped himself and faced me squarely. "Yes," he said firmly. "I think I’ve done enough tonight. You can get your own drink."

Had he lost his mind? Had the world turned upside down? And why did it have to happen tonight?

I shook my head a little, almost too weary to be angry. "Van. I gave you an order. Don’t make me repeat it."

"I don’t need to take your orders, Mr. Obernikoch" Rocky answered stubbornly. "I serve Tiran, not you."

He’d obviously lost it. My patience for this whole maddening evening had just about run out. "Last chance," I snapped briskly, taking a step forward. It was odd how good it felt to have something I knew how to handle.

Rocky stood unmoving, and any sympathy I might almost have felt for him was gone. He’d picked the wrong time and place for this bizarre act of defiance. Once again, we were the centre of attention in the room, but that didn’t bother me. I had no problem punishing Rocky in public.

Time’s up, I thought. I glanced over at the doms I’d been standing with earlier, and that was all it took. Rocky tried to stave them off at first, but there were four or five of them so he was easily overpowered. In a moment, two of them had him bent over a barstool, ready and waiting for me. One of the doms handed me a belt, and I folded it over and weighed it in my hand, savouring the smooth, heavy leather as I surveyed my target. It felt good.

And if I hadn’t glanced over at Tiran at that moment, that’s how it would have all played out. Twenty strokes, maybe, and Rocky would have been back in line, begging my forgiveness – my anger sated, Tiran delighted.

That’s what stopped me. I saw Tiran watching us with obvious enjoyment and I thought idly how like him it was that he got his way in the end. And then, of course, I realized what Rocky had done.

I stopped, the belt poised in my hand. Tiran stood behind me, his anger fully replaced now with pleasurable anticipation. Rocky lay bent over the barstool, his face calm and expectant, no trace of fear.

Maybe you think I should have been impressed, should have appreciated the sacrifice Rocky was willing to make for his master. I suppose it was a noble act, in his usual way.

But at that moment, nothing about it struck me as acceptable. I wasn’t thinking about what he did for Tiran, but what he had just done to me. It was unforgivable, intolerable. To use me, to set me up – to court my anger, to ask for it – for any reason … how did he dare?

Presuming, presuming man! Was he so hardy, so well able to sustain my displeasure? So sure of making his terms with me when he pleased?*

I was almost unable to move, the audacity taking my breath away. My anger grew with my awareness, building to a ferocious, white-hot, burning fury.

At first it was the shock that kept me immobile, but soon I was holding myself back deliberately. The urge to lash out was almost irresistible, especially with the target laid out so invitingly in front of me. It would be so easy. But that would be playing into Rocky’s hands, giving him exactly what he wanted.

I caught my breath and looked up at the crowd ringing our little circle, faces filled with excitement or fear or anticipation. I saw the doms standing by, looking satisfied and expectant, and Tiran a little behind me, waiting complacently. None of it mattered at all in that moment.

Slowly, I lowered my arm. Ignoring the murmurs of surprise, I walked forward till I stood directly beside Rocky. I leaned over, put my hand in his hair and lifted his head so his face was inches away from mine. His eyes widened as he saw me and now, finally, I saw fear.

"How dare you," I hissed, so that only he heard.

His whole body changed. I was gratified to see the look of rising panic, the way he struggled now to free his hands. He started to speak, but I hit him once, hard and fast, to shut him up.

I stepped back, and looked at the doms holding Rocky. "Let go," I ordered.

They stared at me in surprise. I took a quick breath, reminding myself who I was talking to, then repeated politely but firmly, "Thank you. Now – let him go."

The doms weren’t used to taking orders but something in my voice made them obey me. They released Rocky’s arms, still looking stunned, and, as I’d expected, Rocky fell to his knees immediately, dropping his forehead to the floor in front of me.

I surveyed him contemptuously. "It’s too late for that," I said harshly. "Get up. Get out."

He wanted to protest, to beg, I could see it. But what he heard in my voice told him not to try. I saw his eyes as he stood up – helpless, forlorn. He dropped his gaze and held still, for one brief second, in front of me. "Sir," he said, his voice so low only I could hear it, but I waited implacably, until he began the long walk toward the club’s entrance, the crowd parting for him uncomprehendingly.

"Jack – !" Tiran said to me disbelievingly as Rocky left, and now I turned to him.

"That goes for you too, Marx," I said icily. "I’ve had enough of you for one night. Go home. Now."

I sought out the security man, the one Rocky had spoken to earlier, and my look was a command that he obeyed immediately, coming over to take Tiran’s arm firmly.

"Come on, sir," the man said to Tiran, and this time, maybe out of sheer surprise, Tiran let himself be led without resistance.

I took another breath, watching them leave. As I stood there, Paul slipped up beside me, putting a light hand on my arm. When I glanced at him, he gave me a little smile. "I’ll go with him," he offered softly. "Make sure he keeps out of trouble. And away from Rocky."

I shrugged, not sure I cared any more, but he had a point. "Thanks, Army," I said, and he gave me another quick smile and followed the others out of the room.

Finally, I turned back to the bar. "Now," I said, starting to breathe calmly. "Can I have that beer?"


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* "May I, Sir, said I, beg all your Anger on myself, … Presuming Pamela! reply'd he, and made me start, art thou then so hardy, so well able to sustain a Displeasure …For, looked it not presuming, that she could stand my Displeasure, or was sure of making her Terms when she pleas'd?" -- Pamela, Samuel Richardson


Next chapter: Consequences