DirtyInterludes Read online

  Rage burned in his chest. “You never used to be such an asshole. You started this company in the interest of fair pay and treatment of all performers and now you’re like the others you used to despise.”

  Vane’s face stiffened as the barb hit home. “I’m not doing this for kicks. She is bound by contract—”

  Max slapped his hands on the table. “I don’t give a fuck about your ego and whatever you think is owed you. You used to be one of us. You know this is wrong.”

  Vane stood, a flush riding up his neck. “You think you can dictate to me? I could throw you at Demi and let her fuck you with the biggest dildo you’ve ever seen. Better yet, I could make you get on your knees and suck off one of the men.”

  Trepidation slithered down his back, but he’d be damned if he’d let Vane know how much the words scared him. He knew Vane could do it. “Do it. See if I care. Just let Venus out. You’ll kill her if you make her go on.”

  Vane scoffed. “You’re making it a bit dramatic aren’t you? If she has a problem she can speak to our doctor. Xanax would calm her down.”

  He’d seen doctors prescribing drugs just to help performers cope with what they had to do. Those coping mechanisms quickly became addictions and he feared in a year he’d see Venus again and she’d be nothing but a ghost of herself.

  “That’s not going to help anyone but you.”

  “At least she won’t cry when you fuck her.”

  “Fuck you. Now I wished I’d jumped ship like Dylan and Ruby did.”

  Something flickered in Vane’s eyes. It could’ve been rage. Betrayal or a flash of his conscience. Max wasn’t sure.

  “This is the reason I have to be harder in contracts. You think I’m doing this for shits and giggles? This is a business. If I let people out of their contract because they cry when getting fucked, how long do you think this company would last? A year? Two? Try six months. I’m not a fucking charity. Everyone cries when they first start out. It’s a fact of life.”

  “A fact Venus wasn’t made aware of. Did you tell her how many guys she would fuck at any one time? How vanilla would quickly turn to kink? How she wouldn’t have any rights anymore? Let her go, Vane.”

  “Fine, if you want her out, you have to pay for it.”

  Bile burned in the back of his throat. How much was he willing to sacrifice to get a person he barely knew out of her contract?

  “Buy out half her contract and you’ll work beside Demi.”

  Max stiffened. Demi would want him for nothing more than a submissive. “But I’m not known for bottom work.”

  Vane settled at his desk and picked up a pen to sign some document. “Well, you will be now.”

  His stomach heaved as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

  Vane looked up, a brow raised. “Or I could sign Venus for that spot. Demi doesn’t mind who she dominates. That’s the good thing about her. She doesn’t question what she has to do. She just does.”

  Numb lips moved. “Fine.”

  Vane turned his attention back to the pile of paper before him, casually reading through them as if he hadn’t just taken what little piece of control Max had in this industry and tore it to bits. The pen scratched over the paper, the silence so oppressive it felt like a whisper of mocking laughter.

  Vane glanced up. “Is there anything else?”

  Max swallowed hard. “No.”

  He turned away and it took every ounce of his control not to slam the door. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d thought being one of the veterans in the game he’d avoid getting screwed, but he guessed not.

  * * * * *

  Max handed Bryce a beer and noticed a mild sweat on his friend’s brow. Bryce reached for the bottle, his fingers trembling. Concern tightened in Max’s gut. “You all right, man?”

  Bryce’s features stiffened, a defensive wall thrown up. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

  Max lifted one shoulder and took a generous swallow of his beer. “No reason.”

  Bryce settled back into the sofa, kicking his heel up onto the coffee table. The lid he’d uncapped clattered on the glass table’s surface. “Heard what you did for Venus.”

  Max gauged his friend’s reaction, eying the cool repose filled with tension. For all of Bryce’s fun-loving ways, something was off about him. Tonight he didn’t sound pleased by the outcome. Chin dipped toward his chest, lips drawn down, he appeared disgruntled.

  “What did you hear?” Max asked.

  “Vane cut up her contract. Lately he’s been all about being ironclad after Dylan and Ruby so I’m just surprised.”

  Everything went on high alert, goose bumps skittered along his skin. Bryce was his best friend, and they’d been in the industry for a while. They were veterans of the game and like him, Bryce was in it for the money. They never discussed how or why they got into the industry and perhaps now they should.

  “She was new. Didn’t know what she was getting into. I couldn’t let her carry on like that. It feels a bit like rape.”

  Bryce’s chuckle was derisive and he knocked back his drink like a man drowning.

  Holy hell. Max reached for the bottle. “Whoa there. It’s not a race, man.”

  Rather than say anything, Bryce settled the bottle against his thigh, the silence between them thick and oppressive. “Rape. That’s a funny word to use in this industry.”

  Max shrugged. “Tomato, tomahto. Still feels the same to me.”

  “I don’t feel that way about it.” He shrugged in nonchalance. “What’d they think they were gonna get? Seduction? Romance? That shit is for pussies.”

  “You know the money is a big draw and Vane’s employment crew know how to sell this like our dicks were made out of gold.”

  Bryce chuckled into his beer. “Damn.”

  “Point being, some people just don’t know if it’s for them until they try it.”

  Bryce’s gaze narrowed. “But you like it?”

  “Sure, some days are worse than others. Why do you ask?”

  Bryce’s hesitation was telling. “No reason.”

  Max shuffled forward until he perched on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees. “You want out?”

  Bryce’s gaze cut to the floor, the wall, the television. Everywhere but at Max.

  “If you don’t want to do it anymore, just tell Vane and finish off your contract. You’ve been doing this a long time, it’s cool if you’re tired of the game.”

  Bryce scratched his head, his hand fisting in his hair. “No, no. It’s just my walls fucking with me.”

  Confusion tumbled through his head. Had he missed something? “Walls?”

  A grimace swept across his friend’s face. He dropped his hand on his thigh, the movement weary. “Forget I said anything.” Bryce burped and stood, tipping the last of the beer back. “You want another?”

  Max held out his full bottle. “I’m all right.”

  “Right.”

  As Bryce disappeared into the kitchen for another drink, Max wondered about his friend’s quicksilver mood. Something was off, and he couldn’t in good conscience ignore it. When his friend returned, Max decided to go in for the kill.

  “Something’s bothering you. Have you seen the counselor?”

  Bryce stared at him as if he’d asked him to stick his dick in a block of ice. “Why would I see her?”

  Max shrugged, leaning back into the lounge. “You seem a little on edge lately.”

  “And that means I’m in need of a shoulder to weep on? Come on, Ferrah isn’t even a real counselor. She used to fuck guys like us and that’s supposed to make her an expert on the human mind? She just listens to people complain. I’m not about to join that group of whiners.”

  “I’ve talked to her.”

  Bryce paused, drink midway to his mouth. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. After Rochelle.”

  “Rochelle?”

  “The first chick to cry on me. I felt like such an asshole. I kinda went off the rails for a few months. I
f I hadn’t talked to Ferrah I think I’d probably be more fucked up. Who knows?”

  “You think that works?”

  “I know it does. Sometimes talking it out helps. And trust me, it takes a stronger person to admit they need help rather than continue self-destructive behavior.”

  Lips thinned and Max knew he’d tipped his cards too far. “You saying I’m self-destructive?”

  “Look, I’m worried, that’s all. You’re my best friend. I’d hope you’d look out for me, just like I would you.”

  “Did you leave your testicles in your purse or something?”

  “No, but yours are hanging on my review mirror.”

  Appeased, Bryce punched him on the shoulder. “Pussy.”

  Max chuckled, even though his gut churned. “It’s what we do. Fuck pussy.”

  “Fuck da pussy.” Bryce saluted, then took another swig.

  The tightness in his chest eased and Max stood to check on the roast he’d put on that afternoon. Sunday roast, just like his mom did it. Since moving to Los Angeles he’d had to create a home-away-from-home feeling. His career choice wasn’t exactly what his parents had wanted for him. He grew up in a steady household, never wanted for anything and found his way into the adult acting industry.

  It took his parents a few years to get over the “disappointment” of their son leaving his intellect behind for quick-and-easy money. Sad thing was, the money wasn’t exactly easy. Max was starkly aware that he was one of the lucky people. He still had family. More than he’d like to think were ostracized for their choice. It’s why they tried to create a self-made family of sorts. He glanced over his shoulder at Bryce. Usually Dylan and Ruby would be sitting there with him taking the piss out of each other. Vane used to be pretty laid-back, but over the last two years he’d become a bit of a dick, so Max didn’t think to invite him. Now it was just Bryce.

  It was sad really. Swallowing back the discontent, he put on mitts and pulled out the rack of lamb. The scent of rosemary and salted meat wafted around him. He slipped the tray onto the stovetop. He checked on the couscous, the buttery smell making his stomach grumble.

  “You heard from Dylan much?”

  Max turned to find Bryce standing by the island, his elbows propped against the marble. “Yeah. He and Erica were gonna go to Spain. I called to invite them for the weekend, but tickets were booked and all that.”

  Disappointment drew his lips down. Max knew the feeling. He’d been pretty excited to see his friend, but sometimes people just wanted to move on.

  “He probably wouldn’t come anyway. Dylan hated it here.”

  Max wiped his hands with a tea towel and dropped it on the counter. “I wouldn’t say that. He just wanted something more, and he found it in Erica.”

  Bryce smiled somewhat wistfully. “Giving it all up for love. What a douche.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed halfheartedly.

  Max wanted what his mom and dad had. It wasn’t a hard request for the average person, but as an adult actor? That cut his pool of opportunity next to nil. Sure there were a few actors who managed to have a relationship and family outside of work. He didn’t begrudge them any. It took a real understanding woman to be okay with her man earning money fucking other people, unlike Bridget. He scowled. What the hell was he doing lining her up as if she were a candidate? He didn’t want anything to do with her. Bet fucking her would be like fucking a starfish.

  Max cut through the meat as if he were on the set of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Driving thoughts of Bridget from his head, he served up and settled in a seat. They ate in silence. The eerie stillness ended whatever joviality they’d managed to regain earlier. It brought to light that he couldn’t have a Sunday roast on a whim like he used to. It had to be planned to ensure that maybe, just maybe, Dylan and Ruby would come.

  “This is kind of weird.”

  “What?” Bryce asked around a piece of lamb.

  “Not having Dylan and Rube around.”

  “Could’ve invited some of the others?”

  Max shrugged. “I thought about it, but then Vane would’ve caught wind of it. I haven’t wanted him around for a while. Not since he’s turning into a grade-A dick.”

  “It’s because being nice never works for anyone.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second. When did he get all anal about contracts and all that shit? If a person wants to leave then they should.”

  “Sometimes it’s not that easy.”

  “Sure it is.”

  Bryce laughed bitterly. “Shows how much you know.”

  Bryce washed down his dinner with the rest of his beer then slid the bottle on the table. He rubbed his hands along his jeans. His skin had taken on a shade a tad paler than before.

  “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Bryce mumbled.

  Max’s stomach dropped. “Dude, I don’t want you doing shit in my house.”

  “That’s kinda hard not to when I say I’m gonna take a dump.”

  “You know what I mean. Just ease off tonight okay?”

  Bryce scratched his cheek. “Whatever. Move.”

  Max hesitated, then shifted his chair and watched Bryce march from the room, worry burning a hole in his chest. He hoped Bryce had enough respect for his friendship to at least abstain while here, but if he knew anything about addicts, they didn’t care whom they disrespected as long as they got their hit. Max walked to the stairs and paused at the base. Should he give his friend the benefit of the doubt?

  Three minutes passed, then five. Max hurried up the stairs, the embers of fury threatening to burn to life. He’d asked Bryce not to. He paused by the door and knocked.

  Silence followed.

  “Bryce?”

  “Go away.”

  Max leaned against the door, his hand on the doorknob. Locked. “Open the door.”

  “Can’t a guy take a dump in peace? Fuck off.”

  Lips pinched, Max shouldered the door until the flimsy lock gave in. He stumbled over the threshold, the bathmat making his footing unsteady. Bryce sat between the bath and toilet, his elbow perched on the lid, a hand pressed to the side of his face. One knee pressed into his chest and his shoulders heaved. Holy shit. Discomfort and concern coiled inside and he struggled to find which emotion to lead with. Misery written in weary lines marked his friend’s face.

  “Nice going, Sherlock.” Bryce rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye.

  “What?”

  Bryce cleared his throat. “Guess I did leave my balls elsewhere tonight.”

  “Bryce. I’m your friend. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “You are.”

  Max recoiled.

  “With your knight-in-shining-armor get-up and your nuclear-family bullshit. This is what we do and you fucking shit on it.”

  “I’m not shitting on it.”

  “What the hell is it when you make out like this is a poor choice in life? Venus made her choices and should’ve followed through like the rest of us.”

  Anger pounded through his temple. “And what, go into self-destruct like you?”

  “Fuck you.”

  The sting of Max’s poorly thought-out words jolted him. Kid gloves. He had to handle what Bryce was doing with kid gloves. “Look, man, I’m concerned about your usage. You never used to get this twitchy. You’ve moved beyond recreational to addiction and you need help.”

  Bryce pushed to his feet and pulled a clear plastic bag with around a dozen pills inside. “You think I need this shit?”

  Bryce flipped the lid and threw it into the bowl before flushing it down. A flash of panic skated over his face, but he quickly covered it with a smirk. Making a show of dusting his hands, Bryce held them out for inspection.

  Nothing but the swish of the toilet filled the room. Max noticed the tremble in his friend’s hands. “It doesn’t prove anything. Don’t use at all. For a month, and then I’ll concede.”

  Bryce licked his white lips, shock giving way to fury. “Easy. Piece of piss.”


  Max shrugged. “All right then.”

  Bryce glanced almost forlornly at the toilet before he shouldered by Max. He paused. “Thanks for a fucked evening.”

  He pounded down the stairs and the door slammed, making Max sigh. Had he pushed his friend too much? Only time would tell.

  Chapter Five

  Bridget picked up her cello, blinking back the blur of weariness in her eyes as she trudged down the stairs. Last night she practiced her piece, but with each stroke, Max still haunted her. Snatching up an apple by the table, she walked out the door toward her car and paused. Her car seemed lower than usual. She rested her cello against the side and crouched at one tire. The rims touched the driveway. Shock tightened her chest, quickly obliterated by the anger that fired in her veins.

  Max.

  It was Monday morning and she was going to be late for work all because he wanted to get back at her. That was low. She stormed across the lawn and banged on his door. Never letting up until the door swung open. She gulped back the momentary heat at the sight of his naked chest and the way the dragon seemed to move as he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye.

  Max sighed. “Should’ve known.”

  “Of course. You mightn’t have a job that holds proper hours, but I do. I’m going to be late because of you.”

  Max glowered. “Wait? What? How is you being late my fault?”

  Bridget scoffed. “As if you don’t know. Look what you did to my car.”

  He leaned out of the door and squinted. “Seems fine to me.”

  Bridget’s hands fisted with the urge to slap him. “Don’t act as if you don’t know. You let the air out of my tires.”

  Max straightened. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Oh don’t pretend! I know it was you.”

  Max shook his head once in ferocious denial. “Why would I deflate your tires? It’d mean you’d be here and not elsewhere playing that instrument of yours.”

  “If it wasn’t you, then…” Gillian.