Egoistical, wealthy, and spoilt beyond reason. Four young men who take what they want without thought or care to the damage done to others by their actions. They leave a trail of destruction in their wake. Cold and amoral… they are hunters that search for sexual pleasure at Night Moves, a trendy club they frequent.
But what happens when the hunters become the hunted? When these young men carefully hid dark desires are sniffed out by nonhuman predators much more terrible than them? The tables are turned on Jordan and Allen when a vampire as old as time takes an interest in the brothers. Amused that they stalk him on the dance floor at Night Moves, Chaus wonders if he has found two humans who are as morally corrupt as he.
So beware… you reap what you sow. The Bad Boys Club has lost one member… is it about to lose two more?
Book Two in the Bad Boys Club series is out!
Tag: Jordan and Allen are out for fun, but they're playing a dangerous game with an ancient predator...
Blurb: Pounding music and writhing bodies fill the dance floor at Night Moves. Brothers Jordan and Allen share everything, and are part of a very small, very elite group of friends. What do they have in common? More money, power, and connections than most people can even fathom. These young men consider themselves above the law. Spoilt, powerful, and totally amoral, they use men without a thought for the consequences of their actions. Tonight the brothers have their sights set on a sexy redhead -- they're determined to have him in their bed!
Chaus is an ancient vampire as cold as his deadly kiss. Driven by a taste for kink, he's searched for centuries to find someone as debauched and sinful as he is, only to be continuously disappointed by humans and nonhumans alike. One desire drives him: a pet to call his mate that he can torture and pleasure with his lethal desires. His hunt has brought him to Night Moves, and he's on the prowl.
Jordan and Allen are out for fun, and they place a bet on a deadly game. But they're playing with a predator -- and a dark, hidden secret that the brothers possess will be the catalyst that brings Fate down on them. The Bad Boys Club has once again picked the wrong target to play with.
Razor’s Edge Press
Razor’s Edge Press
A Changeling Press LLC Imprint
Jordan sat at the conference table, dispassionately watching a certain Mr. Havers fall apart. He, Allen, and their father had just finished taking over a very small family-owned chain of boutiques they’d been watching for a while now. The owner hadn’t wanted to sell -- the business had been in his family for several generations. It hadn’t mattered in the end. Jordan and Allen wanted the chain, so they used their wealth and power to take it. He and Allen planned to run it themselves, and run it the way they wanted. Which hadn’t gone over well with the previous owner. The brothers needed a hobby to occupy their time, and this was it. Neither man cared that there were people’s livelihoods tied to that business.
“You’re going to what? But you don’t understand,” Mr. Havers nearly yelled, drawing Allen’s attention from a stack of papers that sat before him. “These people have families to support. If you fire them, in this economy, it’s unlikely they’ll find jobs anytime soon. Please, they’re good, hardworking, and loyal workers. The best you could ask for.”
Allen looked to Jordan and rolled his eyes. “Not our problem.”
“We don’t want them. They’re loyal to you, not us.” Jordan sipped his coffee, completely unconcerned that over five hundred people would be out of a job in two weeks. “We’re restructuring from the ground up. End of story. Out with the old and in with the new, if you will.”
Mr. Havers pounded his fist on the table. “These are people with bills to pay, children to take care of, college fees to deal with, mortgages… please don’t do this. It’s bad enough you forced me to sell, but don’t punish them. Most of my workers are close to the core group of our customers.”
Allen hooted. “After we’re done, we’ll be targeting a better class of customers. That’s another reason your employees aren’t needed.”
Mr. Havers gaped at the insult.
Jordan stood. “It’s a done deal, Mr. Havers. You no longer have a say, and frankly, I couldn’t care less what happens to your employees. Or, for that matter, you. We made you a damn good offer for your chain in the beginning. It’s not my fault you didn’t take it, and you ended up with less and your people lost their jobs. With their skill sets, maybe they can flip hamburgers at some fast-food place. They’ll find something, I’m sure. Regardless, as Allen said, it’s not our problem. It’s nothing personal, just business. You understand, surely? And this meeting is now over.”
Allen gathered all the papers together and looked at his watch. “We’ve spent enough time on this. Good day, Mr. Havers.”
Mr. Havers rose so swiftly that his chair flew back, hitting the wall. “You bastards. You don’t give a shit about anyone but your own kind. It’s the average working man that keeps this country --”
“Oh Lord, here we go singing the praises of the working man.” Allen sneered as he stood up. “I’m calling Security.”
“Good idea,” Jordan said. “We have somewhere else we need to be.”
Mr. Havers picked up his coffee and threw the lukewarm beverage at Jordan. He stormed to the door, yanking it open so hard it left a dent in the wall. “Don’t bother, I’m leaving. You both are nothing more than animals. If there’s any justice in this world, you’ll meet someone who will ruin the both of you the way you’ve ruined so many others.” The door slammed shut behind him.
“Yeah, right.” Allen looked at Jordan. “He got you good, didn’t he?”
“He’s nobody, less important than the dirt under my feet.” Jordan shrugged, annoyed. He used a napkin to blot his shirt. “Damn shirt probably costs more than everything he wore to this meeting.”
“I’d have to say he especially didn’t like you.”
“Now the feeling is mutual.” Jordan rolled his eyes as he tossed the napkin. “Like we care what happens to those employees. Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m going to have to change before we party.”
* * *
Jordan leaned on the railing, looking down at the wiggling mass below him. Lights flashed and music thumped as bodies writhed on the dance floor of Night Moves, a trendy upscale bar. The floor was crowded. It was Friday night, after all, and time to celebrate. “Do you see him, Allen?”
“No, I lost… wait. There he is. Yeah, I got him now. Damn, can we pick ‘em or what? Fuck, Jordan, I can’t wait to see him on his knees with my cock buried in his ass while he sucks you.”
Jordan scanned the crowd down on the dance floor until he found their prey. There he was. Poor Allen. He might want the guy, but he was just going to have to wait. Jordan planned on having that redhead’s ass first. He was, after all, the older brother.
Jordan’s smile faded. He’d hoped this one would be different. Over the last several months the hunt he and Allen had taken part in had become… boring.
He was bored. God, how ludicrous was that? He got all the ass he wanted, and still he was bored.
Maybe he was getting jaded, but the thrill was fading. The guys he and Allen picked up were all the same. They fell into their beds with hardly a whimper, got fucked, then went home. He wanted… Jordan exhaled silently. He didn’t know what he wanted. But he damn sure knew this lifestyle was getting old. It would be… nice… if he could find someone who fit his needs; someone who could stand on his own as easily as he did, but would give up control when he demanded. That was his idea of the perfect ideal man… right?
“So?” Allen nudged him, interrupting his thoughts.
The roving lights of the club wandered over their choice, his red hair shining for just that moment, and Jordan’s cock hardened. Both he and his brother had a thing for redheads. A smirk tilted his lips as he watched their prey’s body grind on the dance floor. He sincerely hoped their guy had freckles. He loved tracing those sexy little brown dots with his tongue while their chosen piece of ass cried out in pleasure.
Their friends, Hugh and Kain, didn’t get their fascination with gingers. They didn’t understand how well that pale skin showed marks… like those from his hand slapping down on an upturned ass.
“So… what?” Jordan so enjoyed winding his brother up.
He rested his elbows on the railing. For VIP’s, the club had a decadent, kinky side. The second level was members only, and membership was awarded on the basis of money, power, and prestige. The second level was where other jaded predators like he and his friends roamed. The bottom level -- the dance floor -- was where the fresh meat was displayed. After all, every predator needed prey.
“Don’t start that shit with me, Jordan. I’m not in the mood for games tonight,” Allen hissed. “We’ve scored once today, and I’m ready to celebrate.”
“Really? But isn’t that what this is? A game?”
“Oh damn, you’re in a mood, aren’t you?”
Jordan tracked the pretty little redhead’s movements. The guy didn’t look to be very tall, thank God, and had wavy, shoulder length deep red hair. Both he and Allen liked their bottoms to be slightly smaller than they were, and slender. This guy appeared to be perfect. It was hard to tell with his clothes on, but their prey moved with a grace that called to him, and he was sure it called to Allen, too. The guy had a swimmer’s build -- long and sleek. He had to be in pretty good shape; he’d been dancing nonstop for some time.
Jordan stood a few inches over six feet, and Allen was an inch under him. They were both muscular but without the bulk that signified serious body builders. They both had excellent tone and were ripped in all the right places. Neither of them had much hair on their bodies, and kept what little they had on a tight rein. Control was the name of their game.
“Are we just going to stare at him all night, or what?” Allen complained as he flipped his dark, sable brown hair out of his face.
Jordan took his eyes off the prey for a moment and looked at his brother. Annoyed chocolate brown eyes stared back at him. Jordan mentally sighed. His younger brother really was handsome. The lights of the club brought out the caramel highlights in his brother’s hair, made them shine. He’d made fun of the idea at first, but after seeing the results, he’d had his hair done. Of course, Allen had teased him for two weeks straight over that one.
“You really need to learn some patience -- enjoy the hunt, let the anticipation build.” The song ended and a new one started, this one with the dark overtones that Jordan liked.
They weren’t twins, but they did look a lot alike. Same build, same hair color, pretty much the same facial features. It was almost like looking in the mirror. Well, except for the fact Allen had dimples, and Jordan had a dent in his chin. And they both liked redheaded men, liked to dominate them. They shared the men they picked up, often placing bets beforehand on who would get the guy’s ass first.
And oh yeah, they were richer than God, too. If they wanted something, or someone, they either bought it, or just took what they wanted. They didn’t fear the stupid laws that governed the land. Those were for the common people, not for people like them. Not for the privileged.
“Right.” Allen rolled his eyes. “And while you’re up here practicing your stupid patience, someone else is going to make off with our target.”
Even their friends, Hugh and Kain, got in on these bets. They had one going on right now, as a matter of fact. Hugh had bet five thousand dollars Allen would get the redhead’s ass first. Jordan couldn’t resist taunting Hugh about his bad pick. If they struck out, then he and Allen owed Hugh and Kain five thousand dollars apiece. Pocket change, really, but it made things more interesting.
Jordan chuckled softly. “Settle down. Our guy will be there when we get ready.”
From the corner of his eye Jordan saw Allen cross his arms over his chest, and shook his head. Allen was only eighteen months younger, but good God, he was impatient. That was why he was the COO of the world famous high-end department stores their father owned and Allen was the CFO. They both had business degrees from Harvard.
The next song started and Allen leaned closer. “I’m ready, Jordan. Come on, man.”
He glanced over at Allen, who vibrated with the need to start their hunt. It wasn’t any wonder he won most of the bets he and Allen placed -- Allen couldn’t contain himself once he wanted something. Of the two of them, Allen was the weaker. Jordan frowned. Maybe weaker wasn’t the right word, but Allen sure didn’t have his iron control.