Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

slack, cozy up to some doe-eyed beauty with an IED under her burka. One a lot like you, gorgeous.” Ben raised his empty glass, giving her a lazy, appreciative look.

She snorted delicately at the green-eyed, dark-haired lawyer and flipped a corkscrew out of her short apron. “I better get a good tip from a group guzzling down Macallan. This goes for about ten grand, last I heard.”

“Yeah, but he blew his entire wad on it,” Jon said. “He’s trying to compensate for spiritual emptiness with material goods.”

Even as Jon spoke, Peter noted the engineering genius of their five-man team was gazing absently around the club, which probably meant Jon was solving physics equations, creating the next great invention, and meditating on the meaning of the universe, all while determining which woman he’d take to Nirvana with him tonight.

“Bullshit,” Ben snorted. “You can be right with the universe and enjoy the finer parts of it. Like our gorgeous server. Want to share a sip with us, darling? There’s room on Peter’s lap, though you’ll find far more to satisfy you on mine.”

Peter kicked him under the table, but Maria laughed, expertly removing the cork.

“Tempting, but not allowed, precioso. Do you like toffee?” she asked Peter.

As he nodded, she poured a draught and handed it to him. “Must be why your friend chose it. Despite his mierda, I think he knows a lot about you.”

Ben raised a brow. “You’ve had Macallan before.”

“You think you’re the only high roller who’s ever come through, precioso? This is The Zone, the most upscale fetish club in the South. And I do drink. When I’m off duty, and if the company’s worthwhile.” She gave him a saucy look, checking him out just as

outrageously. “We’re delighted to have you here. You call me if you need anything.”

As she sauntered away in the skintight latex black pants, a diamond pendant dangling provocatively at her nape from the choker she wore, Ben leaned out. Peter gave Jon a nod and he shifted right, hard. Too late, Ben grabbed for the table, ending up on his ass on the floor as the men burst out laughing.

“All right, keep it up. Next time you guys get yourself in a legal snarl, this lawyer’ll keep his mouth shut.”

Matt Kensington, their boss, but as much a part of their group as the alpha wolf was part of the pack, bared his teeth in a grin. “You might not have a job for long.”

“I know too much about all of you.” Ben, unimpressed, put himself back in the booth with retaliation in his gaze. “Plus, no one else will put up with your crap. What do you think, soldier?”

Peter had taken a swallow. He closed his eyes. “Hell, Ben. This is the shit.”

“I beg to differ. It is definitely not shit.” But Ben smiled, poured for himself and the other three men. When they lifted glasses and brought them together, for a while nothing further was said, each contemplating the whiskey and why they’d brought Peter here.

None of them would talk about it tonight. Nothing serious, anyway, because Peter wouldn’t want them to. They worked together in Baton Rouge as the management team of Kensington & Associates, the manufacturing acquisition company Matt Kensington had founded and made successful through their combined talents, but an unshakable bond existed between them whether they were around a boardroom table or a poker table.

There were a lot of things that went into that—shared experiences, ups and downs—but the fact that every one of them was an experienced sexual Dominant, preferring to use control and varying levels of pain to bring a woman mind-boggling pleasure, was the one that would hold the upper hand tonight.

That bond had only grown stronger when the dynamic changed. Lucas and Matt were

both married now, but Peter wore a St. Christopher’s medal that Matt’s wife, Savannah, had given him for his last Afghanistan tour. He always wore it, like a favor from his monarch’s queen. No one at the table would laugh at the thought. It didn’t matter that they were hell and gone from those part-fantasy times of medieval chivalry—there was a code of behavior they exercised in business as well as personal life. A female journalist for one business magazine had picked up on it, coining them the Knights of the

Boardroom. Or Soul-Sucking Predators of the Bayou, depending on who wrote it.

Suppressing a smile, he glanced around the table.

Matt Kensington was every inch their leader, with his hawk features, dark, piercing eyes and powerful build. Savannah, who of course was not present for this guys’ night out, was a golden match for him, delicate as a princess but a tough-as-nails CEO herself, such that Matt had had to employ all their sensual talents to take her down and make her his.

After he cut his heart out of his chest and offered it to her as a fair trade.

Lucas, K&A’s CFO, was hell on wheels with numbers and identifying unprofitable acquisitions that could become moneymakers. He was also an amateur cyclist, which had stumbled him over Cassandra Moira on a cycling trip a year ago. He’d conducted her takeover as relentlessly as any Peter had seen him implement on their unfortunate targets, only his methods had been far more pleasurable and persuasive.

He envied both men their happiness, but was glad for them. Maybe the proximity of all that marital bliss was a contagious disease that couldn’t help but make a man think about the possibility of permanence with a woman. But hell, you needed the right woman for that, and he believed in fate. He didn’t worry about making it happen.

Jon would agree with that. He was the most spiritual of the crowd, into ancient history and philosophies, Tantra and meditation, despite their merciless male ribbing about stretchy shorts and yoga sessions. He would be amused to find Peter had such a Zen take on relationships, but there it was.

Recruiting a family wasn’t in his immediate future, anyway, because being in the National