Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“He’s doing okay, considering.” Axel’s voice was rough. “I can’t imagine that kind of abuse. Sure, I’ve experienced the mental, but nothing like what Robert lived through.”
Thorn put his hand on Axel’s shoulder. “Show him that while our loved ones may betray us, real love does still exist.”
“I will.” Axel put his hand over Thorn’s. “He’s so special.”
“Help him to see that in himself,” Thorn encouraged. “Your words can repair the most delicate heart, my friend. Heal him with your poems.”
“I plan to.”
Thorn had a weekly brunch with the seven gentlemen of Belladonna.
He looked forward to this time to connect with his men and find out if they had any needs and were doing okay themselves.
Sometimes it took a mental toll on a person to always give and not take.
For one hour, he got to bask in the aura of the most fascinating, caring men he believed existed.
Thorn’s business was often mistaken by police and city officials as an escort service, when it was far from it.
The men chosen to come to Belladonna—typically by prior exclusive members’ word-of-mouth—had to first meet Thorn’s strict criteria.
The men had to be heartbroken, wronged, neglected, abused, or mistreated.
Not the abuser.
If Thorn got a good feeling after shadowing the potential new resident, then he’d start the first round of the heavy vetting process by his team, consisting mostly of private investigators, before they were invited to a meeting with him.
There was never any solicitation.
The gentlemen and the heart-in-need had to make a connection.
No cash was ever put into his gentlemen’s hands. The gesture would be insulting.
The heart paid for an exclusive membership to a haven that would change their lives…maybe even save them.
The day slipped into evening, and Thorn had been held up in his office, going over the briefing notes and surveillance photos of Casey’s potential Sir.
The forty-three-year-old orthopedic surgeon had his own successful practice in Virginia Beach and had been referred to Thorn by one of his scouts, who was a member of a premier BDSM club downtown.
The story he received was that the doctor’s sub had gone to Paris for a job and had ended up sending back an email almost a month later, ending their contract with zero notice.
According to friends close to the surgeon, it’d been nine months of cold detachment and silence where there had once been life.
Thorn studied the surveillance photos, the subtle signs of a man still aching but trying to function.
His vetting process was more than background checks and interviews. It was a measure of intent, of emotional truth.
Thorn was feeling good about moving forward on this one.
After putting together a decent action plan for the Sir, Thorn locked away the file and reclined in his chair.
He tossed his reading glasses onto his desk and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes.
It was almost nine o’clock and he was ready to call it a night.
He’d take the back stairs to his penthouse to avoid interrupting anyone tending to their guest poolside, or in one of the romantic sitting rooms.
Before he got up, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
Thorn smiled. It was one of Lincoln’s previously healed hearts.
He answered. “This is Thorn.”
“Hey. I got a definite for you,” Oliver said, cutting right to the chase. “One for Lincoln.”
Thorn sat forward, a surge of energy hitting him in his chest. “No shit.”
Lincoln was one of the most patient, nurturing, considerate men Thorn had ever had the pleasure of inviting to live in Belladonna.
Lincoln’s last heart had only been with him for seven weeks before the man felt confident enough to put himself back out there.
Now, less than four months later, he was back in a happy, committed relationship.
It was a good time for Lincoln to work his magic again.
“You sound sure.”
“I’m fucking more than sure,” Oliver urged in his raspy voice. “I know this guy personally.”
“When can I get eyes on him?” If Oliver vouched for him, then he was ready to start the intake process immediately.
“How does now sound?”
He could hear Oliver’s urgency through the phone.
Thorn stood and yanked his suit jacket from the back of his chair.
“Where is he?”
Where was the man who was so destroyed inside that he needed a man like Lincoln?
“I’m picking him up for drinks at Pier Fortune tonight. We’ll be there by ten. I’ve already sent you his website and a couple of social media links so your team can get rolling.”
“Got it.” Thorn checked his phone.
“His name is Lucas Brewer. I’ve worked with him for almost ten years, and he’s, uh…he’s recently divorced.”
Thorn paused at his door. “Whoa. How recent?”
“Umm.”
“Oliver,” Thorn warned.
“It was finalized yesterday,” he mumbled.
Thorn closed his eyes and sighed. Too soon.
Time was everything in his line of work. But Oliver pressed on.
“Thorn, just trust me, okay? I’ve referred four men to you since I left last year, and they all worked out well, didn’t they? Not a single bastard.”