Filthy Rich Santas

2. Ryder

2

RYDER

“You really don’t mind me taking the whole week of Christmas off, sir?” one of our bartenders asks, lingering by the exit as I finish the final security check of the night.

“Of course not, Miranda,” I reassure her, sending her a warm smile. “You’ve earned it.”

Our employees tend to gravitate to Radiance because they’re part of the kink community too, and I have no problem feeding her need for reassurance since her “Daddy” isn’t around at the moment to handle that.

Not my kink, but I’m definitely equal opportunity.

She finally leaves, and with the club shut down for the night, I head toward the back office. Co-owning a kinky sex club with two of my best friends is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Financially, it’s done incredibly well for us, but that’s not the real perk. It’s not even that I get to spend the majority of my time in a place that caters to my chosen lifestyle, with an unlimited buffet of play partners readily available. The real perk is being in business with two of my favorite people in the world.

“All good?” Tristan asks, looking up when I enter the office the three of us share.

“Peachy,” I say, sprawling out on one of the expensive, wide leather chairs we chose for the office, to make our “business meetings” a bit more comfortable.

Beckett may be the true beast out of the three of us, size-wise, but equally matched at 6’2”, even if he is a bit leaner, Tristan and I aren’t small men either. So the chairs are less of an indulgence and more of a necessity.

Especially because gathering here for a drink at the end of the night whenever more than one of us is at the club has become a bit of a ritual. And sure, we do occasionally discuss business as we unwind after hours, but that’s the beauty of owning the place. The only schedule we actually have to stick to is the one we make for ourselves, and building a life where I get to stay close to the guys who are practically like brothers to me is by far the best perk owning Radiance offers.

Not that I’m ever going to say shit like that out loud, of course.

“Too much Christmas cheer?” Tristan asks with an innocent look on his face that I don’t buy for a damn second. He tends to be the quietest of the three of us, but that doesn’t mean he can’t dish it out.

I make a rude sound in response, and flip him off. From a business standpoint, giving in to the staff’s enthusiasm for putting up some holiday decor and planning a few Christmas-themed events over the next few weeks made sense, so I accept that. The members eat that seasonal shit up, and even better, it boosts our employees’ morale. But with Tristan and Beckett, I don’t have to hide my real feelings on the overblown holiday, so I don’t even try.

Tristan chuckles softly at the one-fingered salute I sent him, the light reflecting off his glasses for a moment and obscuring the blue-gray eyes that I just know are dancing with humor at my expense right now. He’s not a sadist, though, so after reflexively patting down his short brown hair—something I’m pretty sure he does subconsciously to try to cover the scars that snake from the back of his scalp down the side of his neck and parts of the left side of his body—he sets aside whatever he was doing on his phone and grabs the bottle of top shelf whiskey we keep back here.

He pours us each a double, and hands mine over. “Don’t worry, it will all pass soon enough. Just like it does every year.”

I snort, then take a long swallow. “Thank fuck for that.”

“Careful,” he teases me. “If your latest play partner saw this Grinch act, she might not be so quick to drop to her knees for you. I overheard her talking to some of the staff about how excited she was for the holidays.”

I stare blankly at him for a second, then mentally catch up. “Oh, you mean Camila?”

Tristan laughs, sprawling back in his own chair and raising his whiskey to me. “Ah, I see.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “See what?”

“That it’s over.”

I shrug. He’s not wrong. He’s just making it sound like it was more than it actually was. “It was just sex, not a relationship. You know I don’t want anything serious.”

“And she did.”

I shrug again. He didn’t phrase it as a question, because he didn’t need to. “I never misled her, but it was time. She was starting to get a little more invested than was good for her.”

“So ending things was for her own good,” Tristan says, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold in a smile. “How altruistic of you.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” I say, taking another long swallow of my whiskey and sighing with contentment as it spreads exactly the right kind of cheer through my body.

Fuck Christmas. Good whiskey, though? Now that is definitely worth feeling merry over.

“You’re never going to commit to any of them, are you?” Tristan asks, lifting an eyebrow at me.

“Oh please,” I shoot back. “You know you and Beckett are just as bad. At least I actually date.”

Tristan grimaces a little before he can hide it, but doesn’t try to deny it. And there’s nothing wrong with the way he—and Beckett too—choose to limit their play time to simple sexual encounters and carefully scripted scenes here at the club. I do find that I like a little more with a woman, though.

The problem is that, like Tristan just pointed out, no matter what kind of expectations I set going into a new relationship, no matter how clear I am that while I want it to be exclusive, I also have no intentions of it ever becoming more than casual, at some point, they always want more.

And that’s just never going to happen.

Tristan uses his chin to nod toward his phone. “Have you seen the numbers from the Shibari event last week?”

“Not yet, but damn. Adding the suspension demo was a good call. I haven’t made it through all the new member applications that flooded in after that, but assuming I’m able to vet even half of them, it’s going to get us close to the benchmark goals we set for next year.”

Tristan gives me a quick grin, acknowledging the well-deserved praise. I may not have the same affinity for rope play that he does, but I’d be lying if I said the event he set up wasn’t hot as fuck.

“You know you don’t have to get through them all before we leave,” he says, his grin taking on a hint of evil. “A little denial can do wonders under the proper circumstances.”

I raise my glass in salute to that. The appeal of a needy sub, writhing with desire but unable to do anything about it until their Dom gives them permission, is something we can definitely both agree on. Forcing that same kind of delayed gratification on the new member applicants doesn’t give quite the same satisfaction, but it still carries a hint of the power exchange that both of us—all three of us, if I include Beckett—thrive on.

Besides, I’ve never been one to choose work over pleasure. Unlike some people. I’m more than happy to put off dealing with the rest of it until after the holidays.

“You know we’re going to have to pry Beckett away from this place,” I remind Tristan.

He rolls his eyes. “We already agreed that we’re taking the time off, and you know Grandma Meg is expecting us. He’s just going to have to deal.”

I grin. Beckett and I both love Tristan’s grandmother as if she was our own.

I know he promised her that all three of us would head back to New Hampshire to spend Christmas with her. It may not be my favorite time of year, but it means something to her. And since she’s one of the few people in the world who means something to me , it’s going to happen. Even if we have to pry Beckett’s fingers away from the door frame to get his workaholic ass out of this place.

“Yeah. He’ll deal,” I agree.

“In his defense, he just wants to make sure everything here runs smoothly,” Tristan says diplomatically.

I snort, then down the rest of my whiskey and gesture to Tristan to pass me the bottle. “That excuse is no longer valid. We hired good people. The club runs like clockwork. I get that he’s protective of it, but we didn’t spend as long as we did building our team just to turn around and micromanage them.”

“I know,” Tristan says as I pour myself another inch of golden heaven. “But you know how he is. He always wants to do a little more. Make it a little better here.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, well, if we’re really going to move on the new property, he’s going to have to get used to the idea of letting our team do their jobs here with him overseeing everything. The next few weeks are a test run of that. He needs to take a step back.”

“Uh huh,” Tristan says, his eyes glinting behind his glasses.

“What?”

He laughs. “You know you’re preaching to the choir here. It’s Beckett you have to convince.”

“Convince me of what?” Beckett asks in that deep, rumbling voice of his that makes submissives want to roll over and beg for him.

He makes a gimme gesture toward the whiskey bottle, and I top mine off before passing it over.

“Convince you not to be so damn controlling,” I tease him, getting exactly the cold, hard, completely unimpressed look I expect for that comment.

“Not gonna happen,” he states flatly, making me almost waste good whiskey by choking on it as I laugh.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” I admit once I can breathe again. All three of us enjoy the dynamics of a power exchange, but if anyone was born dominant, it’s Beckett.

“I know you two aren’t in here trying to figure out how to talk me out of being a Dom. So for real, what’s up?” he asks, dropping into the third chair with a sigh.

“We were discussing the holidays,” Tristan says. “You know Grandma Meg’s expecting us.”

Beckett raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

I snort. “He means we were discussing your micromanaging tendencies, and trying to figure out what it’s going to take to get you to actually leave this place alone for a few weeks, as planned.”

Beckett’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t deny it. “Fair,” he says with a shrug, pausing to drain his glass and pour himself another. “But someone’s got to keep an eye on things around here. You won’t believe who showed up tonight.”

“If it was Ryder’s latest submissive, that’s old news,” Tristan says, shooting me a look. “They’re already over.”

Beckett shakes his head, his face turning a little stormy. “It was Lana Reeves.”

“ Motherfucker ,” I curse, almost choking on my drink for the second time in a row.

“Lana?” Tristan asks in a tight voice as I grab a bar towel and clean myself up. “She’s not a member here.”

“Trial guest pass,” Beckett growls, glaring at me. “I checked after she left.”

“Fucking Christ,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Are you serious? Maybe I should rethink how much I delegate.”

My friends both snort at that, and I roll my eyes. Beckett may be a workaholic, but unlike him, I’ve never really had a problem delegating. I pull my weight, of course, but I also fully see the value of letting our staff do their jobs.

“I thought we agreed membership was something we’d continue to handle personally,” Beckett says.

“I do handle it personally,” I snap, as thrown as they both are at the idea of Lana Reeves showing up here.

We’ve known her since she was in pigtails, and her brother, our fourth brother-from-another-mother, would fucking kill us if he found out.

“But that’s full membership,” I go on a little more calmly, reminding myself that these two are not my enemy. I’d take a fucking bullet for either one of them. We’re all on the same side here. “Trial applications are a step below that, and Benny handles those. But he knows our requirements. Hell, he’s even stricter about enforcing them than we are.”

Beckett stares at me hard for another second as he considers my words. Benny, the manager in training that the three of us personally vetted, isn’t the type to get sloppy, and we all know it.

Finally, Beckett huffs out a breath and nods. “Yeah. On paper, she passes all our security checks. It’s understandable that she was allowed in.”

“But this is Lana .” Tristan’s voice is still strained. “Did she… play with anyone while she was here?”

“No,” Beckett says, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Tristan visibly relaxes, and I’m right there with him. Something obviously went down though, because Beckett still looks like he wants to take a flogger to someone without a safe word.

“What happened?” Tristan asks, idly rubbing at some of the ink on his left arm—a swirl of color that covers a few of the thicker scars from the accident that almost killed him years ago.

Beckett tells us about his encounter with Lana in short, precise sentences, his irritation with the whole thing bleeding through loud and clear.

I get why he’s so on edge about it. All three of us have always been protective of her. Maybe even more than her own brother.

My private opinion is that it’s because both Tristan and Beckett have always had a bit of a thing for her. Not that they could ever act on it, of course. Caleb would end them, for one thing. And besides, none of us can offer Lana the kinds of things she deserves, so it’s a moot point.

I’ve never asked either of my friends how they feel about her, and I’ve definitely never admitted my own attraction to her out loud. It’s better this way… even if it has been low-key torture to see her shackled to the slimy, waspish piece of shit she started dating once she moved out here to L.A.

“Wade didn’t deserve her,” Tristan says, unknowingly echoing my thoughts.

“No fucking shit,” Beckett grits out. “But she also didn’t deserve to be dumped by him like he didn’t appreciate what he fucking had, either.”

“What did he do?” I demand.

Beckett looks murderous for a moment, then sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know exactly how it went down, but it couldn’t have been pretty.”

My hands close into fists without me meaning to. I don’t know what exactly Beckett saw on Lana’s face when she told him about it, but I can imagine. She’s always felt things too deeply, wearing her heart on her sleeve for anyone to see who’s willing to look.

I’m pretty sure it’s part of the reason we all feel as protective as we do. She’s like a rare jewel, a ray of fucking sunshine, and she should be cherished and treasured at all costs.

None of which that Wade fucker ever seemed to understand.

“I never liked him,” I admit. “And if he fucking hurt her…”

“If he did, it’s no wonder she’s rebounding or rebelling or whatever it is that brought her here tonight,” Tristan finishes for me. “Isn’t that what people do when they get shit on by an ex?”

Probably, not that the three of us relationship-averse people would know. Still, while Tristan’s point is valid, it’s not really the direction my thoughts had gone.

Not that I don’t think they’re both right there with me when it comes to the lengths we’d go to when it comes to taking care of anyone who does Lana wrong.

And privately, I have to wonder if that’s part of why she kept it to herself.

All three of us have made it a point to keep tabs on her ever since she moved to the city. Keeping it low key, but making it clear to her that she’s not alone out here. That all three of us will always have her back. But just as low key has been her obvious desire to make it out here—away from the constant oversight of the parents who were always up in her business back east—on her own.

“I wish she’d fucking told us that the piece of shit had ended things with her sooner,” I grumble anyway. “I don’t like the idea of her…”

I flounder for a second. What, on her own?

Actually, I do like that idea. Much better than dating Wade Bradshaw.

Obviously, I don’t like the idea of her here at Radiance though, becoming the plaything of one of our members. None of us do, even though that’s literally why we created a safe place for people in the lifestyle to participate in consensual kink.

But Caleb’s little sister is different. And even if I’m not willing to look too deeply into why that is, I know something else the three of us can agree on.

“We should do something about this,” I say, meeting Tristan’s eyes, then Beckett’s.

“Deny her membership?” Tristan asks dryly.

Beckett’s huffs a half laugh. “I think he meant we should make sure she’s okay after the breakup.”

I nod. Sure. That’s what I meant.

At least, it’s all I’m ever going to admit to.