Page 108 of Counterpoint
“I know your name,” Greg said. “Adrian Doran.”
Fire and ice tangled in Adrian, and he rotated in place. Slowly, he stalked back over to the bar. He should just leave—walk away. But theunfairnessof the day was finally burning through his body.
He and Dominic had been perfect.Had been.
“What are you going to do with it?” He returned Greg’s stare, not flinching, not threatening. Steady breathing.
Greg lowered his voice. “Depends on what you’re willing to give me.”
Blackmail? Adrian barked out a laugh that had other people turning toward them.
The guy leaned in. “Those tabloids will pay a lot to know who you are.”
Adrian followed suit, and his forehead nearly brushed Greg’s. If he hadn’t wanted to strangle the dude so much, it might have looked like a move. “I’m sure they will,” Adrian said. He took back the dollar tip he left and straightened up. “Hope the money keeps your soul warm.”
Greg’s eyes widened, but that’s all Adrian saw before he pushed through the bar and out the door into the warm summer evening.
Fuck. Fucking hell. Yeah, they had his name. And with that, they’d have his address and his place of work and...well, everything. He’d never really hidden much of his life. Sure, the bondage parties he’d gone to were discreet—kinda had to be when doctors and lawyers took part. But hell, these people could probably uncover his whole family history, back to immigration if they wanted to.
Maybe Dominic hadn’t been so wrong after all. Only time would tell.
He did make it back to his place unscathed, though. And seemingly unnoticed, too. Good. He closed and locked the front door and drew all the blinds on every floor. Even the library. Finally, he sprawled out on the reading nook—near where he’d first tormented and teased Dominic—and eyed his cell phone.
He really did want to hear Dominic’s voice. And a part of him still believed this would all blow over and they could go back to normal. Except there’d never been a normal—Dominic had always been Domino Grinder and would always be. That, too, was a part Adrian loved.
Greg’s slimy question flitted through Adrian’s mind. Truth was, being Domino Grinder’s lover was a fucking joy because Dominic Bradley was an amazing, passionate, intelligent man, and so very compatible with Adrian’s every need. He didn’t want to imagine a future where he wasn’t by Dominic’s side.
Except neither of them really wanted their lives to be public spectacles. However, that hope seemed to be over now, so he’d manage whatever came. He indulged in a sigh, then called Dominic.
* * *
Dom fucking hated hotels now. Maybe that was from the awful episode when Ray had nearlydiedon their last tour. They’d ended up stuck in a hotel for days, and they’d all been worried to the ends of the Earth about Ray.
This one was fine. A reasonably priced chain—well, reasonable for Manhattan. They’d stayed in some very sketchy places in their early days. But the white sheets and tidy room grated on Dom.
He shouldn’t be here. He should either be home, bitching in his head about his own damn house, or with Adrian in the place that felt like home. But now the world had come crashing down around him.
God, when Marcella had walked in, her movements stiff and with a frown so worried that even Mish had gone still, they’d all wondered what was up. Then she’d shown them the photos.
Him. As him, not Domino. Walking around Brooklyn. The article went on to list his legal name, that he went to high school at the same time Ray and Zavier did, his college degree, and the neighborhood in which he now lived.
Including the price that his house had sold for, and a comment about how that settlement with Twisted Wishes’s old label must have been quite good.
Fuck.
Everyone knew who Domino Grinder was. Now everyone knew who Dominic Bradley was, too. He still shook and his stomach churned at the thought of his private life being torn open for all to see. How the hell was he going to walk onstage after that?
How many “I fucked Domino Grinder’s ass and he liked it!” articles would now come out? Certainly some of his past one-night stands would be glad for the money a tell-all would bring in.
Ray, Zavier, and Mish had all kept him calm and they’d left the studio together, braving the sea of cameras and phones. They’d gotten into a private car Marcella had called for them, which had taken Dom to this hotel. Ray’d absconded with Dom’s house keys with a promise he’d grab clothes and toiletries.
“They’ll find me here,” Dom had said.
“It’ll take ’em a bit. You’re under the name Jason Forester.”
Not Domino. Not Dominic. He didn’t want a third person to be. Two was one too many.
Shit.Dom rose from the bed and broke open the five-dollar bottle of water. His gut was a mess. His hands shook. All he wanted was to crawl under the covers and hope that this madness went away.
