Chapter 83: Chapter 83: Dick Measuring Contest

Chapter 83: Dick Measuring Contest

Arm in arm, Quentin and Isa spent most of the walk back silent, save for the small giggles that would escape one of them at random intervals. They left in good moods, with a faraway look in Isa’s eyes. There was so much he wanted to ask her, but she was uncharacteristically silent and he wasn’t about to intrude when things were as off between them as they were. She seemed happy, and that was good enough for him.

On Quentin’s own part, spending time with the other pimps had been surprisingly inoffensive, ignoring Aziz’s very existence. Raquel was a firebrand that was impossible to dislike, even when she pushed past his comforts. Maybe he had a type. Henry was a dismissive, ornery old bastard but there was a dignity there Quentin envied. Aziz had a smug face, but Quentin managed to take his shards when they played, and even though Raquel won those same shards off Quentin, it was enough to take from a slaver. He left the palace appreciating Mr. Cicero for arranging this chance to network.

Now that the neighborhood was in sight, Quentin had to break his silence. “Well? What was it like? What did you do?” He stopped them, turning to face Isa.

Isa’s normal smile was something sly and just a little smug. Like someone who was perpetually in on a joke you weren’t, and it was at your expense. Now, she had a shit eating grin and was practically bouncing in place. “You know, I really shouldn’t say,” she said, shaking her head. “I did promise my discretion, and you wouldn’t want to make me a liar would you?”

Quentin knew her game. He shrugged, doing his best to look disinterested. “I suppose you’re right. But if you think about it, I’m the only one you can tell without being indiscreet. Tell anyone else, like say Lucy, and you’d be breaking that promise.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “LIke you’re not going to tell Razia about tonight.”

“I’m not,” he said, smirking. “She’ll know where we went and nothing else. I’m starting to understand the fun of teasing and denial, and this will be perfect.”

Her smile dropped, and for a second Quentin wondered if he went too far. She stared at him intently for a short eternity with an expression he couldn’t read. Then she just shook her head, chuckling. “Razia’s torment is a strong case. Alright, fine. I won’t give you any specifics, as that was between the princess and myself,” Isa was more than pleased with herself. “But let’s just say that I consider what we did to be a small down payment on reparations owed to Ramali everywhere.”

Quentin burst out laughing, grateful that no one else was around at this hour. “Then I’m pleased to be a part of that reparations effort. May this be the first of many until you all have justice.”

She smirked but again looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “You don’t mean that, do you? I’m sure my people don’t care much for you.”

“They don’t, usually. There are two Ramali I know who like me well enough. Three if I count you,” he added.

“It depends on the day,” Isa said loftily.

“Right. But even with the rest of your people thinking I’m cursed and unclean, this land was yours before my people took it. You all got the shit end of the deal. So honestly, good for you.” He shrugged again. This took an oddly serious turn, but it was better than Isa shitting on him. “I’ll have to assume you showed her enough contempt and depravity for everyone who couldn’t. Well done, Isa.”

She bowed her head and accepted the compliment gracefully. Then they were back on their way to the house, no longer laughing but still smiling. For as odd as the start of the evening had been, it turned out well and Quentin found himself in a good mood. That lasted until they got back to the Garden and he saw the look on Jonas’ face.

“Something happened,” he said. Then realizing how bad that sounded he quickly added, “no one’s hurt, but some men showed up and demanded the entire Garden for themselves.”

Quentin sobered up immediately. He took his arm back from Isa and drew himself up. “Who? What’s going on, then?”

Jonas looked down, face reddening. “They came in, said they were sent here by Cicero and that it was on us to provide them with entertainment. Razia had me check all their weapons and let them in and they’ve been at it for a couple hours now.” He ran his good hand through his messy blonde hair. “As far as I know they’ve been behaving themselves, but…”

“I understand,” said Quentin, nodding gratefully at him. “Thanks for the heads up, Jonas. I’ll tread carefully. You should probably wait here,” he said to Isa.

“Like hell I am,” she scoffed.

He shouldn’t have expected any different. Shrugging, Quentin moved past Jonas, patting his shoulder as he made his way into the Garden. As soon as they were inside he heard the familiar sounds of sex and laughter. Lynne was there on that side of the villa, bent over a stone bench and getting it from a lean, wiry man who was too into it to notice them pass by. Lynne met his eyes with a crooked smile before he moved on.

Moans came from the bathroom, so he assumed the tub was seeing good use. The main room had Kelli riding a merc on the couch, Cullen and a rough looking man were cuddling on the floor, and one of their regulars sat in Quentin’s throne with an unfamiliar woman in his lap. All in all, things could’ve been a great deal worse than this, but no one sat in Quentin’s chair but him. As silly as it was, he left Isa behind and went right to Rocco.

“You seem to be lost,” Quentin said, putting on his best scary smile.

Rocco was unphased. “Mr. Q, you sexy son of a bitch! We were wondering if you’d show up to the party. And you brought more girl. Singular. Hi Isa!” he waved brightly at her. Isa sighed and shook her head.

“So you’re the guy who owns this place?” the woman in Rocco’s lap asked. She had short, spiky blonde hair and a septum ring. Her smile was at least as sloppy and pleased as Rocco’s. “Your selection is choice.” She leaned over and nipped at Rocco’s neck.

“He’s not one of ours,” said Quentin, sighing. Looking around he added, “He’s the only person in here who isn’t one…of…Dad?” His face screwed up. Right next to the kitchen was his father, leaning against the wall and watching the goings on with an intent expression. Upon noticing Quentin he jolted back to the present.

“Hey. Looks like I picked a hell of a night to visit, huh?” He jerked his head over his way.

Quentin left the revelers to their activities. Isa stayed behind, taking the bottle from Rocco and planting herself in the one empty space on the couches, ignoring the couple writhing together beside her. She toasted Quentin as he passed by and he chuckled, shaking his head. Maybe things would be alright between them after all.

“So, uh. Welcome to my place,” Quentin said, leaning against the wall. He made eye contact with David, leaning on a nearby wall and waved at him. The gladiator waved back and shrugged, gesturing at the action and making a face. Quentin understood well enough. “It’s normally a lot more subdued than this, believe it or not.”

Quirrinel chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen worse. Not my first time in a whorehouse, and even those lads and ladies that came in have been mostly well behaved. Just eager. It’s been a pretty good show.”

“So you’ve had a good time, overall?” Quentin asked. “Did Razia hook you up with anyone?”

“Naw,” said Quirrinel, “she’s been a bit busy. Once this lot came in she came in and gave a pep talk and then went out of her way to pair people up. I offered to help with running drinks while she took care of their leader.”

Something about that gave Quentin pause. He looked around the room, noting and marking off each of his people. Only a few were missing, including Razia. “What do you mean took care of their leader? Where is she now?”

His father shifted uncomfortably. “Everyone else was already paired up at that point except for her and the redhead. She took it on herself to entertain him, I guess. So you two worked something out?”

Blood rushed in his head. His fathers words echoed and bounced around, trapped in Quentin’s head as he fought to accept what they meant. “We made an arrangement,” said Quentin through clenched teeth. The world had an odd buzz in the background. Everything was just a little unreal, like the dying remnants of a dream. “Of exclusivity.”

“Oh. Well, uh…”

“Where is she?” Quentin asked quietly.

Quirinnel pointed at the master bedroom. Quentin pushed off the wall and let his feet carry him to the door. Doing his best to ignore the sounds behind him, he focused on the room itself. There was a man’s laugh, muffled through the door, and nothing else. His heart hammered against his chest. Quentin didn’t know how he felt, but he knew he didn’t like it. His thoughts went to all the people he executed who lost their head when finding their partner with someone else. For the first time, he truly understood them.

He opened the door and stepped inside. His heart seized. A bald mercenary lay on his belly, using his folded arms as a pillow, with Razia crouched on his back. Neither of them wore anything, and Razia had her fingers dug deep into his back. She looked up and blanched at the look on Quentin’s face. The mercenary did as well, though he just scoffed and looked back down.

“Do you mind?” The mercenary asked. “We’re a bit busy right now.”

“So I see,” Quentin said.

Razia hopped off his back and strode up to Quentin as if there was nothing wrong. She gripped the front of his toga and smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re back, Mr. Q.” She tugged until he bent over. He didn’t know how he didn’t recoil when she kissed his cheek, but he remained in place when she whispered, “I gave him the runaround. I’m yours.”

At this point, it was either believe her and trust her, or don’t. Quentin took a deep breath, thoughts racing. She was naked in a room with another man. Razia loved what she did and there was nothing wrong with what she did. But they had an agreement. It all came down to faith. Quentin let out the breath and kissed the top of her head. “Talk later.”

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“Absolutely,” she agreed.

The mercenary looked up again, scowling at them. He sat up, clearly caring as little as Razia about his nudity. He made himself comfortable and demanded, “There a problem here?”

“None at all,” said Quentin with a forced smile. “Razia’s mine and you’ve reached the limit of what she’s permitted to do. You appear to be more than ready for more, so you’ll have to find someone else to finish up. I recommend Samantha or Isa.”

“Like hell,” he growled, standing up, fists balled at his sides.

“Rex,” Razia started.

“No, I made my choice. We’ve been cleaning up your fucking mess. This is the least you can do to say thank you.” He stalked forward. Quentin put himself between Rex and Razia. Rex sneered at them. “Cicero said you were to hook us up with entertainment. Should I go back and tell him you refused?”

Quentin shook his head. “We made it clear to Mr. Cicero that no employee will be forced to fuck anyone they don’t want to. We’re not refusing Mr. Cicero, we’re refusing you. You want any of our other girls, ask them. You don’t like it, leave.”

Rex twisted his head around until his neck popped. He looked seconds away from violence but he held himself back, breathing hard. There was a familiar hate in his eyes, the kind of entitled arrogance that only came from a person being told no. Quentin understood why Razia didn’t just reject him. “And who the fuck do you think you are? Do you think you could stop me if I chose to take what I wanted?”

“Yes,” Quentin said without hesitation. “Easily. You and your men outnumber us. We might lose, but you wouldn’t survive the attempt. You’re not going to get what you want. You might as well get over it and accept it. It’s not too late to have a pleasant evening.”

Quentin realized his mistake. Men like Rex didn’t like hearing no, and they sure as hell didn’t care to be belittled or warned. His jaw set, and Quentin saw anger rise and build momentum. Quentin wanted to deal with this without violence and without the risk of pissing off Mr. Cicero. Maybe that wasn’t possible. Once again, the options were clear to him: try to talk him down and avoid violence…Or try to beat the man into submission. To show him Quentin was the one with the power.

There were times in this job when Quentin knew he had to embrace his intimidating nature to get what he wanted. Most of the time it was an act from a man avoiding violence unless there was no choice. For the first time since he’d broken Darriq’s arm in the Twilight Dancer, Quentin thought about the value of proactive violence. He thought of his reputation, and he thought of power itself. It had never been something Quentin found attractive, but now he saw the necessity of reaching out to grasp it and make it his.

“You really want to fuck my woman?” Quentin demanded, not needing to force the heat into his words. “You think you’re a big man, coming around and demanding what you want? You can have her on one condition.”

The surprise on Razia’s face almost ruined it. Quentin had to keep from laughing at her flinch. He kept his customary scowl on his face, but under the surface he was all but dancing. Things were about to turn violent, and if he did it right no one would be harmed.

“And what’s that, Mr. Q?” Rex asked, eyes flitting over to Razia and raking over her body. The only reprieve from the outrage was the hunger piercing through.

“You want to prove you’re a bigger, stronger man? Then take me on in front of your men. Loser limps away to lick their wounds, winner gets Razia.”

“Seriously?” Razia looked like she didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended.

“You’re on,” said Rex, smile splitting his face. To Razia he said, “When I win, we’re going to have a little chat about wasting my time.” He pushed past Quentin and left the room, still naked.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Razia hissed.

“What’re you worried about?” said Quentin with a small smile. “Do you think I’m going to lose?”

“It’s not that! I just never expected you to be willing to gamble my body away.” She crossed her arms over her bare chest. “I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

Quentin’s words surprised himself. “Until fall I have your contract, right?” He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close. “If it wasn’t for that contract, would you have had any issues fucking him?”

“No,” Razia answered.

“So what’s the problem?” He smirked. “He’s not going to win. I am. And then I’m going to spend the rest of the night enjoying my prize.”

Razia shuddered, but she was pleased. “I think I’m a corrupting influence.”

“You are.” Quentin leaned down and kissed her. Together they left the bedroom. All activities in the atrium had stopped in favor of the upcoming fight. As they arrived the girls and the mercs were finishing up pulling the couches and loveseats away from the atrium, leaving just the plush rug. Rex stood there with his hands on his hips, proudly awaiting him.

“This ugly motherfucker challenged me,” he called out to his crew, who let out a bunch of boos. “He told me he could beat me in a fight. That we’d fail against him. What do you think of that?”

All eyes turned to Quentin. Their jeers and insults poured out and over each other, too many to hear anything but a wall of sound. His heart pounded and he turned his scowl on them all, drawing himself up to his full height and doing his best to radiate strength and vague menace. “I didn’t challenge you,” Quentin said, spreading his arms. “That would imply I consider you a challenge. I called you out.”

His own crew backed him up, letting out cheers, though they remained with their dates. His father shook his head at him, laughing as if he couldn’t believe what was going on. It wasn’t unapproving at least. Beside Quentin, Razia squeezed him one last time before joining the ring. Quentin stepped forward, on the other side of the rug. “What’ll it be then?”

Rex made a show of stretching and rolling his head along his shoulders. “Wrestling. Shed the clothes, Quintius, and let’s see what you’re made of.”

Quentin blinked. There were just under twenty people in the room there, all watching him intently. Waiting for him to get naked. In front of a crowd. He swallowed hard. Rex smirked, waiting patiently on the other end. Under twenty people, but more than enough to laugh at him, to point and laugh while he was dragged through

He breathed in and out. Quentin wasn’t a child anymore. He wasn’t a victim, he was in control. He’d issued a challenge and received one in turn. It wasn’t about how he looked naked, it was about having the confidence to expose himself in front of everyone, to be on an equal level with the confident mercenary. Gods, this was cruel.

He shrugged off his golden toga. Razia collected it from him and stored it on his chair. His father turned right around and disappeared into the kitchen. He was grateful for that. With his hands trembling he pulled the tunic up and off of him, then pulled off each boot, one by one. All that remained was the wrap around his privates. This was stupid. It was his own fault. One tug later and it fell to the ground.

Quentin was naked in a group. His heart worked overtime, screaming at him to run and escape the situation. His flesh crawled. It wasn’t the jeering mercenaries that made him uncomfortable. It was all the people he knew, seeing him naked and knowing he’d have to face them afterward. He kept his eyes forward, refusing to look at any of them. “Ready when you are,” he said, bowing.

Rex dropped into crouch, hands ready as he approached Quentin. Quentin adopted a similar pose and they fell in pace, circling each other in the center of the rug. It was hard to focus when he could feel every bounce when he moved. Was that Isa staring right at his cock? Why would she -- Rex launched himself forward and speared him in the middle. Quentin braced himself and wavered in place, holding Rex there without falling over.

The two men struggled, Rex fought to break Quentin’s stance, and Quentin twisted and pulled on his opponent. Quentin had size on his opponent, but Rex had the better leverage. He shoved forward and Quentin fell back a step, wrapping his arms around the mercenary’s sides. It took all his strength but Quentin pulled and lifted Rex upside down. There was a second of surprise flailing, and then Quentin slammed him into the ground.

Rex landed flat on his back, a wave passing through his body outward as he crashed hard. Quentin wasted no time in extending his elbow and dropping to the ground, but Rex had just enough time to roll out of the way. Then it was Quentin’s turn to be grabbed as Rex launched himself on his back and pulled Quentin’s arms backwards. He drove Quentin’s face against the fur.

A cheer went up through the mercenaries. Gods, was that his cock up against Quentin’s ass? Quentin thrashed against him, rolling them over until Rex was on his back. He raised up enough to slam back, tearing an arm free and elbowing Rex in the ribs. They rolled again and when they came back up Quentin had him in a headlock. His girls screamed and clapped. Rex elbowed him in the ribs, and again and again.

The first hit hurt, the second loosened his grip, and the third knocked him off. Rex twisted until he had an arm and a leg and Quentin bending backwards until his spine protested and he let out a strangled cry. The room held its breath as Rex pulled harder, all but demanding Quentin surrender. It wasn’t going to happen. He caught Razia’s eye. She winked at him. Quentin pulled hard on his arm. Rex’s grip tightened painfully around his wrist. Quentin shifted and put his entire body into it. Letting out a cry he ripped his arm free and twisted around and crashed into his opponent.

He was a good opponent, Quentin reflected as his arm screamed with heightened pain as he healed the tears out of his tendons. He was fast, decisive, and strong. But Quentin was stronger, and he could push himself further. Quentin had something to prove. He let out a roar and climbed to his feet, lifting Rex with him. The man thrashed but couldn’t escape his grasp as Quentin lifted him high into the air. Then the fighting stopped altogether as he braced himself for the impact.

The entire room held its breath as Quentin stood there, ready to destroy his opponent. It would’ve been easy to break him, or to take an extra step and hurl him into the pool. That would be a way to demoralize him. But as much of a prick as he was being, Rex wasn’t his enemy. Quentin had spent the night building bridges. Why not build one more? He twisted and deposited Rex back onto his feet.

The mercenary stared him down, panting and trying to get a read on him. Quentin extended his hand. Rex looked at it for a second. He took it and Quentin pulled him into a brief one armed embrace. “Razia’s mine,” he whispered into his ear, “But why don’t you take a couple of girls back with you instead?”

Rex pulled back. Some of the anger was still there, but it was replaced by confusion. Quentin couldn’t blame him. It was a spur of the moment decision, his gut telling him the right thing to do. He was getting better at listening to it. Why make a new enemy when he could make his point and stand down? Showing strength didn’t mean being excessive about it. Nodding in new understanding, Rex flashed him a grin.

“A good match, Quintius. Fuck me, you’re strong. What the hell are you doing running a house like this? We could use a man like you on the streets.”

A wave of relief passed through the room. The fight was over and things were good. All eyes were still on him and while Quentin couldn’t shake the constant revulsion from being exposed like this, he understood what he was doing. He was cultivating his reputation. “I put my time in, same as anyone,” Quentin said, showing a crooked smile of his own. “This is my retirement job. I’m here to drink and have fun.” Might as well live up to the stories that spread like wildfire.

Rex let out a low whistle and made a big show of looking around. “Alright, alright,” he said, nodding again. “Might have to do something similar when I’m good and ready for the easy life.”

“When you do, come back here and I’ll show you the ropes.” Quentin turned from him back to Razia. He gratefully took his underwear back and put it on, followed by the tunic. The toga and boots he left off. Razia handed him a glass of wine next, reading his mind. He downed it, hoping no one noticed the way his hands shook.

After that, things went back to normal. They put the couches and table back and resumed their celebration. Rex took Samantha and Lynne together and disappeared into the master bedroom. His father came out and joined Quentin and Razia at his oversized chair.

“So,” Quirrinel said, staring past Quentin. “Was this an exciting night for you two, or…?”

“Very exciting,” said Razia. “Way more exciting than usual.”

Quentin relaxed in his seat, drinking the night in. He wore an amused smile as he released some of the tension and let himself be happy. “You have no idea. If you think this was wild, wait until you hear about my night. I think we’re in a good position with Cicero.”

“Yeah?” Razia draped herself across his lap. “Good. Because that party is coming up soon, and we need to be ready for it. If it’s anything like tonight we’re going to have to stay on our toes if we want to stay on top.”

Quentin shrugged and threw an arm around her. “We’ll be ready,” he said. Maybe it was overconfidence, but Quentin just couldn’t find it in himself to worry. “We’ve got this.”

“You really didn’t scale back on the dangerous lifestyle at all, did you Quentin?” his father asked.

He smiled. “I guess not.”