Going Down: Switchblade Romance, #1

By Lady Jaguar and Jayne Lockwood

"I break balls, rip hearts to shreds and fuck like a demon, but I don't do love. Never forget that."

 

Office worker Tino Santini is fearless about his sexuality, but he is terrified after being trapped overnight in an elevator with his firm's fearsome CEO. When awkward small talk turns into a sex and booze marathon, Tino hopes his stalled career is about to get a power boost.

 

With a mobster past and a savage temper, Richard Mason has no time for love, yet nothing has prepared him for Tino Santini. Now that smart-mouthed, beautiful man is about to throw Richard's tightly controlled world upside down, and all because of Richard's new addiction to Tino's hot mouth.

 

Neither Richard nor Tino expect their affair to be anything other than business, until a personal tragedy means Richard needs Tino more than ever. As they enjoy a hedonistic journey of of discovery, trouble with a business rival looms on the horizon, bringing mayhem and murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jayne Lockwood
• Release date: Sep 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393267065

Lady Jaguar

Lady Jaguar is the pen-name of Jayne Lockwood. She writes hot M/M romance and runs the @ladyjaguarwrites Instagram page for both her and Jayne's books.

Book preview

1

A GOOD MAN

TINO

Tino Santini’s day began much like any other. Forgoing breakfast, he dressed quickly in slim black pants that hugged his neat ass, and a burgundy silk shirt with exaggerated collar and cuffs, finally tying a floppy silk bow in the front. No doubt his boss would make him take it off when he got to work, but he didn’t care.

He pulled on a tailored black jacket, brushing any flecks of lint away, and leaned closer to inspect his eye make-up. Flawless as usual, and discreet, as it needed to be for the office. His boss didn’t like it, but he had given up telling Tino not to do it.

One glance outside told him the temperature was below freezing, so he slicked more tinted balm on his lips and grabbed his one good coat, a wine-colored Cavalli he had found in a vintage store in East Village. His stomach rumbled with the need to eat, but he would catch breakfast on the go. His meal usually consisted of coffee and a blueberry muffin from the mom and pop shop outside the subway station.

His watch told him he was on time, which was just as well. If he was late again, the chances were he would lose his job. He was already on notice for his timekeeping.

Family had always been the reason. The last time he had been with his mother at the hospital after she had suffered a heart attack. In his panic, he had forgotten to ring work to say he wouldn’t be there until later, and his boss had been unsympathetic.

It hadn’t always been that way. They had got along okay when they were both working in the marketing team. Their old manager was a good man who always let his staff have time off if they needed it.

If they got their work done on schedule and to a high standard, he was relaxed about the hours they kept.

When he retired, both Tino and Charles were up for promotion. Tino knew he wasn’t a serious contender. At twenty-eight he had been too young and hadn’t been at the company long enough, so Charles got the job.

Within a week, he had upset everyone, using intimidation to show that he was the boss. People had to be at the office earlier than on time, and there was no question of working from home. Tino was singled-out for special scrutiny. From the amount of make-up he wore to how tidy he kept his desk; he couldn’t seem to do anything right.

He left his apartment and ran down the five flights of stairs as the elevator hadn’t been working for months. Half-way down he ran into his neighbor, Sian, struggling up the stairs with a pushchair. Her three year-old son trailed behind her, wheezing fit to bust.

Hi Tino. Sian smiled wearily.

Seeing the pain on her face, Tino knew he had no choice. He would be late again, but it couldn’t be helped.

Come on, bud. Hitch a ride. He crouched down so the little boy could climb on his back.

Together they walked back up to the fifth floor, Sian telling him about her son’s chest infection and how expensive the antibiotics were. When they reached their floor, Sian apologized for making him late for work.

Don’t worry about it. Keep warm, okay? Tino smiled at her and ruffled the kid’s hair. If he was fired, then he’d find another job. His career sucked, anyway.

2

AN UNFORTUNATE SITUATION

TINO

MOST OF WOLFEN’S employees worked until eight o’clock or later, but that night, everyone had been instructed to clock off by six. Some areas of the office were being closed for maintenance, so the directors gave everyone that time off, to go home and begin Thanksgiving celebrations.

Tino had just finished working through a draft report Charles had given to him at four o’clock that afternoon, with strict instructions to put the completed work on his desk first thing Friday morning.

Being late that morning had cost Tino his bonus, which he had been slaving for all year. And he’d received a bawling out that everyone in the office had heard. As he did the walk of shame back to his desk, no one looked up. They had heard it all before.

There was no way Tino could complete the report on top of his other deadlines, not without pulling in some serious overtime. The mean dipshit had done that to him on purpose, and Tino had resigned himself to working late.

Everyone had gone and the office was blissfully quiet. It was nearly eight o’clock when he put the report on Charles’s desk and picked up the bag of food gifts he had bought during his lunch hour, monumentally relieved that the horrible day was nearly over.

He thought about getting a cab rather than fight on the subway, but cabs would be hard to come by at that time of night. Everyone was either partying or trying to get home.

Earlier, he had received an invite to have cocktails with friends at Monarch’s Wine Bar on 37th. At one time he would never have turned down an invitation like that, but recently, he had been too tired to think about socializing.

It was crazy. He was thirty years old, not fifty-five. Nonna Sofia was always nagging him to have more fun.

As he walked towards the elevator, he hesitated. Fuck it, why not? He could leave his bags with the security desk downstairs to pick up later, and a couple of cocktails might take the edge off one of the shittiest days ever.

In the restrooms, he took off his tie and stuffed it in his pocket, unfastened the first few buttons on his shirt and began re-applying his make-up. Some concealer, foundation to smoothen his skin tone, a bit of dark eyeliner and an added hint of burgundy glitter eyeshadow to match his shirt. Finally, he applied barely-there plumping lip gloss and looked critically at himself.

The way he presented himself was another thing Charles took him to task for. He didn’t like Tino wearing heels or make-up in the office, however subtly it was done.

Well, that was tough shit. Tino loved his androgynous look. He never went outside the apartment without some kind of face on, unless he was visiting his parents.

Only Nonna Sofia knew he wore make-up. She was the one who’d taught him to apply it properly, but that was their secret. He came from a macho Italian family and was the youngest of three brothers, the other two being a lot taller and broader than him.

After tidying his brows and spritzing himself with Eternity aftershave, he went back to his desk. Locked in his bottom drawer were a pair of black stilettos he kept at the office for evenings out. They gave him a bit of sorely needed height, and had some sparkles on the front to make him feel as if he’d made an effort. He didn’t like being short and slight, but he had to deal with it.

Maybe he would get lucky that night and find a sweet man to rock his world. He was ready for love again, after his last relationship had ended six months before.

He felt good as he sashayed to the elevator. With no one in the office, he could catwalk down the corridor, strike a pose and hold his grocery bags like Paris Hilton on a designer shopping spree without anyone being any the wiser. He pressed the elevator button and flipped a double bird in the direction of Charles’s office.

Adios, motherfucker!

A gentle cough made him spin round. The elevator door had opened, and someone occupied the small space, watching him.

The man was very tall, dressed in a black three-piece suit and a black cashmere topcoat slung around his shoulders.

It was his boss. Not Charles, but the big boss, the CEO, Richard Mason.

Shit.

Are you coming in? Mason had his finger on the door button, keeping it open. Tino was aware he was gaping. He hadn’t seen Mason very often. He was a distant figure, aloof and scary as fuck.

Close up, he was mesmerizing, an elegant vampire of a man with startling blue eyes, radiating a potency that made Tino’s insides quiver and his cock thicken.

Oh great. That was just what he needed, being in a tiny metal box with his CEO and a boner.

Uh, thanks. Tino gathered up his bags and stepped inside the elevator. He was short even in his heels, barely reaching the man’s shoulder. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover how he felt right then. The silence was thick as the elevator began to move.

The office closed at six. Why are you here? Mason’s voice was loaded with menace.

Tino had lost the power of speech. He groped for something to say.

Uh, had a report to finish, he finally managed to stutter, staring at his feet. Mason’s piercing scrutiny made him feel as if all his clothes had fallen to the floor.

It could have waited.

Tino wasn’t expecting that. N-not really. The boss said he needed it first thing Friday morning.

Mason’s glare could have frozen the tropics. I’m the fucking boss. It could have waited.

Yes sir. Sorry sir.

Silence. The journey seemed endless. Tino’s backside had a cold, pimply feeling, despite having used the restroom not ten minutes before. Belatedly, he remembered his coat, hanging up by his desk. Shit. He’d have to go all the way back up to the 25 th to get it.

What’s that on your face?

Tino’s heart almost stopped. He cleared his throat so he could speak.

It’s make-up. I’m going out for cocktails with friends. I’ve only just put it on. I haven’t been wearing it all day… The excuses tumbled from his lips.

If you do your job properly, I don’t give a shit. It looks good, by the way. Mason’s gaze raked Tino’s body, fixing finally on his shoes. I presume you haven’t been wearing those all day either.

Tino was still reeling from the unexpected compliment. Um, not these ones. My others are lower. And less… sparkly. He was painfully aware of Mason’s assessment.

Good. Those damned things will give you bunions.

Thanks for the tip, Tino muttered.

As the silence thickened, the elevator jolted to a stop, causing Tino to stumble sideways.

Sorry, he muttered as Mason steadied him.

Something didn’t feel right. They waited for the doors to open but nothing happened. Tino glanced at Mason, who impatiently pressed the Foyer button.

Nothing.

Then the lights went out.

Oh shit, Tino blurted. It was utterly dark, a thick, cloaking blackness that threatened to stifle him.

A small, bright light illuminated the small space. Mason’s phone torch. He used it to locate the alarm.

Tino tried to breathe deeply and quietly, so as not to show Mason he was freaking the hell out. He wasn’t claustrophobic as such, but this was not good. Not good at all.

Mason pressed the alarm button again. Again, no-one answered.

Mason switched off the light and they were plunged into darkness.

It was then that Tino remembered the internal email from Human Resources about the maintenance. Surely it wasn’t that. No one had said anything about the elevators, had they?

Had they?

He tried to remember what the email said. Everyone out by six, that was the big thing. Had they said why?

He gnawed his lower lip, thinking it had to be the only plausible explanation.

Um, I think I know what the problem is, he ventured hesitantly and began to explain.

Maintenance? Mason’s voice was incredulous. No one told me! Does that mean we’re stuck here until Friday fucking morning?

I don’t know, Tino sighed miserably.

Mason’s anger crackled palpably in the dark.

Fuck! He hit the wall of the elevator, making Tino jump. My phone has no signal. What about yours?

The battery’s dead, Tino confessed, inwardly cursing himself.

What kind of an asshole doesn’t keep his fucking phone charged?

Tino backed away from Mason’s growl, coming up against the wall of the elevator.

We could try shouting for help, he suggested timidly.

They began pummeling the door, yelling for what seemed like hours, pressing the alarm again and again. Mason tried getting a phone signal from every angle. In the end he slumped moodily in the corner of the elevator.

Fuck! He hit the wall again in pure frustration before sliding to the floor. Tino sat as far away as he could. He felt as if he were in a cage with an angry lion.

Mason killed the phone light, plunging them into darkness again.

They sat silently for a while, each contemplating their situation. Even though the blackness was absolute, Tino was acutely aware of Mason’s presence. He smelled amazing, top notes of cedar wood with a hint of spice. Every so often their legs brushed together. When it happened, Tino apologized and flinched away.

After a while, he heard him moving again. He flinched at the click of something close by. Mason’s phone light went on, revealing the CEO clutching a wicked-looking knife.

Sir?

Relax, I’m not going to use it on you. Mason ran his fingers down the gap between the two doors. We might be level with one of the floors. It’s worth checking. He slipped the blade between the doors to prize them open.

"This worked in Die Hard," he added.

No, no, Bruce Willis used a screwdriver. That’s going to snap, As Tino scrambled to his feet, he tried to get his head around Mason watching action films, not to mention carrying a switchblade in his suit pocket.

Hold the phone. Mason handed it to him and Tino shone the light on the gap. Slowly it widened, and together they managed to force the door open.

Shit! They groaned the word in unison, staring at a blank wall.

There was no room to squeeze out either. They were well and truly stuck.

After a few more moments of banging and yelling, they sat back down. Mason turned off the phone light to conserve the battery.

This fucking sucks, he grumbled.

Tell me about it, Tino sighed, mentally kissing goodbye to any sniff of a cocktail that night. I’m sure someone will come soon, he added in what he hoped was an optimistic voice.

Who are you, Pollyanna? You don’t believe that any more than I do.

They sat in silence for a while. Tino assumed Mason’s thoughts were as gloomy as his own. He thought of his mama, wondering where he was, and his father, grumbling about his decadent city lifestyle.

Some chance of that. He strained to think of something to say. They could be there for a long time, so he had to try to break the ice.

So… how did Wolfen start? He hated how timid he sounded.

It’s in the brochure. Haven’t you read it?

Mr. Grumpy wasn’t in the mood for conversation, obviously, but Tino wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Um… I did, when I first began working here, but… how did you get involved?

For a time, he didn’t think Mason was going to answer, but then he did.

When I was twenty-one, I began working for Michael Prosser on the Lower East Side, delivering goods and services, both local and cross-state. I bought the company twelve years later, changed the name and here we are.

Tino digested the information. Michael Prosser was Wolfen’s Chairman, a small yet imposing figure. I guess doing deliveries is lucrative, huh.

Depends what you’re delivering.

Even though the darkness was absolute, Tino knew it was wise not to delve further. He had grown up in Brooklyn, where people talked of the Cosa Nostra, and a few families wielded enough power and influence to affect the lives of those around him. His folks taught him and his brothers to be respectful, ask no questions and keep their heads down.

Even so, Tino’s older brothers used to take the F train and hang out with friends on the Lower East Side. They never offered to take him with them and he never asked. Tino always saw it as a dangerous place that could bring nothing but trouble, and his Mama and Papa had enough of that at home.

Did you drive eighteen-wheelers? I always admired the guys who could do that, he ventured instead.

I did, after I got my license. I did the long-haul trips, coast to coast. It was fun.

More fun than stuck behind a desk, I bet.

Mason didn’t answer for a while.

It’s a lonely life, but it suited me just fine, he said finally.

You ever miss it?

He heard a sharp intake of breath.

No.

Silence descended again, thick and enveloping. Tino began to feel slightly annoyed. The man didn’t have to make an effort, but it would be good if he did. After all, they were stuck in the same stupid situation.

Feel free to ask me anything you like. I can tell you want to. He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Why would you assume that?

Bastard. Because you’ve always said that every employee in your company is important, from the janitors to the senior directors. I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.

I know everything I need to know.

Right. Tino gave up and resigned himself to a long night.

The phone light went on, startling him. Mason’s face was ghostly behind the blue glow. I’ve got a question. Do you have anything to drink in that bag of yours? I skipped lunch.

Tino clutched his grocery bag of gifts, sadly realizing he had no choice. They could be stuck for hours. If the CEO wanted a drink, he could hardly refuse him.

Sighing inwardly, he laid out the treats. Godiva chocolates, a bottle of Courvoisier for his father, a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream for Nonna, various sweet treats for his cousins and a large box of Krispy Kreme donuts for his brothers, who ran their own motor repair shop.

Mason stared at him in disbelief. Christ, that’s a heart attack waiting to happen.

They’re gifts for my family, sir. I’m seeing them tomorrow. Or I was, Tino sighed.

Are you trying to give them diabetes?

It’s what I can afford, Tino snapped, before remembering who he was talking to.

Fair point, but I think our need is greater than theirs right now. Mason picked up the bottle of Courvoisier and deftly removed the top with his blade. He toasted Tino and took a drink before handing it to him.

I don’t drink it, sir.

You have a problem?

No. I just don’t like the hard stuff. Well, I like cocktails but I’ve learned to keep away from anything stronger.

Why?

It makes me irresponsible. Tino pulled out a small bottle of water from his laptop bag and sipped at it, aware that if he drank too much, he would soon have another problem to deal with.

That’s the most interesting thing you’ve said so far. And FYI, booze makes me irresponsible too, but I don’t give a fuck. Mason drank again and replaced the lid before opening the donut box, choosing a sugar-dusted one. It was gone in an instant and he reached for another.

Shouldn’t we ration these a bit? Tino griped. He had chosen those donuts with care and love. He didn’t want to see them disappear in five freaking minutes.

Look at the size of me. If I don’t eat something now, by this time tomorrow I will turn cannibal. Mason bit into the donut.

What if we need to shit? If we eat too much ...

Mason’s stare was needle-sharp. Are you this much fun at home?

Sir, I’m just saying ...

Eat a fucking donut. You look like you could do with one. We’ll have the rest for Thanksgiving. That’s in about two hours. Christ! He thumped the wall of the elevator in frustration, making Tino jump again.

Food was the last thing Tino wanted right then, but with the CEO watching him, refusing wasn’t an option. He took a chocolate iced donut and nibbled at it. Mason pushed the remainder of the food to one side but kept the bottles where they could reach them. He turned off the light and they were doused in blackness again.

Tino groaned softly. How shitty was his day going to get? He thought of his snug coat, hanging uselessly by his desk, and cursed inwardly.

At least they could breathe, thanks to a small amount of air coming in from the vent in the ceiling and the partially opened door. The temperature was reasonable at the present, but Tino knew it could drop to -10 overnight. With everything shut down, having to snuggle up to keep warm was a definite possibility.

The thought made him shiver.

You’re Valentino from Marketing. It was a statement, rather than a question. Mason’s voice was low and intimate, coming from only a few feet away.

Yes, sir. Tino was shocked that the CEO would know anything about him. But everyone calls me Tino. Valentino was Nonna’s idea. She loved Rudolph Valentino. You know, the actor?

Not personally, but yeah. You enjoy your job, Valentino?

Tino hesitated a fraction too long. It’s great.

Mason nudged his foot. Liar. You hate it because of that jumped-up little prick we promoted ahead of you. Right?

Tino’s mouth dropped open in the dark.

Right, he agreed faintly.

After a moment, Mason spoke again. What do you aspire to, Valentino? Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?

Tino gulped. How had this become like a horror version of The Apprentice? He wasn’t prepared for questions like that.

Um, to be honest, sir, right now I’m just concentrating on making the rent.

Surely you’ve thought about it? You’re what, thirty? And still number crunching for some asshole in the Marketing department. What are you good at?

Fuck.

Tino barely mouthed the word, but he heard a distinct catching of breath from nearby.

Did you just roll your eyes at me, Valentino?

The question had been delivered in such a soft, menacing growl, Tino’s backside pimpled.

Sir … He rested his head back against the elevator, resigned to answering the question. I’m good at looking after people. I’ve planned my brother’s weddings, from the flowers to the venue to their honeymoons. I’m good at organization and fine details, I guess. And numbers. I help Tony - that’s my brother - with his books. He runs a motor shop in Brooklyn.

That’s admirable. The dry tone in Mason’s voice implied that he thought the opposite.

Thanks, but you might as well know, I was given my final verbal warning today. That’s why I stayed late to finish up. Tino figured honesty had to be the best policy, because it was obvious the wretched man would find out anyway.

Why the warning?

The elevator broke in my apartment block. I helped one of my neighbors and her son up to the fifth floor. The kid has asthma and can’t breathe properly. I’d do it again, even if it means I lose my job. Sir.

So you were late. You make a habit of that?

No, sir. Just had a run of bad luck lately.

Silence.

Arrivederci career, but Tino no longer cared. There would be other jobs, if he ever got out of this damned metal box.

In the dark, he could hear Mason fumbling about, then his voice. Christ alive, what fresh hell is this?

Sir?

This shit I’m drinking now.

Tino grinned, glad of the darkness and the change of subject. Baileys Irish Cream. For my nonna.

The sound of drinking. I guess it isn’t bad, under the circumstances.

Keeps your blood sugar levels up, Tino ventured. Better than donuts.

Where’s your family, Valentino?

Brooklyn. They don’t come into the city much now. Last time Mom came, it was in the back of an ambulance. Her heart was bad.

Sorry to hear it.

Thanks, sir. She’s okay, but she’ll be worrying if I don’t turn up tomorrow.

I guess we’ll have to take your mind off that until we’re allowed out.

The way he said it sounded suggestive to Tino, but that had to be his overheated imagination.

Play I-Spy, perhaps?

Mason didn’t answer. Obviously, he wasn’t one for jokes.

Again, the silence grew heavy between them.

"So… have you watched all the Die Hard movies?" Tino asked, after a long while.

No.

Don’t bother. I mean, the second one is okay, and the third is pretty good, but the fourth and fifth are both two hours you won’t get back. And before you say it, the first one isn’t a Christmas movie. That’s a hill I’m prepared to die on.

Mason didn’t reply.

Tino gabbled on. "My favorite action film is Face/Off. Nicholas Cage is one weird motherfucker, isn’t he? Oh, and Con Air. ‘Put the bunny back in the box…’"

Shut the fuck up, Valentino.

Tino bit his lip. Right, so it’s no good me asking what kind of music you like either?

He heard a huff of breath and could imagine the man rolling his eyes, wondering what he had done to deserve being stuck with such a moron.

"I like to listen to Nina Simone, if I’m fucking. Sometimes classical music when I’m driving, so I don’t behave like an asshole behind the wheel. One of the best films I’ve seen in years is Goodfellas, which doesn’t mean I want to suck Robert De Niro’s dick. And FYI, Die Hard is totally a Christmas movie, so suck it up."

As Tino quietly digested those nuggets of information, he felt Mason nudging his foot.

What about you?

Tino was shocked he would even ask. "Oh! Er… my taste in music is pretty mixed. I’m all about dance music. Oh, and my nonna got me hooked on opera when I was a kid. La Bohême, Carmen. And musicals, of course. I guess I’m just your average, garden-variety gayboy…" He paused when he heard another sharp intake of breath. Obviously he had been talking too much again.

"Die Hard is not a Christmas movie," he mumbled under his breath.

He heard Mason take a drink.

It fucking is, the CEO muttered back.

3

BRUTAL SEDUCTION

TINO

Happy Thanksgiving. Mason had commandeered the cognac bottle. He nudged Tino’s leg with it. Here. Let’s get wasted.

Thanks, sir. Their fingers brushed together as Tino took the bottle. He sipped at it and felt a warm glow as the liquor went down. Cognac really wasn’t his thing but there wasn’t anything else to do. He might as well join him.

He felt Mason stretch out next to him. His hand brushed against Tino’s thigh as he groped for the bottle again.

It’s here. Tino felt for his hand and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle. He tried not to think about fumbling with Mason in the dark, hands stroking, lips meeting, discovery and exploration, taking advantage of the unreal situation they had found themselves in...

You have someone waiting for you to come home?

No, sir. I split with my boyfriend a few months back.

Why?

The question threw Tino a bit. It wasn’t as if the man cared one way or the other. He got interested in extreme BDSM and it wasn’t my thing.

Fair enough. It isn’t for everyone. It sounded almost as if Mason had dabbled in the practice himself. Tino shivered at the thought of Mason being a Dominant. It was time to change the subject before his body started reacting again.

What about you? Do you have family?

Mason laughed harshly. Yeah, you could say that. He had been drinking steadily for a while now, and his voice had lost its former clipped tone. The last time I saw my mother, I called her an interfering bitch and walked out of her house. We haven’t spoken since.

Wow. The tongue-loosening effect of alcohol never ceased to amaze Tino. It was part of the reason he was careful what he drank.

Yeah. I was out of line. She forces me to see truths I won’t face.

That’s her job, as a mom. You should see her. She’ll give you a hug and it’ll all be okay.

You’re right. She would, but I don’t deserve that. I’m a fucking asshole. Which is why I was going to spend tomorrow in my apartment, with a hooker with no gag reflex. And now, that isn’t going to happen either. Happy Thanksgiving.

They lapsed into silence again. Tino became aware of the fall in temperature and again pined for his coat.

It’s getting colder. I wonder if it’s snowing?

Could be. Yeah, you’re right. The temperature’s dropping. You don’t have a coat?

"I left it at