Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
AINSLEY
Anna James—I can work with that. At least it’s not some old lady name like Agatha or Marjorie. We head to the hostess podium to enter the secret, but not-so-secret club upstairs. The hostess towers over me in sky-high black pumps and a short black dress that’s far too revealing.
“Hi, welcome back.” Her seductive tone, and the fact that she is only making eye contact with my boyfriend, is pissing me off. I've never been here before, I’m not sure what to say other than “eyes off my boyfriend.” I refrain from doing so—we technically aren't supposed to be here.
Jackson scans his card and looks at me, nodding his head toward the scanner. I scan mine, as well. Once my black card is accepted, the large-breasted leggy blonde moves around the hostess stand to Jackson’s side, opposite from where I'm standing, and links arms with him.
Is this bitch for real?
I’m not jealous; I’m really not. My anger is coming more from a respect standpoint. She's definitely not a girl’s girl.
“Right this way, sir. You and your guest can enter through this door.” His guest? I’m pretty sure I scanned a black card as a member, too. Ew, this is just bad behavior. I wouldn’t want some tramp disguised as a hostess hitting on my partner in front of me. Why would I stay a member of a club with slutty staff that know no boundaries?
Jackson and I walk through the door. I notice his head turn back for one more look at the hostess before he quickly faces forward again. God, he could have been a little more discreet.
“Are you ready for this? I heard the parties get pretty intense,” he says nonchalantly.
“Intense? Intense how?” I ask nervously.
He made this masquerade thing sound like a club full of snobby rich men smoking cigars and listening to jazz music while their trophy wives sip martinis.
“You’ll see, Toots. I want it to be a surprise.” He gives me a cheeky grin, and I’m not sure what to make of it or the way he's acting. And to think, I could be at home, snuggled up on the couch with my family, in cozy jammies watching Elf. But no, Jackson’s not-so-traumatizing accident brought me back. I don’t want to be partying, I want to be with my parents and Morgan, sipping hot chocolate and eating my weight in mom’s cookies. It is what it is, I’m here, so I might as well make the best of it.
At first glance, the club is gorgeous. Gray industrial concrete flooring, with long black booth-like seating against the entire length of the wall we’re facing. The walls are covered in mirrors.
Why so many mirrors?
I start to people-watch. Everyone is donning fancy attire, with gold masks similar to what Jackson and I are wearing. For the most part, everyone has a drink in their hand. It's rather mellow in this part of the club. It’s mostly just people gathered around conversing, enjoying their cocktails.
Jackson sits me at the bar and orders us a drink. Vodka on the rocks for him, and a glass of champagne for me. I turn to face the crowd, and my gaze steers toward what looks like a stage of some sort. Do they have live music or something?
“Toots, I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back, but go explore, and I’ll come find you.” He rubs my back, then walks away. I decide to do as he suggests and explore, but stop when I see a woman walk on the stage with a man following close behind her and?—
“Oh. My. God.”
She’s naked, and the man is shirtless, wearing only black fitted slacks. The lighting starts to dim, and the music changes from soft mood music to something darker that has a deep bass vibrating off the surrounding walls.
What is this?
I continue to watch the couple move to the center of the stage. I’m not even sure they are a couple. This may be a show of some sort—they look like runway models. When the rich notes of the song deepen through the speakers, the woman starts to dance with her partner. The man roams his hands over her body in a slow, teasing way. Their bodies move so effortlessly to the music.
I have a hard time looking away; their dance is mesmerizing to watch. The way their bodies move, so in sync with one another. The spotlight on them moves toward the back of the stage. They follow it to a vintage black chair with gold accents detailed in the wood. It’s a chair fit for royalty.
The woman guides the man backward to sit down, but he stops her by pressing his index finger to her lips. The tempo of the song picks up right as the man changes places with her and presses her down into the chair. She drops down onto the velvet seat, rubbing her hands along the arms of the chair.
What. The. Hell. He aggressively spreads her legs wide as she licks her lips, biting down on the bottom one. She's into this as much as he is. The entire room can see her downstairs, and my eyes go wide at the sight. Did Jackson take me to a strip club? This place gives off more class than a strip club, but then again, I have nothing to compare it to.
I assumed this was a strip dance—even though she was naked from the start—until the man shoves his face between her legs and starts licking her pussy. Jesus! What am I watching? My eyes are glued to them, but it now feels intrusive. Although, the other patrons are just as focused on them as I am, so they are obviously putting on a show.
A sex show.
* * *
I stopped watching the performance to find a bathroom after downing my glass of champagne. That was…interesting. I should feel embarrassed for witnessing what is usually a private moment, but instead my skin is flushed red, and I'm burning up. I’m trying to ignore the throb between my legs after watching them.
The restroom attendant hands me a hand towel. I thank her with a polite smile.
“First time?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, that was a… unique show,” I mutter to her.
“This reaction happens for a lot of first-timers. My only advice is to go in with an open mind. You never know, you may find you like more than you think. If you know what I mean.” She winks at me, and honestly, I’m too stunned by this entire evening so far to engage in more of this conversation.
“Thank you.” I give another polite smile, handing back the wet towel. I appreciate her pep talk, but right now, I need to find Jackson. I need to ask him why the hell he brought me here without any warning of what I was walking into. I make my way to the stage room and head for the bar. If I am going to confront Jackson about this, I need to down another glass of champagne.
The bartender, who is also very cute, hands me a flute of golden bubbles. Is it mandatory that every employee look beautiful? I see Jackson finally. He’s coming out of a different door than the one he exited through. His hand is in front of his crotch, adjusting what I am assuming is a hard-on. Maybe he saw a sex show, too.
He wraps his arms around me and leans in for a kiss on my cheek. I turn in my seat at the bar to face him. He looks confused at the angry scowl I'm giving him.
“Jackson. What the hell? You think you could have warned me about this place? I just watched two people practically having sex on stage!” I whisper-yell, not wanting to cause a scene—we shouldn’t be here in the first place.
“Let’s not do this here. Come on, let's go somewhere for you to bitch at me in private,” he whisper-yells back. He looks pissed, and he’s talking incredibly fast. I look at him more closely: he's fidgeting. He grabs my arm hard, and I’m pulled away with no chance to protest. I want to tell him he’s hurting me, but don’t want to draw attention to us. My parents would kill me if I bailed on them for an “accident,” only to end up in jail for sneaking into a sex club.
He pulls me into a dim room that looks similar to the rest of the club. He closes the door, and I hear the faint click of the lock. It’s fine, Jackson may get angry sometimes, but I've never felt unsafe around him. I wish he would just apologize for the lack of warning so we can move on. Wishful thinking…God, men are so stupid.
“Okay. Talk,” I state bluntly.
“Goddammit Ainsley! Can you stop being a pretentious cunt for two minutes?” He's yelling at me, his voice sharp and unrelenting. Hands in his hair, he paces the floor, muttering like he’s arguing with someone who isn’t even here. I catch a few words, but most of it’s low and slurred, he’s either drunk or losing his fucking mind.
“Did you seriously just call me a cunt? What the fuck is wrong with you? All I wanted was an apology for bringing me here without a heads up. Is it so hard for you to admit you were in the wrong?” I’m trying my best to keep my tone level. I don’t need him raging out at a place like this. I’m mad at him, but don’t want either of us in trouble.
He halts, smoothing his hair back. His face morphs from anger to eerie calm in the blink of an eye. The calm is almost more terrifying than the anger.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have warned you. That was in poor taste, and I apologize.” He moves in closer to me. I try to take a step back, but a piece of furniture stops me. Jackson is standing so close to me, and I feel his hand move up my arm to my neck, where he grips my throat.
“Will you forgive me?” His grip on my throat tightens.
“Can we leave? I’m not feeling well.” At this point, I will do everything I can to leave this room.
“You didn’t answer my question, Toots.” He still has one hand painfully gripping my neck while the other waves a shaky finger in my face. Hearing him call me Toots doesn’t feel the same at this moment.
“Yes, I'll forgive you. Can we please go? This isn’t fun for me.” I start to tremble, and my eyes well up with tears. It takes all the strength I have to keep them at bay.
“That’s the right answer.” His face looks almost possessed, and it's terrifying. “We're going to stay for a bit. I did what I came to do, now it’s time to play. Want to play with me, Ainsley?” His face contorts into a bone-chilling smile that sends shivers down my spine. The hand not squeezing my neck grabs the sleeve of my dress. In a flash, he rips it down my chest, exposing me. The bodice of the dress is tight, so there was no need for a bra. I regret the choice of dress as much as I regret agreeing to accompany him tonight.
I’m speechless right now, and take my focus off his face to find a way out of this room. I have a bad feeling he's going to make it near-impossible to escape.
“Babe, please, let’s leave. This isn’t funny.” I try my best to get my point across, attempting to keep him calm at the same time.
“Did you seriously just call me babe? Why now, Ainsley? God, I'm so fucking sick of this Miss Priss act you have going on. I did everything right. Didn’t I?”
I start to answer him, but he cuts me off.
“Shut the fuck up! I’m not done speaking.” I close my mouth quickly at his command.
“I was the doting boyfriend. I was finally the guy I never needed to be with girls. They flocked to me, but you were different. I knew I needed to summon every ounce of gentlemanly charm I had to get you to open those legs for me.” His hand is shaking as he slides it down my stomach to between my legs.
Slap!
He slaps the inside of my thigh to spread my legs open, just as he described. I shake my head as the floodgates finally open, tears falling fast down my cheeks.
“Stop fucking crying! Oh, you’re scared? What the fuck did you expect? Did you think you could drag me along as a distraction while pining for Maddox? I’m not anyone’s plan B. For fuck’s sake, I stayed monogamous for you—blow jobs from random bitches don't count. At least I didn’t fuck anyone...I didn’t fuck anyone for you!” I focus on the rise and fall of his chest, because I can’t look him in the eyes. I stay silent.
“I’m owed your virginity for the amount of bullshit I put up with. So spread your legs and give me what I deserve.”
Is this seriously the way I lose my virginity? Raped in a sex club by a psycho I thought I knew? Think, Ainsley…fucking think!
I lean back as best I can—his hand still grips my neck. I move my hand to feel around the surface of what I am up against. The lamp is on the opposite side of the room—there goes the idea of bashing it over his head. Jackson has at least a hundred pounds on me, strength is not in my favor.
Balls! I can kick him in the balls, that'll hopefully give me the opening to run. I hope my knee has enough force to cause severe pain. I don’t have any room to bring my leg back for momentum, so this knee will need to come from pure anger. I refuse to be a victim of my current circumstances. If I am, it won’t be from lack of trying.
I slide my hands up his muscular arms, trying my best to be seductive, despite the tears that are rolling down my face. His eyes widen in surprise, still shifting quickly. He has to be on something. My facade is working; his grip is starting to loosen from my neck.
“I knew you would come around to see things my way, Toots.” My mouth starts to water, signaling I'm about to puke. He doesn’t get to call me pet names. Not anymore.
“Yeah, you just took me by surprise.” I grip his shoulders. The hand that was trying to grope me between my legs is now on my hip, and that gives me the advantage of putting a little distance between us.
You can do this. One hard knee to his balls. Three…Two…One…
Crunch!
“Ah, fuck!” He drops to his knees in pain, holding his junk with both hands. Is he crying? Good.
I move around him, running for the door, when I see a small red light on the wall. It looks like a button. Is this for emergencies? At this point, I don’t care if it sends an alarm through the whole club, I press it. His hand grabs my ankle, tripping me, and I fall to the hard floor. I cough from the force of the impact to my stomach.
“No-no-no! Please stop! You don’t want to do this, Jackson!” my broken voice pleads to whatever sanity he has left.
“Get over here, you fucking bitch! I swear to fuck, I'll be getting in that virgin cunt, whether you like it or not.” He's trying to drag me back to him by my ankle with one hand, his other hand still holding his dick.
I get whatever grip I can on the floor as I lie on my stomach. Bringing my knee up the side of my body as high as I can, I kick my heel back to his face. His hand drops from my ankle as a blood-curdling scream rattles the walls. I pull my body up to make a break for it—this may be my last chance to escape the bastard.
“Ahhh! Fuck! Ainsley, what the fuck have you done?” I chance a look back at the damage. He has blood rushing from his cheek, pooling next to his face where it’s pressed against the floor.
I guess stilettos come in handy for something.
I rush for the door, tripping over my heels and falling into the wall. I won’t curse these bad boys though, they just saved my ass.
A loud crash sounds through the room as someone busts the door open, rushing in. I start crying hysterically at the relief that hits me immediately—someone is here to save me from this piece of shit. That button was good for something, after all.
I blink the tears away to see who stormed in. My eyes widen in shock. I know the person standing in front of me, breathing erratically. His emerald eyes stare at me in horror.
“Ace?”