Chapter Four
T he golden rule was to never interrupt a session—especially at Pendulum.
I’d broken that rule more times than I could count, making a stand against anyone who refused to treat others with dignity. At times, it made me unpopular, but I never cared what people thought of me.
Stomach twisting, I was considering ways to numb the pain when I witnessed Amelia in a compromising scene that placed her in harm’s way.
I left the great hall and walked the familiar route along the winding hallway, soon reaching the private bar and continuing onwards. I stepped into another corridor and headed for what was essentially a dead end.
There was a cupboard-like space there that held more significance than most guests realized—it was a secret elevator.
I entered the space I wasn’t meant to know existed.
I’d taken this route before, but Atticus and Jake had no idea I had visited the upper floors. And that was about to be revealed—I could feel it in my gut. With a press of a hidden button, the elevator rose, taking me to the sixth floor.
A month ago, Atticus had found this covert elevator. I had pretended to have no knowledge of it when he’d mentioned it, not being ready to admit what I had done for Pendulum before Atticus and Jake were members.
My passion had been twisted into the barbaric.
Once, I’d found pleasure in crafting buildings that defied gravity, pushing the limits of logic, and, against all odds, finding a way to invite the light in. It was never about me; it was always what the building became for others.
But this place had ruined that for me.
When the elevator door opened, I stepped out onto the blood-red carpet. A scarlet welcome that served as a portent of what was to come—the blood sports they played that often led to a trespasser’s death.
Mirrored walls reflected my tall, lean frame as I walked by, guilt etched into every step—I knew the way. I’d want to say it was my way of protecting my friends, but they’d never see it like that.
From the beginning, being at Pendulum had soothed my soul. I had carved out a space for my rough edges. Taming unruly submissives with endless pleasure. Providing my special brand of bliss. The subs would search me out after a scene and beg for more time with me.
I’d always preferred pleasure to pain—structuring emotions out of their suffering and bringing them back to bliss.
Which was how I’d discovered Amelia.
Downstairs, she had fallen into the deep end now—she had made her choice.
This set of private chambers blended the elements of a parlor with the intimacy of a changing room. Its velvet drapes and intricate furnishings whispered luxury and indulgence.
This room had belonged to Aemon Roper, the club’s High Chancellor—before Atticus had tracked Roper to Thailand and ensured he’d never set foot in Pendulum again. We suspected Atticus might have killed him, but we didn’t know for certain.
Aemon had once held all the power here.
Now, he was nothing more than a sordid memory. His widow, Eve, and his daughter were finally free from abuse. Eve seemed so happy with Atticus. After everything Aemon had done to her, I couldn’t be more relieved that she was finally free of that bully of a husband.
I found what I had come here for—a full-faced masquerade mask. After slipping it on, I also found a gown known to belong to a member of the High Chamber. This attire would grant me full authority.
I disappeared behind one of the full-length mirrors, entering a secret passageway—the same one I had designed to run between the walls of the sixth floor. It led to a private staircase.
I descended the stairs and slipped back into the great hall.
The base thumped as Beethoven morphed into modern tech in a hypnotic backdrop to the erotic central scene featuring Amelia, the submissive being showcased.
The three Doms sat beside each other on the long mahogany table. Amelia who was on her feet now, moved from one to the other, dipping her head between their thighs and sucking them off. Shiny cocks glistened in the dimness, shafts erect, the men eager and excitable. I sensed their bodies vibrated with energy, their minds spiraling with thoughts of the play and pleasure ahead.
They’d made themselves stars of the scene and knew what to bring to the moment.
Ironic that it had been me who had trained her about a submissive’s form, to be conscious with the way she appeared during a session. She was taking these skills and implementing them to perfection. Only not with me.
She focused between the thighs of the man in the center. He leaned back, resting on his elbows, and stared at the ceiling as she deep throated him, working him into a quiet frenzy. Her head bobbed, blue hair twinkling beneath the lights as she took him all the way to the back of her throat.
The men on either side watched them with interest, both stroking their dicks, waiting patiently for her mouth to find them again. Amelia lifted her head and moved towards the man on the left and bestowed to him the same level of attention. Her delicate hands rested on his thighs as her frenzied tongue lapped at his erection, and then she dipped her head to focus on his balls.
Her betrayal was a gift that kept on giving.
Revenge, it comes in many colors, hues as rich and varied as the tapestry of desire itself. For her, vengeance was a brush dipped in the darkest of desires, painting a portrait of seduction. She knew I’d hear of this. Gossip would find me and do its worst.
But right now, she had no idea I was here.
She was the queen, the one everyone admired beneath the glow of lights, untamed, and hungry for cock, as though she could never be sated.
Amelia was unwittingly fueling these flames of my own vengeance against Jewel, the one who now clearly owned her.
This session was both cruel and intoxicating.
I could leave. Not interfere. Let this exquisite pain blossom and then inspire me to burn down this place.
But she was at risk.
They were using her; there was no doubt.
A few guests had seen me, the mysterious masked figure at the back of the hall.
A man wearing this attire had the power to expel them all.
I had come here for one reason—to get her out.
Walking towards the table, I brought the scene to a swift end with a flick of my hand and a stern command to stop. Amelia ceased what she was doing and dropped to her knees, bowing before me. She knew to obey a master from the High Chamber.
The men sat up trying to gauge what was happening. One of them tucked his cock away, zipping his pants up with a struggle. The other two looked confused, unsure as to whether to tackle me or be worried they had done something wrong.
I ignored them.
“Come with me,” I told her, not caring that they would be left with no explanation as to why I’d ended their session.
Amelia followed me out.
I escorted her along the hallway in silence. The robe and mask I wore were a decent disguise—I didn’t want her bolting back into the hall to spite me.
I opened the door to the library and gestured for her to enter ahead of me, pointing towards the center of the room. She scurried over and knelt before me, fully aware that I’d come down from the sixth floor.
For her.
If nothing else, that alone should instill fear.
My beautiful former submissive knelt before me, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked up at me with curiosity infused with apprehension.
How easy it would be to pull her into my arms and tell her how much she meant to me. Used to mean to me, before all this.
“Closer.”
She stepped forward. “Greyson?”
I reached out and gripped her right wrist tightly. With a twist, I pulled the ring off her finger, even as she tried to yank her arm away to prevent me from taking it.
Her face flushed. “What are you doing?”
She reached for it, but I’d already tucked it into my jacket pocket.
“Mrs. Roper gave it to me.”
I pointed towards the adjoining room. “Get dressed.”
“I want my ring back.”
“It was never yours.”
I escorted her into the changing room. “Everyone out!”
Submissives scurried through the door, glancing back with intrigue. My mask was a terrifying symbol of power.
Amelia opened a locker and pulled out her travel bag. Rummaging through it, she grabbed a bra and panties. Then, with those on, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It wasn’t lost on me that I had bought her those. Including the cashmere sweater she pulled over her head.
“Why won’t you show your face?” she bit out.
Now that she was dressed, I grabbed her arm and led her out and along the hallway, escorting her all the way to the back of the club.
Then I opened the rear door and pulled her outside with me.
I gestured to the waiting taxi and then handed her a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “That’s for you.”
She peered down at the money, tears staining her cheeks. “Why can’t I stay?”
I shook my head, stunned she couldn’t see the mess she’d made. “There’s also money in your bank account,” I said. “Leave Los Angeles.”
“Jewel made me do it.”
The numbness lifted, and I pointed towards the taxi. “Get in.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Go back to Ohio.”
“Greyson, please. This isn’t you.”
“Actually, it is.”
“You hate me.”
“I hate what you did,” I said.
And this is me saving you, but you’ll never see it, or understand it, or have a sense of the risks I’ve taken to get you away from here.
“Go.”
“This place will never be yours,” she said bitterly, shoving the money into her purse.
I refused to answer, and she turned away and climbed into the backseat of the taxi.
I watched it drive away with her in it.
Taking a few seconds, I breathed in the air, grateful I had found out now she was this person, not years down the line when the pain would be greater and harder to endure.
A part of me refused to believe she would willingly hurt me. Barbs of agony threatened to rip apart my soul.
I turned and slammed Pendulum’s door shut, unsure if I would ever return. I heard the door’s automatic lock engage, securing those inside and mercifully locking me out.
I tore off the mask and dragged off the cloak, heading away from Pendulum, throwing the disguise into a large dumpster as I turned the corner. I strolled back along the ocean front to where I’d parked Cameron’s car.
A long limo drove up beside me, keeping pace with my steps. A sinister threat to let me know I was being followed.
It pulled ahead of me and parked. The passenger door swung open, and Jewel Hadley stepped out onto the curb, impeccably dressed in a blue business suit, with that blonde chignon and an air of arrogance.
Jewel joined me on the sidewalk, striding briskly beside me to keep up with my pace, not missing a beat.
“You should be more careful,” she said. “Anything can happen at this time of night…walking alone.”