1. Lena
Three Months Later
The familiar smell of sweat and expensive cologne permeates through the club. With a drink in hand, I make my way back from the bar to one of the tall tables that sit around the dance floor's perimeter. There must be hundreds of people in here and more waiting outside to get in. The line is more than wrapped around the building of the hottest club in town, Masquerave. The requirement to get in is simple: you must wear a mask.
The building takes up an entire city block and is at least five, maybe six stories. Even in the light of day, it’s a looming presence in the middle of the city. While it’s a place to come and let loose from your regular life, I’ve also heard whispers of sinful debauchery that happens behind closed doors. But I’ve never been close enough to the action to see for myself.
To get in, we showed the bouncer our masks and IDs, who were definitely judging on more than the fact that you have a mask to put on. I’m extremely thankful for the girl we made friends in line with, because without her flashing her impeccable tits and all of us slipping that bastard an extra twenty, I don’t think we would have gotten in this time. Fucking men.
Looking over the edge of my drink as I take a sip, I watch the people in front of me on the dance floor and savor a moment to take in the club around me. The atrium of Masquerave is like walking into a cathedral of sin and debauchery. Up the three stories, the club lights glitter off the balcony railings like stained glass in the sunlight, their colors lighting up the club from floor to ceiling and shining a light on the crowded dance floor. People are dancing like they’re worshiping the music and the other bodies around them. I let my gaze float across the dance floor to the club's dark, more private corners. There’s not much to see from this distance because I’m making it a point to stay away. I'm not sure who I’d run into tonight, but I’m well aware of what happens in the shadows when the monsters come out to play.
The few times I’ve been here, I was surrounded by power hungry public figures and their equally hungry gazes as they watched the people who worked at this club. It wasn’t lost on me that they looked down their noses at the staff, only giving them their cheapest smiles when they were passing the non-discrete bills to pay for their experience behind the door of a private room.
Those people see themselves as gods on Earth and expect to be worshiped as such. They usually get off on bringing people to their knees, sometimes looking for their own pleasure and other times looking to cause pain. The latter brings them the most joy and erects their egos as much as their cocks.
The view from here gives me a better look at the exclusive booths at the back, blocked from everyone else behind velvet ropes, with staff waiting on them hand and foot. Now that I’m free from the watchful eyes from behind those ropes that might as well be chains, I finally get a view of the dancers in the cages that are suspended from the ceiling while others are on platforms that are level with the balconies on the higher floors. They are strategically placed so no one misses out on the show. They move to the music, enticing onlookers and the sea of masked people who are all grinding together on the dance floor.
The DJ booth sits high above our heads. A metal staircase leads up to one of the VIP balconies, and security guards flank both sides, ensuring that no one who isn’t permitted steps near it.
Adjusting my mask, made of face-formed black lace and a satin ribbon tied around my head, I look through the sea of sweaty bodies to find my friends, Bri and Kate. I see them grinding up on two men. Both are ripped and seemingly handsome, even from this distance.
Bri catches my stare through her scarlet red mask that’s almost identical to mine. She waves and starts blowing kisses at me, drawing Kate’s eyes in my direction. Her eyes light up through her plum-colored mask, gesturing for me to join them.
I raise my drink, saluting a carefree night. I add a reassuring smile and let them continue their fun.
My therapist claims that socializing will help with my previous traumas and assist me back into a normal routine within society. Whatever the fuck that means.
I write in my journal like the good patient I am, satisfying her just enough that she doesn’t press and clock the evenings out with my friends.
I’m done with people controlling me and telling me what to do. I give her just enough to make her feel like we’re getting somewhere, but never the whole truth. That could open up a can of worms that I worked too hard to seal shut.
I take a sip of my drink and I feel my phone buzz on the table, the screen face down. I ignore it, taking another sip, only for it to buzz again. It’s like I can feel his eyes on me, watching me. I look at my phone to be greeted by an unknown number sending multiple messages.
Taking another deep breath, I unlock my phone to see what it could possibly be now. What could I possibly be doing wrong, even though I’m single and away from him?
I read the first message.
UNKNOWN
Lena, baby. I miss yo u
Well, that’s a new one.
But then, we’re followed by:
UNKNOWN
Where the fuck are you?
And:
UNKNOWN
I know you’re not at home.
A shiver runs down my spine as I reread the last message. The image of the crowd parting and his broad shoulders casting large shadows under a spotlight, staring at me, has my heart racing. I’ve had this feeling of being watched ever since I left. The sensation of someone watching through the windows or following me on the street has weighed heavily on me. I feel fucking insane, because every time I look, no one is there.
Even with my growing paranoia, how could he possibly know that I’m not home? I’ve checked all my settings and apps to see if he has access to my location and there’s nothing. Anything else that he might have had access to was left behind when I finally got the fuck out of there.
I squeeze my eyes shut and place the phone back on the table, trying to calm my racing heart. He’s just fucking with me, that’s all. He probably paid someone to access my new number and wants to make me feel like a crazy person. And unfortunately, it’s working.
Opening my eyes, I trail across the mass of people to one of the pole dancers. I watch her move gracefully up and down the pole, completely mesmerized by her. She’s a great distraction in her red lace lingerie and delicate high heels. Her mask glitters in the disco lights and I’m fully entranced by her movements. I’m so engulfed in her show that I don’t even realize someone is walking behind me as I shift my weight back, bumping right into them.
I yelp, my heart jumping into my throat as I pull myself as close to the table as humanly possible. The table rocks forward and I grip the edges, so it doesn’t topple, which causes my drink to slosh over the edge, half of it spilling out. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, but a deep voice cuts through the music before I can blurt out an involuntary, I’m sorry .
“Excuse me, love.”
I nearly shudder with relief at the voice because it’s different from the one that plagues my nightmares. I stand up straight and turn to see a man in a black and silver mask shielding the top of his face, the intricate design shining in the dance floor lights. His thick, dirty blond hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. His chiseled jaw frames a charming smile.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. My nerves are nearly shot because, of course, I would bump into a handsome man and make a fool out of myself. I only had one sip of this drink and someone might think I was already hammered.
Our eyes meet, and I hold his gaze for a moment, taken aback by his striking blue eyes. They’re stunning and I have the sense that I’ve looked into them before, but I can’t seem to put my finger on where. More than likely here at one time, in passing, because it wasn’t like I was permitted to go anywhere that another man this handsome would also be.
He’s wearing dark jeans, dark dress shoes, and a white button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone, showing off part of his very chiseled chest. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off forearms that mirror a Greek god’s. He’s built, yet on the leaner side, but there’s nothing short of power that rolls off this man.
He nods in the direction of the dance floor as he says, “She’s good, isn’t she?” His deep, husky voice rises over the thump of the music, pulling me back from my thoughts.
My brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“Tasha.” He nods again, this time toward the dancer I had been watching. “The dancer. She’s good, isn’t she? ”
I look toward her just as she drops down into a split, before going hand over hand on the pole, bringing herself back up. Her moves are fluid, almost effortless. My mouth gapes open at her. “She’s…uh…amazing.” I watch her as she twirls around the pole and imagine the freedom she must feel being able to express herself like that, being a confident woman. She’s wearing lingerie, but she might as well be naked in the see through lace. “I could watch her all night.” The words slip from my lips, and I snap them shut, the heat of embarrassment crawling up my neck.
I look back at him and see a smile pull on his lips. “She is one of the best dancers we have here. A true artist.” He watches me like a wolf would watch a lamb, his bright blue eyes burning into me. I try to imagine what he looks like behind his mask, trying to place him. This place and their fucking rule. “Can I offer to buy you another drink?” he asks, gesturing to the mess on the table.
My face goes flush as I take in the mess I made, the cocktail napkin already drenched. I nervously giggle, because I don’t know the last time I’ve been asked by someone if they wanted to buy me a drink. I really don’t remember the last time a man offered anything to me where I actually had an option. Which makes me feel like this could be a trap set by my ex, that this guy could be here to lure me to wherever he is. God, Lena, you’re fucking paranoid. The man just wants to buy you a drink.
He watches me intently, his hands casually placed in his pockets. “I-I’m good, thank you.” I’m a fucking mess and need to get my shit together in front of this extremely attractive man. I can feel my face flushing even more, my racing heartbeat filling my ears. This stranger already has me flustered and I can’t figure out why, like there’s already a connection between us that I just can’t place.
He leans in, his breath smelling like a mix of whiskey and mint. “Are you sure?” His eyes lock with mine. “It’s on me.” I feel the curl of heat in my lower abdomen, because I feel like he’s offering me more than just a drink. I’m lost in his eyes and croak out the only two words my tongue can form. “I-I’m sure.” He smirks, as if sensing the pull he has on me. Without a word, he turns on his heel and walks toward the bar.
The heat that was curling in me snuffs out as I watch him walk away. Fucking great. I just offended this man, who is clearly someone of status in this club, by declining a drink. I let out a quiet, frustrated groan. Way to fucking go, Lena. You come out with your friends for a good time and act like you’ve never interacted with anyone before.
I slump onto the high-top table and let my eyes drift back toward the dancer, Tasha. She’s climbing up the pole and twirling down with grace. She really is an artist, the kind that makes you feel something deep and makes you want more of their work.
I would see videos of dancers on my social media and always wanted to take a pole dancing class. I brought it up one time to Matt, thinking he would find it sexy, but instead, he accused me of being a whore. He went on a whole tangent about how I would be out cheating on him in this class, that I would be learning how to whore myself out. He was absolutely furious that I would even suggest it, and the next day, I couldn’t find my car keys. I had to get an Uber to take me to work and bring me home, because he was giving me the cold shoulder and acted as though I didn’t even exist. I cried myself to sleep that night as he lay next to me, disgusted at myself for wanting to do something so erotic. I went through my phone and blocked all the accounts with any suggestive content, because the only thing I needed to be was the woman that he wanted me to be.
The next morning, my keys magically appeared on the hook by the door, as if they had been there the entire time. He made me coffee, and when I got home that night, he fucked me, actually taking the time to get me off first. I allowed the orgasm to wash away my hidden desires and we never spoke of the incident again .
I pick up my glass, sipping on what’s left of my drink and watching her a while longer. I’m lost in her movements as the song comes to an end. She does one last twirl around the pole, sticking out her flawless ass as she looks over her shoulder to the crowd, giving them one last look before she exits the stage.
I throw back the last of my drink, trying to wipe away the spill with the small cocktail napkin to no avail, and scan the crowd for my friends. A hand catches my elbow as I step away, causing my heart to speed up as fear pulses through my veins. I turn and am once again met with striking blue eyes and a black and silver mask.
It’s clear he doesn’t miss my overreaction and lets his hand slip away, my skin tingling where his fingers were. “I see that you’re ready for another round.” He smiles, looking at the empty glass on the table. “So I let the bartender know that all of your drinks are on the house tonight.”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I take in the hard line of his jaw, his lush lips, and his blond, tousled hair. “Thank you,” I barely manage to squeak out. How has this man left me so speechless? It’s like he has me by the throat.
He reaches out and gently brushes a stray piece of hair away from my face. “Of course, love. Enjoy your evening.”
I’m left standing there, my skin tingling from his touch, as he saunters past and heads toward an open doorway behind me. It’s dark except for a faint glow, making it seem very exclusive and not for regular patrons like me. He crosses the threshold and stops, turning back in my direction. His lips curl up into a Cheshire smile, seeing that he still has my attention. He holds my gaze for a beat longer before turning and disappearing into the dark.
Am I having an out of body experience or is this man attempting to lure me down a dark and mysterious hallway? I look back in the direction of my friends, who seem to be having the time of their lives on the dance floor. Bri is now turned around and is practically dry humping the guy she was grinding on earlier, while Kate has her arms wrapped around a new guy, her tongue shoved down his throat. He grabs her ass and hoists her up. Her legs wrap around his waist as he starts walking them toward the back wall where the private rooms are.
My mouth gapes at the sight, but I’m not surprised at their ability to be so carefree. I know we didn’t pregame that hard, but it’s been years since I’ve been out with the two of them. Maybe this is their normal now. Which is fine because, apparently, the urge to follow a stranger down a dark hallway is my new normal. I walk past a few people as I slowly make my way to the doorway he passed through. A part of my brain is screaming at me that this is a bad idea, but this is the same part of my brain that stayed quiet all those years. I don’t think its voice is valid anymore.
I brace my hands on the framing, leaning in to take a look around. It’s dimly lit by sconces on the walls, but there’s not a soul down it. I pass the threshold, and it’s almost as if the club on the other side is non-existent, as the music is drowned out.
As I walk into the long hall, I feel like I've walked into a completely different world. It’s lined on one side with doors, each with a gold number and a small red light next to it.
My heels click on the floor as I brave a few steps in, just as a door unlocks ahead. I freeze in place like a deer caught in headlights, watching as one of the doors down the hall opens slowly. Two women walk out, holding hands. Even from this distance, they look stunning, dressed in only black bras, thongs, and strappy, black heels. They’re both wearing black masks with bunny ears popping up past their hairline.
They both turn to face the door and I see that they have matching cuffs on their wrists and choker necklaces. Their lips turn up into dazzling smiles as a man walks out, cupping their faces and lifting their chins up. His upper body is bare, with tattoos covering both arms in full sleeves. He’s wearing black jogger pants and black sneakers, giving off a gym rat vibe. I’ve seen a lot of masks tonight, but not one like his. Its form is fitted to his head, like a ski mask, with a large zipper up the back. Only his eyes and mouth are exposed.
Still in my frozen state, I watch as he turns and stares right at me. His eyes light up as I stare back, his hand slipping into his pocket, pulling something out. My eyes flick down to see that he’s gripping two ropes—no, fucking leashes —and runs them through his hands until the metal clips hit his palm. Without breaking eye contact with me, he clasps the leashes onto each of the chokers and gives them a light tug to ensure they’re secure.
My eyes widen as realization hits me that those aren’t just chokers, but fucking dog collars. After another tug, chuckling, he breaks eye contact. He runs his hands down their necks to their breasts, running his thumbs over their nearly exposed nipples. I hear their soft moans, which seem to make his eyes twinkle with delight before he leads the women to a door at the other end of the hall. The clicks of their heels are almost in perfect sync with each other, the sway of their hips mesmerizing.
They stop in front of the door as he reaches out for the handle, but stops as his fingers wrap around it. He clears his throat, the sound traveling down the hall. I watch in amazement as both women clasps their hands in front of them and tilt their heads down in submission. He nods and grunts at them approvingly as he swings open the door, letting them through. He looks back at me one more time, letting his eyes run up and down my body. He gives me a grin that sends heat right down to my core before he passes through the door, closing it with a click behind him.
Once again alone, I stare at the door they went through, hardly believing what I just witnessed. Did I just walk into a sex club? I’ve been to this club a dozen times before and knew about the private rooms that people could use, but it didn’t even occur to me that there could be more happening behind the scenes. Has this always been here?
Clearly, I’m out of my fucking league here and just need to see myself back out to the club. I have no idea where the masked stranger went as he’s nowhere to be seen. I was out of my mind to think that he was flirting with me and encouraging me to follow him. Why would he when there are dozens of women here who would be a much better catch than me? Even though those dark thoughts would crowd my mind when I spent nights alone while Matt was out doing business, I’m too vanilla for this place.
I feel and definitely look like an idiot just standing here. Alone. I need to get the fuck out of here and find my friends. I turn to head back, but there’s someone leaning against the doorframe of the exit. The lights from the club behind him cast a shadow across him, blacking him out. I can barely make them out as a deep voice says, “Well, love, I didn’t expect to see you down here.” My heart races and the flame that had flickered out earlier burns bright again as he carries on. “Have you come to join the real fun?”