Chapter 1 #2
The very energy of the club thickens as I walk down the sultry red hallway.
A door to a private room opens as I pass, and I gasp when a couple tumbles out of it: her carrying her heels, one of her dress straps slipping off her shoulder, him with his tie and several buttons of his shirt undone.
I glance back at them and immediately feel my whole body stiffen when I see him press her to the wall and bury his face in her neck, making her whimper as she grabs his ass.
I don’t belong here.
The two huge men in black suits standing outside a nondescript door would be enough of a giveaway that this is room I’m looking for. But I also know that the inner circle of the Syndicate is meeting in private lounge thirteen tonight because I stole that information.
Two weeks ago, Val left his phone unlocked on the edge of the stage after rehearsal.
Me, being in full recon mode for my plan, took the opportunity to snoop for anything that might be useful.
That’s when I found the text from Vaughn to his younger brother, inviting him to this party tonight here at Venom.
Val’s response: lol fuck no, not my scene anymore.
It’s not my scene, either, by a freaking mile. But one of us is taking Vaughn up on his kind invitation tonight.
The two guards in matte black masks barely acknowledge me when I come to a stop in front of the black door with the brass number thirteen on it, along with a blood-red emblem of a viper—the sigil for Club Venom.
I take a shaky breath, feeling like I’m growing smaller as I dig my nails into my palms.
“Arcana sub silentio.”
Secrets under silence.
It’s the code word for entrance to the party, courtesy of more snooping in Val’s phone. The two guards barely make a move. One of them simply dips his chin, reaches his arm out sideways, and twists the knob of the door before pushing it open.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “I—”
Good Lord.
I don’t know why I assumed the party for the inner circle of the Obsidian Syndicate, being held at a sex club, would be any different from the wildness I just witnessed out on the main floor. But I did.
And I was wrong.
Extremely wrong.
My breath chokes in my throat, my eyes blinking rapidly as I stutter to a halt with one foot through the doorway, faced with pure, hedonistic madness.
Threesomes. Foursomes. There’s one girl on her knees at the far side of the room, totally naked except for her mask, surrounded by the six men she’s…uhh…
Servicing.
With her mouth and both hands.
Holy. Heck.
A loud cry of pleasure rips my gaze to another vignette, and my jaw drops another inch or two when I find myself looking at two gorgeous women—one Asian with silver-streaked hair, the other a ginger with freckles across her skin, on top of each other in a sixty-nine position while two men fuck them mercilessly.
“Miss.”
I flinch, gasping a little as I wrench my attention back to the guard who opened the door. Was it just a second ago? Or have I been standing here staring like a psycho at this craziness for hours? I can’t see his eyes through the dark black holes in his mask, but I can feel them burning into me.
“Are you entering or not?”
“Entering,” I blurt, forcing my legs to work as I make my way into the carnal chaos of the low-lit room.
The door shuts behind me with a click, the finality of it making my pulse jump and my belly tighten.
What the heck are you doing?
Not everyone in the room is engaged in the X-rated display.
Some guests, clothed, are standing by a dark bar, where a petite woman in a black evening gown is mixing and shaking drinks.
Others talk quietly in armchairs, half observing the sex and half simply talking, as if this is a regular, normal thing.
Everyone’s wearing a mask, staff and guests alike. Even so, the second I see him, I know I’m looking at the devil himself.
Vaughn sits by himself on the far side of the room, lounging back in a deep, dark brown leather armchair by a crackling fireplace.
One of his hands hangs lazily over the side of one of the armrests, holding a glass.
The other hand slowly strokes his chiseled, razor-sharp, clean-shaven jaw beneath the matte black and blood-red mask covering the top half of his face.
He’s in a black dress shirt, open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It gives a huge view of the expansive collection of dark, twisting, malevolent-looking tattoos that swirl up his arms from his wrists, across his chest, and all the way up his neck to his tight jaw.
For one insane moment, I feel my brain starting to suggest I walk over to him.
Yeah, how about hell to the no.
Instead, swallowing heavily, I roll my shoulders back, pushing my meager cleavage out as I walk with as much Vivian Leigh swagger as I can possibly muster toward the bar.
The bartender dips her chin at me.
“Just soda water, please,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t move, and just keeps staring at me through the empty, soulless dark eyeholes of her mask.
“Um, vodka, then,” I mumble.
This time she nods, setting a crystal tumbler on the bar and then pouring a very expensive-looking vodka into it before pushing it my way, all wordlessly.
I thank her in a shaky tone, bringing the glass to my lips. I take the smallest sip possible, instantly feeling my throat tighten as the burn trickles over my tongue.
I barely drink. First, because it takes all of one glass of wine to make me giggly, and two to get me falling down drunk.
But also because I don’t like the loss of control that comes with alcohol.
It’s another of the things that my friends love to tease me about, especially Milena, who’s also Russian, and always jokingly threatens to “revoke my Russian card”.
But when in Hell, act the part.
A sharp cry yanks my head around, my eyes bulging when they land on the woman who just uttered it.
She’s on her knees, straddling one guy who is madly thrusting up into her pussy.
A second man crouches over her, and when I realize what he’s doing and where he’s putting his… thing…my blood turns to fire.
At the SAME time??
Holy moley.
I take another quick, tiny sip of vodka, ignoring the burning as best I can, hoping the liquor will at least take me down a notch from freaking out to just plain anxious. Right now, I’m so out of my element that I’m not sure I could even speak one word to Vaughn.
But I have to.
You do what you have to for family.
I take one more awful sip of vodka, then turn my gaze back toward Vaughn.
Crap.
The chair by the fireplace is now empty. I dart my eyes around the room, vainly trying to spot him.
Shoot shoot shoot.
What if he left? Or what if he didn't, but it turns out he’s ditched his clothes to become one of the exhibitionists getting his freak on in front of everyone? What am I going to do, walk up and tap his shoulder while he’s screwing someone and ask for a moment of his time?
My pulse starts to jangle in wild, uneven staccato beats. My palms turn slick again as anxiety claws and twists inside me, laughing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath coming too quickly as my heart begins to crawl up into my throat.
“I just have one question.”
Gasping, I whirl toward the deep, smooth and yet venomous baritone behind me. Then I go still.
It’s him.
Vaughn.
My whole world narrows until all I see is his icy blue eyes piercing into me like twin blades from behind his mask. His chiseled, hewn jawline. His regal nose and perfect lips, which are vaguely curled into a hint of an amused yet cruel smile as he towers a foot over me.
“What are you doing here?” he purrs in that same even-toned, deep baritone with a touch of smoke and rasp at the edges of it.
The timbre is so unapologetically in control, and his scent—a slight spice, mixed with a clean earthiness—is so deeply masculine that I feel my skin start to tingle, as if I’m standing too close to the sun or a god.
…Or a devil.
Every survival instinct tells me to turn and run. To put as much distance between myself and this insane idea as possible and then spend the rest of my life forgetting I was ever stupid enough to even consider it.
But something tells me he wouldn’t let me get far.
So I swallow, take a slow breath, then force a calmness that I don’t remotely feel into my voice as I smile.
“Mr. Bancroft.” I dip my chin gracefully. “Such a pleasure to meet you. My name is Vivian—”
My brain shuts off even before my throat realizes it’s being squeezed. My eyes bulge, my mouth dropping open in a horrified “O” as Vaughn’s large, strong hand wraps around my throat and tightens.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, Evelina…”
The floor drops out from under me. My heart stops beating.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”