Chapter 1
One
Laila
I am in the heart of New Orleans. Its humidity and robust nightlife are a lure to my senses. To my left, I can walk three blocks and find a Voodoo priestess and to my right, I can get lost in the arms of a stranger I can pick up in a bar.
The former is infinitely more intriguing than the latter. Maybe someone with a little magic in their blood can help rid me of the chaotic feeling knotting my nerves together.
I close my eyes and inhale. One. Two. Three. I hold the night’s air before slowly releasing it back into the ether. I could live here forever and never go back to another dry Seattle summer again.
I love the heat and the feel of sweat trickling down my spine. It makes me feel alive and I will take that any day of the week. Swanky jazz with horns and piano has me wanting to backtrack the way we came.
I take another deep breath and this time the currents shift, bringing with it the heady scent of sin and sex. It’s as thick as the water clinging to the midnight air and just as enticing as the deep base pulsating outward from local dive bars and lounges.
Part of me wants blackness and silence. But giving in to those baser instincts is a recipe for depression. I can’t let that happen. I turn in place. As much as I would love to get lost in the crowds a street over, I don’t think my friend has the same idea.
I loop my arm through my best friend’s and lean into her. Arabelle has stardust in her eyes more than usual. Gold body paint and promises of forbidden lusts and kinks being fulfilled on a flashy billboard have lured her in and I swear if the right kind of man stood in front of her right this second, the innocent little flower would drop into his arms.
For a moment I imagine what it would be like to be that innocent of the world around me. My stomach clenches and my mind screams with panic.
Silly girl. She lives in a world where everything is just as it seems. I open my mouth to tell her to get her feet back on the ground, but the clanking of steel over rails from a passing streetcar drowns out a lot of my sour words.
On second thought, who am I to dash away her dreams of living in a fantasy world?
I shake the past off and pull my hair off my neck so I can breathe a little easier. I don’t know why, but having my hair on my neck makes me want to throat punch someone in heat this sweltering.
“What are you looking at?”
She points up. “Them.”
I follow the direction of her finger.
One night of sin.
Our little secret.
What are you waiting for?
Let The Gilded Key Society sate your every sinful desire.
The words flash on the digital billboard. Next to them .
Whoa. An aura of intoxicating arousal bleeds through the screen as three men take the willing woman’s mouth in a sultry kiss before turning back to the viewer.
Wow.
The Gilded Key Society. I wiggle my brows at Arabelle, getting her to laugh a nervous little sound that makes me think what I am about to share won’t go over too well.
“Kinky shit. Secret society? Ohhh lala. It does sound fun. Sign me up! Do you see what they offer?” I glide a mischievous look her way. “Wanna?”
Just like clockwork when presented with something forbidden, Arabelle grabs my hand and points us toward the opposite side of the street to safety. I love her for it, but this girl needs to live a little. She thinks hiding out in our dingy and cheap hotel room will keep her safe and her good Catholic upbringing intact.
Some people are too sheltered for their own good.
I raise my voice over the clanking sound of another passing streetcar and count off why The Gilded Key Society would be a good idea. “One, we wanted to get lost and have an adventure for once which leads me to number two. There are so many rooms to pick from and you know I like some kinky shit…”
What I am not saying is possibly the best reason why The Gilded Key Society would be the place to be tonight. The truth is, I need to find a man. I’ve run away from personal contact for so long that I fear if I keep doing it, I’ll die never knowing love.
Arabelle looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Okay, so it’s also true that I don’t know who is more scared at the thought of a man touching them—my friend or me. She’s confessed to a long dry spell, sure. But it doesn’t compare to mine.
I wrap my arms around Arabelle’s middle. “You know you wanna. Look at all that man meat. The fuck-me-now vibes are off the charts! I could lick all those mountain ridges and pierced nipples for a day and a night when they look like that.”
She rolls her eyes and slaps at me playfully before dropping her head to my shoulder. “You have a serious problem, you know that?”
I hide my nerves behind a throaty moan and fake my next words like I’ve done for so long that it comes out naturally. “I just like dick.”
She buys my sassy comment but a voice in the back of my head screams for me to just confess my deepest darkest secrets. We’ve been friends since the first day of college. What would she say if I told her the truth driving this road trip is much more than just a celebratory adventure for graduating college. I’m here to face demons.
I can’t stomach her looks of pity so I shelve the whole idea and play the party girl routine up more. No one can hurt you if you don’t let them know you are weak, to begin with.
There’s never a need to burden others with the nightmares that wait for me when I close my eyes for the night.
Sweat trickles down the center of my back. I could use a really cold beer. And then the rest of my plan will fall into place. I’m sure of it.
“Come on it will be kinky, fun and we will finally end the dry spell you are always moaning about.”
She snorts. “Fun, kinky yes, but what I think you meant to say is crazy expensive, right? Last I checked we have enough for a few drinks tonight, breakfast, and just enough gas to get us back to Seattle.”
The last place I want to be.
I tap the front of my teeth with a freshly painted nail the color of midnight. “Right. New plan. Maybe next girls-only road trip we can explore the finer sites. But for now, what if we get some sexy men to pay for our drinks instead?”
I keep who my family is strictly under wraps for a reason. No black credit cards or loose spending money. I work for every dime I spend and I pay my way through college.
My stepfather can choke on his money and my mother can fall into her drunken stupor and hide from the world. I have better plans.
Arabelle raises a brow and regards me with piqued interest as we walk. “What was that?”
I shrug and play off my momentary weakness. “What?”
“That flash of murder in your eyes. You looked like someone killed your puppy. Are you okay? You’ve been a little quiet on this trip which is not like you, babe.”
“I just need a beer and some loud music is all. This heat would drive anyone to murder.”
She stares at me intently for a minute like she wants to peel my layers back. Unfortunately for her, my armor is thicker than Fort Knox’s impenetrable walls. When all she finds is a smile, as usual, she hikes the hem of her long skirt and ties the ends off in knots. We dodge around leftover water puddles. We both thought the nice early afternoon shower would make the night cooler, but the humidity seems to have thickened instead.
Maracas and the tap of fingers over taut bongos carry out into the streets. Mixed scents of old wood and cigar smoke drift in the humid air as we make our way back to our little hotel. I have to work fast if I want tonight to pay off.
Her long skirt and halter top scream laid-back hippie from decades past while my daisy dukes and motorcycle boots tell a whole other story. She’s frilly and quiet while I’m tomboy rowdy. As college juniors, we would joke about her love of kohl eyeliner over my obsession with falsies which I gave up a long time ago. But that is where our differences end.
We share everything from our favorite books to food and bands. She knows everything there is to know about me. Except for him . Some secrets don’t deserve the breath of life. Not when they already steal so much of my soul.
I’ve kept her far away from that part of my life for good reason.
I grab her arm and pull us to a stop. “Okay, you need to trust me right now. I have an idea.”
Pleading eyes turn on me. “Err…okaayy.”
So I might have landed us in jail a couple of summers ago which earns me the mistrust I see in her eyes.
I check the street signs. “Yeah, this is the spot. A friend told me about a busy Latin club and I want to see you work your moves on the dance floor before we have to head back to reality.” Now that the ink has dried on our college diplomas, I have choices to make. Go home and stay with my family—not an option. Or…I don’t know. One problem at a time, I guess.
I change our trajectory and pull Arabelle down a dark alley before spinning us out a block over into a busy street. Locals mill around and the sound of salsa music spills into the street from a line of clubs. Seriously, you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Which explains the source of the bongos and cigar smoke. Wide terraces extend out from the clubs and on the balconies are tens of partygoers out enjoying a humid New Orleans Saturday night.
Glittery dresses and nicely-dressed men are all over the place. Beside me, Arabelle looks down at herself and wrinkles her nose. I do the same for myself. Yep, cocky, sassy, and a little bit of trouble. Just the way I like it. No one messes with me when I look like I have zero fucks to give in the bank.
Designer clothes and cute hairstyles only draw the eye of the wrong people. When you look innocent it calls all the weirdos out like you have a flashing sign over your head daring them to abuse you.
So I opt for the clunky motorcycle boots, messy buns, and daisy dukes. My fuck you vibe is off the charts and right where I want it.
But my friend seems conflicted. I lightly shake her shoulders. “None of that. Here. Take my lipstick.” Using her darkened phone screen Arabelle swipes on a pretty healthy dose of fuck-me-now-red before slipping it and her phone into her handbag. Good, it suits her better than me.
With a glide of fresh lip gloss and a brush of mascara over the tips of winged eyeliner, I’m good to go. The deep dip of my halter top and tight cling of my shorts over my ass gives a hint of dirty sexy fun. I sweep my hair up into a fresh bun, a few strands of my dark hair falling over my shoulders and the sides of my neck. My moves catch the eyes of a pack of men loitering near the door with half-finished beers and lust in their eyes.
“Boys,” I say as I push Arabelle deeper into a spruced-up bar with live salsa music. Their gazes peel off my tits long enough to catch the back side of my ass when we walk by.
Curious eyes turn on me and the look of a woman who wants to have fun but needs a push morphs the soft lines of my friend’s expression with worry.
I wink at Arabelle and flash my best “let’s party” smile. “This mamacita needs a drink and a hot guy. And so do you. Just for tonight, stop thinking and just feel. Tomorrow we both can go back to the real world, okay?”
Or so goes the plan. I don’t know if I will actually have the balls to go through with what I want to do tonight. Reclaiming my power sounded a lot better back in my psychologist’s office. When he said I needed to find my balance in the world I am pretty sure he didn’t mean a one-night stand.
I turn a pleading eye on my friend and make it nearly impossible for her to chicken out. Our fingers link so I don’t listen to my gut and run, too.
“Okay, what the hell. Why not!”
“That’s my girl.”