12. Holden
12
HOLDEN
T he air was thick, the kind of Southern spring night where everything felt slow and heavy, but somehow electric at the same time. The scent of magnolias mixed with the faint tang of asphalt still warm from the day’s sun. It was the kind of night that made the world feel wide open, full of possibilities we weren’t entirely ready for.
I adjusted the collar of my shirt, the crisp fabric cool against my neck. Hendrix walked a step ahead of me, his stride confident even though neither of us had any idea where we were going.
“You think this is the right spot?” I asked, glancing around at the shadowy side streets branching off Calhoun.
Hendrix shrugged, his dark Brooks Brothers jacket shifting slightly with the motion. “Hopefully it’s somewhere around here. Isn’t the whole point that it’s supposed to be impossible to find?”
I sighed, scanning the dimly lit alley ahead of us. “Yeah, but you’d think someone would’ve slapped a neon sign on it by now. Even Gatsby had his limits.”
Hendrix grinned, tossing me a quick glance over his shoulder.
He looked good, I had to admit—more polished than usual, though still with that effortless edge he couldn’t seem to shake. His blazer hung open over a pale blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his forearms, and his dark Ralph Lauren jeans were just tight enough to make me wonder how he’d ever called himself a rebel in high school.
Not that I was one to talk. My own jacket was darker, more fitted, paired with a white button-down I’d left undone at the throat and cuffed chinos that tailored to my frame. Conrad always said I looked like a preppy vampire when I dressed up, which I assumed was his way of saying I cleaned up well.
We turned another corner, the sounds of the main street fading behind us. The alley was narrow and dim, the kind of place you’d pass a hundred times without giving it a second glance. Ahead of us, a couple emerged from the shadows—a man in a sleek gray suit and a woman in a slinky black dress that sparkled faintly in the light from a distant streetlamp. They didn’t look like they belonged in a back alley, but they moved with purpose, heading straight for an unmarked door.
Hendrix nudged me with his elbow. “Think that’s it? It just looks like a back kitchen entrance, but why would they be going in a back kitchen all dressed up?”
“Only one way to find out,” I muttered.
We watched from the shadows and then followed a few minutes later. We opened the same metal door the couple had passed through, only to be met with a staircase headed down a flight. At the bottom of the stairwell, there was a heavy old wooden door with a slatted window at eye level that was pulled closed.
“Let’s hope they’re in the mood for unexpected company,” I said dryly.
When we reached the door, Hendrix knocked three times. The slat slid open, and a pair of sharp eyes met us. “Password?” the man behind the door asked, his voice low and gravelly.
I froze, my mind going blank. Hendrix glanced at me, then back at the man. “Uh…”
For a moment, I thought we were screwed. Then I remembered something Moon had said about the place—something about classic cocktails. “Old Fashioned,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
“That’ll do,” the doorman said with a gruff.
The slat closed, and I held my breath. Then, with a soft creak, the door opened, and we stepped inside, the air cooling instantly as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind us. We walked into the bar, scanning a panorama of a space that could’ve been pulled straight out of a 1920s fever dream.
The bar was opulent, the kind of place where Charleston’s old money came to remind themselves they were better than everyone else. Polished wood, gleaming brass, low amber lighting that cast everything in a warm, seductive glow. The air smelled like expensive whiskey and secrets, and the quiet hum of conversation tumbled with the tinkling of live jazz coming from a corner stage.
Hendrix let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing around. “Not exactly college-kid territory.”
We made our way to the bar, sliding onto two leather stools. The menu was printed on thick, textured paper, listing cocktails I’d only ever heard of in movies. I ordered a Sazerac, feeling vaguely pretentious, while Hendrix went for a Manhattan.
For a while, we just sat there, sipping our drinks and taking in the scene. It was surreal, to say the least.
“This is wild,” Hendrix said finally, his voice low. “I mean, we actually found it.”
“Yeah,” I said, my gaze drifting over the room. “Though I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now that we’re here.”
Hendrix glanced at me, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “You know, we haven’t done something like this—just the two of us—in…ever?”
I frowned, setting my glass down. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you never really wanted to,” he said, his tone light but not entirely joking. “Conrad was always around, or we just did our own thing. It’s like…I don’t know. You tolerate me, but you don’t actually want to be close.”
I stiffened slightly. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked, his gaze steady on mine.
For a moment, I didn’t answer. Then I sighed, looking away. “It’s not about not wanting to be close. It’s about not wanting to be too close.”
Hendrix tilted his head, frowning slightly. “What does that mean?”
I hesitated, my mind flickering to a memory I’d tried to bury. “Oh come on.”
But he just stared at me blankly,
“Do you remember, after our parents got married…that time you walked into my room?”
Hendrix froze, his expression shifting as the memory hit him. “Oh,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling my face heat. “I was…you know. And you just…stood there.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Hendrix said quickly. “I just…I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Neither did I,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It was—awkward.”
Hendrix let out a soft laugh, the kind that felt like it was covering something more. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that seemed unconscious. “Awkward’s an understatement. You were—” He paused, his eyes flicking to mine before quickly looking away. “You were in the middle of it. Like, really into it.”
My face went hot, and I dropped my gaze to my drink, gripping the glass tighter than necessary. “Jesus, Hendrix. Thanks for the reminder. Like you never—,” I motioned with my hand.
He ignored me, his voice blunt and unapologetic. “I could see your hand, your face—hell, I could hear you. I froze because…I don’t know, I guess I’d never walked in on anyone doing that before. And I didn’t expect you to look—” He stopped again, his jaw tightening. “Like that.”
“Like what?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn’t sure why I was asking. Maybe I wanted to punish myself for letting this conversation go this far. Or maybe I just wanted to hear him say it.
Hendrix glanced at me, his eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, I wondered if he’d stay silent. But then he shrugged, as if the answer came easy, costing him nothing. “Like you were lost in it. Like nothing else mattered except what you were feeling right then.”
“Fuck, that was embarrassing. Still is. I’m sure I’m fucking red in the face right now. Thanks for the detailed account.” I shook my head with a scoff.
Then, more softly, “I didn’t even know you were there until it was too late.”
Hendrix nodded, his expression softening slightly. “I was embarrassed, too. For staying. For looking.”
That got my attention. I turned back to him, searching his face. “For looking?”
He nodded again, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. I mean, I should’ve walked out immediately, but I didn’t. I just stood there, like an idiot. Watching. Like I couldn’t tear my eyes away.”
A strange heat spread through me at his words, and I swallowed hard, my voice quieter now. “Did you—I mean, did you want to look?”
Hendrix hesitated, his fingers toying with the edge of his glass. Then, with a small, crooked smile, “Well, I didn’t make myself run out right away…”
My stomach flipped, and I felt my face flush even hotter. I didn’t know how to respond, so I asked the question that had been gnawing at the edge of my thoughts for years. “Did you ever…think about it after that?”
Hendrix leaned back, his dark curls brushed back from his face, his gaze steady on mine. “You mean, did I ever think about my stepbrother jerking off and whether I should’ve stayed longer?”
My mouth went dry, and I could barely force the word out. “Yeah.”
He smirked, his voice low and teasing now. “Maybe once or twice. You were putting on quite the show.”
I blinked, completely thrown off by how casually he said it. “You’re really just going to say that?”
“What? Are you telling me you didn’t wonder the same thing?” he challenged, leaning forward now, his elbows on the table. “Did you ever think about me after that, Holden? Wonder if I stayed outside your door, listening?”
My heart was racing now, my palms damp against the smooth wood of the table. “That’s not the point,” I said quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation.
“Isn’t it?” Hendrix asked, his voice lower now, almost curious. “Because I’ve thought about it, you know. Wondered if you ever…” He trailed off, letting the words hang between us, daring me to fill the silence.
My chest tightened, but I released the death grip on my glass, setting it on the bar. “It’s not like we grew up together and it was some kind of…forbidden family thing. We were just two strangers shoved into the same house at sixteen.”
Hendrix’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, but his eyes stayed sharp, watching me. “So is it the stepbrother thing, or is it the guy thing?”
I froze for a moment, unsure how to answer. Hendrix didn’t give me a chance.
“Because I’ll be real with you,” he continued, his tone shifting to something more blunt. “I’ve fooled around with guys before. That’s not a big deal to me. But you? It’d be a big deal. You are different.”
“Different how?” I asked, my heart pounding, though I already knew the answer.
He hesitated, dragging a hand through his hair and looking away. “Because it’s you, Holden. My housemate. My friend. We share a family even if we don’t feel like brothers to each other. And I’ve never been able to figure you out. Whether you’d freak out because of the guy thing, or the family thing, or both.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. “I wouldn’t…freak out,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hendrix glanced at me, his brows lifting slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he believed me. “Wouldn’t you?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, I just shook my head and looked down at my drink.
“Maybe not,” Hendrix said, leaning back in his chair with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But the lines are still there, whether we put them there or not.”
“Lines are just excuses people use to avoid doing what they want,” I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Hendrix’s gaze sharpened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he let the silence settle between us, thick and charged. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed when he finally leaned forward and nodded toward the rest of the bar.
“We should look around,” he said, his voice back to its usual easy drawl. “See what kind of trouble this place is hiding.”
I nodded, grateful for the shift. The tension still lingered, but it was easier to ignore when I focused on the unfamiliar buzz of the room. Together, we slid off our stools, leaving the conversation behind us as we made our way deeper into The Silver Vine .
The energy in the old-fashioned bar was intoxicating, the air steeped with low laughter and the quiet clink of crystal glassware. Hendrix and I moved through the room together, our steps slow as we took it all in. The crowd was dazzling—elegant dresses and sharp suits, polished smiles hiding something simmering just beneath the surface.
We didn’t talk much as we roamed, the weight of unspoken words still thick between us. It wasn’t until I spotted the couple from earlier—the man in the gray suit and the woman in the black dress—that the quiet cracked.
“There they are,” I said under my breath, nudging Hendrix with my elbow.
He followed my gaze as the couple slipped down a hallway at the far end of the bar, disappearing behind a heavy velvet curtain.
Hendrix grinned. “Think they’re sneaking off to get frisky in the coatroom? Very classy.”
“Maybe,” I said, but there was something about the way they’d moved—purposeful, deliberate—that tugged at me. “Should we…”
“Follow them?” Hendrix finished for me, his grin widening. “Oh, absolutely. Let’s see what these classy criminals are up to.”
We moved quickly, slipping past the curtain into the hallway. The couple was already at the far end, stepping into a door marked with a simple coat hanger icon.
“Guess it is a coat room,” Hendrix murmured.
The attendant at the coat check counter raised an eyebrow as we approached, looking us up and down with the kind of slow appraisal that felt more like an assessment than a greeting. “Number?” she asked.
Hendrix and I exchanged a glance, and I saw the realization click in his eyes at the same time it hit me.
“The card,” I said under my breath.
Hendrix nodded and leaned forward, giving her the five-digit number we’d memorized.
The woman’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened, like she’d just confirmed we belonged—or that we didn’t. Without another word, she reached under the counter and pressed a hidden button. Somewhere behind her, a door clicked open.
“Welcome,” she purred—but it didn’t feel like an invitation; it felt like a warning.
We stepped through the door into another world entirely.
The air inside was thick, sultry, and heady with the mingling scents of perfume, leather, and warm bodies. It wrapped around me, pulling tight against my skin as if daring me to breathe it in. The low thrum of bass reverberated through the room, vibrating in my chest, mingling with soft moans, breathless laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses.
We stepped further in, and the space opened into a decadent tableau of hedonism. Velvet drapes hung heavy from the walls, their deep inky folds catching the golden glow of chandeliers dripping with crystal. The lighting was low, seductive, softly pooling over intimate corners while leaving other areas bathed in shadow.
A naked dancer spun inside a gilded cage, her painted body an art form in itself. Every movement was fluid, deliberate, her skin shimmering under the light. The crowd around her watched with hungry eyes, their gazes a mix of awe and desire.
Further in, plush settees and low crushed velvet chaise lounges were scattered across the room, occupied by couples, trios, and groups in varying states of undress. Champagne flutes glittered in manicured hands, lips brushing rims as indulgent smiles played across faces. Some lounged lazily, watching the scene unfold, while others were more entangled—legs draped over thighs, mouths exploring necks, fingers caressing bare skin.
Hendrix let out a low whistle beside me. “What in the actual fuck is this place? Insanity.”
I swallowed hard, my gaze darting around as heat prickled along the back of my neck. “That’s one word for it.”
A laugh spilled from his lips, and I could feel the tension vibrating in him—not discomfort, but fascination. He was soaking it in, the same way I was, our senses overwhelmed by the lushness of it all.
A man appeared suddenly in front of us, tall and lean with sharp features that gave him an air of intensity. His jet-black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face that was angular and striking. He had a faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, and his tailored clothing—a crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves and dark slacks—hinted at effortless refinement. He stepped closer, his gaze sliding over me in a way that was both bold and practiced, gleaming with interest.
Before I could react, Hendrix’s hand closed around mine, pulling me firmly toward him. “Sorry,” he said smoothly, his voice low and warm. “He’s with me.”
The man raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a ghost of a smile. “Lucky you.”
Hendrix ignored him, leaning in closer until his breath brushed against my ear. “Let’s figure this out together,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough to be just for me.
His lips were so close that the heat of them sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded away.
He tugged me toward a small booth near the edge of the room, its velvet cushions dark and inviting. We slid in side by side, and though there was room for space between us, neither of us used it. Hendrix’s thigh pressed against mine, solid and warm, and I could feel the faint tremor in his hand as it brushed against mine on the cushion.
The sights and sounds around us demanded attention. A figure dressed in nothing more than shimmering silver paint danced on a low platform, her movements hypnotic and languid, drawing a small crowd that leaned in, entranced. Across the room, a woman reclined on a settee, her head thrown back in a breathless laugh as two men attended to her, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of her skin.
There were private alcoves, draped with gauzy curtains that offered just enough concealment to tease the imagination. Shadows moved behind them—bodies shifting, pressing together, exploring one another with abandon. The sounds that drifted from those spaces made my pulse race, my skin warming despite the chill of the glass in my hand.
Hendrix shifted beside me, his voice low. “This is wild,” he said, his words nearly lost beneath the pulse of the music.
“Yeah,” I managed, my throat dry. “I don’t even know where to look.”
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating between us. “Everywhere’s the wrong answer, huh? Or right…depending on how you feel about it.”
After a moment, he nudged me with his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s see what else this place is hiding.”
We took the first of three narrow hallways, all dark and lined with lush wallpaper, black with silver vines dripping in tangles. In this first hallway, there were doors to rooms on the left, its walls lined with small windows dressed with sheer curtains. Here in the hall, the air was quieter, more intimate, but the tension was palpable.
We slipped further into the hallway, the dim lights casting long shadows that flickered and moved like they were alive. Each window we passed revealed a new, visceral tableau that stole the air from my lungs and replaced it with something darker, heavier.
The first room held a woman bound in shimmering silver ropes that seemed to drip like liquid across her pale skin. Her wrists and ankles were tied to a low platform, her thighs spread wide as a man knelt between them, his head buried between her legs. Her back arched, her breasts full and tipped with dark, taut nipples, her moans rising and falling with each flick of his tongue. Another man leaned over her, tracing her collarbone with his lips, his cock rigid and bouncing slightly as he moved.
It felt wrong to keep watching, but I couldn’t look away. The voyeuristic thrill was a siren call, pulling me further down the hallway, my pulse quickening with each glimpse.
Hendrix chuckled low beside me. “Damn, anything goes here, huh?”
I swallowed hard, barely managing a nod as we moved on. The next window framed three bodies tangled together, their flesh a shifting mass of motion. A woman knelt between two men, her hands stroking one while her lips slid over the length of the other. His cock gleamed with her saliva as her head moved, slow and deliberate, taking him deeper with each pass. The second man let out a guttural groan, gripping her chin to tilt her face up so he could kiss her, tasting her, tasting him.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, but Hendrix just grinned.
“You’ve never seen so many dicks in your life,” he teased, nudging me with his shoulder.
I glanced at him, heat rising in my face despite the thick air. “You’re not wrong. Other than the occasional locker room mishap…and definitely not hard as fuck.”
Hendrix laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Hard as fuck or hard and fucking?…Stick with me, virgin eyes. I’ve seen a few.”
My gaze flicked to the next window, but I couldn’t help the question slipping out. “You serious? I mean I’ve seen your antics at parties, kissing the homies and all, but I didn’t know you went there behind closed doors.”
He shrugged, his grin widening. “College gets weird sometimes. People get drunk, clothes come off, and, well…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.
The next window stopped me in my tracks. A circle of bodies moved together in an unrelenting tide of sensation, every limb and curve entwined like a living tapestry of desire. A man with broad shoulders and a defined chest lay on his back, his cock disappearing between the thighs of a woman riding him with abandon, her head thrown back as her hands gripped his chest. Behind her, another man stood, his cock driving into her ass, their movements synchronized like a single fluid rhythm. Around them, others touched, kissed, fucked, their moans a cacophony of indulgence.
“An orgy,” Hendrix said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. “You ever thought about it?” he pressed, his tone light but edged with curiosity.
I hesitated, my mouth dry. “Not really.”
“Not really, or not at all?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
I glared at him. “What about you?”
He shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the window. “Once. Drunken college thing. Not exactly as glamorous as this, though.” He gestured toward the scene. “This? This is…something else.”
The next room was no less explicit, but its intimacy was different. A woman lay on her side, her leg draped over a man’s shoulder as he kissed his way down her inner thigh. Her chest rose and fell in quick gasps, her nipples hard and glistening. A second man stood behind the woman on the chaise, his cock sliding into her from behind as she moaned, her body trembling with every slow thrust.
I couldn’t stop watching, my breath hitching as the sounds and movements seeped into my mind, pushing every coherent thought to the edges. Hendrix’s hand brushed mine, grounding me for a moment before he spoke again.
“You ever thought about trying that?” he asked, nodding toward the scene.
“Trying what?” I asked, my voice rough.
“Sharing,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes sharp. “One girl, two guys.”
I shook my head, my throat tight. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
He grinned. “It’s all about finding the right rhythm. And trust.” His eyes lingered on me for a beat too long before turning to approach the next window.
There was an older man with sharp, all angular features and salt-and-pepper hair, his posture confident and commanding. A woman, partially blocked behind the man, knelt down in front of him with her hand wrapped around the back of his thigh. To her side, another man knelt beside her—the two of them working together to pleasure the man standing, as he thrust back and forth, clenching his ass with each pump.
When he shifted back, his head lolling in ecstasy, Hendrix and I both tensed at the exact moment, his hand frozen on my back. The angle shifted, giving us a glimpse of the couple—the bob of her familiar chestnut hair, the streaks of gray in his thick brown waves as their heads moved together.
It was unmistakable.
Fanny and Blanton. Together. Here. In a sex club. Sharing the man between them, their mouths working him together as he thrust his cock into their eager faces.
Fanny leaned into Blanton, her lips brushing his ear as her hand rested on his thigh. The older man smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with an air of calculated amusement, his eyes flicking between them like he owned them. His presence filled the space, as though every move made in that room was orchestrated for his pleasure.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, he ran his fingers through Fanny’s hair, the motion deceptively gentle but firm enough to angle her head just where he wanted it. His touch lingered, deliberate and commanding, as if shaping her mouth to suit his needs. She seemed to melt into his gesture, her posture shifting slightly closer to him, a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
Blanton’s hand slipped over Fanny’s, his movements almost reflexive, as though drawn by the older man’s magnetic control. When he turned to laugh at something I couldn’t hear, it wasn’t just a laugh—it was an offering, an attempt to appease. The older man’s gaze darkened and his lips curled, as he leaned back, radiating the kind of power that made others shrink without realizing it.
His free hand moved to Blanton’s shoulder, the grip firm but casual, a mockery of camaraderie that felt more like possession. Even through the glass, I could sense the weight of it—the way Blanton stiffened ever so slightly under the touch, his laughter faltering for just a moment before continuing, louder this time, as though to drown out his unease.
Hendrix’s hand closed around my wrist suddenly, pulling me back. “We need to go,” he whispered, his voice tight and low, his grip a lifeline against the overwhelming weight of what we were seeing.
I nodded, my chest heaving as we turned and hurried down another hallway, the scenes around us blurring into shadow. The air grew quieter, softer, but the weight of what we’d seen clung to me, thick and suffocating.
We passed doors marked with satin bow ties, the implication clear, until we found one unmarked. Hendrix pushed it open, and we slipped inside, closing it firmly behind us.
The quiet hit me like a shock, the absence of sound almost louder than the chaos we’d left behind. I leaned back against the door, my chest rising and falling as I struggled to catch my breath.
Hendrix stood in the center of the room, his expression unreadable. “What the hell did we just see?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I didn’t have an answer.