Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Kitten
Their footsteps echo off the concrete in the cavernous space of a covered parking lot, two blocks from work.
I pick up my pace, and they do too. When I met these guys last year, they threw red flags like it was raining confetti, but my boyfriend said to give them a chance.
That’s when I should have realized he was the one operating the confetti cannon.
I left Bo six months ago, and I took all the proper precautions, new home, new number, even switched offices.
It had to be pure luck that these guys found me.
Wrong place, wrong time. I don’t know their names.
My ex had a rotating group of friends, but no one ever sticks around long.
In my head, I’ve dubbed them Meat Hands, Small Dick, and Bad Breath.
My heart beats faster than an F1 car. They taunt me, calling me names their mothers would be horrified to hear.
They stalk me from work into the parking garage.
Their eyes are filled with lust and rage.
The parking attendant ignores my cries—I’m on my own. I’ve got my keys and pepper spray but no escape plan beyond driving away.
Meat Hands grabs my wrist as I try to pull away.
He yanks my keys and throws them across the lot.
Fuck. I scream until my vocal cords feel raw.
How long can I fight them off? I manage to uncap the pepper spray and get Small Dick in the eyes, but the fumes make me cough.
It puts him down for the count, but my lungs burn.
Bad Breath slams me against my car door, his fingers clamping around my throat while Meat Hands twists my wrist in a direction it was never meant to go.
A roar, followed by ear-splitting screeching rubber, bounces off the concrete walls.
The engine grumbles to a stop as Bad Breath is yanked to the ground and kicked repeatedly by a man in black jeans, a leather jacket, and a motorcycle helmet.
My chance. I kick Meat Hands in the shins until he lets me go.
The man in black grabs my good wrist and pulls me away, pushing me toward his motorcycle.
He tells me to hold on. I don’t know who this man is, but he’s a better option.
My forehead presses against his back, and I grip his midsection as tightly as I can.
It isn’t until we leave the parking garage that he slows down and tells me to grab the helmet from the back.
The night air chills my arms, and I tug my dress to make sure it doesn’t fly up.
We race through the streets, putting as much distance as possible between us and my attackers.
My wrist throbs, and the rushing air makes it harder to breathe.
Still, his back keeps my chest warm even as my legs turn to ice.
After countless turns, we enter a part of the city I don’t recognize.
He pulls into a small, covered parking lot and shuts off the bike.
“Come with me.” I can’t place his accent since his voice is muffled.
He gets off the bike, lifts the helmet gently from my head, and clips it to the back.
My savior pauses and stands in front of me.
I expect him to lift his helmet so I can see the face of my rescuer, but he makes no motion to remove it.
Weird. Maybe he has a cold and doesn’t want to spread his germs. That’s polite, I guess.
He yanks open the heavy metal doors of a nondescript industrial-looking building.
“Follow me,” he says. What other option do I have?
My alarm bells are strangely silent. For once, it’s not like they’re blaring and I’m ignoring them.
They’re … quiet. My adrenaline is like an engine revving up and drowning out the alarm.
He’s tall and wiry, unlike the men I’m used to. And there’s something refreshing about being around a man who probably couldn't break you with his hand. The fight or flight instinct starts to wane. I’m in slightly less danger than before—afraid is different from fear of the unknown.
We climb a standard-issue staircase until he stops at the fourth floor, types a code into a panel, and unlocks a door. Wherever we are, this is the bare and hollow behind-the-scenes, only to be seen by a select few, not the public. A hallway leads us to another door marked employees only.
A massive man with short dark hair appears. No, “massive” doesn’t cut it. He’s a brick house with arms and legs. “Fox?” he asks, his thick Russian accent curling the name. “You’re not scheduled for tonight.”
Fox, or at least that’s what I assume he’s called, steps into the office and opens a locker. I can’t see what he pulls out. “Is there a room open?”
“Room five.”
The helmet nods. He shoves something into his jacket pocket and turns back toward the brick house. “Once I get her situated, I’ll fill you in.”
I follow him down the hallway until we're at a door with a gold-painted number five.
“Go in.” He opens the door and steps to the side for me to enter. He’s polite, I’ll give him that much. The shock hasn't worn away yet because life experience says I should stop and question everything fucking going on. But I don’t. Right now, I want to sit down and process everything.
The room is larger than I expected. Three long couches line the walls and face an elevated, padded table in the center. The space is painted black and purple, with a soft blue LED strip running along the ceiling. Dark, but calming, like my faceless savior.
“Turn around and face the wall,” he says.
So far I haven’t been afraid of him. I’ve followed him blindly and I haven’t asked the important questions. “What? Why?” Pinpricks of panic pierce my mind, and fear starts creeping into my consciousness.
“Because I saved you.” But his voice lightens, like he can see my anxiety. “And I’m asking nicely.” This logic is enough for me to comply, and since I don’t know where I am or what’s going on, I do what I’m told.
I face the wall. A gray leather couch sits beneath a splash of abstract art—some amateur I don’t recognize Pollock-inspired chaos. Dark purple throw pillows, sconces with loops and mounted handles. Weird décor.
“You can turn around,” he sounds less muffled, but still calm. Maybe it’s his voice that stamps down my growing fears.
I spin back, and he’s right there. Same jeans, black shirt, jacket. I didn’t notice the gloves earlier, but he must’ve been wearing them the whole time. But his face shocks me.
“A second mask?”
The mask covers his entire head, a green handprint painted beneath his eyes. Everything about him is blacked out.
He ignores my question. “Are you hurt?”
“Why the fuck are you wearing a mask?”
“My question first.”
“I asked first!” I snap.
“I work for dangerous people.” He exhales, shoulders stiffening. “It’s safer this way.”
“That does not instill the confidence you think it does. Are you dangerous?” I take a step back and eye the door.
He doesn’t move, like this is supposed to calm me. “Not to you. Are you hurt? I won’t ask a third time.” He takes a few steps back and puts his hands behind his back.
Ok, he claims he won’t hurt me, so I don’t think I’m in danger. “My wrist hurts, I’m a little dizzy, and it burns when I swallow.” I cross my arms over my waist. “And I’m cold.”
He nods, turning to a cabinet behind him.
His hand hovers between two blankets and he picks the pink one.
When he drapes it around my shoulders like a fluffy cape, his gloved fingers brush under my chin, tilting it up and exposing my neck.
My breath catches as I stare into the shadow where his eyes must be.
With him, the pressure in my chest loosens but the dull ache lingers.
I don’t reflectively flinch when his thumb grazes my jawbone.
But I’m not ready to relax. I’m not in danger and a strange pressure loosens its grip on my chest. Not in danger… but not quite safe.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
From the other side of the wall, the sound of thumping and moans filters in. He exhales, chest rising and falling with the rhythm. The sound grows louder.
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and for the first time, he bristles. He steps aside, presses a button near the door, and the noise dims as classical music pours from hidden speakers.
I finally take in the room. A padded table in the center. Handlebars bolted to the walls. Couches circling the table. Blankets tucked away in corners.
“Where are we?” I ask this secret man.
He glances over his shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious?”
My stomach twists. “A sex club?” I say, half-joking.
“See, Kitten,” he murmurs, “you got it right on the first try.”
Oh. Shit. My stomach drops like on a roller coaster. Fear and thrill combined with curiosity. What have I gotten myself into?