CHAPTER FOUR
The lobby was different at night.
During the day, the building had felt corporate and sterile, marble floors, quiet air, the hum of invisible air conditioning.
After business hours it felt like something else entirely.
The lights were lower, for one thing. And there were people, not the suit-and-tie crowd from the financial district, but shifters.
Rodney could tell by the way they carried themselves, by the faint undercurrents of animal scent that crossed in the air like currents in a river.
A woman in a leather dress walked past him toward the elevators with a confidence that made Rodney feel like he was made of cardboard.
Two men in matching collars stood near the wall, speaking quietly and laughing.
Someone who smelled like cinnamon and feathers brushed by him without a glance.
Bethany was at her desk. She looked up when Rodney approached, and her expression was—what? Not surprised. She'd known he was coming. But there was something in her eyes that might have been approval. Or assessment. With the Leo women, the two seemed to be the same thing.
"Rodney." She said his name like checking something off a list. "You're on time. Good. Mom hates late."
"So, I've been told."
She reached under the desk and produced a wristband. The same kind of plastic hospital band he'd seen people wear in the ER, except this one had his name and birthdate printed neatly on it, along with a bright red letter V.
"Put this on your left wrist," she said.
Rodney turned it over, looking at the V. His stomach dropped. "I'm not a—"
"Virgin to the club." Bethany cut him off with the practiced ease of someone who'd had this conversation a hundred times.
"It lets people know you're new. Some bidders like that.
Some prefer experience. It's information, not a judgment.
" She paused. "Although, if the other kind of virgin is also true, that would drive the price up considerably. "
Rodney's face went so hot he thought his skin might actually catch fire. "It's not," he managed.
"Pity. Elevator on the left. Go down one floor. Amani will meet you." She went back to tapping her pencil, and Rodney was dismissed.
The elevator. The button. The slow descent that felt much longer than one floor.
Rodney pressed his back against the mirrored wall and closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
He was here. He was actually here. He had walked in on his own two feet, and he could walk back out on them too.
Lady Leo had said so. Geoff had said so. The choice was his.
The choice was his, and he was choosing the auction.
The doors opened on noise and warmth and the low pulse of music.
The club spread out before him in a wash of dim lighting and dark furniture, leather couches, a long bar that gleamed under amber lights, a dance floor where bodies moved in ways that Rodney's body had never moved and probably couldn't. People were everywhere.
Beautiful people. Confident people. People in various states of undress who seemed completely at ease with their skin in ways Rodney had never been at ease with his.
He stood in the elevator doorway and couldn't move.
"Rodney!"
A voice cut through the noise, bright, loud, and coming toward him at speed.
Rodney looked and saw a young man weaving through the crowd who could not possibly be real.
He was small, maybe five-six, and wearing nothing but a pair of tiny black shorts that seemed to exist more as a suggestion than actual clothing.
His skin was golden-brown, his hair messy, and he was already talking before he'd fully arrived, one hand reaching for Rodney's arm like they'd known each other for years.
"Hi! I'm Amani. I work front of house, well, I work everything. Bartender, host, emotional support animal." He grabbed Rodney's arm and gave it a squeeze. "You're the panda, right? You must be. I can smell the bamboo. It's a nice smell, actually. Very earthy. Come on, I'll get you checked in."
He smelled like sun and dry grass. Lion, Rodney's brain supplied, just as Amani started walking, towing him by the arm through the crowd with the cheerful determination of a tugboat.
People parted for them, or more accurately, parted for Amani, who seemed to generate a small wake of attention wherever he went.
Several people called out greetings. Amani waved at all of them without slowing down.
"First time, right?" Amani glanced back at him. "I can tell. You've got the look. All the newbies have it. Like you're about to take a test you didn't study for." He patted Rodney's arm. "You'll be fine. I promise."
"People keep telling me that," Rodney said weakly.
"Because it's true! Mostly." Amani led him past the bar, which was beautiful, all dark wood and amber bottles, and down a short hallway to a door marked PRIVATE. He pushed it open and ushered Rodney inside.
The room was a locker room. Simple and clean, rows of narrow metal lockers, a bench, a mirror. It looked like it could have been in any gym, except for the distinct lack of sweaty towels and the addition of a small basket on the bench that contained items Rodney didn't want to examine too closely.
"Okay." Amani closed the door, and the club noise dropped to a distant thrum.
He turned to Rodney with an expression that was, for the first time, more serious than playful.
"So. Here's how this works. I'm going to walk you through everything, step by step.
If you have questions, ask them. If you want to stop at any point, tell me.
Nobody's going to be pissed at you for changing your mind. "
"Lady Leo might be."
"Mom will be annoyed, not pissed. There's a difference. If you bail, you owe her the money and you work it off instead. That's the deal. But you're not getting thrown in a dungeon or fed to anyone." He paused. "Okay, bad word choice in this context. You know what I mean."
Despite everything, Rodney almost laughed. The forum poster had been right, Amani made it hard to stay fully terrified. Not impossible. But the terror had competition now.
"This is your locker." Amani tapped one of the metal doors. "Everything comes off. Clothes, watch, phone, all of it. They go in here, and you get them back when the night's over." He opened the locker. Inside, on the top shelf, sat two items: a strip of black silk and a small leather band.
"The silk is your blindfold," Amani said.
"You put it on yourself. Nobody's going to force it onto your face.
It's part of the auction presentation, bidders see the participants without being seen.
It makes the power dynamic clear from the start, and it protects your privacy a little bit, weirdly enough.
You'd be surprised how much anonymity a blindfold gives you. No awkward eye contact."
"And if I don't want to wear it?"
"Then you don't wear it, and you go upstairs and tell Bethany you want a mop instead." Amani said it without malice. Just fact. "The blindfold is part of the auction. If you're in the auction, you wear the blindfold."
Rodney looked at the strip of silk. It was soft. Well-made. Not the cheap costume-shop thing he'd imagined, but something substantial, the kind of thing that would block light completely. His stomach turned over.
"What's the other thing?" he asked, pointing at the leather band.
"That," Amani said, with a grin that was half mischief and half sympathy, "is a cock ring."
Rodney blinked. "A what?"
"Little leather band. Goes around the base of your cock and under your balls. It's part of the outfit, such as it is. You don't have to wear it, but—" He stopped himself. "Actually, you know what, yes, you do have to wear it. It's tradition. And it makes you look good. Trust me on this one."
Rodney stared at the leather band and then back at Amani, who looked completely unbothered by the concept of decorative cock jewelry. "I thought it was a hair tie."
Amani's laugh was sudden and loud and filled the locker room.
"Oh my god. A hair tie." He pressed his hand to his chest, doubling over.
"That's the best thing I've heard all week.
Okay, you're going to be fine. Anyone who mistakes a cock ring for a hair tie is too innocent to be in any real danger. "
Rodney wasn't sure that logic tracked, but Amani had already moved on.
"Here's what happens after you're dressed, or undressed, technically.
You knock on the door. I come get you. I'll bind your wrists behind your back—" He held up a hand as Rodney opened his mouth.
"With this." He pulled a leather strap from the basket on the bench and held it out.
"Feel the inside. There's a tab. Right here. "
Rodney touched it. There was a small metal tab on the inner edge of the strap, like the release on a watch clasp. "What's that?"
"Quick release. You pull that, the strap opens, and your hands are free.
It's not a real restraint, Rodney. It's theater.
It looks like you're bound. You feel like you're bound.
But you can get out of it in one second if you need to.
" He demonstrated, snapping the strap open with one flick.
"The ankle tether on the platform is the same, it's a clip, not a lock.
One tug and you're loose. You just won't know that because you'll be blindfolded, so I'm telling you now. "
Rodney let out a long breath. "Why are you telling me? Wouldn't it be more... effective... if I didn't know I could get out?"