Chapter 8 #2
Typing this lie is easy, well, it’s a partial truth anyway, but I still can’t admit to a stranger that a certain part of me welcomed his brutal touch because, for a moment in time, it wiped away all the thoughts from my head.
And the fear I felt under Levi’s grip was coated in excitement that’s foreign and interesting at the same time to me.
They awaken the need to explore the darkest parts of me, and it’s something I can’t ever do. At least not with Levi.
You don’t want to ruin their relationship, or are you afraid your brother won’t take your side?
The questions push through the barrier protecting my heart from all the pent-up emotions that exist there for my siblings.
Such a simple question that has no definite answer.
He’ll always be on his woman’s side. A fallout between her future husband and her brother would upset her, so I would understand if he didn’t want to rock the boat. Like I said, he loves her very much.
Admitting it out loud doesn’t lessen the hurt, one of the reasons I’m always polite to my brothers’ women and don’t get too close to them. My brothers can be vicious when protecting who they love most, and how can I form any kind of friendship with them if I have to watch my every word around them?
I don’t have much experience in that department, but based on all the research I’ve done…all friendships experience turmoil, and I’ll be left all alone in mine.
No, thanks.
I’m better off with my online buddy, or even Scarlett.
And it’s okay. I mean, that’s how it should be, right? Once we fall in love, the person becomes part of our immediate family, or so they say.
Brothers don’t stop loving their sisters when they fall in love.
Lightning strikes the sky, like a sharp razor gliding through my heart and ripping it in two, forcing me to look inside and see the ugliness that pollutes it.
My brothers don’t love me. They feel responsible for me.
I wipe away the single tear sliding down my cheek, and my strained laugh sounds pitiful even to me.
How pathetic I must seem to him right now. Most people my age have mommy and daddy issues, and here I am with my older brother issues.
I don’t remember my parents and why I love them like any child would…they didn’t raise me or shape my childhood in any way.
Rush and Rafael are the parental figures in my life.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything they did for me, but we don’t have a bond. They grew up and built their lives away from me, and sometimes I think I’m just screwing up their lives.
Getting my inheritance would sure lift some of the burdens from their shoulders, and they’ll be able to focus more on their relationships. My brothers deserve to be happy, even if their happiness doesn’t include me.
Lev’s status changes to offline. He left without replying.
Oh no.
Me spilling my guts was too much for him? The time has come, it seems, to rectify the situation and never allow myself such weakness again.
I jump out the bed, putting the laptop away, and run inside the living room, snatching the book I brought from the library and sprinting back to my room.
I snap a picture of it, ready to send it to my laptop and show it to my friend to change the subject to where it should have stayed. On our mutual interests.
That’s when the golden envelope Marissa gave me earlier slips from it and falls on the blanket.
I forgot about that.
Abandoning my mission, I pick up the envelope, flip it, rip the red seal, and take out the glistening invitation inside.
Lavender Wright.
You are honorarily invited to the Masquerade Auction Night.
Welcome to our club.
Where vices rule and saints weep.
Iread the invitation several times, studying the club’s logo and the address with a code attached.
Grabbing my phone, I point my camera at the code, and a place shows up on the map which seems to be in the middle of nowhere.
The fine print underneath states that I can bring one more person with me, and the said auction night is happening this Saturday.
Right after family dinner, then?
Why are they sending me an invitation?
Scratch that.
Who owns this club and how do they know my home address?
I dial Scarlett’s number, and she picks it up on the second ring, her groggy voice grumbling into my ear, “The Wright siblings and their hate for sleep will be the death of me.”
“Do you know about some B. L. K. V. W. Club?” I assume the letters stand for something, but the invitation fails to mention that.
A beat passes, and she clears her throat. “I’ve heard about it, yes.”
“I just got an invitation to their auction night.” And what’s an auction night anyway? Do they sell antiques in there? Maybe I put my information somewhere when I bought a chessboard for Aileen’s upcoming birthday?
“I see.”
Judging by her tone and total lack of emotion, she knows way more than she lets on. Too bad for her, I’m in the mood to push. “What can you tell me about it?”
I hear rustling on the other end of the line and a big yawn before she says, “Not much. It’s an elite club that drives on luxury, exclusivity, and prestige.
You have to be chosen by the founding members, hence the auction night.
Depending on how well the guests invest in the club, what they like to indulge in, and what kind of connections they offer… they take their pick.”
“And all these rich and successful people want to join it? Why?” There must be plenty of secret clubs around. Why pick this one?
“Because it’s new and there are a lot of secrets and rumors surrounding it, which makes it even more desirable. The more forbidden the fruit, the more it’s sought-after. Especially when you’re rich, bored and in search of an adrenaline rush.”
“So they can do whatever they want there?”
If that’s the case…what if it’s just a place for clueless people where some criminals have their fill, and the owners turn a blind eye to it all?
It would explain the invitation. My brothers have acquired many enemies over the years.
“As long as it’s consensual and everyone is of age, that is.
Whoever breaks their golden rules gets kicked out, and their secret past is blasted all over socials.
” She chuckles. “I think one of their owners must be a lawyer for how well they protected themselves from the law and potential lawsuits.”
“Who are the owners?”
More rustling in the background, and then I hear her gulping something. “Nobody knows. It’s top secret, and they don’t have to disclose it unless there is a lawsuit.”
I squeeze the invitation and sit on the bed, pondering this information and wondering why anyone would send it to me. It might be a joke, or someone meant to invite my brothers, but the name on the envelope is mine.
I should throw it away and not think about it. Going to such a place would be stupid and dangerous, except…
Before my uncle lost his mind and tried to burn me alive, we were about to have a prom at my high school, and the theme was a masquerade ball.
During my sessions, I created this list of things I wanted to try to make up a little for losing eleven years of my life. Dr. King said I should do some of them to feed the little starving teenager living inside me, demanding justice for everything that’s been stolen from her.
I never got to attend my prom, and now I can go to this sought-after club and experience something forbidden… Maybe that would cure one of my wounds.
The idea is crazy, stupid, illogical…but who gets a chance like that?
No matter what happens there, it will be a huge mistake, and the time has come for me to make one.
“Scarlett.”
“Yes?”
“Do you have any plans for Saturday night?”
Levi
Rock music blasts from the speakers as I put my black leather gloves on, and a smile shapes my mouth when a loud groan coated in pain and fear echoes through the space.
“Please,” he shouts, and I look at the man who has a tight chain with sharp thorns attached to the ceiling and wrapped around his neck.
The thorns draw blood that slowly slides down his collarbones as tears fill his eyes.
“Please,” he repeats, pulling at the collar and whimpering while taking several steps to the right and crying out when his bare feet connect with the broken glass splayed all over it.
Ah, is there a better sound in the world than the one of my victims begging for mercy?
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, jumping to the left, and another pain-filled cry rocks off the walls when he stumbles on the nails, their tips puncturing his heel.
Running my fingers through various blades and knives splayed on my weapon table, I pass them all and settle on the drill.
The trrr sound makes him snap his head, his breathing speeding up when our gazes connect. He shakes his head, sweat running down his forehead and mixing with blood as he freezes. “Why do you need that?”
The stupidity of humankind is sometimes astonishing because no matter their status or age, they all act the same.
And for whatever reason, till the very end, they hold on to the hope that I would show them mercy if they talk enough or ask idiotic questions.
They bore me on rare days and annoy me on most, intensifying the desire to shut their mouths permanently, as wasting precious air on these people is a crime in itself.
“I’m a pastor at the church. What you’re about to do is a sin.” He tries another tactic, gulping for air, his hands gripping the chain so hard that his nails break, and he winces, tears cascading down his cheeks. “God doesn’t forgive sinners.”
I come closer to him, my boots thumping loudly on the parquet floor. He steps back, but it’s useless. The chain—or as I prefer to call it, my personal leash—gives us little room to wiggle.
“Is that so?” I ask, rubbing my chin with the back of the drill, and he nods as hope lights up his features, swallowing hard.
“God is merciful toward those who change.”