Chapter Thirty-Three
I kept my eyes trained out the window of the airplane. Something wasn’t right.
I could feel it.
A nagging in my stomach.
I knew Poppy felt it, too, but she was doing a good job hiding it.
“I’ve never been to Utah,” Poppy shared.
“It’s a beautiful state,” Sterling returned.
It wasn’t a jet, or maybe it was, just not a big one. This plane only had four seats.
One for me. One for Poppy. One for Sterling. One empty.
No Beckett.
For two days, when Poppy and I hadn’t been working, we’d been going over maps with Aiden. Sterling had six properties. Some of the homes were larger than others, but they were all big houses—huge, giant mansions with a lot of acreage around them.
Sterling didn’t own property in Utah.
Yeah, something was wrong.
“Would you like something to drink, Chloe?” Sterling asked.
I tore my gaze from the landscape rushing by below and forced myself to smile at Sterling. “No thank you.”
“You’re very quiet, darling. Everything all right?”
Darling.
Barf.
“I’ve never flown private before,” I told him. “Just taking it all in.”
“When we get back to San Diego, we’ll take a trip up to Santa Barbara for lunch. The flight up the coast is beautiful.”
I was sure it was.
But that was never happening.
“That sounds amazing.”
Sterling looked pleased with my answer.
I glanced at Poppy, who was doing her part at playing happy.
I hoped I could pull this off and keep my shit together.
Two hours later, I found I couldn’t when we arrived at the largest, most beautiful house I’d ever seen.
The massive stone house looked straight out of a Lord of the Rings movie, with huge circular windows and a curved archway over the front door.
The inside was straight out of a magazine, with white marble floors, sunken living room, raised dining area, and enormous fireplace.
All around us people bustled. Florist, caterers, cleaning staff, women dressed in black slacks and black blouses, men in suits that looked like security.
And outside there were tables set up. Two women were dressing the round tops with crisp white cloths.
According to Sterling, the party didn’t start until nine and we didn’t need to be ready and report until seven.
He’d also explained that our uniforms would be waiting for us in the staff quarters.
It was only just after five. There would be plenty of time to get ready, but I wanted to get away from Sterling and have some time with just me and Poppy before we had to report.
I also needed time to prepare for what we might see.
Which was something else that Pete, Jack, Cat, Calli, and Mason had gone over with us.
As gently as they could, they explained what could and oftentimes did happen at these parties.
But it was Catarina who privately told us that there was a very real possibility we could see young girls.
She also warned us that we could witness forced sex acts.
Those were the two things that had me reconsidering if I was strong enough to go through with this.
I didn’t miss the depth of her despair when she warned us we couldn’t intervene.
If we did, more than likely we’d take the place of the women being raped before we were possibly killed.
There would never be another sweet dream for me if I had to walk away from someone getting raped. There would be nothing Ryan could do to wash away that memory.
So, yeah, I needed a few hours.
Sterling waved over a very pretty blonde around my age, wearing a black dress that was modest yet still managed to be sexy. Or maybe it wasn’t the dress—maybe it was her sky-high heels that made the outfit sexy. “Laura, will you please show Chloe and Poppy to the staff quarters?”
“My pleasure, Mr. Blackwell.”
Sterling reached up and ran his finger from my temple down to my chin. I had to fight back a lip curl, but that wasn’t what freaked me the fuck out. It was the sadness in his eyes. Sorrow even.
What the hell?
“See you soon, Chloe.” He turned and smiled at Poppy, then walked away.
“Is this your first time?” the woman, Laura, asked.
She sounded chipper and happy. I wasn’t sure if, like us, she was faking it or if it was genuine.
“Yeah,” Poppy answered. “Any pointers?”
“Smile a lot,” Laura started as she began to walk through the foyer.
“Tonight will be a great night to break you in. It’s a small crowd, only twelve guests.
There’re always two hostesses per guest, and most of the girls here tonight are repeats like me.
But bottom line, your only job is to make sure the guests are taken care of and have whatever they need. ”
“And what, for instance, would a guest need?” I asked.
Laura stopped and tilted her head. “You came in with Mr. Blackwell from California, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And Muriel didn’t give you the specifics?”
Muriel?
Holy shitamoly.
“Um, no.”
“That’s strange. She always briefs the girls from Cali. Do you not work at the Vault?”
Holy shitamoly.
“We do,” Poppy answered. Then added, “Chloe’s new. We lost a server, and things have been super busy.” She added a shrug and went on. “Maybe that’s why she didn’t have time.”
Laura sighed, but it didn’t sound like frustration, more like resignation.
“Dinner will be served in the courtyard.” She pointed toward the window, indicating the tables outside.
“There’s catering staff that will serve the food.
We’ll mingle around the tables; if someone needs a drink, you bring them one.
If someone invites you to sit down, you sit and talk with them.
If they offer you a drink, you politely accept. ”
Well, if a hostess could turn into a guest, that explained why there were two hostesses per guest.
“The main floor is open to all guests.” She swept her hand around the room. “The upstairs is roped off; only premium members are allowed up there.”
Premium members?
“Members?” Poppy inquired.
“This is a supper club. There are different tiers. Tonight there will only be three premium members—Mr. Blackwell, Mr. Taylor, and Mr. Gamble. You can’t see them from here, but there are three guesthouses around the side of the pond.
Each house has four fully equipped bedrooms—those are for all members to use. ”
I didn’t ask what fully equipped meant. Mainly because I hadn’t had the time I needed to brace for all I was about to see.
“Twelve guests for dinner, twenty-four hostesses, plus catering staff,” Poppy reiterated. “I’m assuming there will be bartenders, or do we mix drinks as well?”
“There will be six bartenders and anywhere from twelve to fifteen entertainers.”
My stomach clutched.
Before I could give Poppy a sign to drop the topic, she asked, “What are entertainers?”
Please say baton twirlers and those people who dance around with torches blowing flames.
“Whatever they need to be.” Laura gave a tight smile, the first one I’d seen that seemed fake. “They won’t come down until after dinner. Sometimes they mingle in the main room, but mostly they’ll be around for five, ten minutes, then will head to guest houses.”
In my mind I begged Poppy to drop it and prayed that our BFF connection was such that telepathy was possible. I was not ready to deep dive into the role the prostitutes played.
We were back to walking when Laura quickly said, “It’s important you know you can say no. Though I wouldn’t recommend denying an invitation to sit and share a drink. Remember, you get tips, so you want to smile and chat. Be interested and interesting, but you can say no to anything you want.”
Before Poppy could ask Laura to expand on that, I rushed to say, “Thanks for the reminder.”
Without further discussion about consent, roped-off areas, members, fully equipped rooms, or entertainers, Laura walked us through the house and out a door to a covered walkway that led to a building that looked like a garage.
I glanced to the right and saw the pond.
I looked left and saw the parking area was full of delivery vans.
Laura opened the door, and I nearly tripped over the threshold. “Amazing, isn’t it?” she asked from beside me.
It was amazing; it was like walking into serenity.
Lots of pale blues, including the walls and throw pillows on an overstuffed cream couch.
Three wheat-colored leather club chairs.
Muted greens in various shades accented the open–floor plan space.
Living room, dining room, kitchen all open—no walls, no dividers, nothing to interrupt the flow of the room.
“There are four bedrooms upstairs. Two on this floor. And six in the basement. There’s a second staff house on the other side of the main, but it’s not as peaceful as this one. And since you two are the first to arrive, you get the pick of rooms. Fridge is full, help yourself.”
“You’re not staying? I mean, you don’t have a room you want to claim?” I asked.
“No. My room’s in the main house.”
I really wanted to ask why she stayed in the main house, because I was nosy by nature. I didn’t because I figured her answer might freak me out.
“Do you live here?” Poppy asked.
“I wish. I love this place. Mr. Gamble requested I stay in the main house this weekend. Most of the time, if there’s a party here, I stay in the sage green room on the main floor. The view is amazing. You get mountains and the pond.”
I was zapping Poppy with the telepathy again, hoping it worked a second time, and she didn’t ask about Mr. Gamble or his request.
“Thanks so much for walking us over here and taking the time to brief us.”
“No problem. Happy to help.” Laura started for the door but stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“You can say no. But if you don’t want to, there’s plenty of fun to be had.
And here’s some sisterly advice. Mr. Lance is pretty to look at and funny.
He’ll make you bust a gut laughing. Great tipper.
But . . . small peen. Like, small. But he makes up for it in other ways.
Mr. Donovan hardcore likes it rough, really rough, but he checks in every step and is a big ole softy after he’s done.
Total cuddler and buys the whole night just so his cuddle time isn’t cut short.
Mr. Harper looks every bit the nerdy banker he is.
Sweet as can be. So sweet you’d never guess he’s hiding a monster cock under those trousers and he’s a biter.
So if you have men at home, tell him to check his teeth.
If not, he’ll leave marks and hickeys. But he won’t if you tell him not to do it. ”
I wasn’t sure what expression Poppy was wearing on her face, and I didn’t chance looking, because I was on the verge of either busting out laughing at the insanity of this conversation or running into a bedroom and hiding in the closet.
“How does Mr. Lance make up for it?” Poppy asked.
Oh my God, shut up! I screamed in my head.
Laura gave a beaming megawatt smile. “That’s up to you.
But my favorite is his mouth. He’s a master at head.
Sheer perfection. He brings an assortment of toys with him, everything from vibes, paddles, plugs, clamps, crops.
He’s good with a paddle too. If you like kink and great head, if Mr. Lance approaches, say yes. ”
“I can’t ask him?” Poppy pushed.
Laura’s eyes got big. “Hell no. Shit. I forgot Muriel didn’t go over the rules.
No speaking unless spoken to. You do not offer services.
If a guest wants something, they will approach you and ask.
And no touching a guest unless it’s invited.
That’s it. Simple. Just walk around, look gorgeous, smile, and play waitress.
At the end of the night, you walk away with a pocketful of money, and that’s before extras.
Not a bad gig. Oh, the roped-off . . .” She trailed off.
“Never mind, there are only three premiums here tonight, and you’re off-limits to Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Taylor.
If Mr. Gamble wants to trade me in for one of you, I’ll find you and explain what the upstairs is all about. ”
With that, she turned back to the door and walked out.
Did that just happen?
Did a pretty woman in a pretty dress with sexy heels on her feet just explain the sexual preferences of three men I didn’t know but would be meeting in a few hours . . . ?
Yes, that happened. All of it.
And it creeped me the fuck out.
Poppy got close, wrapped her arms around me like we’d talked about before we left, and shoved her face into the side of my head. If we were being recorded it would look like she was hugging me. “That was the most bizarre experience of my life.”
“Mine too,” I muttered back.
We’d also decided there would be no debriefing or discussing anything until we left tomorrow since we didn’t know if there were hidden cameras or microphones.
“Dibs on the sage green room,” I called.
Before Poppy could reply, there was a knock on the door. Neither of us called out or made a move to answer it. Then it opened.
A man I’d never seen entered, followed by Sterling, and then finally the creep Dex.
Something wasn’t wrong. It was terrifyingly, horribly wrong.