Chapter 34
Mace
I stay in my room until I hear Ash leave, then shower and take off again before it becomes suffocating. The motel was a quick fix, but I’m determined to find a new place ASAP. I can’t keep living under the same roof as him.
I park my bike in one of the spots up close reserved for security and take the front entrance into the private gentlemen’s club.
Ty, the bouncer, gives me a nod and lets me pass.
The club is the only place where I can find refuge tonight.
I resisted the urge to drive to the diner.
I’m afraid of what I’d do if I saw Emily now.
I’m still too angry at her. Why would she deny herself what only I can give her? Why would she deny us ?
I weave through the smoking lounge filled with guys of all ages in pressed suits. It’s busy for a Wednesday night, but business here never really slows much between days. In a city like Castle, run by corruption and dirty secrets, Mr. DeMarco has no shortage of customers .
My eyes scan the darkness, skipping over the female servers in their matching ‘uniforms’, which consist of short black sequin bodycon dresses and red plateau peep-toe heels.
The Black Lotus isn’t a strip club, though; you won’t find the typical stages with poles in the main lounge.
If you’re willing to drop extra cash, you can, however, book any girl you like in one of the private rooms in the back.
Whether it’s for a nuru massage, a lap dance, or a little more hands-on and dick-out entertainment, the club’s got your needs covered.
Despite the notoriety of what goes on behind doors, jobs at the Lotus are highly sought after.
The girls make good money, are treated well, and are kept safe by tight security.
No means no even here, no matter how rich you are, and you don’t want Mr. DeMarco as an enemy.
A ban from the club means you’re booted from the top of the food chain.
Nobody wants to risk that. Membership is by referral only and not cheap either.
If it wasn’t for the perks that come with working for Mr. DeMarco, I certainly wouldn’t fly in their circle.
I finally find the face I’m searching for. Jillian sits on the armrest of one of the low chairs, an empty tray in her lap and her long legs crossed. The guy slouching in the black leather has his arm snaked around her hips as he keeps conversation with two other gentlemen across from him.
I know I’m supposed to tread carefully among the rich and powerful, but I simply don’t give a shit. “She’s taking a break,” I say, marching up and nodding at her .
The guy’s eyes narrow on me beneath dark brows. I estimate him to be in his mid to late forties; not old enough to make me feel sorry for the girls he pays to fuck here.
He looks me up and down with disdain. It sparks a sense of glee that he thinks I don’t belong.
Jillian straightens from her lean against his shoulder. Her hand lingers on his biceps. “Be right back, baby,” she tells him, rising from the armrest.
I take the tray from her and drop it on the bar in passing as I lead her back to the private rooms.
Two bouncers stand guard at the mouth of the hallway. They recognize me and wave us through instead of escorting us like they do with the reputable clientele. They know I can find my own way around.
At the fork, I swing right. Occupied rooms have red lightbulbs above the doors. I open the first one on the left that’s empty and gesture for Jillian to go in.
A quick glance connects with me over her shoulder. She’s twirling a dark brown lock around her finger. “You haven’t come by in a while. I thought you forgot about me.”
Her tone is sugary sweet, meant to keep up the charade that this is more than a transaction. I can see how some guys would eat that shit up, but I find it nauseating.
Without feeding into her seductive play, I lock the door and meet her where she stands a few feet into the small room.
Black walls close us in from all sides. Only a single dim pillar of light that was triggered when I flipped the lock shines down from the ceiling to illuminate the low platform in the center.
A golden pole protrudes from it, surrounded by plush, red seating against the walls, bringing the club’s three signature colors together.
I don’t have a need for any of it.
Jillian lifts her palms to my chest. “Miss me?” she drawls, her touch skating over me.
I incline my head. Raising a gloved hand to her jaw, I press my forefinger against her lips in a shushing motion.
Her crisp blue eyes stare up at me through thick, black lashes, waiting for my command.
I stall, savoring the moment of control before my right hand lifts a roll of cash into her view.
I don’t have to cough up the membership fee, but I’m still required to pay the girls for their time. I chose Jillian because she has a kink for breath play. She gets off on being choked, and that’s rare to find in a playmate. I like wrapping my hands around things. Throats in particular.
Jillian takes the money. Tucking it into her bra, she turns around slowly, still batting her eyelashes.
The gesture irritates me further. I’m not here for her for fake affection. She’s a proxy. A tool to fulfill a physical need, no more.
She brushes her long, dark tresses off one shoulder and tips her head to the side, offering me all the access I want.
My left hand closes around the front of her throat. My lips dip to her ear. “Touch yourself.”
She erupts in soft laughter. “You just want to watch today?”
“Don’t talk.” My right hand clamps down over her mouth, tipping her head back .
It’s bad enough I have to inhale her obnoxious perfume. It never bothered me before, but I fucking hate it now as I’m watching her hands tease the hem of her dress higher. I’m thinking of pink and black pleats and someone else’s hands… someone else’s thighs… the feel of someone else’s tight pussy.
Jillian’s ass grinds back against my fly, her hips rocking into me while pleasuring herself. It doesn’t feel right. She’s too short. She doesn’t fit like Em.
Anger swells in my chest. I squeeze her throat, covering her mouth and nose with my other hand. Her pulse beats against my palm in a frantic rhythm. Her body judders. I feel her climax.
I don’t let go.
The blackness pulls me under. I’m back in the woods, Emily’s body pressed to mine. She squirms in my hold, her cunt dancing around my fingers as I thrust them in and out to drive her higher.
The memory is so vivid, I can feel her pussy squeezing my cock in a slick glide up and down my throbbing shaft. I see her on her hands and knees, taking me. She cries my name. My muscles tremble with tension. I’m about to come.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Jilli?”
My eyes fly open at the sound of banging against the door.
“Jilli, are you in there?” a female voice calls from the other side.
I blink, and my vision darts around the room briefly disoriented before my grip loosens on the unconscious girl in my arms .
A long second ticks by.
I hear her sucking in a breath. Her head bobs. Her eyes are hazy as they settle on me.
Fuck! I swallow a mix of shock and guilt. If the knock hadn’t jerked me out, I would’ve killed her.
My chest tightens. I have to get out of here. One arm steadying Jillian, I unlock the door, then practically shove her at the other woman and storm down the hallway toward the back exit, rushing past the two bodyguards in front of Mr. DeMarco’s office and another security guy.
Nobody stops me.
I stumble into the parking lot as a whirlwind of emotions floods me—rage, shame, hate… all crashing down on me at once. I know it will trigger an episode.
Letting the door fall shut, I reach into the front pouch of my sweatshirt for my LED mask and put it on. I never leave the house at night without it. Or my knife. They’re my security blanket.
The familiar sensation instantly calms my erratic breathing. I tip my head back against the brick wall, my hand dipping into my rear pocket, tracing the shape of the knife’s cool grip.
Eyes closed, I relax.
“Well, I’ll. Be. Damned.”
Fuck! My muscles steel at the familiar voice.
“All by your lonesome tonight, are you, Mason? Does that mean your brother is working your girl over?”
My forearms flex. Jaw clenched, my fingers curl into my palms, and I envision Vince’s smug face behind my eyelids.
My fists tremble.
Motherfucker.