Ruined (Sons of Solstice #1)

1. Silas

Silas

Bodies bent in devotion as mouths met through masks. Moans reverberated off the walls, colliding with the music as legs spread and eager Volunteers settled between them. The white masks of the Watchers glinted along the walls, each of them searching for what suited them.

From up here, they all looked the same.

Hungry.

It wasn’t unusual for Ruined to be this full.

Being the only club designed for anonymity, it was the one place that offered a choice in how to participate.

The club created a unique type of darkness, a place where everyone could thrive.

Most newcomers entered with the intention of just "trying it out" but left with an assigned mask and membership card.

That was the whole reason this empire had been built—to offer you an experience that left you in ruins.

My favorite spot was here, above it all, where I was free to observe the chaos beneath me.

Accessible by only one staircase, my office sat on a second story that jutted out over the main floor, engineered to appear as though it floated.

Truthfully, the steel columns that held it up were more than capable of bearing the weight.

Peering over the half wall that connected to the balcony, I wrapped my hand over the railing and looked down at the world beneath me.

From this perspective, I had a clear view of everything I owned.

The space was considerably large, every corner filled with pulsing music and smoke.

LED lights traced the edges of the floor in deliberate paths, cutting through the darkness in bands of moving color.

They shifted with the beat of the music, causing the entire club to feel alive as the light illuminated the haze.

One minute, the room glowed soft and hypnotic; the next, it burned bright enough to highlight silhouettes.

Here, each piece looked controlled, almost strategic—like the club itself was breathing.

The main floor underneath had many features, all anchored by the bar-top.

A mix of low benches and polished tables curved around it, arranged as if drawn into its orbit.

Smaller booths and couches lined the farther walls, offering pockets of privacy and a variety of toys, without ever fully separating anyone from the pull of the bar.

A handful of dark barstools lined the counter, and black walls enclosed the rest of the open space.

Vaulted ceilings stretched high above it all, feeding into an atmosphere that felt both expansive and deliberately contained.

It was the kind of room designed to offer both solace within the shadows and security outside of them.

As I watched the people below me, my eyes caught a slight change in color and moved from my members to the slivers of light that filled the space between them. Just at that moment, the bass dropped and a silver beam shot up to the ceiling, exposing all the skin around me.

My world.

As the hue shifted again, the colors separated amongst the darkness, glinting off the mirrors and chains that were evenly spaced along the walls.

I had always been intentional about each section, especially when it came to the layout.

I wanted the experience here to offer different perspectives.

No matter where you stood, the room revealed itself in fragments, through mirrors or openings into the spaces attached.

The song once again picked up speed as the beams of color around me dissipated.

The few that were left over caught the metal-like ornaments in my cathedral of sin.

Something inside me shifted at the sight, at how everything fit so perfectly here.

A smile grew on my face as my eyes traced down the hallway, eventually finding the smaller play rooms—another exclusive form of privacy for my members.

I leaned into the hand braced against the rail and raised the glass in my other.

The rim met my lips, and I took a slow sip.

Scotch. Neat. The fact was that I had never been fond of drinking.

Truthfully, I hated everything about the taste, but I always carried something to occupy my hands, especially when I patrolled over the fucked-up heaven I'd created.

With a sigh, I took another drink and lifted my line of sight toward the masks that adorned the upper wall near the entrance.

Masks were the absolute law here. Not only did every member have to chose a mask, but they had to wear one while inside.

Depending on which one you chose, you were then labeled with certain characteristics and rules.

At the start of every year, members voted on three new designs.

As a result, the old ones were mounted above the door, creating a visual history of the club itself.

Voting had recently been finalized, and this was our first night with the new masks. Overall, I found myself quite pleased with the outcome

The first was a white porcelain mask—smooth and pristine, with wide mesh eyes and a smile carved into the mouth.

These belonged to the Watchers, those who only wished to observe.

People who chose this mask were usually new to the club or curious voyeurs who hadn’t yet found the courage to step into their power.

This mask was typically the stepping stone to the others.

The only thing I allowed on the wall beside me was a black mask I kept out on display.

Kyrin bought it for me as a congratulatory gift for the club’s opening.

“Cheers to being broken,” he’d cackled, presenting it to me.

I couldn’t even stay mad about the comment because in a lot of ways, he was right, which made it perfect.

The eyes and mouth were dark voids, a jagged purple crack split the surface over the right eye.

The design was picked after our first round of originals, making it different from every other one worn by the members here.

That uniqueness quickly became a problem when it became a blaring sign, I was the owner.

I retired it to the wall as a trophy, dismissing the attention it brought.

Since then, I have permanently become a Watcher.

Watchers usually lingered along the walls and furniture.

Some stayed fully clothed and simply observed their surroundings.

Others touched themselves openly as they watched the main floor.

Their rule was simple: if your mask was white, you could not be approached.

Every Watcher was treated as if they were not there.

In a way, it was almost a luxury, and because of that, some members stayed Watchers forever.

Next were the Volunteers, people who wore the same color but in a red stitched design that fit close to the face.

Where the Watchers design was simple, this mask was marked with an angular cut on the top and bottom, exposing both the hair and mouth for play.

Volunteers were different because they existed to give themselves freely.

Whether for pleasure or purpose, that mask meant the wearer was both willing and submissive.

They moved through the space without hesitation, waiting for an offer from a Dom or performing for Watchers.

Their silence wasn’t mandatory, but it was often chosen.

The Volunteers one rule? They had to obey. Choosing that mask meant you volunteered yourself completely—no exceptions.

That left the Dominants. Characterized by darker leather and sharp lines, the design of this mask was made for control.

A variety of buckles and buttons were sewn into the sides, allowing the mask to be removed in specific ways.

There was something unspoken about the Doms, something that set them apart from the rest. They followed the same rules as everyone else yet somehow held more control.

Their rule was a safe word—they had to have one, and if they heard it, everything stopped.

That was the foundation of Ruined. Everyone wore a mask, and everyone followed the system. There were no exceptions, not even for me.

Tonight, I wore my usual choice, white. I didn’t want to be approached or bothered. My pleasure came from the energy here; I didn’t find the need to be involved in anything else.

A quiet moan drifted up from below me, drawing my attention to a Volunteer kneeling at a Dominant’s feet in offering.

Even from here, I could see her tanned skin glistening beneath a light sheen of oil.

Her mouth was slightly open, showcasing a smile full of wicked intent.

A tattoo wrapped around her side and thigh, spiraling down to her ankle.

She wore nothing else, a clear indication that she had no limits.

I watched as the Dominant’s fingers brushed against her jaw in acceptance—a silent contract. She leaned into the touch, licking his fingers. Within a single movement, he pulled her off the ground and onto her feet, slipping into one of the rooms that lined the hallway.

I followed them with my eyes until they disappeared.

Then I pushed off the railing and turned back toward my office.

I'd only taken a few steps before the heavy steel door clicked shut behind me, the sound cutting through my thoughts and the music outside.

The walls around me vibrated faintly, but most of the noise from the floor below was swallowed whole.

I slid my mask off and moved toward my desk, inhaling slowly.

Instinctively, I ran my hands through my hair, the only thing I didn’t demand control over.

I kept the sides shaved close in a clean, deliberate fade, while the top was left long and wild, thick enough for someone's hand to run through. I pushed it back out of habit, only for it to fall forward again, defiantly.

As I sat, I caught my reflection in the dark monitor of my computer. The stark contrast of my black hair against my light blue eyes echoed my bloodline, a family built on contradictions.