CHAPTER THREE
MASON
My phone buzzes with a phone call, and I sit up from the couch and look at the bright screen.
It’s a text message from the woman who had been in my apartment hours ago.
I let out a sigh when I stare at the file she sent me.
My result came back negative, which means I’m closer to drowning in this chaos more than I was yesterday.
Then my phone vibrates with another message, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Where are you? You are supposed to check in for work today. If you don’t come in, you’re getting fired.
It’s my boss at the office I worked at until yesterday. There’s no point in texting him back, so I just block his number.
Another message shows up on my notification bar. It’s from Madame, and she’s requesting me to check in at the Red Horn Club tonight. I thought I had the time to settle into this new life, but apparently, Godfather wants everything to move as quickly as possible.
I book a ride through the app on my phone and get off the couch to head straight to the bathroom.
As I step into the space, I strip naked and put my clothes on the wooden vanity, then step into the shower enclosure.
Gripping the knob in my hand, I twist, and warm water spills through the shower head, caressing over the solid plane of my back.
I place my hand over the misty glass, head bowed, shoulders easing from the crippling tension as my body trembles from fear.
I inhale deeply to calm myself. To tell myself that this would be over pretty soon, and I’d move on with my life.
But a quiet horror makes my stomach tighten.
What if this never ends?
What if I become their personal pawn?
What if I’m never free?
I turn off the shower after I finish and step out of the bathroom, walking to the closet in my bedroom.
I grip the handle and open the wooden structure, eyes falling over several pieces of blue suit, artfully arranged in the racks, and shoes tucked right under.
Beside the shoes are shirts, jackets, sweatpants, underwear, and trousers, neatly folded.
Vincent spent a fortune putting this together for me. Going back empty-handed isn’t an option. Not with him. There will be consequences.
I pick out an outfit and put it on, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
It’s different compared to what I used to have.
I look different.
Like I belong in this dark world, even though every part of me has fought against it my entire life.
I don’t waste any more time. The sun’s already setting. I grab my phone on my way out of the apartment, locking the door and heading downstairs.
The driver presses the horn, hands tight around the steering wheel as he hollers at me to hurry up. I scamper around the hood of the vehicle and get in from the other side. “Where to?”
“Red Horn Club.”
The driver gives me a suspicious look before he presses on the gas, driving into the city.
I have never lived in the city before. Everything here feels unfamiliar.
The buildings, the noise, the people, the constant motion.
It’s different. Jarring. As the taxi driver inches through heavy traffic, the sun disappears below the horizon, horns blaring and headlights glaring off the windshield.
My body remains pressed against the leather seat as my mind races a thousand miles per hour. Once I step into this club, going back isn’t an option anymore.
The car finally jerks to a stop at the destination, and I pay the driver and get out, facing the gigantic building before me.
At the top of glass and steel, a neon sign, a long, thin red tail with arrow-shaped tip curls around two red horns. I move toward the entrance, and I spot the same woman waiting at the double glass doors. I walk up to her, and she clears me with security and leads me inside.
The first thing I spot is the packed underground club and the DJ playing music on the stage. I don’t have the time to take it all in because the woman is in a haste to get to the next floor of the building. We head straight to the silver steel elevator, riding up to the third floor of the building.
The machine dings and opens into the hall, and we both walk into the dressing room with walls painted in deep, sinful burgundy and black marble tiles that reflect the gold lighting.
I don’t even have the time to take in the setup or look through the locker room because she drags me into her office and offers me a seat.
My eyes skim the office, catching the polished wooden table with files, books, and stacks of cash carefully arranged to her taste.
She settles into the leather chair and pulls out a printed paper from her drawer, and hands it to me along with a pen.
“Sign.” She commands, pinning me in place with her eyes.
My gaze drops to the paper. It’s a contract. “Do not waste your time reading that. Just sign.” She leans over and snatches the paper from my hand, placing it on the desk.
“Alright.” I whisper and sign my name in the required spaces, then I hand it to her.
“All you have to do is keep your clients satisfied.” She drags her gaze over me, unimpressed.
“Clients?”
“Did I stutter?” She regards me with a jaded stare.
“No, ma’am.”
“You’ll wear this.” She picks up a box beside her chair and hands it over. “Everything you need is inside, including the keys to your locker. Get ready, you’re meeting him in an hour.”
An hour.
Her words lodge in my chest as I leave her office. I sink onto a bench, open the box, and look inside. There’s a key, an enema bulb, leather straps, leather shorts, and a black mask. I find my locker in the space and open it, putting the box inside to prepare for the night.
After a while in the shower room, I get off and put on my shorts and leather strap, then I sit in quiet solitude with the mask firmly wrapped around my fingers.
“First night?” Some guy asks me. He’s already dressed and ready to leave.
“Yes.” I answer and swallow hard, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t unravel. If anything, it tightens.
“I’m Cash.” He extends his hand to me, and I take it. “You’ll be fine…” He pushes for my name.
“Mason.”
“You’ll be fine, Mason.” He repeats and sighs. “If there’s anything you need, I’m here and so is she.” He gestures toward the woman getting ready at the makeup table.
“Thanks.” I nod before he walks away.
Shoulders sagging, chest rising for a breath, my fingers tighten and loosen around the mask until I finally lift it to my face. I tie it behind my head and rise to my feet.
I’m not doing this because I want to. But because I have to.
Because I don’t have any other choice.
It’s this, or it’s my brain on the floor of that abandoned warehouse.
As I leave for the private suite on the next floor, I push back every part of me that’d fight this. Because fighting isn’t an option. Not if I’d end up dead. I just have to comply as long as I can until I get what Vincent wants and free myself.