Page 134 of Lethal King

I shake my head.

“I knew Leander was a freak…” I mutter.

In response, Rian nudges me again. This time, I follow his gaze to a dark balcony that overlooks the strange dancefloor.

A man I don’t recognize leans on the railing. When I meet his watchful gaze, he offers a seductive wave and a flirty smile.

I hold back my sneer.

That must be Flavian.

The fool doesn’t know what he’s in for.

Following the shiny ogre up a set of stairs, we’re led to the platform. Before we can reach Flavian, though, he turns around and struts towards a door; with one curious look back over his shoulder, he disappears behind it.

“The fucker thinks we’re here to play his games,” Rian grumbles.

“I’ll make him pay for it.”

“Not if I do first.”

“Please enter,” the deep-voiced ogre says when we reach the door. He opens it for us, but makes no attempt to follow us inside.

The moment I’ve crossed the threshold, the door clicks shut behind me.

“Welcome to my palace!” a voice announces.

The thumping bass is quieter here, but it still seeps through the thick walls like a faint but frantic heartbeat.

“Music’s a little loud for this time of the day, don’t you think?” I say.

In response, I feel a little shock pinch my neck.

“Behave,” Rian whispers.

“Fuck,” I curse, shaking the jolt away. “I swear to god…”

“I love it.” The flamboyant voice carries through the dim room like an air horn. Flavian steps out of the shadows, arms raised in the air. “The choke collar that is everything,” he says, cupping his hand around his throat. “Very kinky.”

The club owner is a thin, tightly-dressed man in his mid-to-late thirties. Handsome, in a way. His gel-spiked blonde hair stands at attention as he closely studies his two visitors. To my amusement, he’s wearing the same type of shiny suit as the ogre.

“It does the job,” Rian replies, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his composure.

I like that he’s going to have to suffer through this too.

“And what job is that, handsome?” Flavian asks, his question full of innuendo.

“It keeps the lady under control.”

“Under your control,” he points out. “And who wouldn’t want a creature like that under their control.”

Licking his lips, Flavian lifts his two hands to his face and claps twice.

The lights come on.

It instantly becomes clear what kind of man Flavian Baros is—not that it wasn’t strongly hinted at before.

His office is essentially a sprawling sex dungeon: bubbling hot tub, sex swing, St. Andrew’s cross and all. I wouldn’t be shocked if the black leather chair sitting behind his desk had some kind of automatic clamps built into the armrests.