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“Let’s say I’m considering this,” I said. “What stops you from lying even if I do complete the list? How do I know you’ll still give me my share of the hotel?”
“I don’t need it, for starters. The club is basically a money printing machine. If that’s not enough, well, tough luck, I guess. Either you play along and accept the risks, or you don’t play at all. Only one option ends with the possibility that you get what you want.”
I glared.
This was it. Option one was walking away and never looking back. Option one also involved the high likelihood that I’d always feel like I let grandpa down somehow. Also wondering if I would’ve ever found a way to break through the disguise Landon had started wearing when he found out who I was—to find my way back to the guy I’d caught a tantalizing glimpse of by the vending machines.
Option two, on the other hand…
“Show me The Red Room.”
Landon laughed, then looked back at his water and shook his head. “Funny.”
“I’m serious. Take me there.”
He cocked an eyebrow and considered me. “You really want to do this?”
“Take me there,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
Landon turned and nudged a man who was sitting beside him—a man I hadn’t noticed until now because he moved about as much as a statue. The man was big, even compared to Landon, who was already taller than average. He had a proud nose that gave him a vaguely hawk-like appearance. His hair was black, and his skin was somewhat pale. I thought he had the look of a tortured artist type on steroids—like a young Leonardo DiCaprio mixed with Adam Driver.
“What?” asked the man in a frighteningly deep voice.
“I’m taking this one to The Red Room. Keep an eye on things for me, will you?”
The man looked around, as if asking what Landon expected him to need to monitor.
“Just do it, James,” Landon said. “Andi,” he gestured to me, standing. “Let’s go.”
“Wainwright?” James’ face was expressionless, but something in his cold eyes seemed to twinkle.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Landon barked.
He focused his attention on me again and stuck his arm out like he wanted me to play princess and let him escort me.
“No, thanks,” I said.
Landon kept his arm out. “Either you let people think you’re mine for now, or someone will try to take you for themselves. It’s your choice.”
I almost cracked a joke, but the look on his face told me he wasn’t kidding. Grudgingly, I hooked my arm around his and let him lead me deeper into the club. I could sass him all I wanted, but the truth was I didn’t want to wind up as Captain Leatherbeard’s booty for the night. Not that following Grandpa Willy’s list with Landon, AKA Captain Stick Up His Ass, was going to be much better.
Once we left the bar area, the club turned into a labyrinth of tight hallways, dark silk-covered doorways, and confusing turns. It was only twenty seconds before I’d lost my way. I was also finding it hard to focus with the way everybody was looking at us.
At first, I thought it must’ve been my head-to-toe black clothing and lack of nipple pride. But I quickly realized it seemed like my arm around Landon’s was drawing the murmurs and stares.
“Am I missing something?” I asked.
“A lot of things. Tact, for starters. Obedience. A general sense of restraint... I could go on, if you like.”
I shot him a dry look. “I mean about why everybody is whispering when they see us.”
“You’re welcome to worry about whatever you please. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”
I distantly wondered how cocky he’d sound if I headbutted him in the balls. Then again, I guessed putting my face between his legs in any capacity should probably stay out of my plans. There was a confusing sort of energy with Landon. Sure, I found him to be very punchable. But at the same time… There was this annoying, very, very faint intrigue about him. I had questions, and I hated how badly I wanted answers to them. Why was James about as friendly as Darth Vader? Why did Grandpa Willy never tell me about Landon? Why was there a goddamn BDSM club underneath my grandpa’s hotel? And, most presently, why was everybody staring like me being on his arm was the scandal of the century?
I can worry about whatever I please, I thought, fuming. Maybe he was the one who should worry that all my violent fantasies would eventually come to life.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling back a red curtain that led to a darkened room lined with leather couches, chairs, and even tables set with plates and glasses.
“Very sexy vibe in here,” I said. “At least, if you find things like depressing, leather-clad caves sexy.”
