Page 29 of Promise of Punishment

“Likewise.” We shake, and she strolls up the stairs like a movie star.

I look at Noah once Camila is inside. “I bet she’s a favorite of the Lords.”

“Just one.” Noah smirks. “He’s one of the tall Lords, and he never strays from her.” She shrugs. “Now, let’s hurry. There’s a lot to do before the party at ten.”

Good thing I don’t require a lot of sleep. I won’t be getting much here.

12

MASK OF THE WOLF

Wes

The only historic piece left in the ballroom is a massive crystal-and-gold chandelier from the Gilded Era in the dead center of the room. Below, an oval-shaped bar displays liquor bottles on floating glass shelves. The gold Baroque stools with white pin-tucked cushions match the couches and chairs scattered throughout the space, giving the eyes a break from the black damask wallpaper and black floors.

Mirrors cover most of the ceiling, offering guests a view of the grandeur and themselves, while also allowing the security team better visibility. Disco balls spin from specific areas, casting star-like specks over every surface. Women love the effect, as well as the six-foot vases filled with fresh flowers that anchor the black-and-white dance floor. Add in the smoky haze emitted from vents beneath the raised DJ platform, and it’s easy to forget the real world exists.

However, the best features are the three massive gold-framed mirrors on the back wall. To the naked eye, they’re just mirrors. But step through one, and you enter a hidden lounge with its own theme. The Devil’s Speakeasy is all dark wood, brown glass bottles, black leather, and faint candlelight. The Gilded Cage traps you in elegance with its gold-striped wallpaper, mirrored floors, chenille seating, and birdcage chandelier. The Crimson Chamber drapes you in red velvet. The deep shade covers the walls and the plush seating. Low lighting, paired with the subtle scent of blood orange and amber, gives the room a sensual energy.

If I had to pick one as my favorite, it’d be the Crimson Chamber for the aromatic elements. That and there’s just something about being cocooned in red velvet.

The club is a controlled environment where I can relax without worrying about exposure or bad shite happening like at the parties my parents hosted. No club can provide that for me, so I created this. An immersive experience for adults where everyone is protected.

Women often thank us—the Lords—for creating such a place. They don’t know I was the mastermind behind it all or that my motives were purely selfish. They also thank Camila for her vision of the décor. I told her what elements I wanted, but she did the rest. Good thing too, or the ballroom would have stayed the same and been a lot less appealing.

Lachlan thought I was insane when I bought the decrepit mansion. Once I explained my intentions, he understood completely. Thinking back, part of me must’ve chosen this place for Fable, haunted by the memory of her as my angel.

The Lords of Hellfire came about after my first party. Two of my mates and two guests—one who owns a popular Boston club—wanted in immediately. They saw the place the same way I did—as a sanctuary. They also liked the bragging rights that came with owning one of the most exclusive hideaways for the rich and famous. Having partners was never part of the plan, but it made sense. I had my lawyer draft everything and ensured control stayed with me. As for the name, they came up with it, and I liked it enough to let it stay.

“It’s been a while,” Sinclair says from behind me.

I’d know his Scottish accent anywhere. It’s similar to Rory’s. I turn, a tumbler of bourbon in my hand.

“Too long.” A gold wolf mask greets me. It covers most of his face, leaving his mouth and chin exposed, but nothing more. Mine is the same but simple, covered in snakeskin like the black mamba. You can’t see our hair from the front, which is the point of the larger style masks. Some Lords wear a full hood, hat, feathers, or a wig to conceal their hair, while others plaster it in gel to obscure the color and style.

Guests do the same. The mask is mandatory, but the hair and clothes are personal choices, with one exception. Apparel must be either white or black. It limits the chaos and doesn’t distract from the ambiance. It also makes it easy to note the red sash on a guest or the red feather on staff and know if they’re interested in hooking up.

With the elaborate masks, costumes, and sheer excess of it all, the ballroom becomes a black-and-white version of the Venice Carnival.

“Tonight’s a full house,” Sinclair says and takes a drag from his cigarette. “Haven’t had that happen in a while.”

“A full house? Hmm.” My jaw ticks. Camila didn’t mention that when I told her I was coming this weekend. She would have known too. The estate has fifty-five bedrooms. Thirty-six are renovated, but only twenty-six are for guests, with the rest going to the five Lords and some to the staff.

Full house means all twenty-six are booked, and twenty more people are attending. Those guests will need rides to wherever they’re staying afterward. We require they plan ahead by having their driver wait here, or they can call for a ride. If they fail to do so, Jay gets one for them, and they’re never allowed back. It’s a lot more work for the staff, not that they can’t handle it, but then, midsummer is peak season for Hellfire, so it makes sense. I haven’t been here since April and didn’t realize how long I’d stayed away until now.

“Don’t look so put out,” Sinclair says. “It’s good for business.”

True. Elites shell out a lot of money to stay here, but none of the Lords depend on this for their income. “Don’t act like you need the money to survive.”

He laughs and blows smoke to the side, his gaze on the bar, where two of the bartenders are setting up. “Wouldn’t mind some new pussy. Not that you’d understand. Somehow, I end up with the same four chicks.”

That draws a laugh from my throat. “How do you manage that?”

“They’re brazen and somehow onto me. They change their appearance so well I can’t tell until I’m between their legs, certain I’ve been there before.”

I lift my finger from the tumbler to point at him. “Maybe you should switch the mask. Throw them off.” He loves that damn wolf.

“I have. You haven’t been here in a while. I was a bull, a leopard, even a bloody goat—because who’d want to fuck that?” He raises his palms. “Turns out I’m irresistible. And identifiable. They were still onto me. The only way I’ll get a bleeding break is if I wore your mask. Everyone knows the serpent always leaves with Nefertiti.” He stamps out his cig in a nearby ashtray at one of the seating areas.