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Chapter 1
LEAH
“I’m not sure about this,” I say warily.
I’m starting to regret ever agreeing to feed Marilyn’s delusion.
“It’s just a club,” she says too casually.
My eyes flit around the room at all the people who are engaged in lusty role play. There are large, black and red velvety couches and chairs everywhere. The low lights cast a hazy glow on all the writhing bodies that might as well be moving things to a bedroom.
I swallow hard when I see them actually drinking from each other. Their fake fangs dig into the soft flesh, and blood spills in trickles. They lap it up, making sounds akin to pleasure as opposed to disgust.
I’m going to be sick.
“This is not just a club,” I hiss.
She swats a dismissive hand as though she feels I’m overreacting. I’m not. At all.
I’ve had to do a lot of weird things with her in the past, but this tops the crazy charts. I didn’t realize being her assistant would be such a hands-on job. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m being the friend or the employee.
“Fine. It’s a vampire role playing club. I need this for research. It’s important that I become completely submersed in their world—no matter how far-fetched and ludicrous it might sound.”
At least she still admits this is all absurd. Sometimes I wonder if she has crossed the line of researcher into believer, and if she has truly detached herself from reality. All these mythological research missions turned into occult research missions a while back.
I appreciate the fact she’s a very thorough researcher—for her nonfiction pieces on underground clubs and secret societies—but I’m not keen on being involved with said research.
I’m a logical person most days, so it’s hard to engage and try to get inside their heads.
This is her obsession and her publishing deal, not mine. When I signed up for the job, I expected to be making phone calls and scheduling appointments for her.
I never thought I’d be standing here in a short leather skirt and a barely-there scrap of a red shirt that shows all of my back and most of my stomach. High heels and I do not get along very well, either, but I’m frigging wearing them. Maybe we should discuss proper work attire.
“You don’t really plan to let someone… do that, do you?” I ask, my stomach churning as I motion to a girl who is lying across a man’s lap as he sucks blood from her wrist.
She turns to me with patented determination in her eyes. She’s definitely going to do it.
“I can’t write about something I haven’t ever truly experienced. It’ll be like I’m writing a lie. And I don’t write fiction.” She glances around the room, and I swear she looks a little excited. “Besides, it can’t be that bad. You have to admit that it’s seductive.”
“My brain is still firmly attached to reality, so no; I don’t find it seductive.”
I look over just as a girl bows her body into the arms of a man, arching her chest against him as he sucks from her neck. Her moans reach us even over the low beat of the scandalous music, and I find myself squirming. Okay… Maybe it’s a little seductive.
“Look at how free they all seem. It’s as though they have no inhibitions,” Marilyn points out, turning her eyes back to the room. “And I had to work really damn hard to get an invitation here. It’s not like there’s a fat sign on the door—hence the underground club title. I had to lie to people and bribe them left and right, because this place is very exclusive. Now make yourself useful and chat up some wannabe vampires.”
She struts off, leaving me on my own, and I sigh while slowly walking around the room, taking in the scenery. Oh damn. Is his hand really up her dress and moving in front of everyone?
I cut my eyes away from the latest naughty couple, and head straight for the bar. I definitely need a drink if I’m really going to stay here.
When I finish placing my order, I start looking around once again. But my eyes freeze on one sight that I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from.
There’s a guy sitting in a chair in the corner with a girl sitting on the floor between his legs. She’s talking to another couple on the sofa next to them, but the guy’s eyes are trained on me as he studies me very intently. And I can’t seem to stop staring back.
He’s wearing a black, sleeveless shirt that hugs the lines of muscle on his long, lean body, and he’s holding his chin with a hand that has black painted nails. Gothic has never been my thing, but he wears it like a pro—a sexy, ungodly gorgeous pro.
Long, intricately detailed lines of ink run the full lengths of his arms, looking so good against the tanned skin of his body. His inky black hair is styled in a short faux-hawk with dark blue tips that I can see from here.
He’s everything I’ve never been attracted to, but now I can’t stop looking at him as though he’s exactly what I’ve always wanted.
Two black leather cuffs are on his wrists, and his black combat boots stick out from the bottoms of his dark denim jeans. In real life, he’s probably an accountant or something. But this is role play, so he can be dark and mysterious here.
His steady gaze doesn’t waver, and I feel heat in all the wrong places as he starts absently strumming one of his long fingers over the crease of his lips. It takes more effort than it should, but I finally manage to break eye contact. It helps that the girl between his legs has now gotten up onto her knees and is slipping her hands under his shirt.
