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Chapter five
Lyla, 1 year ago
Hewastherein one of the lounge areas, watching her with those devilish mismatched eyes of his as she danced on the stage at Sanctum, one of the more posh sex clubs in the Club District, catering to sex and socialization for the affluent under one roof. Aside from the back rooms, there were also rooms available for the night above the club at request.
It was one of the private parties for one of the higher ups, a private party of over a hundred men and women who came from powerful places—lawyers, judges, politicians, industrialists, mobsters, all of them mingling in a night of lustful celebrations.
People in various stages of undress were already scattered around the room, some fondling, some fucking. The more private ones took their chosen companion or companions for the night to the rooms in the back, ones that catered to all kinds of fetishes they could want to explore.
It had been a while since she’d seen him, physically seen him. She had felt him many times, known he’d been keeping an eye on her even more so, but actually seeing him wasn’t usual. Her heart thud with each beat of the music as he watched her, and she focused on him, danced for him, just for him. Theirs was an odd relationship, if it could even be called that.
She had found him accidentally on a fateful night, and he had helped her out. She had never believed that she would see him again afterward, not until he showed up at one of the clubs where she’d been serving drinks one night. She had pretended not to know him, and he had pretended not to look at her. They’d both been lying. Since then, for years, he had become a constant presence in her life, an anchor she had become emotionally dependent on even though she knew she shouldn’t be. He was dangerous, he was manipulative, and he enjoyed playing with her emotions a little too much. And yet, when he came seeking her, she was found.
“Hey doll,” someone shouted from below her, breaking her trance. She looked down to find Three’s supervisor, the main handler for the entire housing complex, calling her. She descended the steps behind the stage, walking to the supervisor.
“That’s some very important clients.” He pointed to the lounge area where he was sitting with a few other men, most already with companions from the many girls available. “Go make sure they’re entertained.”
Heart pounding, she gave a nod and sashayed toward the lounge area. It was slightly elevated from the rest of the club, with plush maroon and brown couches scattered around an oval glass table, the lighting there dimmer than they were elsewhere.
One of the older men on a couch, already sitting with a semi-naked girl on his lap, grinned at her. “Aren’t you a looker… Come to join us, sweetheart?”
Before she could respond, a voice, his voice, dryly inserted a sharp comment. “Your heart won’t be able to handle more than one, Landon.”
The older man, Landon, chuckled, evidently the sharpness going over his head. “You’re right. Sweetheart, why don’t you entertain Mr. Blackthorn instead?”
Mr. Blackthorne.
Was that even his actual name or an alias? Whatever it was, it was fitting.
Breaths becoming rapid, she turned to the man on the couch, aware of the way his eyes dissected her barely-there golden sequin dress.
Putting one leg on each side of his, close enough to feel the heat of his body for the first time, she straddled him as she did any man about to get a lap dance. But her heart never pounded the way it did as she straddled him, her hands finding his broad shoulders, tentatively steadying herself as she began to move her hips to the music.
Their gazes locked.
Her eyes drifted to his mouth, the slash of pressed lips as he simply sat, appearing unbothered.
But she could see the darkening of his pupil in his lighter eye, could feel the solid bulge in his pants, getting harder the more she moved.
She ground against him, and suddenly, both her arms were behind her, held tightly in a steel grip, his other hand holding her jaw, reminiscent of the way he'd held her in the maze that first time. Breathing heavily, her breasts heaving, almost falling out of her minuscule dress, she watched him as a male singer's vocals crooned in the background.
The hand holding her jaw moved to her mouth.
Gloves. He was wearing leather gloves. So odd, but again so fitting with him.
His fingers traced her lips, and her mouth parted. She didn’t kiss, had never wanted to kiss anyone and thankfully no one had forced her to. That was something that was only hers, no one else’s. If someone tried to get her mouth, she simply distracted them. She didn’t know why she held onto that, maybe because it was the only thing she could hold onto that left her with any semblance of control in a world spinning out of it. Whatever it was, it was just hers. And she’d never wanted to give it away more.
He leaned forward, his lips moving to her ear, and she held her breath. “I have plans for tonight and you’re ruining them, flamma.”
The heat that had been simmering in her body suddenly died a cold death.
His plans.
Of course.
She closed her eyes, calling on her strength. How could she have forgotten who he was, how he toyed with her for his own purpose?
Although embarrassment wasn’t an emotion she felt often—with the kind of life she had, there wasn’t really any room for it—she felt the flush heating her face as she struggled to get up and walk away.
