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I met her eyes with a flare of will. “I’m going to be staying around. For good.”
She didn’t comment, just offered the faintest of smiles.
“Does he have anyone?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Sorry?”
“Andy. Does he have anyone?”
Her jaw flapped but made no sound for a long second. “No, um. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Who is he fucking?”
She shrugged, gawping. “It’s really none of my business...”
I let out a laugh. “He’s got you trained well.”
“I just… I don’t know... sorry...”
“You don’t see him with anyone? In here?”
“Mr Morgan, in here?” It was her turn to laugh. “No. Mr Morgan never comes in here, not when the club’s open.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Well, that’s a fucking turn up.” I downed my drink. “No wonder he’s so fucking miserable.”
I handed over my glass for a refill.
The place was about to get a whole new kind of management. I had it all planned out, ready to roll. Andy would soon see what three years had done for me. Venice had made me, sculpted me into a different animal altogether. The bitch was back with new tricks, and ready to share. A tiny part of me had hoped I’d be sharing with him. Not fucking likely from the looks of it.
The show would still go on.
“I’m going to be putting on some entertainment tonight.”
Topaz looked wary. So bloody wary. “Entertainment?”
“Yes, a show. That’s what we do here, right? We’re a sex club. I want to put on a show.”
Her eyebrows were heavy. “Mr Morgan was quite clear that he wants a flogging bench on the main dancefloor this evening.”
“Mr Morgan only owns fifty-percent of this fucking club, whether he likes it or not.” I smiled, but it was frosty. “We could be friends, Topaz. Don’t make an enemy out of me, I’ll be here a long time.”
She sighed and shrugged, shaking her head like the world had turned insane. “Sure, whatever you say, Miss Devere. Just tell me what you need.”
I told her exactly what I’d need.
***
Andy
Explicit was heaving by eleven. I tried to keep my head down, oblivious, but the itch for control was too bastard strong. I crept along the corridor by the playrooms, pressing myself into the shadow of the wall to avoid a collision with anyone on duty. The rest of my route was clear. I slipped into the heart of Explicit without fanfare. The main floor was busy enough to skirt the edge undetected. Faye was easy to spot in the crowd, her head was tipped back as she laughed amongst the regulars, her eyes sparkling. Drunk.
Every BDSM club has a superstar dom. Ours is known as Masque, a huge hulk of ripped man-flesh with a big black dragon inked across his chest. He’s like an ancient gladiator throwback, his face a play of shadow behind the mask that gives him his name. I like Masque, for all the theatrics and pomp he’s a sharp guy with a decent brain in his skull. That isn’t what makes him popular in this place, of course. That’s all down to how he looks and how he fucks —rough, brutal, raw. He leaned in to whisper something in Faye’s ear, and she cocked her head, her hand on his arm, fingers squeezing muscle. My jaw gritted, frivolous bitch. I looked to Masque’s fiancée, Cat, but she didn’t seem bothered, she was dancing with Mistress Raven — another club regular — flicking her hair all about the place without a care in the world. Nobody seemed to care, in fact.
That wasn’t quite true.
