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“What can I do for you, Mr. Coldwell?”
Her voice is a purr and I consider asking her to take a break. This girl is wild and up for almost anything, and she doesn’t cling afterward which makes her perfect for a quick fuck. “A scotch on the rocks.”
“Is that all?” Her hands wander down my body and I catch her wrist in a brutal hold, throwing it off me before her hand gets to my cock.
“For now.”
I watch her pout before she seems to snap out of it and sashays off to get my drink. I head over to the mezzanine balcony and lean against the waist-high reinforced glass, looking over the club.
I’m proud of Club Ruin. It’s something we built together with no money or input from my father or family. Its success is because of us and nobody else. I let my eyes move over the dance floor, scanning the crowd who are letting loose. Bodies undulate in an erotic rhythm as they let the stresses of the work week disappear. That’s what we offer, fun for all, depending on your personal preferences.
When we talked about the club, it was Beck’s idea to have an exclusive VIP floor with members only, but it was Audrey who introduced the top floor where anything goes as long as it’s consensual.
The men and women we hire to work there are all vetted thoroughly with health checks every month, and a strict policy on the use of condoms. We don’t want any blowback if one of these men gets someone pregnant. They also have a rigorous background check to look for any red flags before they’re offered a twelve-month contract. We want longevity in our staff but also the ability to keep things fresh and it’s a fine balance. It’s why each member is asked to fill in a form once a year rating the staff, and the bottom two are fired and new blood is brought in to fill the void.
The top floor is similar to the rest of the club in that it has a small dance floor and bar where they can be seen and socialize, with a stage for those wanting a more public experience, with a St Andrews Cross in the center and secluded booths mixed in with high-top tables. The real draw though is the private rooms. Each room is themed, with all the toys you might need for fun, and they’re cleaned and sealed by our staff after every use. Some have viewing windows and others are completely private. We also have a high-security presence, both physical people walking the halls and cameras inside, and although discreet, they’re there for the safety of everyone and no violence is tolerated.
We have a stringent selection process for our members, with only the most elite getting access. Actors, musicians, politicians, business moguls, and even professional athletes are members here. It’s not a new idea, but it’s one we’ve put our own spin on, and everyone benefits. But all the money and fame in the world doesn’t give these people the freedom to be violent without consent and then only up to a point. If someone wants pain, that is one thing, but we don’t allow knife play or someone to inflict wounds that bleed.
That’s a whole other nightmare we want no part of and the lawsuit should something go wrong isn’t worth appeasing the small group of people who request it.
My eyes scan the bar, and I freeze, my gaze sliding back toward the end of the bar where Marc is speaking to one of the new hires. My body goes stiff, every muscle stilling as I wait for her to turn around and confirm what I already know.
My Lottie is here, and she’s working the bar in my fucking club.
3: Lottie
I mix the cocktail,adding the straw before I turn to Marc. “Better?” Tending bar is harder than I thought, and the pace is so much quicker than working the diner.
He offers me a sexy smile. “You’ll get there, gorgeous.”
I blush. Marc is handsome and fun to be around and he’s good for my ego with his flirty winks and sexy remarks, but I’m here for one reason only and that’s to make more money.
Eric is doing better since his hypo last week but the bills coming in are staggering and if I think about them too long, I’ll drown, so I just keep plugging on. Tending bar at Club Ruin pays well but my aim isn’t this floor. I need to get onto the second floor where I know the tips will be better, but apparently, everyone starts on the main bar first.
“Hey, Marc, how long does it take to work your way up to the second floor?”
His pierced brow rises as he looks at me. “You want to work on the second?”
“No, she does not.”
The world seems to tilt as I feel the air leave me at the sound of a voice from my past. A voice I never thought I’d hear again. Slowly I turn and I’m rendered speechless at the sight of the man who broke my heart and threw me away like I was trash.
Lincoln Coldwell.
“Lincoln.”
The slash of his brow, and the tick in his jaw, don’t detract in the slightest from the full sensual lips or the blue eyes that look greyer as they stare at me with open contempt.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I see Marc slink away as if he’s worried about getting caught in the crossfire of whatever this is, his face a mask of concern as if he’s frightened of the man glaring daggers at me.
No hello, or how have you been, just straight in with the hostility. He’s such an arrogant prick. I wonder if the boy I loved ever existed or if he was all a figment of my overactive teenage imagination.
I steel my spine, finding the spirit that has kept me upright these last few years, and tip my chin up. I won’t show this man how much his words cut me. “I work here.”
“No, you don’t.”
