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Masquerade masks are not uncommon and are actually a requirement forallstaff on the floor. It adds to the mystery, according to Vaughn.
The second,Risque, where we are now, is a maze of dimly lit hallways and curtained alcoves, purpose-built for secret interludes and rendezvous away from the prying eyes of the masses.
Private rooms dot the hallways, hired out at a rate of five thousand dollars per half-hour with staff called performers within to fulfill any kind of fantasy your body may desire. Many of these doors are closed, meaning they’re in use despite the tender hour.
Debauchery never sleeps, indeed.
Coming to the end of the long, winding corridor, I spy the hot pink neon sign for the third and final tier,Ravish,come into view.
My feet automatically grind to a halt, disapproval filling my mouth with a bitterness I can almost taste. “You never said you were coming overhere.”
Vaughn stops with a heavy sigh. “Calm your tits. It’s empty at this time of day, idiot.”
He rolls his eyes before continuing closer to the biometric hand scanner that grants only a select few access to possibly the seediest aspect of the club.
The door swings open with a loud beep, admitting us into a lowly lit large space that I typically avoid.
I swallow my disgust and voice the question. “Is there one tonight?”
Vaughn grunts in confirmation, moving off to check on something behind a low bar to our left.
Neither of us is comfortable being here, but Vaughn hides it exceptionally well, standing tall and unafraid in the only part of his father’s legacy that he couldn’t dismantle, much to his revulsion.
Having established his London club first, Valentine Burton had expanded the menu for his North American clientele, going so far as to offer sex auctions, among other unsavory events.
These had made him a fortune, putting his name well and truly on the map, and so, Valentines of Manhattan had quickly become home to a great many powerful men and women.
It was when Vaughn had rebranded as Rogue that the shit hit the proverbial fan. People were threatened, lives were lost, and Vaughn was backed into a corner.
Keep the auctions and everything that goes with them,or else.
“Okay, so you have two options, DeMarco.”
Vaughn’s voice echoes through the space, pulling me from my musings. I shift my eyes to my left, where he’s stood before a computer, tapping away with his eyes glued to the screen before him.
“By all means, feel free to spit it out sometime this year.”
He finishes up, lifting his head with a heavy eye roll. “Wanker.”
He comes closer, hitting a light switch on the wall as he passes that illuminates the bars running on either side of the space and the elevated runway in the center of the room with the same hot pink neon as the sign outside the door.
“Choice number one. Tell Henry you’re a liar. Go back to the office, and tell him you’ll do what he wants. You’ll do the bought-and-paid fake girlfriend just like he’s demanding. Toe the line, and keep the Board happy.”
I nod as he pauses, signaling for him to continue.
“Choice two. Ask this mysterious Reyna to be a willing accomplice—”
I cut him off. “No one would agree to marry me, no questions asked, purely because I need a fake fucking wife. Especially not a girl like this, Burton. She’s…she’s…”
I trail off, unsure of how to conclude that thought, but Vaughn jumps right in to fill in the blanks when he deadpans. “She’s practically homeless, jobless, and has a grandmother with huge healthcare bills. It’s safe to say that she needs you as much as you need her.”
My brows crease as I weigh up his words.
Maybe she reallydoesneed me.
I sigh heavily as he regards me with his hands clasped in front of his waist.
“You don’t trust people easily, DeMarco. I get it. We’re alike in that sense.But, from what you’ve told me, she’s somehow made it past the walls you use to keep the world at bay. Perhaps meeting her yesterday was meant to be.”
