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I'm going to live to regret this. I know I am.
"Meet me at the arena in an hour," I mutter, giving in to the inevitable. "And wear a fucking suit."
By the time we arrive at the club, the night's activities are already in full swing. I contemplate forcing Jonas to wait in the bar where everyone is fully dressed and behaving themselves but I have a feeling he'll wander off on his own as soon as I go in search of his sister.
There are rooms in this club he doesn't need to see, especially if his sister is in one of them. Call me crazy, but I don't think he'd appreciate finding her dressed like a schoolgirl while she's getting railed by some dirty old music exec. Or gangbanged by a group that likes to play rough.
Safe, sane, consensual, and discreet are the only rules here. Everything else is on the table. There are no judgments here. The brothers who run this club know exactly who they cater to and exactly what their clientele wants. When you can have it all…well, the only thing left is the taboo.
I drag Jonas into the club proper, praying his sister isn't inside. If she is, she better not be with anyone, or I'm going to snap.
Sensual music and the smell of sex hits us like a wall. Jonas grimaces, his gaze drifting from one corner to another. There are naked bodies everywhere.
"Jesus H. Christ," he mutters, pausing as three men spread a brunette across a table and shackle her arms and legs to the hooks at opposite ends.
"I warned you."
"More, sir."
"Fuck," I growl as a man in a mask brings a paddle down against the red ass of a blonde. It's not Parker, thank God.
The blonde sobs her pleasure, clawing at the leather cushion beneath her.
Jonas clenches his jaw so tight I'm worried he might shatter it. If we find his sister inside, he will lose his damn mind. I need to get him as far away from this type of scenario as possible. Unfortunately, there aren't many places in the club where the exact same scene isn't playing out in one way or another.
"You check the basement," I say when we reach the opposite end of the room. "I'll check upstairs."
"You don't even know what she looks like."
How much could she have changed in the last six months? Does he not remember that we met? Shit, he probably doesn't. It was six months ago, and I was at the table for all of two minutes before I disappeared.
"I'm guessing she looks like you."
"She's a curvy blonde with two strands of pink in her hair."
So, aside from the pink, she hasn't changed at all. Every man in here is probably dying to get their hands on her. Assholes. "I'll check upstairs."
"Wait."
I turn in his direction, impatient. I want to find her and get her out of here as soon as humanly possible. Preferably before I hit someone.
"What's in the basement?"
"Exhibition rooms." It's ironic, really. The dungeon is the only place in this club where people aren't fucking like rabbits. Instead, it's used as an exhibition room where members can learn, teach, and show off their pets and pretty toys. It's the only place in the club where you're allowed to bring your own equipment.
"What's upstairs?"
"You want to check the basement," I say instead of answering. If Parker is upstairs, he's liable to kill someone.
"Right," he mutters, turning toward the stairs leading down to the basement.
I wait until he descends and then head up to the private rooms. The security guard—called a safety monitor—standing at the top of the stairs in a dark suit barely spares me a glance until I stop in front of him.
"I'm looking for a girl," I murmur quietly. "Curvy blonde with two pink streaks in her hair."
His dark eyes gloss over me before turning back to the wall in front of him. "You know the rules, sir."
Right. Discretion. Even if she were fucking right in front of him, he wouldn't tell me if he'd seen her. When you step through the doors here, your privacy is tantamount. Good luck getting any information from the safety monitors. The only thing you're liable to get is tossed out on your ass.
"Her brother is here right now, looking for her," I say smoothly. "I can solve the problem and get her out of here before it becomes a problem for the club, or you can handle it when he finds her with whichever of your members she's here with. Your choice."
He looks at me again, unease entering his gaze.
"I forgot to mention that he plays professional hockey," I add, just to twist the knife a little deeper. The last thing this place wants is a scandal. Most people don't even know Dionysus exists. If they do, they speak of it in disbelieving whispers, as if anything else might draw the wrong kind of attention to them. Nashville is in the heart of the Bible Belt, where sex is still a dirty word, and admitting you have a kink is the equivalent of admitting you're a deviant. It's scandalous.
