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Puberty granted me thick thighs, full boobs, and a peach-shaped ass—which has only been accentuated through my love of working out. The issue growing up was the fact that no one else looked like me, especially not in middle school. When my body bloomed, it fucking bloomed, and it made me feel like a freak.
I did everything I could to un-enhance my looks. I forwent makeup and saran wrapped my tits to my chest to make myself appear less…just…less. I hated the stares and the incessant catcalling when I walked down the street to and from school. The bodyguards trailing behind me only made things more awkward. Even being in the notable family I’m in didn’t help. Actually, I think it made it worse.
Shortly after puberty and meeting Remi, my father pulled me from school, and I was homeschooled from then on out. His excuse was that no private school was good enough. But I know it was because he wanted the control. He thrived on having me in the bubble he created.
“Earth to Giiiaaaana…” Remi singsongs, snapping me out of my nostalgic haze.
“Sorry. What were you saying?” I ask as she sprays what seems like an entire can of designer hairspray on her exquisitely done hair.
Her long bright-pink hair is a sharp contrast to my dark-brown, never-before-colored hair. Remi likes to stand out, and I don’t mind blending in—or trying to. I think that’s what makes our friendship work so well. I don’t mind allowing her to have the floor in most any scenario; I don’t mind the way she eats up attention. I love her for it.
She thrives on energy, on being around people and bringing people happiness. I thrive on sweats, my family’s cat, and a serial killer documentary after a gym session. I’m not allowed to do much else anyhow. I may be an adult, but in a family like mine, you’re transferred from one man—your father—to another—your husband.
“I wassayingthat I wouldn’t be on my own. Have you forgottenhowwe scored an invite to the most prestigious sex club in Chicago’s masquerade event?” She grins, showing off her smiley piercing, which physically pains me to think about.
I’ve only pierced my ears, because there’s no way in hell my father would allow anything else, and those stung badly enough.
Contrary to her belief, I haven’t forgotten how Remi got us on the exclusive list. She’s been banging a member of the high-society club for a few weeks, and apparently, my girl has an extremely powerful pussy, because the dude has been showering her with gifts of gratitude ever since.
He was able to get us on the list as prospects for said club, allowing us in for the night. Apparently, if you aren’t vouched for by a member, there’s no way you’ll get in.
“I seriously appreciate you for going with me tonight. I need a change of pace. I promise I won’t leave you once we meet up with Tobias.” She smooths her hands over her dark-purple lingerie—one of the non-negotiables for tonight, lingerie for women and suit and tie for men—and looks in the mirror, licking her teeth free of the unintentional flakes of matching purple lip color. “I’m sick of dating apps, sick of vanilla boys who don’t know how to please me. Tobias is different, and I’m ready to try something new. There’s no one better to go on an adventure with than—”
“Than yourveryvanilla,veryvirginal best friend?” I interrupt her, and we laugh together as she elbows me.
“Listen!” She turns to me and grabs both of my hands, squeezing. “I owe you, okay? Plus, you cut me off before I got to the best part. There’s no one better to go on an adventure with than you. There’s no one I’d rather potentially die in a torture room with than you.”
“Wow, well, when you put it like that…” I let my head fall back and look up at the ceiling. “Maybe we should pregame a little. I’m going to need some liquid fucking courage.”
* * *
“Uh, Rem…” I start, unable to find meaningful enough words to express my current semi-overwhelmed and tipsy state of mind. “Is this the right place?”
She practically shoves me out of the Uber she ordered, and I stare at the underwhelming brick building. I was expecting some posh glass castle, but the place we’ve arrived at is anything but.
Tendrils of dead ivy crawl up and down the weathered structure, and I can’t help but allow a festering thought to permeate the forefront of my mind. The dark leaves are hiding secrets, trying to cover up the things that go on just beyond where the sidewalk ends.
“Trust me when I tell you that I’ve heard the stories about this place, babe. It looks discreet for a reason. Wait until we get in. I promise we are exactly where we’re supposed to be.” Remi quells my concern, but it doesn’t stop a shiver from running up and down my spine.
My gaze flutters to the strip of brick-and-mortar stores that also seem to shield this place, set just a bit more out toward the edge of the street than the club. This is the only stand-alone business on the block, the rest all joined together. Hair salons, nail salons, a phone store.
But then there’s this place, with the bricks and the creepy ivy and the wrought-iron bars over the windows. There’s no neon sign lighting this place up. No declaration of what lies beyond the bricks. NoWelcome, We’re Opensign. No advertising at all.
Because the people inside want to stay hidden. And I’m about to be one of those people.
Without even realizing it, I’m now standing on the sidewalk as people walk hurriedly every which way, surrounding Remi and me. She motions for me to follow her as my eyes trail to a woman in a Versace double-breasted trench coat.
I get lost for a moment, a sucker for both fashion and avoidance techniques. I admire the tonal jacquard rendition of the La Greca print of the jacket. Four beautiful gold medusa buttons are placed below the equally stunning gold embellished belt.
She glides into the club alongside a man in a black designer tuxedo, their arms looped together, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think they were going to a wedding or some kind of fancy dinner event—not a sex club.
Remi grabs hold of my hand, and I’m forced to follow her, doing my best to keep up in my red-bottom heels, courtesy of dear Daddy à la my twenty-first birthday. Some twenty-one-year-olds get a box of chocolates or flowers from their fathers. I get hush money or upscale gifts—especially if I, God forbid, accidentally overhear any of my father’s inner dealings.
A woman’s place is not within the secrets of the mafia houses. I’ve always been kept in my gilded cage, far, far away from anything my father does. I’m lucky I even know as much as I do. I have my ways of finding out the things I need to, though.
We both have overcoats on to conceal our lingerie from onlookers who may see us walking into the club. Apparently, it’s frowned upon to draw attention to the club by walking in practically nude. Who would’ve thought? It helps that it’s freezing outside, so we look…semi-normal?
I reach down to adjust my white baby-doll lingerie, which is paired with a matching G-string my ass is currently in the process of eating. It bunched itself up under my coat.
