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A Cheshire Cat smile pastes on my face. “Step one in Operation Destroy Sam can finally commence.”
16
SEBASTIAN
“Is it set?” I ask Matthieu, confirming the accuracy of his earlier text message.
Matthieu lifts his glass, swirling the amber liquid—the clinking of ice sounding ten times louder in the silent room. His piercing, jeweled eyes meet mine as he brings the drink to his mouth and sips. There’s a level of challenge in his gaze, and I know the favor I’ve asked of him is one that tests the limits of our friendship, but for Ariah—I’d risk it all.
I wait, not uttering a word or displaying my growing impatience. We’ve made a gentleman’s agreement, and I’d say we’re even for what he’s getting in return. He finally lowers the glass, never looking away—two alphas silently feeling each other out. To look away would alter the dynamic of who is on higher footing—neither of us willing to lose ground.
“Everything is in place,” he finally answers.
Another moment of silence passes before we dip our heads—an acknowledgment of our mutual respect for one another’s steadfastness.
I clear my throat, preparing to move this conversation along. “How long before we get what we need?”
“Senator Baker has committed to the annual VIP membership at our exclusive Los Angeles location. He’s already made a reservation for our Pitch Black room,” Matthieu replies.
My eyebrows feel like they’ve hit my hairline at this information. “As in the Pitch Black room?”
He nods, “The very same. It seems our Senator has unique tastes. I’m actually surprised he wasn’t a member already—his requests for special additions to what the room already includes had R’chelle asking for approval.”
My heart rate kicks up. I wouldn’t be surprised if Matthieu could see the veins in my neck pulsating.
This is precisely what we were hoping for.
“Has he already confirmed his guest?” I probe.
No one can enter any of Le Toucher’s locations without being thoroughly vetted. They must also provide some form of leverage—a secret no one can know. It helps prevent anyone from releasing details about what happens behind the doors of any of Matthieu’s clubs.
What guests aren’t aware of is that every location is monitored. Each playroom is outfitted with cameras—an extra level of insurance, if you will. It’s part of the contract they sign—it’s just written in invisible ink that doesn’t appear until a black light or other UV source is applied.
“Guests,” he corrects, and I arch a brow, signaling him to continue. “The Senator will have two women and three men in attendance.”
Interesting.
“Making it a party then?”
He huffs a laugh. “Of sorts.”
“Well, don’t keep me waiting. Who will be celebrating with our dear senator?”
“The president’s daughter.” His jaw clenches at the mention of Isabella, but he continues, “Two other members of the senate, Samantha Davenport.” My lips curl into a smirk once he says her name. “And Brian Porter.”
“And the surprises just keep coming, don’t they?” I offer at the mention of Brian’s name. “Who’ll be in charge of the room?”
In order to help play out a member’s fantasy, a room attendant is present, either participating or facilitating.
“The Senator has requested two attendants, Amélie and Henri.”
They really are going for the full experience.
Amélie and Henri are two of the most sadistic attendants. Only guests who want to explore their darkest sides—the ones they hide from respectable society—ask for them. I’ve only heard of one instance where both were requested, which ended up with bodies Matthieu had to dispose of.
“What nights has he requested? We’re eager to get out from under Senator Baker’s thumb,” I confess.
Matthieu turns to his computer, shaking the mouse to bring his monitor to life. Angling the screen in my direction, he says, “Saturday, October 14th. They’ve reserved the entire club for the night. They’re playing some twisted game of Capture the Flag.”
