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Her question sets off alarm bells in my head, and I don’t appreciate her tone, but not wanting to get on Casey’s bad side, I simply smile. “Family friend,” I offer, not wanting to give much more than that. “Known him all my life.”
“He doesn’t make exceptions like this,” she says, slowly getting to her feet as she prepares the gold moth stamp for my inner wrist. “I’ve worked for him for over a year now, and he’s never invited a woman to return, whether she’s a family friend or not. Nor does he make allowances to bend the rules of our memberships. There’s a strict process one must go through for the safety and health of our patrons, and it appears that Mr. Banks has accelerated that process and skipped you right ahead to a full-fledged membership.”
Raising my chin, I sense a wave of jealousy radiating off her, and just like that, I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m talking to a kindred spirit—another woman who’s been looked over by Izaac Banks. But either way, I don’t like her line of questioning. “I suppose that’s his business now, isn’t it?”
Her gaze hardens before a fake smile stretches across her lips. “Of course. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry. Just trying to wrap my head around it so I understand what to expect with your visits,” she says before taking my wrist and pressing the stamp to my skin.
The moment she pulls away, she puts the stamper down and hands me my membership card, which I promptly shove back into my bag, hoping like fuck I haven’t just gotten Izaac into a world of trouble. But then, Casey made a comment that’s stuck with me. “You mentioned you’ve worked for Izaac for over a year now?” I ask as she leads me to the main entrance of the club.
“Mr. Banks,” she says as if needing to put me in my place. “And yes, he’s a wonderfully generous boss.”
“So, Vixen is his? He owns this club, just like Pulse, Cherry, and Scandal.”
“Yes, that is correct. However, Vixen is more of a . . . side project for him. The others are business, but Vixen . . . this is pleasure.”
“I see,” I say, a little hurt that Izaac had failed to mention that he owned a fourth club, though I suppose I can’t blame him. That’s not exactly an easy conversation to have.
Casey opens the main door and this time when she waves me through, I don’t hesitate, suddenly unsure if she’s someone I really want to be talking with. She sounds like someone permanently shoved a stick up her ass and that someone is probably Izaac.
I’m a little early, and so just like the last time I was here, I make my way down to the VIP lounge, flashing my special gold moth to the security guard who waits there. Then after making my way down the stairs and to the bar, I get comfortable, hoping that a stiff drink might help me relax.
The atmosphere is different from the crazy Friday nights that I’ve been here. The music is still electrifying, but everything seems more chill. The gathered members seem like they know each other well. They have their favorites, and they don’t waste time seeking out anybody else. There’s a familiarity about it, and that’s somewhat soothing.
By the time the bartender arrives with my drink, a familiar face makes his way toward me, and I let out a sigh. With everything going on, I’d almost forgotten about this guy, but I’ve got to give it to him, he’s persistent. Every single time I’ve been here, he’s managed to sniff me out like some kind of bloodhound.
“Aspen, right?” he asks, taking the stool beside me at the bar.
I offer him a polite smile. “Yes, that’s right,” I say before an obvious cringe cuts across my face. “I’m so sorry, your name has slipped right out of my head.”
He laughs and offers me his hand. “Ryatt,” he chuckles. “But don’t stress. People don’t often come here to memorize names.”
“No, they certainly don’t.”
Ryatt waves the bartender over and orders a drink for himself before offering one for me, but I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks,” I say, holding up my still-full cocktail.
“So, I take it you’re enjoying Vixen?” he asks. “It’s not everyone’s thing, but once you’ve accepted and embraced the lifestyle, there’s no turning back.”
“I see that,” I murmur, letting my gaze shift around the VIP lounge to take in the familiar faces.
“What are you searching for, Aspen?” he asks, his hand falling to my arm. “I see you here, but never participating, and besides your first visit, you don’t wear wristbands, so you’ve got me stumped. What are you hoping to get out of this?”
“I, uhh—”
A big hand weaves into the back of my hair, pulling my head aside as a set of lips crashes down on the sensitive skin of my neck, and just before I go to push the guy away, that familiar scent hits me, and I melt back into him.
Izaac’s hand curls around my waist, holding me close, and just when I think I’m about to slip into a pleasure-filled coma, his lips fall away. “There’s nothing here for you, Ryatt,” Izaac says, a clear warning in his tone. “This one is taken.”
“I thinkthis one,” Ryatt snaps back, mimicking Izaac’s deep tone, “can choose for herself.”
My brow arches, the audacity of this man starting to get on my nerves as Izaac’s hand shifts from my waist to the center of my back. “Come on.”
I get up without question, willing to follow him blindly, when Ryatt reaches out and catches my elbow. “Woah, baby. Where are you going? We were only just starting to get to know each other.”
I pull my arm free, not liking the feel of his touch against my skin, but Izaac quickly steps in. “She’s not yourbaby, and I told you, this one is taken,” he rumbles. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Markin.”
Ryatt’s hands fly up in surrender. “Okay, hands off the merchandise. I get it. No hard feelings,” he says. “If I knew you were hunting this sweet thing, I would have backed off earlier.”
“Hunting?” Izaac scoffs in disgust as his hand shifts down to the curve of my back. “You see, it’s phrases like that which leave me wondering if I’d sorely misjudged your character. The women in my club are not here to be hunted, and they’re sure as fuck not merchandise either. Perhaps it’s time for a review of your membership.”
