AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Rider. And Trap’s here. Could the mountain by the door be talking to Gage Rider, a member of the Diamond Ring? Gage played professional hockey, and he owns the Atlantic City Aces along with—rumor says—plenty of New York real estate. Does he own this place too?
The receptionist or hostess or whatever she is has an expectant look on her face, and I realize I’ve missed a question. “Excuse me?” I ask.
“I asked the name of your friend. So I can check it against our list.”
In the last three years, I’ve learned a lot about lying. I can thank Klaus Herzog for that. I look directly into her eyes and say, “Gage. Gage Rider.”
She’s not as good at controlling the flicker of emotion on her face. She’s worried she’s offended her boss, which suits me just fine. “Of course, Ms....”
“Key,” I say, as if I’m certain my name is on whatever list she wants to check. “Alix Key.”
The giant by the door is speaking into his mouthpiece. “Well, I don’t want to be the one keeping Mr. Rider waiting. Tell Harkins I need him at the door. Pronto.”
The woman looks up from her tablet. “I’m sorry. Could there be another name?”
No. I have no other name. But inspired by the frustration of the guard dog who has repeated his pointed order for Harkins to relieve him, I go for broke. “Perhaps you can call Gage and tell him I’m here.”
I purposely use Rider’s first name. I sound casual, like I’m willing to wait all night. I make sure not to lean forward, not to glance at the tablet, not to look like I’m trying to pressure the gatekeeper in any way.
And as the volcano behind me erupts in maximum frustration, ordering whoever’s looking for Harkins to get here on the fu— freaking double, the woman behind the desk makes a decision.
“No need to bother Mr. Rider. Not if he told you to be here tonight. He mentioned we might have a new kitten or two.”
“Excuse me?” I ask again.
She reaches into a box beneath the table and hands me a swath of black fabric. It feels like silk. As I spread it between my fingers, I realize I’m looking at a mask. A hood, really, something that will fasten over my head, covering my hair, my forehead, and my cheeks. It has holes for my eyes.
It has cat ears.
My fingers go numb, and I drop the mask on the desk.
Herzog savaged me when I was dressed as a cat. He drugged me, and once I was helpless, he raped me, he and his sadistic brothers. It took me four weeks in a hospital bed to recover from what they did to me.
“Ms. Key,” the woman says. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from the far end of a tunnel, and I think she’s said my name a few times. “Are you all right, Ms. Key?”
Herzog is dead. His brothers are nowhere near this place. But Trap is. My anger with Trap has evaporated. All I have left is confusion. I don’t know why he’s here, but if Gage Rider owns the club, this has something to do with the freeport. I’m not leaving without Trap.
I force myself to swallow and pick up the hood I dropped. “I’m sorry,” I say, pushing out a weak little laugh. “I guess no one’s really ready for the first time, no matter how much she thinks she is.”
That must be a good answer, because the woman flashes an understanding smile. “Our guests determine safewords for all their scenes. And our security staff is always present to protect you and all our other guests. Of course, Mr. Rider will run the auction himself.”
“Of course,” I say, even though I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Here,” she says, pointing to a number embroidered on the right ear of the mask. “You’re number seven. We already have six other special visitors for tonight’s Masquerade.”
I murmur something that’s acceptable, because the woman moves on to the next phase of a script that seems very familiar to her. “We invite you to step into our greenroom.” She gestures toward a heavy wooden door to her left. “Inside, you’ll find lockers for your convenience. We ask our guests to undress to whatever level makes them feel most comfortable.”
There’s more—I need to leave behind my cell phone, there’s a metal detector, I can explore public areas and playrooms. I can ask staff for any special toys I might require; they all wear pins with the Kynk logo.
“The auction starts at midnight,” she concludes. “In the Heart, the main room at the back of the club.”
I thank her, and I head into the greenroom. It looks a little like the dressing room at Gallagher Samson, but the lighting here is a lot more subdued. And three of the women touching up their makeup in the long mirror to my right are wearing nothing but lacy little thongs and stilettos. A fourth has added a tiny bra to her ensemble. A fifth woman is on her way out of the greenroom wearing nothing but a pair of Manolo Blahniks with crystal heels.
And a mask. She’s wearing an elaborate beaded mask with Cleopatra eyes and intricate braids.
I find an open locker.
I’m naked under my dress. I don’t have a lot of options, clothing-wise.
