Braelynn: Sleep well, I’ll message you in the morning :)
There. Not so hard. No promises made. I can sleep on my decision tonight, like a responsible adult. I’ll make my decision in my own time without recklessly agreeing to anything.
My head is hazy from the sleeping pill as I go back into the bedroom and tug the corner of the sheet down on the bed. I remember to plug in my phone, which is good, because this pill is well on its way to knocking me out. My head has barely hit the pillow before I can feel myself floating.
I dream of The Club. It’s all endless black tablecloths and couples in expensive outfits and an imposing red door. I’m not afraid of the door. I go to it, knowing I’m supposed to be there, and it opens easily, like I’ve been invited. Chills spread down my body as Declan looks up from his desk. There are no dark circles under his eyes. They’re the same stunning shade they always were. His gaze roams down my body and the door closes behind me, trapping me there, with Declan Cross.
Declan
There’s faint bruising on the knuckles of my right hand and I run the thumb of my left over it as I watch the show. The dining room is nearly always packed on Thursdays.
Men in my line of work and the everyday patron have a certain addiction in common: sex. The phrase “sex sells” is timeless and there’s a reason for that.
The lights are dim, and my gaze moves from the stage to the corner booth of the dining room. All eyes are focused on the two women, bound tight with coarse rope and suspended from the ceiling … all eyes on them save two men in tailored suits.
The deal is almost done and as if on cue, a woman is spun, her back arched, her body covered in striations from the ties of the rope. The audience applauds the demonstration and the two men stand, buttoning their jackets and shaking hands.
Marco’s gaze meets mine and with the raise of my tumbler, he gives a short nod.
The crack of the whip behind him causes the man to flinch, and then a grin lifts up the corners of his lips. I watch as his trading partner’s shoulders rise and fall with a chuckle. It’s good for Davis that Marco is so easygoing and doesn’t take any offense to the laughter. Marco turns to face the stage, watching as the woman’s skin lights a bright pink from where the leather cat-o’-nine-tails has struck her. Even from this distance, I swear I can hear the soft moans of pleasure spilling from the woman’s mouth. Her hair is pulled back tight in a bun, and the stage performer grabs it, tilting her head to devour her lips.
“It won’t be long until they’re fucking on stage,” Mia comments as the glass clinks on the counter. I glance down to see another two fingers of whiskey at the ready for me.
Downing my drink, I slide her the empty one. “I believe that’s what most of the audience is waiting for,” I respond with a smirk, although it falls as my gaze moves to Braelynn.
She barely watches, just like the rest of the servers. They work diligently, taking care of the guests who are awestruck by the entertainment.
They’re not the only ones she avoids.
It’s been three days of her staying as far from me as possible. It’s a rare moment when I catch her gaze. More than likely because I’ve hidden myself away in my office, watching her and looking into her background.
Braelynn Lennox has secrets. Not the least of which is a life she’s just run away from, and I’m aware of every sordid detail. I’m all too aware of it.
The black dress clings to her curves as she bends at the waist to collect a stray cocktail napkin that’s fallen. A deep, low groan of appreciation leaves me without my conscious consent. My eyes close slowly as I attempt to rid myself of the black lace image. Unfortunately, all I imagine in its place is what lies beneath the delicate fabric.
With the crack of the whip cutting through the perverse vision, I open my eyes and she’s right there. A foot from me, the closest she’s ever been.
Her shy smile accompanies a quick glance before she reaches past the bar to deliver a drink slip to Mia.
“Boss,” she says, greeting me like everyone else. There’s a sick coldness that settles at the tip of my tongue, capturing the warm tease I had for her.
Her black nails rap on the bar and she hesitantly peeks up at me. All I can do is stare down at her, noting every delicate detail. Including the faint blush that gathers at her neck, traveling to her cheeks and then higher, moving to her temples as she’s caught in my gaze.