"Lucian," I hear a deep voice call out in front of me. My eyes are drawn to a table near the back of the room and a small hand waving me to come to them.
A smirk slips into place as I pass Senator Williams. Although he's masked, I recognize the sharp features of his jaw, and the pale blue eyes peeking from the silver mask. I give him a nod, but he doesn't see. He's tapping the pamphlet on the table and staring at a man across the room. I don't recognize him, but I imagine it's someone on the senator's shit list judging by the look on his face. The knowledge makes my smirk widen into a grin.
"Interesting to find you here, Lucian," Isaac says in a smooth, lowered voice as I approach. The tables are separated enough for a bit of privacy. I unbutton my jacket and sit easily on the opposite side of Zander and Isaac. Two men I know well. Two men I trust.
"It's been a while," I say easily, taking in the sight of them. My eyes travel along Isaac's suit. It's light grey, and he's even wearing a striped silver tie. I'm not used to the look on him. The men in here are expected to be dressed in black tie attire, but it's been nearly a year since I've been back, and seeing Isaac in a suit is something that's more or less a rarity. Even though it's custom tailored, he looks like he doesn't belong in it. His rugged demeanor and casual stance offset the clean lines and hard edges the suit is meant to enhance.
He's simply not a man to wear a suit. If it were up to him, I imagine he'd be in jeans. Although I'm sure he's found ways to use the tie around his neck to his advantage. He's a contractor for private security, and you'd think he'd be used to dressing up. But he looks like he's itching to get out of his suit. Although I know the silver watch on his wrist costs a fortune. I suppose we all desire a bit of luxury, it's just a matter of personal taste in choosing how to go about it.
I glance around the room, the memories of the club coming back to me, but I stop when I see a man I recognize. It's not because I've seen him here before. Joe Levi. He has a mask on, but his sharp features are distinct, and his mannerisms are the same. He's a crook; a mobster, a villain. This room and club are filled with men of power and wealth, but a membership isn't something that can simply be purchased. There's a background check and a training course that must be completed first. Madam Lynn is out to protect the women here just as much as she aims to profit, but seeing Joe makes me question that.
I gesture slightly toward him, catching Isaac's eye.
"He's been here about three months now," he answers, and his voice is low.
"Are his tastes what I've heard them to be?" I ask soft enough that our conversation can't be heard by anyone else. Zander can hear, but he lets Isaac answer.
"He only comes to the auctions."
I nod in response and look back over to him.
"He's yet to buy anyone." Isaac's words settle in me as I take in the other buyers. Some I know, some I don't. The only one I'd rather not have in this room is Joe. But that's not my call.
"Are you suddenly in the buying mood?" Zander asks me. He's a man who fucking belongs in that suit. He was practically raised in it. Zander's from wealth; he oozes high class, and his neat black bow tie is the cherry on top. As a wall street mogul and heir to a sizable fortune, the designer look and gold cufflinks fit him well. With sharp cheekbones and piercing green eyes, his classically handsome look makes him fit in with this exclusive crowd. Isaac belongs here as well, but his suit is caging in a beast who wants out. That's the difference between them.
"I need a distraction," I finally answer.
"It's good to see you back on the horse," Isaac says with a smirk.
I huff a small grunt of a laugh. "I've just been busy."
Zander smiles at my response and looks as though he's contemplating opening his smart mouth for a response, but he doesn't. Instead he rests his elbows on the table and looks to the stage.
"Have you two already picked out who you'll be bidding on?" I ask. Although I've seen them at events and at a poker night here and there, no one's spoken about Club X or any Submissives or partners recently.
Isaac shrugs, moving his eyes from the stage to me as he answers, "I'm here more for the company. Just biding my time until the show tonight."
"Anything interesting?" I ask.
He raises his eyebrow and his blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he says, "Fire play."
"Ah," I answer and choose not to expand on my thoughts. I have no interest in fire play or anything that could cause serious scarring. No whips, no fire, no spikes or knives. My brow furrows, and I sit a little more comfortably in my seat.
"Don't get your panties in a twist there, Lucian," Isaac says with a grin that shows off his white teeth.
"Fuck off," I say easily.
The guys laugh, and I feel a little more at ease.
"Seriously," Zander says, "it's good to see you here."
I give him a simple nod. It is nice to be back. I can feel the adrenaline scorching my blood, and it's intoxicating.
I haven't been back since before Tricia. My ex-wife. I took her here a few times for some shows to see how things were performed. I let her pick out her favorites. The memory turns the corners of my lips down, and the excitement dims. But I shake it off, clearing my throat and ridding my mind of all thoughts of her.
I flip through the pamphlet, leaning back in my chair and scanning the verbiage I've read a time or two before.
There are strict guidelines that must be adhered to by both buyer/seller to gain entry and to continue membership.
Membership is one hundred thousand per month and allows members to attend auctions and enjoy all the privileges of membership.
All parties are clean and agreeing to sexual activities and must provide proof of birth control.
The women are displayed and purchased in an auction setting with a starting bid of five hundred thousand. Subsequent bids will be in increments of one hundred thousand dollars.
NDAs are required, and paperwork will be signed after the purchase.
Any hard limits are noted at auction and will be written in the individual contracts.
The rose color of the Submissive indicates her preferences, so please take note.
Pink - Virgin
Cream - Finding limits/BDSM virgin
Yellow - Simple bondage D/s
Black - Carte blanche
Red - Pain is preferred S/M
No flower - 24/7 power exchange
The buyers must adhere to all rules of the club, or they will be banned and prosecuted. Submissives must also obey all rules, or buyers can take legal action and no money will be paid.
With the accepted terms and conditions, the willing participants of this auction are as follows:
As I turn the page to read about the women and their desires, the lights darken and a loud click prefaces the thick red velvet curtains opening slightly and the auctioneer walking onto the stage.
The auction is starting.
Chapter 8
Dahlia
Just relax and everything will be fine, I tell myself as I step into a room backstage to prepare for the auction.
There's a group of scantily-clad girls already getting ready, and some of them are naked, looking through a rack of skimpy outfits to find which one suits them best. None of them appear to be nervous like I am, or at least they're very good at hiding it.
If they can be cool and collected under pressure, so can I.
I suck in a deep breath, my palms moist with perspiration, my heart racing, and try to calm my nerves. I have to get a hold of myself. I don't want to walk out on stage and wind up fainting because I've worked myself up into a tizzy. I can do this. I just have to keep telling myself how much I need this experience.
Trying to ignore my anxiety, I make my way over to an unattended clothing rack near the rear of the room. I begin sifting through outfits, looking for one that best matches my personality. After a moment of searching, I let out a huff of frustration. I don't see anything that I think looks better than what I already have on. But I have to find something. And quick. The auction is only minutes away.
Just try on something. Anything. I'm sure it will look okay.
I'm about to snatch a red dress off the rack when the sound of clicking heels causes me to turn around. She walks toward me with confidence; a woman in charge of her destiny. Her blonde hair is styled elegantly, her makeup flawlessly dramatic. She struts toward me as if she owns the place, her scarlet red dress clinging to her impressive curves with each step.
Madam Lynn. It has to be.
She stops in front of me, her face brightening into a friendly smile, and extends her hand. "Miss Days, what a pleasure it is to meet you." She shakes her head as if in wonder. "The picture in the email you sent doesn't do you justice. You are far, far more beautiful in person." She speaks with a polish that sounds very professional, something you wouldn't expect from a woman who profits from sex and submission for a living.