Ruin and Rise(8)

He stopped for a second and thought about the club. “No, I don’t regret it.”

“Why?”

“When you’re part of the club, you have to come to terms with death being the end game. I accepted death since I had nothing to live for.”

“And now?”

“I’ve got Dani to lose, and the club can’t give me anything that would make me want to risk losing her. Before Dani, I chose death; after Dani, I choose life.”





Striker adjusted the baseball cap on his head, pulled up the collar on his leather jacket, and moved toward the BDSM club. He’d heard this one was pretty fucking hardcore; he knew that the excitement he felt in his blood could be very dangerous. He was going into Zeke’s domain, onto his territory, and he needed to make sure he was on alert. He hadn’t worn his cut, wasn’t letting his club markings show.

Tonight, he was here to watch, to see if what he saw made him want more, want to play with a fire even hotter.

There was a bouncer waiting at the front door, and the brightly lit red neon sign that read DOMINION cast a ruby glow a few feet in front of the sidewalk. There wasn’t a line of people waiting inside, but there were people discreetly dressed coming and going through the front doors. He stopped at the front door to let two women go ahead of him; their long leather jackets hid something wicked underneath. He just fucking knew it, knew that once he stepped through these doors, he might not ever want to come out.

Striker liked certain things when he was fucking. He liked a woman a certain way, liked when they were on their knees, looking up at him with tears in their eyes, their submission clear on their faces. He didn’t consider himself a sick bastard, not in the sexual sense at least. He just liked a certain amount of pain with his pleasure, a certain amount of power when he fucked a woman.

He did like to leave his marks on the females, liked to show them he was the one in charge, and it was up to him to give them pleasure if he saw fit. He wanted them restrained, bound, and completely helpless to him. Their tears were an added touch; he was harder than rock when he saw those glistening droplets. He’d licked them off their cheeks before, making them cry harder when he whispered how much he’d enjoy beating them, leaving their pretty bodies black and blue.

But the women were always willing, always wanted what he gave them. They were pain sluts in every sense of the word, loved to submit to him solely for the fact that he was their Dominant and they wanted to obey him to heighten the pleasure.

He stopped in front of the bouncer, eyed the fucker up and down, and although he was big and bulky, muscular and tall, Striker was bigger, more powerful.

“You know the rules?” The bouncer asked, maybe sensing, or hell, just knowing Striker had never been here before. But before Striker could say anything, the bouncer was speaking again. “All are welcome, but the cover is a hundred.”

Striker handed over the money.

“You want to participate, you pay for a membership. Only willing participants are allowed, and if someone says their safe word, you stop or you get bones broke.” The bouncer stared at Striker. “Other than that, anything goes.” He pushed the door open for Striker, and without waiting for him to say anything else Striker went inside.

The walls on either side of him looked like black leather, the lighting the same red as the sign outside. There was another door at the end of the hallway where another bouncer waited. He opened the door when Striker was close enough, and Striker stepped into the massive room. The ceilings seemed a hundred feet high, the metal beams exposed, and a rush of adrenaline coursed through him.

He walked farther into the room, and the door closed behind him. But Striker didn’t care about anything except what was right in front of him.

The spanking benches, St. Andrew’s Cross, bondage beds, sawhorses, and an array of other BDSM equipment and play gear all increased his excitement and anticipation. He clenched his hands at his sides when he saw the racks of tools, whips, floggers, the tables filled with medical instruments, sensory tools, and anything else he could think of to torment and pleasure his submissive.

There were rooms in the back—private, VIP rooms where he knew he could be as sadistic as he wanted, as long as the woman he took back with him was willing to wear his marks.

It didn’t take Striker long to realize he wouldn’t just be watching tonight. No, he’d need to participate, need to get out this wild energy with a woman that was into the same kind of pleasure and pain he was.



Zeke decided to walk to Dominion tonight, needed the air to clear his head. He was going to be a grandfather. Who in the fuck would have ever thought he’d be a father, let alone a grandfather? He shook his head, feeling this kind of happiness that was pure and felt right inside of him. Daniella might never fully understand that the things he’d done to make sure she was safe and taken care of. He’d work on his relationship with Shakes, even if the majority of the time he wanted to beat the living shit out of the little fucker.