“Blind?”
“Not literally. I won’t blindfold you. In fact, I want all your senses on alert tonight. I want you to take in everything. Only then will you be able to tell me truthfully what you think afterward.” He slides a card through the device to call the elevator.
When the doors open, he gestures for me to step inside. He follows. Then he takes a second card out of his wallet and slides it through the device inside the elevator.
“Why do you need a card?” I ask. “Aren’t we going to the lobby?”
“No.”
“Then where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
The elevator descends, and when the doors open, I gasp.
“Welcome,” Braden says, “to Black Rose Underground.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
We step straight from the elevator into what appears to be a luxury nightclub, with one blatant difference.
Wardrobe.
Instead of skimpy club dresses, the women are dressed a lot like I am, some of them more scantily. Several of them are showing their nipples.
And the men? Some are dressed in suits, as if they just came from a workday. Others are dressed in leather, some bare chested. One man even has pierced nipples.
What would Braden look like with pierced nipples? The thought makes me tingle.
Jazz music wafts from the sound system, not too soft and not too loud. It’s perfect. I can still hear Braden speak.
“What do you think?” he asks.
My heart is pounding. “Where exactly are we?”
“The bottom floor of the building. It’s a private club.”
“Who are all these people?” I move my gaze about the room rapidly. Everywhere I look, something—or someone—else stands out.
“Members, of course.”
Braden walks me to a desk where a burly man sits. “Hey, Claude.”
“Good evening, Mr. Black.”
“This is Skye Manning, my guest.”
Claude nods and pushes some papers toward me. “You’ll need to sign these.”
I lift my eyebrows at Braden.
“It’s a nondisclosure agreement. Everyone who comes to the club must sign.”
“You mean I can’t tell anyone what I see here?”
“More than that,” Braden says. “You can’t even tell anyone you’ve been here.”
“Not even Tessa?”
“Not even Tessa.”
“But I tell Tessa everything.”
“Not this.” Braden hands me a pen. “Read through it if you’d like, or I can explain it to you.”
“I’m capable of reading a legal document.” I hastily glance over the papers. They’re pretty straightforward. Then I scribble my signature. “Everyone here has signed this?”
“Yes,” Braden says.
I look around. A dance floor lies to my left, but no one is dancing. Strange. Straight back is what appears to be a full bar. Two bartenders, one a topless female, mix drinks for guests. Several guests sit on black leather barstools. Others mingle, chatting, flirting. One man has his woman on a leash.
I hold back a gasp.
“We’re all good, Mr. Black,” Claude says. “Enjoy your evening.”
“I plan to. Thanks, Claude.” Braden turns to me. “Skye? Shall we?”
Heart still hammering, I bite my lower lip. “Sure. I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Well…yeah.”
“If you’re not all in, Skye, we may as well leave now.”
No. I don’t want to leave. I really don’t want to leave. “I’m in. I just don’t understand. People are dressed like me, but nothing is happening here. I don’t get it.”
He curves his lips slightly upward. “This is only one part of the club. Would you like a drink?”
“God, yes.” I never let alcohol affect me, other than to put me slightly more at ease. In that vein, a drink seems like a good idea at this moment.
“Only one,” he says. “I want your mind clear for tonight.”
I nod, and we head to the bar. The topless server jiggles toward us. “Nice to see you, Mr. Black.”
“Good evening, Laney. Two Wild Turkeys, please. Neat.”
“You got it.”
The drinks appear in an instant. Braden pushes a fifty dollar bill toward the naked bartender.
I take a long sip of my bourbon, letting its spiciness coat my throat and give me courage. Then, “What is this place, Braden?”
“It’s a leather club.”
“Which is…”
“A place where people who enjoy the BDSM lifestyle can come and play together.”
“Who knows about it?”
“Only the people here. It’s very exclusive. Membership by invitation only.”
“Oh? Who invited you?”
“No one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s my club, Skye. I own it.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Red noise buzzes in my ears.
“You own it?”
“I own it,” he repeats.
“So this is…”
“This is where I practice my lifestyle in New York.”
“And you don’t do this stuff in Boston.”
“I do not.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you. Boston is my home. Where I grew up.”
“So?”
He takes a sip of his drink. “I prefer to keep this side of me private.”
“And you can’t do that in Boston?”
“I could. I choose not to.”
Why? I don’t feel I’ve gotten an adequate answer, but I know Braden. This is all I’m going to get. “What do you do here?” I ask.
“Sometimes nothing,” he says. “Sometimes I come alone and simply have a drink at the bar, as we’re doing now. Sometimes I help another member with a scene.”
“A scene?”