Titan (Dark Kings 1)

“You said they were contacts,” Jasmine corrects him. “Do you even have friends?”

“Very few.” He tosses back his drink when there’s a knock on the door.

He gets up to open the door to greet out guests. I stand as they enter the room. “Avery, Tristan, this is Titan, Luca, Nite. And these are the girls, Haven, Jasmine, and Emilee.” They each shake our hands and offer pleasantries.

The Decker brothers are both dressed in black suits. They look like they own a Fortune 500 company and model for GQ on the weekends. But I know differently. You don’t fuck with them. Their dead body count is higher than ours.

I notice Jasmine lower her sunglasses to introduce herself to them. The girl is always on the lookout for her next victim.

“This is Kayn, head of my security,” Avery introduces a third man.

I met the Deckers last year when Bones and I made a trip to Vancouver to look at some property. We’ve thought about opening up another casino there, but they have too many restrictions. Too much red tape. But we had dinner with them while there.

“May I get you a drink?” Emilee asks, standing from her spot on the couch.

“Scotch, please,” Avery answers.

“Same for me.” Tristan nods.

“And for you, Kayn?” Em asks.

“Just a water, please.”

She goes over into the kitchen, and I lean back in my seat. “Did you guys find anything?”

“Kink,” Tristan answers.

“Excuse me?” Jasmine asks with a smirk on her face.

“It’s an elite club,” he answers her. “Your guy has been spotted in Kink.”

“Okay. Where is it?” Bones asks.

“It’s not that simple,” Avery adds.

“Is it not open to the public?” I ask confused.

“Yes and no,” Tristan answers. “Thank you.” He takes the offered glass of scotch from Emilee. “It’s a two-story club in the heart of Manhattan. The entrance is on the first floor, and it’s like any other nightclub. But in the back, there’s a door that goes down to the bottom level.” He takes a sip. “It is not open to the public. You need a membership.”

“What kind of club requires a membership?” Haven asks. “Like an exclusive men’s club?”

“One that requires NDAs,” Tristan answers, pulling out his wallet. He opens it up and removes a card. He hands it to me. It’s a solid black card that reads Kink at the bottom in white letters. I look it over while he goes on. “That card is fifty grand a year.”

“What does it get you?” Jasmine asks, looking at it in my hand.

“Anything you want.” He winks at her.

“Wait,” Emilee starts as I hand the card off to Bones. “I’m confused. What does it actually get you? Why would they make you sign an NDA?” she continues.

Tristan takes a sip and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Kink is a sex club. You make it downstairs, and it’s five thousand square feet of nothing but glass rooms. One after the other. It also has a dance floor, its own bar, and a theater room. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line, and you can do anything you want with anyone you want while down there. Granted you don’t have limits. It’s a hundred percent consensual. Your NDA covers that as well.”

“Oh, I want to join.” Jasmine smiles.

Luca looks skeptical. Haven looks terrified, and Jasmine looks like she’s found her mothership.

“How do we know he was there, though?” Luca questions. “Do they keep a log of who comes in and when?”

“No.” Tristan shakes his head. “The only paper trail they have is the NDA. And no one has access to those. They don’t even provide the members with a copy.”

“And payment?” I add.

His blue eyes meet mine, and he smiles. “No. Our dues are required on the first of the year. In cash. Large bills. You show up. They run it through their money counter. Once done, they issue you a new card, and you’re on your way. No proof of payment. And they can suspend your membership at any given time for whatever reason.”

“Fuck. Can I buy into this franchise?” Jasmine asks with a whistle. “This sounds like my kind of business.”

Everyone laughs at her.

“But there’s the cards,” I say, trying to figure this out. “That’s how they keep track of everyone.”

“The card is just a tool to get you in. As if you were wearing a wristband to show you’re over twenty-one at a fair. It doesn’t have my name on it anywhere. She could take it.” He points at Jasmine. “And use it for entry and they wouldn’t question her. I would have been out fifty grand and that’s that. It doesn’t actually keep track of their members.”

“But they would be allowing her to enter without an NDA. So, there’s a flaw,” I observe.

“Essentially. But you have to be invited. Now, they don’t scan the cards to make sure that you are, in fact, the cardholder. You find a member card, and you’re in. But not many know about the bottom floor of Kink. The top floor of the club has a different name. So the odds of a stranger picking one up on the streets and knowing its significance is unlikely.” Tristan takes a drink.