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  She’ll never learn.

  “So,” my sister says as she starts trying to look me in the eye, “I’m going to have a holiday party.” My spine stiffens, and the answer is on the tip of my tongue. She’s been trying to include me in family events and work me back into our family. It’s not happening. I was never close with any of them. I don’t have a need for family. I don’t need relationships in general. I’ll do anything for my sister, but I’m not going anywhere near my parents.

  She holds up her hands defensively and says, “They won’t be there.”

  I’m taken aback and shocked; my brows draw in, and I consider what she’s saying. “Did something happen?” I ask.

  A sadness crosses her eyes quickly. But I see it there, and her lack of a response tells me that something did happen.

  My voice is cold and hard, but not toward her, and she knows that. “What’d they do?”

  “Nothing,” she says softly, her shoulders folding inward. She looks down at the lattice table.

  Usually I’d snap at whoever was sitting in front of me lying, saying nothing’s wrong when there’s obviously an issue, but I wait patiently for Anna to continue. She’s hurt, and it’s showing. I know she’ll tell me what the deal is, but she just needs a moment. She traces the metal openwork design of the table absently. “They were just upset that I accepted your offer to pay for my classes,” she tells me slowly, her eyes finally reaching mine as she visibly swallows.

  My fists clench at my side, and my jaw tenses. Those fucking bastards. Why hurt her? All they care about are themselves.

  “They just don’t understand,” she continues, picking up her coffee cup with both hands. She takes a hesitant sip and then says, “They just need a little time. You know how they...” she shrugs, “lash out.”

  My heart thuds in my chest as I calm my rage. Hothead. I used to be a hothead. But I’m wiser now, and she doesn’t need my anger.

  “Are you alright?” I finally ask.

  She gives me a sad smile and says, “I am.” Her hand reaches for mine on the table and I take it. “I promise I’m okay. But they won’t be coming to the party.”

  She clears her throat, and I give her hand a quick squeeze before letting go. I knew they’d make her choose between me and them. Cowards.

  “So...” she draws out the word, “are you coming?” I can hear the vulnerability in her voice, and it shreds me. I can’t leave her with no family at her event. But a fucking holiday party?

  “Please say you’ll come,” she implores.

  I suck in a breath and concede. “I’ll go.” Five fucking minutes is all she’ll need. Knowing her, she’ll be busy socializing and won’t even notice once I’m gone. I’ll just make an appearance to make her happy.

  She jumps in her seat and reaches across the small circular table, giving me a tight hug. It forces a smile to my lips, and I pat her back in return.

  She finally sits and all seems right with her world again.

  “You need a date,” she says confidently. No doubt she already has some friend from school lined up who she thinks is perfect for me.

  I don’t trust a soul.

  I don’t put myself out there to be stabbed in the back and taken for granted.

  Besides, the auction is coming up.

  “I don’t, Anna.” I click the side button on my phone, knowing it’s about time to leave. And I’m right. “I do need to get back to work though.”

  She pouts and says, “But I just got here.”

  “You were late, Anna.” I stand and slip my jacket back on, buttoning it while she leans over and kisses my cheek.

  “Fine,” she says, smiling. Her voice lowers as she says, “I’m really happy you’re going, Lucian.”

  I give her a smile, feeling a slight pain in my chest. I’ll go, but I’m leaving as soon as I fucking can.

  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I’m still tense as I walk away. My family, the memories… the fucking lawsuits. It’s just another reason that I prefer to stick to my routines and stay away from all this shit. I don’t need anyone in my life, and they sure as fuck don’t need me in their lives.

  Chapter 4

  Dahlia

  “Is something bothering you?” Carla asks me intuitively before taking a bite out of her celery stick that’s slathered with a generous smear of peanut butter.

  We’re having lunch on the third floor of the building in Explicit Designs’ famed Divanista cafeteria. Although we share the building with other companies, this room is exclusively for our use, and it’s one large open space with glass tables with shiny steel legs set up sporadically around the room. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the back wall provide a breathtaking view of the skyline downtown. Naturally, I’ve opted to sit right next to one of the windows. I love the landscape. It’s one of the reasons I chose to come to the city here for school.

  For my meal, I’ve decided on a diet soda and an apple. It’s not much, but considering my mood, I don’t have much of an appetite. The stress of not having enough money is really getting to me. I wish I could look past it, but I can’t. I don’t see a way out of this mess while still keeping this internship. And backing out could ruin my career before it even gets started. It’s a no-win situation, and every day it’s becoming harder and harder to deny that I’m fucked.

  I pause in mid-sip of my diet cherry cola, taken aback by the question. While I’m not in the best of moods, I think I’ve been doing a good job at appearing happy. I guess I’ve failed. But I’m trying to stay positive. I think if I hang in there, I’ll figure something out. It’s just easier said than done. “I just woke up feeling a little bit under the weather,” I say. “Other than that, no worries.” I give Carla my most reassuring smile and take another sip.

  Carla’s not fooled by my fraud, and she sets down her celery stick and gestures at me. “C’mon Dah, I know you better than that.”

  Crap. I want to tell her my problems, but at the same time I’m reluctant. I don’t want her to think I’m hitting her up for money, especially after she gifted me that vintage purse. It would be embarrassing. I like Carla, and don’t want to jeopardize our friendship by appearing desperate. “No,” I say firmly. “Really. I’m fine.”

  Carla looks unconvinced. “You sure?”

  I nod. “Mmmhmm.”

  Carla scowls, and then a second later growls, “Liar.” She holds her glare, but when it appears that I won’t be spilling the beans, she lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, I’m not going to keep prying… for now. I’ll let you get away with staying mum, but you’re going to have to tell me what's bothering you sooner or later.” Her celery stick whirls in the air before she takes a bite. The snapping sound makes me smile. If Carla’s good for something, it’s making me laugh.

  After a moment her expression turns serious and she says, “Dah.” There’s a shift in tone in her voice, and I know this must be something important.

  I swallow down my bite and answer guardedly, “Yes?”

  Carla’s fingers play with the edges of her celery stick. “I have a question.”

  By now she has my undivided attention, and worry laces through my chest. I hope this isn’t bad news. Or some sort of nasty gossip about me. I don’t think I can handle any more stress.

  “Yeah?” I dare ask.

  Carla hesitates a moment, as if unsure how she wants to proceed, and then she leans forward and says beneath her breath, “Are you into BDSM?”

  I sit back in my seat, stunned. Whoa. What the hell? After a moment, I let out a nervous chuckle. “Where’d that come from?” My cheeks are flaming hot with a bright blush although Carla seems unaffected. She cocks a brow with a small smile, but doesn’t answer right away.

  “Carla?”

  Hesitating, Carla licks her lips and studies me as if she’s weighing whether she should tell me anything further. “I’m in a club,” she says finally.

  “What kind of club?” I ask cautiously.

  “Promise you won
’t tell anyone,” Carla demands. The lightheartedness I'm used to with her vanishes from the conversation entirely. “Or I can’t tell you the rest.” Her eyes flash with an intensity that is unnerving.

  I don’t know what Carla's getting at, but she has me on the edge of my seat. “I swear,” I say. At this point, I’m dying to know what the hell this is all about.

  Carla stares at me long and hard as if assessing my honesty before leaning forward slightly and whispering, “I’m in a BDSM club.”

  I stare, not comprehending. I know what BDSM is, but I’m just not clicking with what she’s saying. “Do you mean some kind of cult?”

  Carla freezes, and then lets out a small laugh. “Heavens no. Nothing like that.” After a moment, the amusement fades from her face. “But it’s not really something we talk about, though. No one is allowed in if they don’t sign a non-disclosure agreement. Absolutely no one.” Her last words are uttered in harsh tones, conveying the need for complete secrecy this mysterious club demands.

  Wow. “Why in the world would anyone agree to that?” I ask. My body heats some with the implications of what that could mean.

  “Because of the clientele,” Carla explains. “They’re all powerful, rich and sometimes highly visible men. Men from all walks of life. Doctors, lawyers, businessmen, CEOs, celebrities... even congressmen and senators.”

  “You’re kidding,” I say, intensely fascinated, my breathing picking up.

  Carla shakes her head and replies, “Nope.” She sits back in her seat, taking a drink of her smoothie. “That’s why NDAs are signed.”

  “So these men are married?” I ask after a moment of digesting this information. What she’s saying is un-fucking-real, but I believe her. She’s too serious to be lying, and now I’m just hungry for all the details.

  Carla purses her lips thoughtfully. “I suspect some might be, but there is no way of knowing for sure.” She puts the cap back on her smoothie and leans forward. “The club thrives on a secretive atmosphere, and though some of the Subs know the Doms’ identities, they’re forbidden,” her hands fly outward, increasing the intensity of her words, “to reveal or share any knowledge of them outside the club.” Her brows pinch together slightly as she continues, “I think a lot of men are just young, eligible bachelors that are looking for a place to sate their sexual appetites, so most Subs get to play with a free conscience.”

  Subs and Doms are all familiar terms to me… I mean, everyone’s read Fifty Shades, haven’t they?

  This is all so intriguing, and I find myself leaning in and lowering my voice. “So what happens if a Sub exposes a Dom outside of the club, or vice versa?” I have to ask.

  Anger flashes in Carla’s eyes. “Not only are they subject to legal action, but they get kicked out and banned for life.” She emphasizes the next words, “But these are people you don’t want to cross.” Her face is deadly serious as she warns, “This club is fun and exciting and intoxicating, but you don’t want to be enemies with these people. I mean it, Dah.” The mood lightens up some as she readjusts in her seat and says, “So just keep it between us.”

  I let her words settle as I look out of the window. It’s a bit frightening, but thrilling at the same time. I can see why such a rule is in place. The club thrives on secrecy, so divulging identities would be a big no-no if it wanted to stay in business. Also, keeping things confidential is probably a huge draw for the members. I’m sure it's a lot more fun and thrilling for both sides to know they’re engaging in something so depraved that they have to hide it. The risk of getting caught only increases the thrill. The very thought sends a shiver of want down my spine.

  My eyes are drawn to Carla as she takes another sip of her smoothie, her eyes fixed on me. “So why are you telling me this again?”

  Carla’s next words nearly knock me off my seat. “Because I want you to come and check it out.”

  I laugh with astonishment. “What?”

  “My boyfriend, you know, Bruce? We’re both members. It’s how we met, actually.”

  My jaw literally drops. That is a total bombshell I wasn’t expecting. “No way!” A blush grows on Carla’s face. So she’s a Submissive! I never would have thought that about her. Well, I would guess she’s the Sub in their relationship… I have to stop my line of thinking right now before I get too carried away.

  Carla nods. “He bought me in an auction.”

  What in the world? “An auction?” I breathe in wonder. Carla’s boyfriend bought her? My eyes widen, and I’m not sure how to respond. What in the actual fuck?

  “It’s nothing like that,” Carla says defensively. “Auctions are something by which Subs and Doms can take their experience to the next level, and these men pay dearly for the privilege to do so. As dark as it sounds, it’s benign really if you look at it from the Sub’s perspective.” Her voice is much softer now, and I can tell she’s practically pleading with me to understand. And I’m trying. I really am. “The Dom pays high dollar for a sex slave for a month, and the Sub gets to live out her fantasy of being dominated. Sometimes, they might even forge a relationship outside of the club’s perimeters if they decide they like each other enough, like what happened with me and Bruce.” She smiles sweetly and bites her lip for a moment before shrugging. “So you see, no harm, no foul. Everything is clean, consensual, and terms and conditions are outlined in the contracts. No one has to agree to accept any terms that they don’t like. Rules must be followed, or else.”

  “That sounds scary as fuck,” I blurt out. “To just get sold to someone.”

  Carla's shaking her head before I've even finished my thought. “There's so much paperwork, and all of your desires and fetishes are clearly marked. Everything is consensual, and the club is all about making sure everyone is safe. Seriously. It's all about living out your fantasies.”

  I squirm in my seat. My heart's racing at the very thought of being bought. I won't lie to myself. If I knew it was safe...

  “That’s why I’m telling you this,” Carla says, though I’m barely listening, lost in my thoughts. “Because you can get paid... if you're into that sort of thing, that is. I think you’d enjoy it. I’m pretty sure you need a good hard fuck. Or two. And I know you need the money right now.”

  My ears perk up, and my heart stills in shock. Is it really that obvious? “How did you know-”

  She shakes her head, dismissing my worries. “You’re new here, and these clothes are expensive. You don’t drive your car to work, though I know you have one. And when I gave you that purse, you acted as if I’d given you a five million dollar engagement ring with how scared you were of losing it.” Carla shakes her head again. “I might look like an airhead, but I’m not.” She reaches across the table and gently places her hand atop of mine. “I want to help you.”

  I want to help you strikes something in me. My eyes focus on the table, and I’m absorbed by my thoughts.

  All of what she’s said sounds exciting and erotic, and being dominated is something I crave more than anything else. But the reason for it is dark and twisted. Just thinking about it causes a horrific scene that used to be a constant in my night terrors to flash in front of my eyes. It’s been years, and I thought I was over this. But I’m not.

  I can never get over what he did to me.

  “Please stop,” I beg, my voice choked with pain as I struggle in vain. I hear my own voice pleading over and over in my head and it sends shivers down my spine. I close my eyes and try to ignore the memory. His heavy body on top of me. The smell of his foul breath as he told me to be quiet.

  “I told you to be quiet, you little bitch!”

  I clear my throat and breathe out deeply. I focus on remembering where I am today, and how it’s in the past. But the sound of his voice won’t go away. The memory flashes before my eyes. My body tenses remembering how I looked around for my father. How I screamed out for him to help me.

  I tried to fight back, but it was useless. My heart beats rapidly at the memory, pumping cold
blood through my veins. I wish I could forget.

  “Dah?” Carla asks.

  I jerk my hands out of hers, startled. My breathing is ragged, and anger tightens my chest.

  “Is something wrong?” Carla is peering at me with concern, and I’m freaked out at how I so easily spaced in an instant.

  I clear my throat and unclench my fists that I hadn’t realized were balled up. That fucking bastard. He’d taken so much from me, and hadn’t had to pay for it. When I told my father about what Uncle Tommy did, he just laughed, not believing his brother capable of such a horrible thing. He chose him over me, and he refused to take me to the hospital. “Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about what you’ve told me and how interesting it all sounds,” I lie. I’ve never told anyone other than my parents. I’m ashamed. I know I have no reason to be, but I am.

  Carla looks unconvinced. “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” I wave away her concern and swallow the bitterness that forms in my throat. I’ve never forgiven my father for not believing me about what Uncle Tommy did to me. The incident caused so much friction in the family that my mom ended up divorcing him. That had been awful with all the screaming, arguing and accusations flying about. I liked to believe that my mom cared the most about what happened to me. After I saw how she focused on what assets she would get in the divorce instead of making sure Uncle Tommy paid for what he did, I began to feel like she’d just used me as an excuse to leave my father because she wasn’t happy in her marriage. “Please continue.”

  Carla hesitates for a moment, studying me closely. She doesn’t buy it, but I can’t let her know what happened to me. I don’t want her to get spooked. I give her a nod, and then she finally continues. “So anyway, if someone does buy you, half of the final bid goes to the club. But when the minimum bid is five hundred thousand dollars, you won’t find much to complain about as far as the fees go.”

  I gape with shock. Five hundred thousand dollars? It takes a long moment for that to even register. It’s a good distraction from where my mind was going. I don’t want to dwell on the past. I can’t.