Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Finally, Brick comes to help me out. He’s the perfect gentleman, but I can feel how stiff his arm is.
And it’s close to the full moon. Did Thaddeus choose this date on purpose, knowing Brick would be more likely to lose control?
From what I know about vampires, this sort of tricksy maneuvering is exactly what they’d do.
Now I’m tense, too.
As we walk up the stairs to the nondescript door, I rehearse what Brick and I agreed on.
“We'll keep it simple,” he decided. He’ll order me around, I'll act like the perfect submissive. He’ll bend me over a bench and spank me over my underwear.
Under my cashmere coat, I'm wearing a dress. Short, white with easy access. I look like a virgin sacrifice. Which is kind of the point.
Inside is a black and white tiled foyer with a chandelier overhead. It smells faintly of incense, and there’s faint classical music piped in from a hidden speaker. We could be attending a socialite’s house party, except that we’re greeted by a hostess in a black PVC catsuit and seven inch heels. She takes our coats and sends us down a long hallway lined with gilt-framed mirrors. The hall ends at a pair of red velvet curtains. Brick steps in front of me, as if to block me. He takes a deep breath and pulls the curtains apart. Behind it is a huge medieval looking door made of wood and iron. It looks thick, but it’s vibrating with the pulse of club music behind it.
Brick pauses then deliberately delivers three booming knocks.
“Here we go,” Billy mutters.
The door swings open, and the bass assaults us. It’s so loud it rattles my teeth. I can only imagine how overwhelming it’d be to a shifter with supersonic hearing.
I take Brick’s arm, and we sail through.
I feel like a wide-eyed innocent, walking through the club. At first glance, the place looks like a bar/restaurant type concert venue with tables and chairs, already full with people enjoying a cocktail or a bottle of wine. Servers in white pirate suits and black torsolettes weave through the tables carrying trays.
A suave-looking man in a white tuxedo smiles at us as we pass. and the blue light flashes off his elongated canines.
Vampire.
I blink away and try not to think about what’s really in his glass of red.
Beyond the normal seating are bulky shapes of strange furniture. Spanking benches, a few St. Andrew crosses, and more elaborate frames made of gleaming wood and black or red leather. Curtained alcoves line the rooms–places where you can slip away with your partner for a private moment. Most of the curtains are open, revealing their playroom depths.
A few are occupied, and I want to crane my neck to see what the couples or throuples are doing, but don’t want to gawk. I already feel like Brick and I are the clueless couple in the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Billy and Sully flank us. I argued against them coming but was told it was important to have some wolves there for a show of strength. I tried to get them to wear matching Clydesdale outfits, but they didn’t get the joke.
When the floor show starts, they’re under strict orders to leave. They hate this, but I didn't want to scene in front of them, and Brick agreed.
The dance floor in the center of the club is filled with revelers, thrashing in the neon lights. They dance around an elevated ten by ten stage that’s cordoned off with red rope. There are no hanging cages that I can see, and the stage is empty. For now.
Until our performance.
Above the stage, the ceiling opens to show a second floor that consists of a hall around an open square, lined with evenly spaced doors. There’s a railing for people to lean on and stare down at the stage. Or they can check into one of the rooms–like a hotel–and enjoy themselves in private.
At the end of the club is a giant gilt throne on a platform higher than the stage. There’s a throng of club goers around him, some of them mingling with the dancers. On the throne lounges a tall, well built man with lightly tanned skin. The spotlights fixed on him make his hair flare a brilliant white gold.
This had to be Thaddeus the vampire, self-styled king of Manhattan.
He straightens as we approach, looking past his leather-clad audience and raising a hand to snap his fingers. The pulsing music lowers. Most of the dancers move off the floor to take their seats, and the throngs part to let us approach the throne. It’s obvious Thaddeus and his posse were waiting for us.
Thaddeus beckons us forward.
Brick’s chest rumbles–his wolf thinks he’s being summoned and doesn’t like it.
Thaddeus’ lips quirk, and he raises his hand in a neutral greeting instead.
We step into the white pool of spotlights, and the heat is searing. There are more lights fixed on us than on the stage, and I realize that in this club, Thaddeus is the biggest performer of all.