Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Icy-blue eyes. They almost jump out at me from under dark, heavy brows. He leans back in his chair, fingers tented under his chin, and there’s a glass of what looks like whiskey next to the button he used to open the door. Nobody has to tell me he’s the boss. Everything about him screams mastery, control.
He nods once, and Alexei takes this as a sign to get me in the room and close the door. He pushes me forward, and I hear the definitive click of the door being shut, leaving me alone with the man who I know is named Lucian, the owner of Purgatory.
That’s all I know about him, though, and the fact I owe him ten grand. Although I do know he has a lot of other shady, underground businesses only hinted at online.
What a shame I didn’t have the time to look further into his businesses before I agreed to let Alexei lend me the money I needed. Money I couldn’t possibly pay back.
Lucian’s eyes roam over me the way Alexei’s did, but there’s a different sort of look in them. Alexei was imagining what he would do to me. Lucian looks at me like I’m a prize cow or something, like he’s assessing me for sale. “Turn. Let me see the back.”
So much for an introduction. There’s nothing in his deep but cold voice that gives me any sense of comfort as I turn halfway so he can get a look at my ass. All I can do is stare at the wall and will my knees to stop shaking.
“You’ll do. Turn.” I do as I’m told, glad I passed muster yet at the same time afraid of what that means. I can’t imagine what I’ll have to do to satisfy my debt, but ten grand is a lot of money, and something tells me he’s going to make me work for it.
He picks up his glass, swirling the liquor around, studying me. “Your name is Rowan, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re twenty years old?” I nod my head as he lifts the tumbler to his lips, watching me the entire time he does it. I’m afraid that if I don’t watch him with the same intensity, he may take me as weak. “You don’t say much, do you?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
This seems to please him. He lowers the tumbler, nodding. “That’s good. I can’t stand people who ask too many questions. Do you know anything about this club?
“I know enough.” Thanks to my ex, who brought me here for a threesome, and to my best friend, Eve, who had a pleasant encounter here with her stepbrother. “I’ve been upstairs before,” I admit, “and so have my friends. But I don’t know much about what’s going on downstairs.”
“We keep it that way for a reason.” He folds his hands over his flat stomach, and I catch sight of a flashy watch peeking out from under his shirt cuff. I could probably pawn that watch and pay off my debt with money to spare. “Welcome to Purgatory. This is an exclusive club. We’re very careful with our clientele. The fact that you’re considered worthy of working here for the night speaks highly of you.”
Am I supposed to be flattered? I’m not sure, though a part of me is glad I met with his approval.
“We are discreet, of course,” he continues. “Nothing that goes on within these walls goes beyond these walls. You understand that?”
“I do.”
“Good.” He suddenly stands, crossing the room with long, slow strides and stopping in front of a bar cart loaded with bottles, tumblers, and an ice bucket. Since he already has a drink of his own, I guess this one’s for me.
“You’re on the second floor currently, and this is the level we refer to as Heaven. There are rooms set up throughout the floor where clients can engage in whatever kink they enjoy. We have strict rules when it comes to consent and a zero-tolerance policy for guests—men or women—who can’t take no for an answer.”
He turns his head slightly, catching me out of the corner of his eye. “Tonight, you’ll be working in Hell. That’s what we call the basement level. The main level, where you walked in, is more of a social area. That’s where our guests relax and enjoy a few drinks before going either upstairs or down.”
I’m afraid to ask but do so anyway. “And what happens in Hell?”
He stops, holding an ice cube in a pair of tongs, the ice hovering over the glass for one little moment before he drops it with a clink. “Hell is reserved for our most formidable guests.”
That’s not exactly an answer, though something tells me I shouldn’t press him for more information. He did say he doesn’t like it when people ask questions, right?