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“Go and get changed.”
He takes me out to dinner first, some place where he’s known. Heads turn and I’m nervous. Even though I’m completely covered, I’m still exposed.
The collar’s simple leather and it looks like I’ve got some cutting-edge choker on. But it’s not. I know what it is, and it adds to that feeling of exposure.
I can’t even remember what we eat. He’s intent on showing me off and he’s so convincing, I can’t tell if this is him or an act.
Which I guess is the point.
He wants me to act and react as his, but as myself, a girl caught in him. “Act like you love me,” he whispered before we left the apartment.
It’s midnight when we walk through the front doors of the club. I’m not on his arm; I’m a step behind him.
I do that instinctively; I don’t know why, but it seems right. I remember seeing other women doing that with their dates the first night I came to find him.
“Drink?”
It takes me a second to register that he’s talking to me, and I nod. “Yes, Sir.”
That earns a smile as he moves in to drop a kiss on my lips. But then he turns away as he heads down the stairs, greeting a few people along the way, like a king. Down on the third level’s a different bar. This is all black down here and super exclusive from the looks of it. Leather seats, fat and round, dot the place, and there are masters sitting on them with their slaves kneeling on the floor in front of them.
Some have their slaves spread out on tables, holding drinks in their hands for their masters. There are other masters standing around, talking while slaves either stand behind, heads down, or kneel like pets at their feet.
If Malone asks me to get down like a dog on the floor, I don’t know if I can do it.
But that’s not true, because I would. And hate myself for even considering it.
He leans against the bar, and one of the girls behind there, wearing almost nothing but a pair of latex underwear and a nipple bar hurries over. She’s a redhead, beautiful and with the kind of sculpted curves I wish I had.
“Sir?”
The moment she says this, I tense as wild jealousy scorches a path in my veins.
“Scotch and a rum on the rocks.” He glances at me like he can read my mind, a little smile appearing, and I want to hit him.
Instead, I curl my hand, give him a hard look, and lower my eyes.
“Hand, Baby Red,” he says.
I hold it out and he puts something slick and cold in it. The glass.
“I’d advise you to drink the fuck up, baby doll.” I’m staring down at his feet as someone comes up to him. I see the shoes appear.
“Pretty,” says the voice, and there’s something slightly familiar, like I’ve heard it before. I almost look up, but somehow, I resist.
“She’s mine, not for sale.”
“JM. You don’t tend to come down here,” the other man says. “It’s an honor to see you on the floor.”
Malone laughs. “You are?”
“Aaron Miller, investor. And I’d sure as fuck love a piece of this place.”
I don’t know the name and Malone just says, “I’m sure you would, but I don’t have investors. If you’ll excuse us.”
Malone doesn’t say another word and he moves forward, leaving me to follow. The feet and voices fade as he leads me through a door. In here, wherever we are, the music changes to something darker, slower, more hypnotic. It’s bright, and I start to raise my head.
“Eyes down, Scarlett,” he says in his Sir voice.
