I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to explore. Leaving doesn’t interest me anymore, not after finding out where we are. Unfortunately the same can’t be said about Dom.
When we stepped off the elevator, it felt like we had entered another world. The bar is sleek and futuristic, an architectural beauty perched at the top of the hotel. Nothing like the dusty lobby we entered through.
The bar and the stage here are complete attention grabbers. Something from a movie, with two robotic arms serving as bartenders, executing drink orders with clockwork precision. The touchpads embedded in the glass bar table register our selections, and moments later, the drinks slide down a thin conveyor belt toward us.
It’s impressive.
They’ve sunk an obscene amount of money into this place, where the line between reality and dream blurs—or so they’d like us to think. It’s also a smart move. With fewer people inside, there is a lower chance of any information leaking about those who visit and what precisely occurs after nightfall.
“Okay, drinks in hand, at the bar—can someone finally tell me what Untamed is about?” Dom’s impatience is going to get him in trouble later.
“Dom just got into town tonight,” I explain to Tristan.
Tristan lifts his mask just enough to sip his whisky—a mirror image of my own order—and nods as if he already knew. “Ah, and congratulations on signing with the Slashers,” he says, shifting his gaze to Dom.
Tristan is looking for a fight.
I turn to Dom, sensing the need to placate him before his agitation boils over. “No one really knows about this place. It’s a ghostly legend only the elite are allowed to wander through. It’s invitation-only, tightly controlled. Rumor has it that every dark, twisted desire comes to life here.”
Dom blinks. “So, a high-class BDSM club?”
“In a way,” I say. “But far more intense than you’re picturing.”
“Untamed promises a singular experience,” Tristan interjects, swirling his drink. “Every detail here is deliberate, even the ones you don’t think are.” His eyes sharpen. “Do you remember how you got here?”
Dom and I exchange looks. The limo—a shared conversation, sipping water handed to us—and then, nothing.
What the fuck.
“You drugged us?” Dom speaks before I have a chance to, his voice is low but taut with anger.
“Nothing personal,” Tristan replies calmly. “It’s standard. No one remembers their arrival. The drink only erases small details, enough to preserve the secrecy. It adds to the allure. People want what’s exclusive and dangerous. They pay handsomely for it.”
A place for the rich to indulge their darkest whims.
I lean forward, my voice dropping into a threat. “If I find out this place crosses any line—harboring criminals or violating consent—I’ll burn it down, no matter who backs you.”
Tristan’s eyes glimmer. “Passionate, aren’t we?”
“I’ll be right there with him,” Dom adds, his anger simmering close to the surface. “Count on that.”
Tristan raises a hand in a gesture of peace. “Relax. Consent is paramount here—the bedrock of the community, as you well know. And if it wasn’t, I’d be helping light the match myself.”
A shared breath of relief passes between Dom and me.
Tristan tilts his head toward the stage. “See the woman by the wall? Watching, not participating?”
I follow his gaze past the bar to the massive stage that dominates the room. Luxuriously crafted, it’s a spectacle of dark wood and gold accents. Dancers glide with elegance, their movements more art than performance. Below them, a semicircular couch cradles a cluster of women, one kneeling and seemingly lost between another’s legs—the woman’s head thrown back, moans cutting through the thrum of music. My attention narrows in on the shadowed figure in the corner. Her silhouette shimmers under the dim lights, a black dress outlining her curves.
“She’s a hunter,” Tristan says, “looking for the perfect prey.”
“Do you know her?”
“I don’t need to. Her intent speaks for itself—a hunger hidden beneath practiced restraint. People come here searching for what they can’t find elsewhere. An escape, a release. Somewant to break free; others, to feel nothing at all. But most want to feel everything.”
The music pulses, and the tension that hangs between us grows palpable. I glance at Dom, who’s studying the room with a guarded expression. His eyes land on the stage again, taking in the dancers and the electric energy that vibrates through the space.
The mystery woman turns, appearing to look at us while Tristan continues to speak. “Most women that come here are often looking for experienced players that can give them exactly what they want. This one wants to be chased, dominated, used, forced to beg. But I bet she won’t be satisfied with just one player.”
