Page 32 of The Masked King

Once we’re in our rooms, we’re only allowed out for a comfort break, and we’re escorted to and from the restroom by a bodyguard, usually Michael Douglas, or another guy with zero inclination to be on first-name terms. They provide bottled water to keep us hydrated, so theoretically, the club isn’t breaking any laws; I checked after my first shift, and the Fair Labor Standards Act states that offering meal and rest breaks is at the employer’s discretion.

But this strict regimen of being escorted from room to room is restricting my chances of getting any information on the people at the top of the food chain here. I’ve yet to meet one of the other workers, and I’m not expecting a team bonding event anytime soon.

Still, I’m not convinced that money is their priority.

From what the DI told me, it’s all about the clients. JADED is a steppingstone between the low ranks of the club’s business associates to the higher echelons. This is where the wealthiest percentage of the global population gets to squander their billions on human beings as objects to be collected, admired for a short while, and then discarded like a work of art or rare vase or a diamond the size of a boulder.

With so much time on my hands, my mind relentlessly drifts back to Brian. I try to remain focused on catching the fuckers using the club as a front to illegal trafficking, but it’s hard when Brian’s voice keeps sliding into my head and filling me with anticipation.

Is this game he’s playing with me whetting his appetite for a more sordid encounter?

Is he even aware of what awaits him when he gets bored with voices in the dark and wants to take his perversions to the next level?

I don’t want to think of him as some scrawny slimeball who can’t get it up for his wife and comes here to live out his dreams of being a sex god with women falling at his feet.

I don’t want to think about his wife waiting for him to come home to their swanky Manhattan apartment and talk about his heavy workload.

What about kids?

I’m talking myself in and out of slimy worm holes when a knock on the door jolts me back to the present.

“Time to go.” The bodyguard opens the door without waiting for me to acknowledge the knock first.

He looks me up and down as I stand, drawing the sheer robe around me. Not that it covers anything, and they’ve probably seen all of us in various stages of undress anyway. I’ve not seen him before. He fits the mold—buzzed black hair, tattoos decorating his thick neck, dark eyes and an absent smile—but I sense this one is different. Colder, like he just stepped out of a freezer and is yet to thaw out.

“I haven’t had any clients.”

He shrugs, his eyes lingering between my legs.

“Has it been a quiet night?” I ask.

“For you maybe.”

That’s a kick in the fucking teeth, but he’s still staring at me like I’m the steak dinner he’s been salivating over all night.

“Come.” He doesn’t stand aside.

“Is the club closed?”

We’re not allowed watches or cell phones while we’re working. It feels like it’s been a long night, but I might have only been here a couple of hours.

“Yes.” He’s still blocking the doorway.

I want to ask if Brian came tonight, but I don’t know his real name, and the NDA I signed before I started working here stated that I was to have no contact with clients outside of the club. If they think I’m breaking the rules, I’ll be escorted from the premises and not allowed back in.

I cross the room and stand in front of him.

I chose this robe again for Brian. He can’t see it, but he held it in his hands the night before, and even though it smells of fabric softener now, it feels as if he chose it for me. It’s my Brian-uniform. It’s what I was wearing when I made myself come for him.

But I don’t feel sexy wearing it under the bodyguard’s scrutiny.

I feel… unclean. Undressed even though he hasn’t tried to touch me.

“Are you going to move out of my way?” I face him squarely, chin jutting.

“Ask me nicely.”

This is more interaction than I’ve had with anyone else I’ve met since I started working here. Including the men who interviewed me. And I get the sense that he feels he’s above following the rules.