Page 105 of Safe Word

Just as the panic began to bubble again, the door creaked open behind me. A woman stepped inside, her heels hammering the tiles. She was tall, beautiful, her deep red dress clinging to her curves in a way that screamed confidence. Her glossy hair fell in perfect waves, and the sharp angles of her features gave her an air of superiority.

I turned to her, sizing her up for fit. She was close to my build – taller, but close enough.

The idea sparked wildly in my brain – desperation and impulsiveness colliding into something barely rational – or sanitary. But it was my only shot.

‘Excuse me,’ I said in broken Italian, my voice steady despite the chaos brewing inside me.

She glanced at me, her perfectly shaped brows arching with mild annoyance. ‘Yes?’

I hesitated for half a second before diving in. ‘Would you consider swapping dresses with me?’

Her lips parted, her expression shifting from confusion to incredulity. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ll pay you,’ I said quickly, stepping closer. ‘Five hundred euros. Right now.’

She blinked, and for a moment, I thought she might laugh at me. Instead, she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down.

‘What’s that from?’ Her gaze dropped to the patch.

‘Spilt wine,’ I lied without flinching.

She hesitated.

A scoff fell from her mouth then, but I saw the spark of interest in her eyes. ‘Why would I?’

I gestured vaguely at my dress, hoping she wouldn’t press for details. ‘I had an accident. I can’t walk out like this. I’m here with my boss.’

Her gaze dropped to the wet patch, and I saw the moment she pieced it together. ‘Right,’ she said suspiciously.

Heat flared in my cheeks the longer she stared at me, but I held my ground. ‘Five hundred,’ I repeated, pulling my wallet from the bag. I opened it, showing her the crisp notes inside, thankful I’d withdrawn cash for my rent earlier.

Her smirk widened as she held out her hand. ‘Fine, but I bought this second-hand.’

And I just washed semen off this one, a snarky remark rose in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down immediately.

Great. Five hundred euros for a second-hand dress with someone else’s deodorant on.

I nearly laughed aloud – Ghost on mine, deodorant on hers.

Handing over the money and stepping into one of the stalls, I hurried to change.

Deep crimson wasn’t my choice, not with Cain D’Angelo at my side tonight. The dress was too short, the hem skimming dangerously high with a threat to reveal the top of my stockings. The neckline plunged deeper than the black dress, and though I typically had no issue showing off my assets, I was hoping I didn’t appear too vulgar in front of D’Angelo. The woman must have been one of the paid actresses judging by the choice of garment.

I tugged at the long sleeves to make sure my tattoo wasn’t visible – I didn’t want Ghost recognising it if he was still here.

It was clean, it was dry – that was the mantra, the only thing keeping me from falling apart at this point.

When I emerged, the woman was already zipping herself into my black dress, her expression smug. She glanced at me, her eyes lingering on the way the red fabric clung to my body.

‘Not bad,’ she said with a wink before strutting into a stall.

I took a steadying breath and stepped out of the lavatory, the noise of the club washing over me like a wave.

The corridor stretched ahead in a blur of pulsing light and shadow, and for a moment, it wasn’t the club – it was the basement. That same tight, breathless feeling returned to my chest. Each step felt too loud, as if my body didn’t quite belong to me. My thighs still ached, the phantom of the machine’s rhythm echoing in the way I moved. I half expected to look down and see the stirrups, feel the cool leather of the seat beneath me.

The corridor narrowed, suffocating me, each step a battle to stay present. But the scent of latex, sweat, and something sweet held to my memory.

I rounded the corner and caught my reflection on a shiny decoration hanging off the wall – hair a mess, as if I had been dragged through a nightmare.