Page 8 of Take Me Darkly

“Why stay?” she asked, her curiosity piqued as she studied my profile. “Why rebuild your trauma instead of running from it?”

“If I walked away, the women who work here would be back on the streets. I couldn’t do that to them. But I will admit, I didn’t plan on creating a sex club at first. It just sort of happened that way. And if I’m being honest...” I paused, flashing her a wicked smile as the lift slowed. “A part of me takes immense pleasure in knowing what those old priests would think if they saw what I did to their nave.”

“You have a twisted sense of humor.”

“Princess, you have no idea how twisted I can be.”

“Hmm, I think I might have an idea,” she whispered, her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

The lift settled with a soft clunk. I pulled open the iron gate, revealing the warm, amber glow of the administrative level.

“Welcome to the first floor of Club O.”

We stepped into a wide stone hall with vaulted ceilings and exposed brickwork, lit by subtle wall sconces. This floor was the nerve center. The place where a congregation once came to worship had been sectioned off into various rooms, housing executive offices, private member lounges, and the club’s security operations.

Taking her arm, I led her through to the main gathering area, a stunning space I’d spent years perfecting. It was a masterpiece of shadow and light, its entryway featuring custom mosaic walls and the soothing, rhythmic cascade of an embedded waterfall. During the day, Club O was quieter, more like an exclusive gentleman’s club than the den of sin it became after dark.

“It’s incredible,” Serena murmured, her eyes taking in the rich leather, polished stone, and discreet alcoves. “It’s not what I expected.”

“Did you expect chains and whips?” I teased.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, a fleeting smile touching her lips.

“That’s downstairs, in The Dungeon,” I promised, my tone lowering to a velvet whisper. “This floor is more civilized. During the day, it’s a sanctuary for conversation and networking. Sexual activity is strictly reserved for the private suites and lower levels. But after dusk, the energy changes entirely.”

A few early members were scattered across the plush seating, conversing quietly over dark spirits despite the early hour. Serena’s gaze lingered on a striking woman in a fitted leather corset sharing a quiet joke with a man in an impeccably tailored suit.

“We enforce a strict dress code depending on the hour and the wing,” I continued, guiding her through the space. “Every person here is a vetted member. Background checks, financial audits, psychological evaluations. Our screening process is more rigorous than most federal clearances. That’s why you’re safe here, Serena. No one enters without my personal clearance.”

“Psychological evaluations?” she repeated, arching an eyebrow.

“We ensure every member understands the sanctity of consent,” I replied, my eyes locking onto hers. “Safe, sane, and consensual isn’t a suggestion here—it’s the law. But don’t worry, princess. I’ve already vetted you. You pass.”

“How generous,” she murmured dryly.

As we reached the administrative wing, the heavy glass doors opened, and Myla McKinnon walked out to meet us. Taller than most women, with platinum-blonde hair pulled into a razor-sharp ponytail, Myla exuded a cool, street-smart authority. She wore a tailored black blazer over dark denim and sleek leather boots, her stride purposeful and direct.

“Myla,” I said. “This is Serena.”

Myla’s eyes softened instantly, a genuine smile breaking through her professional mask. “So, you’re the famous archaeologist.”

Serena blinked, caught off guard. “You know who I am?”

“Of course,” Myla said matter-of-factly as she extended her hand. “Mr. Romano always makes sure to brief me on things—or people—of importance. It’s how I stay good at my job. I’m happy to finally meet you.”

I watched Serena shake Myla’s hand, noting how she registered Myla’s quiet confidence, taking in the sharp edge of a woman who’d survived things most people couldn’t imagine.

“Myla manages the day-to-day operations and helps new members understand our protocols,” I explained. “If I’m not here for any reason, she’ll be your primary point of contact for any questions or concerns. She has a unique perspective, and I think she could be a great asset to you.”

When I added the last part, I was careful not to divulge too much. Myla’s story about how she came to be here was only hers to tell. She’d come from the same dark world I’d emerged from, though her path had been different. When the streets would have eaten her alive, I’d given her a chance at something better. Her loyalty was undeniable, her discretion unquestionable, and her efficiency unmatched. She was also brilliant with numbers and organization—skills that made her invaluable to my empire.

“You’ve been through a lot, and this place can be overwhelming even under the best circumstances. I’m here for whatever you need,” Myla said, her tone professional but kind. There was something in her voice—a recognition, maybe, of what it felt like to need protection. “But you’ll find your footing. I did. And trust me, honey, if I can thrive here, you can handle anything.”

“Thank you, Myla,” Serena said, her posture relaxing slightly.

“Before we head down to security,” Myla continued, pulling a small black velvet tray from behind the reception desk, “we need to go over the visual protocol. Think of this as your orientation.”

“Orientation?” Serena let out an uneasy laugh.