Page 9 of Take Me Darkly

“Everything at Club O relies on absolute communication without room for error,” Myla explained.

I stepped forward, reaching onto the tray to pick up three silicone wristbands—one red, one blue, one green.

“These dictate your status the moment you step onto a public floor,” I said, holding them out. “These might look simple, but they’re the difference between a pleasant experience and a very awkward misunderstanding.”

Serena’s gaze flicked between the bold colors.

“It’s a silent communication system,” I explained, holding up the red bracelet first. “Red means you’re here strictly for observation, and you’re not available for interaction beyond polite conversation. No one touches you. No one propositions you. It’s an unconditional boundary.”

“Blue means you’re available—but only with your partner’s permission,” Myla said, taking over smoothly. “It tells others you’re in a relationship but might be open to shared experiences.”

“And then there’s green,” I finished, my voice lowering. “Green means you’re completely available. No restrictions. It’s an open invitation to explore.”

She studied the bracelets for a long moment, then looked up at me. “I’ll take red.”

A faint smile touched my lips. “A wise choice. Always red, princess. In fact, I can’t imagine a universe where I’d let you wear anything else.”

A sudden heat flared in her eyes, a dangerous mix of defiance and curiosity. “And what if I decided to wear green?”

I leaned down, my lips grazing the shell of her ear as I whispered, “Then we would need to have a very long, very thorough conversation about consequences.”

A subtle shiver ran down her spine, her breath catching in her throat.

“What’s going through that brilliant head of yours?” I asked, pulling back to read her face.

“I’m thinking that the longer I’m around you, the more I see that purity culture is detrimental and messes with people’s heads. Also, that it makes people miss out on a lot of living because of the fear of being shamed.”

My eyes widened, shocked by her brutal honesty. Perhaps she was more ready to be a part of my world than I’d realized. The depth of her intellect never ceased to stun me, analyzing things with the precision of a scholar. She was correct, and it was a discussion I’d love to explore further when we were alone.

She slid the red band onto her wrist, the bright color stark against her olive skin. “I still feel like an outsider. I’m supposed to be hiding, but I feel like I’ll stick out the moment the crowds arrive.”

“You won’t,” Myla reassured her gently. “Club O isn’t about conforming. It’s about being stripped of hypocrisies. Everyone leaves judgment at the front doors.”

Before Myla could say more, her phone vibrated. She pulled it out, checked the caller ID, and frowned.

“Dammit. I’m sorry. We’ve been having trouble with one of our bourbon distributors. I have to take this call,” Myla apologized, shooting us a quick nod. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Go ahead,” I told her.

I guided Serena down a narrower, cooler corridor that led to the heavy steel security door at the rear of the building. Beside the frame sat a high-end biometric panel set into the stone like a relic from a future the church never would have imagined. I entered an eight-digit code, then pressed my palm against the glass reader. The lock disengaged with a muted clunk, and I pushed the door open.

Zeke stood behind a curved master console, surrounded by a wall of high-definition monitors illuminating his skin in shades of electric blue. His broad frame was clad in a charcoal henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He turned as we entered, his sharp eyes instantly assessing Serena’s posture and her bandaged shoulder.

“Morning, Dr. Martinelli,” he greeted in his quiet baritone. “Good to see you vertical.”

Serena managed a faint smile. “Getting there.”

“I’m here to show Serena how insufferable you are about security,” I half teased, leaning against the console.

He shot me a look but didn’t deny it. I might joke with him, but I knew my life was always safe in his hands. It was why I irrevocably trusted him with Serena’s.

Zeke tapped a command into his keyboard, and the wall of monitors reconfigured into labeled quadrant grids. Every angle of the property was displayed—the front gates, the alleyway, the private lift, the roof, and the subterranean service tunnels.

“We run round-the-clock surveillance,” Zeke explained, pointing to the feeds. “Three operators at peak hours, two on day shifts, internal servers only. Nothing touches an external network, making us completely safe from cyber threats. If Manhattan loses power, our internal generators can keep this place running for a week. The only rooms we don’t have eyes are the play spaces. We don’t surveil intimacy. We only secure perimeters. Everyone has a right to privacy here—even if many also want a little exhibition now and then.”

Serena stepped closer, staring at the screens. The live feed from the street displayed a slow roll of mid-morning traffic and pedestrians, everyone oblivious to what went on behind these walls. Another pane showed the alley clean and empty, with a delivery van reversing toward the service bay.

He toggled again, and access logs bloomed across a secondary screen. “Biometric points are at all critical doors. The system flags anomalies—badges used out of sequence, tailgating, someone loitering where they shouldn’t. See here?” He highlighted an entry. “Your lift to the upper floor apartment. Two authorizations are required if we are in full lockdown.”