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“Don’t worry,” he says with a chuckle. “Here at Château Mystique, in addition to excellence, discretion is our utmost priority. Please enjoy your stay.” He mimes zipping his lips, then turns around, busying himself.

At that, I take my hotel key and make a beeline down the hallway, as my imagination does its best to fill in the gaps. I don’t even make it fully up the elevator before I dial my sister’s number. She answers on the first ring.

“Hello—”

“What the hell is this place?” I blurt as I press the number thirteen, which also happens to be the top floor.

“Is it bad? I’m sorry. The pictures all looked really nice from my glance, but you know how pictures can be.” I can hear her fingers clicking against the keyboard, like she’s going full sleuth mode. “It looks like there’s a La Quinta Inn about ten miles from there. Would you rather I book you a room there?”

The elevator doors ping open, and I chuckle. The thirteenth floor seems to have only two rooms. I use my key to unlock my room, and when I walk inside, I’m met with a beautiful dark mahogany four-poster bed, the mattress swathed in fluffy white linen.

I release Matilda from her leash, and she darts around the room investigating every surface to make sure it’s safe.

My eyes scan the ornate oil paintings adorning the walls. Portraits of beautiful women from the 1800s and scenic landscapes that look like something straight out of the Louvre. There’s a sitting area set off to the side with a fainting sofa and two armchairs, as well as a fully stocked glass bar, complete with a bottle of champagne sitting on ice.

“Kira…are you still there?”

I clear my throat. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.” I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “This place is great.”

My eyes catch on the menu that’s placed atop the bed. I pick it up and begin to read.

“Um… Greer…”

“Yeah?”

“I think you booked me a room in a sex club…”

I hear a choking sound, followed by several sputtering coughs. “Come again?”

“Oh, you heard me.” I giggle as I switch the call to FaceTime, flipping the camera around so she can see for herself. I walk her around the room, making sure she sees every carefully placed detail.

“Holy shit.” She blows out a raspberry and slaps a hand over her mouth, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

I make my way over to the bar cart and pour myself a glass of champagne, mentally going over my plans for the evening. Champagne, bubble bath, fluffy robe, a little comfort TV… Ooh, I could rewatch my guilty pleasure reality TV show, Cryptid Chasers. I think they’re filming season two soon…

“Oh my God,” Greer shrieks, jolting my heartbeat completely out of rhythm.

“What?!”

“You have to go and…partake!” she squeals; the look on her face is nothing short of elated.

I shake my head, then toss back my glass of champagne. “No way. I’m content on spending the next twelve hours right here—” I glance around, searching… “Is there no TV in this room? Seriously?”

Greer’s smile grows wider, and I roll my eyes.

“This is exactly what you need!”

You’d almost think it was her partaking we were discussing, not mine.

“No, it’s the last thing I need. I’m supposed to be lying low, staying out of the media, remember?”

“Yes, and while I’d agree with you if this were any ordinary club, but this is an exclusive, highly protected sex club. I can’t find anything about it online, which I’m positive is by design. I bet the people who live there don’t even know it exists.”

“Exactly, so what if they’re luring me down there to harvest my organs⁠—”

“Or…you go downstairs and hook up with a stranger and have the best sex of your life?”

“Aren’t you concerned that both options are equally likely?” I refill my crystal champagne flute and toss back the expensive liquid like a shot. “I’d rather get drunk in the hotel room and binge-watch Cryptid Chasers⁠—”