Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“I think that’s good enough. Something tells me you won’t ever go near a woman again.”
“I won’t, man, I won’t. Please have mercy.”
“Oh, alright.” I aim the gun between his eyes and pull the trigger.
I turn to face the goddess, but she’s gone. Disappeared. I don’t know why, but the idea of never seeing her again causes emptiness to bloom in my chest, stronger than ever before, which is saying something.
1
Alexie
I walk through daily life in a daze, filling the emptiness with frivolous carnal desires to numb the ever-looming darkness known as loneliness. But no one wants to be around doom and gloom, so for the benefit of my adoring audience, I play the part of the loveable psycho. You can’t walk around like an emo kid when your brother is the head of the Bratva. So here I am in a fancy sex club, wearing a ten-thousand-dollar suit, with a bottle of Gray Goose, ready to party.
The Debauchery Club is a beautifully restored hotel in one of the most affluent areas in Chicago. The entire place has a speakeasy vibe. From the outside, it looks like a plain brick-and-mortar building. No sign, no glitz, no glam. But when you walk inside, you’re transported to an entirely new world. Red velvet carpets and drapes and circular booths adorned with hand-carved wooden edges. The place looks like the kind of establishment Hemmingway and Steinbeck would frequent to discuss current events, not a tawdry sex club.
Sex clubs and strip joints aren’t my thing. I don’t have an issue with them, they just aren’t for me. But you can’t turn down an invitation from one of your best friends—the guy who’d take a bullet for you and have your back no matter—what when he asks you to check out his new pet project.
Axel asked me to spend the night with them here, which is weird cause all they’re doing is hanging over their girl, Stella. I stare across the table at Stella sitting on Kian’s lap. Ronan’s fingers are wrapped around her hair, and Axel is talking to me but doesn’t make direct eye contact. All he does is stare at Stella. I don’t know what’s happening, but the men in my life are all dropping like flies.
I glare up at Mikhail. He’s staring at the half-naked bodies gyrating on the dance floor. This is the only place where the white mask covering his face doesn’t make him look like a crazy person. People don’t dig someone walking around looking like Jason Voorhees or Ghostface. The comparison isn’t too farfetched, considering Mik is an enforcer for the Bratva. The man’s worn the mask since he was ten, trained by my piece of shit father to be nameless and faceless. Mik was a dispensable killing machine to my father, and he used him to take care of the unsavory shit he didn’t want to dirty his hands with. Mik never talks about his past, his parents, nothing. I’ve known him for twenty years, yet he might as well be a stranger.
“You gonna partake in the goods, Mik?”
“No,” he responds, not looking at me.
Kian gets up and stands beside him. Mik doesn’t budge, standing there surveying the masses. I’ve always thought Kian understood Mik better than the rest of us. Maybe because they’re both psychos.
“This one here says you’ve been a little destructive lately,” Kian says loudly, pointing his thumb toward Mik, “So we thought what better place to bring you than a good old-fashioned sex club. You can get your dick wet, forget your woes, and hopefully, stop stressing everyone the fuck out.”
“Burying myself in random pussy isn’t gonna fix shit,” I say as I get up and head toward the bar.
There’s no need for more booze. I’ve got two bottles of liquor at the table, but I don’t want to deal with their shit anymore. I can’t tell them I can’t fuck anyone cause the only woman I want is the goddess I rescued three months ago.
I saved the woman’s life, and she didn’t even thank me. She disappeared, and all I had to show for it was blood on my expensive Italian leather shoes. It’s not like she owed me shit cause she didn’t. And to be fair, she witnessed a psycho murder a rapist. Bouncing out of there was the smart and sane thing to do.
That’s when I see her, thick tight curls and a pretty round face. She’s like a fuckin’ dream, one I’ve woken from and am desperate to go back to. I know how insane it sounds, but she’s taken over every corner of my mind.
Shoving my way through the bodies by the bar, I hope to get to her before she disappears again.
She’s speaking to a couple, if you can call them that. The man sits at the table with the woman on a leash beside him. Two bowls sit in front of her face, one with water and one with food. She doesn’t have any utensils. Either slave and master or pet play. Not my thing, but who am I to judge? I’ve got my own messed-up issues when it comes to sex and what I like.