The Alpha Men's Secret Club: A Scorchingly Hot BBW Shifter Romance (2 page)

3

It was completely the wrong thing
to do, of course. After all, what hope in hell did Kate have of ever landing
Professor Rust O’Brien, right?

But she found herself going with
Michaela to the address Stacey Stack – who should be demoted if you went
by work ethics – had given them. Her curiosity had taken seed. Besides,
it was a fun afternoon activity for two best friends to bond over: STALKING THE
PERFESSER 101. It was akin to waylaying a rock star at the airport or the
concert dressing rooms.

So they took the B-train and
walked three blocks to the address concerned. Except that the sign above the
door didn’t say: THE ALPHA MEN’S CLUB. In fact, it said: STEVE’S TATTOO PARLOR.

Kate frowned. “Are you sure
you’ve got the right address?”

Michaela took out the slip of
paper again. “It says so here.”

“It says ‘476B’. Does B stand for
Basement?”

A flight of steps led down to a
basement establishment which did not have any signs or banners.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Michaela
said.

At the bottom of the stairs,
below street level, was an iron door. It was locked and bolted from the inside.

“Well,” Kate said, “looks like
it’s closed.”

Michaela scrunched her face. “Or
shut down.”

“You sure it was here in the
first place?”

“Beats me. That’s the address she
gave me.”

“Maybe we should ask Steve
upstairs.”

“Hmmm. Sometimes, you do have the
occasional light bulb moment.”

They traipsed up the stairs again
to Steve’s Tattoo Parlor, which was open. Inside, a swarthy guy was painstakingly
drilling a tattoo of a butterfly onto the arm of a girl.

“Are you Steve?” asked Michaela.

“Steve’s back there.” The guy
jerked his head towards a drawn curtain. “He’s tattooing someone’s butt.”

“It’s OK. We don’t have to see
Steve. We’re wondering about the place downstairs.”

“What place downstairs?”

“Is there a place downstairs?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Michaela clicked her tongue in
exasperation. “Is the place downstairs closed in the daytime?”

“There is no place downstairs. Whatever
it is has been shut down a long time ago.”

“Really? What was it before? Some
sort of club?”

The guy shrugged. “I’m new here.”

The girl who was being tattooed
said, “Hey, give him the third degree on your own time, not mine, sister.”

“Sorry.” Michaela rolled her
eyes.

They exited the tattoo parlor.
But not before Kate saw the crafty look on the tattoo guy’s face.
Now what
was that all about?

“Looks like it has been shut down
a long time ago,” Michaela remarked.

“I guess. If it was even there in
the first place. Maybe Stacey was sending you on a wild goose chase.”

“Sucks to be her.”

*

Kate didn’t pursue this for a
while. She was bogged down with assignments, and exams were around the corner. Professor
O’Brien continued to be as gorgeous and as aloof as ever. Fiona Montgomery
continued to be a shitty slut. Since Fiona couldn’t get her hooks into Rust
O’Brien, she was gunning for the newly widowed Professor Dirk Diggety instead,
who was rumored to have quite a hefty trust fund.

Carlo Estez continued to be as
annoyingly smart as ever and Michaela continued to be the best friend a girl
could have.

Still –

The ALPHA MEN’S CLUB needled her,
like a splinter under her fingernail that wouldn’t quite go away. It could all
be a hoax conjectured by Stacey, of course, and neither Michaela nor Kate dared
admit to the PA that they had actually gone to explore the venue. Kate remembered
the funny look on the tattoo guy’s face, and she wondered . . .

Hmmmmm
.

One night, she was putting in a
late night at the library, which was threatening to be an all-nighter. No other
student was there at this late hour. Kate’s eyes glazed over as she took in the
stack of books in front of her and all the research she had to do for the
assignment.

Enough is enough
. She was
getting brain spasms.

She was about to call it a night
when she heard a sound to her left. She saw a movement behind the shelf nearest
to the table she was working at.

She could recognize that stride
anywhere.

Professor O’Brien!

He walked to the exit without
looking back. He seemed to be in a hurry.

“Good night, Professor,” said the
librarian on duty.

“Good night, Marge.”

“Going home?”

“I’ll grab a couple of drinks
before heading that way. Good night to you.”

That was him. Polite, but no
small talk other than the usual pleasantries. He went through the revolving
doors.

After a pause, Kate quickly
gathered her notes and hastily stuffed them into her tote bag. She ran for the
main doors.

“Good night,” called the
librarian after her.

“Good night,” Kate remarked
breathlessly.

What the hell was she doing?

The Professor headed for the
faculty parking lot. This was where he was going to lose her.
I’m such a gawker
.
They’ll be committing me soon
. She saw a passing cab which was dropping
a passenger off and she hailed it.

“Where’re you going, Miss?” said
the female Hispanic driver behind the wheel.

Kate got into the back seat,
lugging her heavy tote with her. “Just follow that car.”

Up ahead, Rust O’Brien got into his
white BMW.

The driver grinned. “Like in the
movies, huh? Boyfriend of yours? Playing jealous girlfriend?”

“I wish.”

Rust backed out of his lot and
drove off.

“Keep a little distance from him
so he won’t know we are tailgating him,” Kate said.

“You’re good at this.”

“Not really.”

“You college kids.”

The cab kept a good distance of two
cars behind the white Beemer. They traveled for quite a distance. Traffic at
this hour was sparse and most of the stores flanking the streets were closed
except for the occasional bar.

Instinct told Kate that Rust
would be turning into a pretty familiar street, and down a side road. Kate
glanced at her watch. It was thirty minutes past midnight. Rust parked at an
available spot at the side of the road, and there were plenty. The sign
‘STEVE’S TATTOO PARLOR’ once again proclaimed itself.

A delicious thrill coursed down
Kate’s spine. She was right! There was something here.

“You gonna get out?” the cab
driver said amusedly.

“Wait.” Kate watched till Rust
O’Brien darted down the stairs to the locked iron door. Then she fumbled for
her purse inside her tote. “How much do I owe you?”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty?” That was highway robbery
and more than her allowance could afford, but Kate paid up with a grimace.

“Where’s my tip?”

“You want a tip after a twenty?”
Seeing the cab driver’s face, Kate resignedly fished out two more crumpled
notes. “OK, OK.”

“Good luck with your friend.”

“Thanks.”

She exited the cab and closed the
door quietly. Then she padded to the banisters leading down to the basement
establishment, whatever it was. The iron door was still forbiddingly shut, but this
time, colorful light and the thumpa-thumpa-thumpa of loud bass music filtered
from below its crack.

The plot thickened.

I shouldn’t.

No, I should. I paid twenty
dollars to come all this way. I should make the most of it.
Besides, she
wasn’t sure she had enough fare to go home by cab.

So she made her way down the
stairs, which was lighted by wall lamps this time. The iron door loomed like a
portal from out of time. She could recognize the song coming from behind it.
Closer
by Nine Inch Nails.

Thump, thump, thump, thump,
thump.

I want to violate you.

Thump, thump, thump, thump,
thump.

I want to desecrate you.

A lump bolted to her throat. Was
she ready for this? Besides, who said anything about the door opening for her?
This was a secret men’s club after all. Women might not be allowed inside.

OK, who was she kidding?

Unless it was a gay men’s club.

She heard footsteps behind her
and she froze. A man came down the stairs. He was dressed like a Manhattan
businessman, all dark pinstripe and tie. He barely gave her a glance as he
strode to the door.

He knocked three times.

She was surprised anyone could
hear him above all that din, but the door opened immediately. The music and
lights poured out, larger than life.

“Password,” someone said from
inside.

The man gave her a sidelong glance.
“Do you mind?” he said politely.

“I’m sorry.” She blushed in the
dark, and made to scamper upstairs. This was beyond her. Now she was behaving
like a groupie.

“Wait,” the man said. He was in
his late forties. Dark-haired, but with bags under his eyes. “What’s your name,
girl?”

She hesitated. Don’t talk to
strange men, her mother once told her. But hang it, she was an adult now.
Almost.

“Kate.”

The door remained temptingly
open. The chamber of secrets was ready to be divulged.

“You want to come to a party,
Kate?” A slow smile spread on the man’s features.

The danger of the forbidden
wafted deliciously across to her. She could almost imbibe its sizzling aroma.

“Yes,” she found herself saying.

If Professor O’Brien was inside, how
dangerous could it be?

The man gestured. “Then come in.
The night is young.”

His eyes raked down her body.
Kate was dressed in her usual sweater and jacket, with a green skirt which fell
over her kneecaps. Shapeless, she knew, under all that cloth. What could he
possibly see in her?

Still, the thought of someone
possibly finding her attractive was very tempting and boosting to her ego.

“OK,” she said.

She sidled next to the man, who
put his arm around her shoulders. No one had done that to her in a long time.
Not a boy, at least. It was exhilarating to be desired.

“Password?” The guy inside
prompted. She could see him now. He was an older gentleman, very well-dressed
in a maitre d’ like fashion. This took her completely by surprise. She had
expected some sort of bouncer character with huge arms and tattoos.

“Amscray,” the man said.

And just like that, they were in.

4

The interior did not open up to
the main club, as Kate expected it to. Instead, there was a medium-sized
cloakroom or whatever passed for it. Closets hugged the walls and she glimpsed
coats and hats hanging from pegs inside, along with a few umbrellas.

“Do you want to put your bag in
there?” the man said. When Kate hesitated, he added, “It’s completely safe.”

“OK.”

When she made to remove her
wallet and cell phone, he said, “There’s no need. You can put your drinks on a
member’s tab. There will be plenty of people inside who would only be too glad
to pay for you.”

The way he said this made her
skin slither. It wasn’t as though he was unattractive. It was the way he looked
at her, like he wanted to devour her. She should stop this right now and go up
the stairs – go back to where she came from. But Rust O’Brien was inside
and . . . she was curious.

The maitre d’ (Kate thought of
him as a maitre d’, though he probably had a fancier title than this) said,
“Miss . . . you would have to sign a Consent form before you enter.”

“A . . . Consent form?”

“This way please.” The maitre d’
held out his hand to point the way.

Kate looked back at her
benefactor, who nodded benignly but did not follow. The cloakroom led to a
passage, behind the walls of which thudded the increasingly loud music.

“What’s your name?” Kate asked
the maitre d’. She didn’t reckon on calling him the maitre d’ for the rest of
the night.

“Dickie, Miss.”

“Dickie?” He sounded positively
British. Or somewhere from the old British Empire, that was.

“Yes.”

He led her to another room.
Inside were more closets and a lot of tables with mirrors which were lined by
LED lights. She realized that it was a dressing room.

“Please take a seat, Miss. How
may I address you?”

“My name is Kate.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance,
Kate.

“Same here.”

“Please wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Kate sat down at one of the
dressing tables, feeling ill at ease. She peered at herself in the mirror. She
wished she was prettier, thinner. Even though the man who brought her in seemed
to find her attractive, he might be attracted to her youth and innocence.

Well, better to have her youth
and innocence than nothing at all.

Dickie came back with a woman. She
was tall, blonde and wearing more makeup than circus clown. Her face was
practically painted on and flawless. As a result, Kate couldn’t tell her age.

Dickie flourished a document in
front of Kate as well as an ornate, very expensive-looking fountain pen.

“Read this, Ms Kate, and sign
this if you agree to the terms of this club.”

The blonde woman smiled. “Take
your time, Kate.”

No one had paid so much attention
to Kate before. At home, she was the third in a family of five, and as a middle
child, she was always kind of forgotten. Now, in the span of less than fifteen
minutes, three different people had showered her with more attention than she
could possibly dream of. If only Rust O’Brien were here to see it.

“What is this?” Kate took the
Consent form.

It was filled with plenty of
phrases in legalese, but several things clearly stood out. The title, for one,
said: THE ALPHA MEN’S CLUB.

It exists! Kate thought
gleefully. If only she could bring this form back to Michaela as proof.
I
was here! So was he!

But her story had to progress if
she were to make it a story at all. It wouldn’t do to back out now.

The other clauses which jumped
out at here were:

‘I fully consent to whatever acts
will be visited upon me within the capacity of this club . . .’

‘I have the right to leave at any
moment should I not feel comfortable . . .’

‘I will not impart any knowledge
of this club or make any mention of it outside the vicinity of its grounds, or
I may be subject to a law suit by the club committee . . .’

Consent to ACTS. What acts? she
wondered.

She looked up at the two of them.
Both of them smiled indulgently, as though she were a precious child to be
cajoled.

“Take your time,” The blonde
repeated.

“What sort of ‘acts’ will there
be?”

“Sign it first and find out for
yourself,” the blonde said. “I was like you once. Young. Questing. Unsure of
who I was and what I wanted. Until I found my way here. I signed the form, and
I was taken into a world unlike anything I have ever known.”

She paused before adding, “I have
never regretted it.”

“You are free to opt out anytime
you choose,” Dickie said.

They were both holding her with
their eyes and winning smiles, moving her to take up the pen and sign the form.

Won’t you walk into my parlor,
said the spider to the fly.

For once in your life . . .

She took up the pen and signed on
the bottom of the page.

The smiles were practically
plastered on the faces of Dickie and the blonde.

“Thank you,” Dickie said, quickly
removing the pen and document before she could change her mind.

“What’s your name?” Kate asked
the blonde.

“Rita. I’m your wardrobe mistress
for the night. Would you like to go to a party?”