What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6) (15 page)

“Continue, but you’ll do so from right here.”

She gave him a watery smile while stroking her hand lightly across his cheek. Resuming her task with his supportive arms around her, she slid the next photo toward Angie and T.

“Felicia Mulrooney, the youngest at twenty-six. She was a budding author. One book published last year that did quite well, another due out in a few weeks. I have her first book, though haven’t had time to read it.”

“Let me guess,” Angie cut in gently. “Also tall, curvy and unattached.”

“Yes. A pattern does seem to be emerging.” Val opened the last folder, the thinnest. “The latest victim is Alisha Gray. Age twenty-nine. Also, tall, in fact, I’d guess she’s the tallest of them all, at least six feet with long wavy brown hair. When she joined, she had a Dom. That ended about six months ago and she’s been actively looking. I don’t know much else about her except she’s an actress. You might recognize her from TV. She has a supporting role in a popular drama. I’ve never seen it, although I’ve heard it’s a very good show.”

Angie shook her head, not having much time for TV and certainly not a drama. She had enough of that in her life as it was. Pausing, she studied the photos and her notes. “So at first look they have age, height and build in common, as well as being submissive and members of the club. That’s not much to go on.”

“What were they like?” T asked, interjecting for the first time. “Quiet, bratty, did they draw attention?”

Val and Eric shared a look, ahead of Val answering. “Elaine is bubbly and sweet. Marilee hung with her husband Dom exclusively until they went through their recent rough patch. Felicia is a lot like Elaine, but I don’t think she was seriously interested in a relationship, although she played a lot. Alisha is the most outgoing of the group, although I wouldn’t say she’s a brat. Fun loving, more like it.”

“They all had one thing in common as submissives,” Eric put in. “They liked attention and kept their play to the main floor exclusively.”

“So our perp would have had plenty of time to watch them,” T concluded.

“Yes, and as I told Cap this morning,” his eyes shot to Val and then transferred to T, “there is one thing they all did, which not all of our submissives care to participate in.”

“Exhibitionism?” Angie guessed as three sets of eyes keyed in on her.

“Yes, in part, but that’s not all of it.” Eric confirmed.

“Carousel,” Val whispered.

“Carousel?” Angie parroted back, although croaking more like a frog than a bird.

“No,” Val stated firmly. “We can’t ask that of her. She’s new to all this and not really into the lifestyle. I’ve been here almost a year and haven’t done that.” She glanced over at her Dom meaningfully. “Nor do I plan to.”

“Can someone please explain exactly what the carousel is?” She imagined a merry-go-round with naked subs riding plastic horses. How bad could that be? “If all of the missing women did something, uh, special, I suppose I will have to as well, to lure him in.”

She studied the intense frowns on Val and Eric’s faces before turning to T. His expression had darkened, his mouth set into a hard line, and his gaze had turned stormy like a troubled sea. Uh-oh. She swallowed her dread.

“Okay, lay it on me, whatever it is.”

“I think you’ll have to see to get the full impact,” Eric offered grimly.

“That’s exactly what T said.”

“He wasn’t lying, Angie,” Val soberly stated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her glance took in the Master Dom’s grim expression. Abruptly, a flash of De Sade’s
Justine
where the female lead was strapped to a wheel of torture came to mind. That and intense scenes from the other books she’d read in preparation for her role, including the
Story of O
and
Crash Into You—
the latter specifically because the heroine was an undercover submissive like herself—flashed vividly before her eyes.

“T,” she whispered.

He stood and grabbed her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you the carousel.”

*****

As Angie got her first look at Decadence L.A., T watched her reaction. He’d warned her it was edgier than their club back home, but she probably wouldn’t get a feel for how much so until the doors opened two hours from now. Yes, it had a bar and lounge like San Antonio, with live entertainment separate from the play areas. There were similar theme rooms upstairs and a second floor observation area—called the crow’s nest by the members—where eager observers would soon line the railing giving them a bird’s eye view of the action taking place on the main floor below. Voyeurs abounded at both clubs, but here, the exhibitionism was on a whole other level.

The massive room he led her into was horseshoe-shaped, and except for the few employees who scurried about making last minute preparations for members and guests, they were alone.

“Take it all in while you can, when the club opens it will be shoulder to shoulder even on a Thursday night.” Although he spoke softly, his voice echoed in the cavernous room.

He tried to put himself in Angie’s shoes, remembering the first time he’d seen the L.A. club. As part owner, he’d been involved in the planning and design, but he hadn’t quite grasped the concept or the impact it would have from blueprints and drawings. It took seeing to believe. The play area was set up like no other dungeon or BDSM club he’d ever seen. Laid out in four concentric circles, like a dart board, each ring was designed for a different activity and defined by different flooring and colored ceiling lights.

The outer ring contained elevated u-shaped booths, forty-two in all that lined the perimeter of the room and allowed a perfect vantage point for observation. Curtains were available at each one to provide privacy, but from his recollection, the free spirited members rarely utilized them, going full throttle in the booths as they would on the main floor. In fact, he’d never seen more than a handful of the drapes drawn at any given time.

The next ring was really a wide walkway where members could mingle while taking in the action all around them. Bordering “the circuit”, was the next circle where the various play stations were set up. Consisting of dozens of roped off sections, each station contained a different piece of bondage equipment ranging from the everyday spanking bench to custom made, one of a kind, sensual torture devices made specifically to spark the wildest imagination. And finally, came the innermost circle.

Glancing at his wide eyed newbie, he saw her gaze was locked on the activity in the center of the room where two male attendants were setting up the carousel, the whole purpose for them being here now.

While it took shape, he pointed out another feature in the room. “You’ll notice the wall at the far end is flat. It’s nicknamed ‘the wailing wall.’ The heavy equipment that requires wall mounting for safety and support is located there, plus a few larger areas where a Dom can safely wield a whip without taking out the eye of an unsuspecting passerby.”

Angie glanced at it briefly and simply nodded without comment, seeming to take it all in, but her focus returned quickly to the center of the room and stayed glued there, clearly preoccupied with what awaited her. After a few silent moments, she turned to him. “Please, tell me about the carousel.”

He took her hand and led her to the center of the floor.

“All set?” he inquired of the staff member who was latching the large unit into place.

“Yes, sir. We’ll need to break it down in thirty minutes.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

The man left and T, with a silent Angie in his wake, walked to the very center. He bent and raised a trap door. With the flip of a switch, a control panel telescoped up to waist level.

“Stay next to me until we stop moving,” he ordered and pressed a button. She grabbed his arm as the center section began to move. When it stood about fifteen feet above the main floor, it stopped. T flipped another switch and it began to slowly revolve.

“Center stage is used primarily for demonstrations or special event nights, like with arena theater, any scene carried out here can be easily viewed from most any point on both the main and second floor. The equipment the men just set up, especially for us, is the carousel.”

He smiled softly at the look in her luminous eyes, having grown wide with both shock and wonder as she took it all in. Six interconnected benches sat empty in the center ring. Padded kneelers and wide top rails ensured the subs comfort as well as plenty of eye bolts and chains to secure them properly. Each bench was positioned to face inward, allowing the avid eyes of the crowd a spectacular view of each subs bare behind as they slowly rotated by. Behind each bench was a stool.

“Okay.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed audibly. “I get why it’s called the carousel, but what is it for?”

“Primarily it’s used for public punishment.”

“Ohmigod!”

“Violators of club rules can be assigned punishment on the carousel. It is held every Saturday night if they have six naughty subs in need of correction. They are strapped down, and the member, a Dom needless to say, who has condemned them for a ride, takes the rear stool. As the bound subs rotate on the wheel to each station, the dominants administer a series of six preselected punishments—all at the same time. So, six bottoms are paddled simultaneously, or six vibes are applied to six clits, six plugs are inserted, and so on. You get the idea.”

Angie continued to gape at the benches surrounding her, rendered speechless other than repeating, “Ohmigod!”

“Most subs avoid this like the plague, although there are a few who really get off on it. Usually it is for major rule violations, disrespecting the Doms—

“I’m screwed.”

He stifled a laugh, continuing as if she hadn’t interrupted. “—or disobeying one of the DMs. The offended party is satisfied since they get to mete out the punishment.”

“Six offended Doms.”

“True.”

“What about committed partners? Their Doms simply stand by and let them get whacked and otherwise punished by six strange men.” She gasped. “Is there—?”

“No,” he interjected, her next question a natural conclusion. “Fucking is not allowed during a punishment carousel and penetration only by the toys that are preselected.”

She relaxed a little. “So the Dom simply stands by and watches? What if it’s his own sub, or his wife?”

“I told you L.A. was edgier. Most of the players here participate in ménage and group play, so it isn’t often an issue. And the Doms usually join in anyway.”

“How so?” she asked, eyeing the ring of benches once again.

“They are usually at the head of the bench, observing, protecting and…”

“And?”

“Getting sucked off.” Her face paled. “You don’t have to do this, Angie. We’ll attract his attention in other ways.”

“All four rode the carousel.”

“Yes, but we’ll find another way.”

“But it’s his pattern to take them after the carousel and I fit the mold. I’m tall, curvy, thirty and unattached. Holy crap!” One of her hands tugged at an earlobe, a clear sign of agitation. “That means I’d have to give a stranger a blow job.”

“No!” His tone was resolute as the vision of her lovely mouth opening for some other Dom’s cock slammed into him, rocking his world. Hell no! “Eric and I will come up with another way.” His voice sounded rough and he felt the same way. Needing to get out of there and cool off, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm as he flipped a switch and engaged the platform, keeping her safe and steady as it lowered.

The crew rushed in to dismantle the large apparatus as soon as T led her off the stage, which was barely a fraction of a second after it settled back into the floor.

“Who thinks up such things?” she murmured, only half to herself.

“Deviant minds. You gotta remember we’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” He tugged her along beside him and through the doors. Once in the bar, he didn’t mince his words. “I need a fucking drink.”

*****

Apparently, T was as disturbed as she was by their ride on the empty carousel and ordered a bourbon. He’d already tossed it back by the time Angie boosted herself on the stool next to him.

“T, my man,” a gravelly voice boomed from the other end of the long bar. “It’s been a long time.”

The huge barrel chested bartended ambled their way. He had a thick head of wavy auburn hair that looked mussed from sleep, as if he’d awoken, finger combed it—or someone else did—and that was it. His burly upper body put her in mind of a lumber jack, if a lumber jack wore leather.

“You brought a little treat with you. Up for some company tonight? I’m off at ten and Tara and Julie are coming in. It would be like old times.” He eyed Angie as if she was a pastry in Megan’s bakery counter. There were so many scary things about what the bartender said, she didn’t know what to freak out about first.

“Fuck my life,” was muttered softly beside her, then more loudly, “She’s only a friend, Samson. Not mine to share.”

Angie blinked, feeling like he’d smacked her in the head with a two by four. Then she recalled their ever changing cover. She was supposed to be unattached and couldn’t latch on to T. Crap. She eyed the big man who was pouring T another Kentucky bourbon, clearly such a regular that he didn’t have to ask.

When it was Angie’s turn to order, he planted both hands on the bar and stared at her with keen interest. “What can I get for you, pretty little newbie?”

“Tequila shooter, please. Patron, if you’ve got it.”

Brilliant white teeth appeared as he grinned. “Ah, a serious drinker. Thank fuck. I’m tired of making frou-frou subbie drinks. A blender is good for one thing, milkshakes, not booze.” Twisting, he reached up on a high shelf behind him and grabbed a familiar silver bottle. Expertly, he ringed the rim of a shot glass with salt and poured generously, adding a wedge of lime.

“So, Patron girl, since T ain’t your man, you up for some fun with old Samson tonight?”

She opened her mouth as she tried to come up with some kind of believable untruth about why that was not happening, but a hand slipped over her shoulder and stopped her.