by Renee Rose
Which… was huge, considering he was also the first person I admitted I was gay to.
I mean, that’s just not something you do where I come from. I was raised in Utah, in a very… insular family. There, I didn’t exactly have the happiest of childhoods.
And it was about to get worse.
Which is why I escaped.
I’m only twenty-four. There are a lot of experiences out there I want to have. Not that my family was open to letting me have them at home, or I’d still be there.
All my family wanted me to do was get married and…
Well, not have children, because the first wife they’d lined up for me was already in menopause.
Annnnd I’m gay.
Not that they know that, either.
In the ten months that I’ve lived in Tucson, I’ve learned a lot about myself. That being gay is normal. Doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.
“Wrong” is wanting a guy who’s only twenty-four to marry his first cousin—who’s fifty-seven and already widowed—even when he doesn’t want to marry her.
It takes me another fifteen minutes to finally work up the courage to change out of my comfy sweats and into jeans and a black button-up shirt. I don’t have anything else dressier.
This is as fancy as I have.
Then I book a ride-share and head downstairs to await the driver. I don’t have a car of my own. I usually bike to work, or take the bus.
The night feels cool and crisp, not unlike nights of my childhood. It’s late October, a week before the end of the month.
That’s when I realize this will be my first Halloween. I’ve never celebrated Halloween before. Heck, I’ve never been to a club before. Part of my excitement is wanting to see something I’ve heard about and seen in videos, but never experienced first-hand.
Both Halloween, and the club scene.
Is that what they call it? A ‘scene?’
Part of my excitement is seeing if I can find David and surprise him there. I haven’t met him but I have the pictures from his profile stored on my phone.
I’d be lying if I denied there’s a lot of fear in my heart right now. Closing my eyes, I try to pray, but prayers have all fled my mind and I can’t recall a single one.
When I try to think how long it’s been since I’ve even read the Bible, I can’t remember the last time I did that, either. I’ve either been working, or…
Well, absorbed in my self-interests.
For the first time in my life, I’m doing things for me, not for my family, or for my religion.
For me.
That feels darned freaking good, I have to admit.
Really freaking good.
I know I should feel guilty, except the more I learn about the world, the more I’ve come to understand just how much I was lied to growing up.
Does that even make the things I learned about God valid? And the more I learn, the more it certainly seems that my family is the embodiment of ‘evil.’
When my driver arrives, I climb in. “Good evening,” I say.
He’s checking our destination on the app. “You’re going to Club Toxic?”
“Yeah. You know the place?”
The guy scoffs. “I’ve dropped five people there already tonight. One of my most popular stops. I always make sure, on the nights I’m driving, to hang around there near last call. Especially on the weekends. I make a lot of money off that place.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” He glances in the mirror at me and I’m ashamed to admit I have no clue how to drive, unless it’s a tractor. “What do you do for a living?” he asks.
I don’t have to lie, at least. “I work for a bakery in town.”
He snorts. “Aren’t you up awfully late? My sister worked for one and she had to be at work at like three in the morning.”
“I have this weekend off.” I swallow hard. “I was hoping to meet up there with a… friend.” I’m still not comfortable telling people I’m gay. They don’t even know at work yet, although we have a couple of other guys there who are gay.
That’s how I found out about the dating app, from overhearing some of their conversations.
“Good for you.” He pulls away from the curb. “You don’t sound like a local. You from around here?”
I wonder what a Tucson local sounds like. For a moment, I have another worry on my plate that maybe I’m not fitting in. “No,” I finally say. “I’m from Utah.”
“How long you lived here?”
“Ten months.”
“Ah.” Fortunately, that’s the end of our conversation. I’m not good at making idle small talk, because I’m not going to lie about my history, and I don’t want to talk about my family.
And my job really isn’t that fascinating.
I make bread. Mostly. I mean, I make other things, too, but at work I’ve sort of become the go-to bread guy. It’s something I did a lot of, growing up.
I’m not very coordinated. I had a bad habit of getting hurt or having accidents when I tried to work outside. Between falling, and getting sick, and getting injured—like getting kicked by a horse, three times—finally, my father told my mom to keep me close to home. I was tasked with the herb garden, chickens, and kitchen work.
Fortunately for me, my kitchen skills, and being raised to rise long before dawn for chores, helped me land my current job at the bakery.
When we pull up to the club there’s already a line halfway down the block. That’s when I realize I’m not dressed a fraction as well as the others already queued. “Is that the line to get in?” I ask my driver as I feel… helpless.
He laughs. “Yeah. I take it it’s your first time?”
“Yeah.” I thank him and climb out and make my way to the end of the line. Meanwhile, I leave my driver a tip and a good review via the app.
The two women standing directly in front of me in line barely give me a glance before they resume their conversation. I don’t know how to interrupt them to ask if I’m in the right place, so I quietly stand there, even as more people arrive and queue behind me. While I wait, I respond to comments on a couple of the baking websites where I frequently participate. I might not have a very active social life in person, but I’ve developed quite a few friends online already, even if it is just talking about baking.
The line advances slowly but everyone acts excited to be here. I’m starting to get the idea that this is an expected part of the experience.
I also notice that, on occasion, some people arrive and are whisked right through the front doors without hesitation. Other arrivals, who are also obviously VIPs, sometimes pluck people out of line and escort those lucky souls inside with them. I don’t know what criteria gets some people picked and others overlooked—other than clothes—but it also seems to be an expected part of the process, based on the reactions of some of those in line.
The mostly men who do this are all good-looking guys, too. They possess a strong, almost unearthly air about them, moving smoothly and confidently and wearing clothes that look very expensive. The people they pick out of line, men and women, are usually young, maybe my age, and certainly dressed better than I am.
I don’t know if some of the pairs of men who arrive are couples or not. Part of me desperately wants to believe they are. I see a few gay couples in the line, and it’s hard to believe I’m finally going to be in a place where I won’t stand out for being gay.
I mean, I might stand out for my boring clothes, but I can’t help that. I’m saving every penny I can. Even coming here tonight is going to mean spending money I feel guilty for not putting in my bank account. The only reason I’m off this weekend is because I covered for two of my coworkers last week, and they offered to take my weekend shifts this weekend in return.
As I stand there and slowly make my way closer to the entrance, I begin to wonder if I’m even going to get inside tonight. It’s possible that I won’t.
When I scanned the line earlier, I didn’t see anyone
in it who is David.
And, yes, maybe I’m standing here scrolling through his pictures, to make sure I don’t overlook someone who might be him.
So far, no one looks even close.
Meaning he’s either not here, or he’s inside already.
I’m not certain I like those odds, either way. If he is here, it does me no good if I can’t get inside.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe I should go home before I spend more money, or worse, embarrass myself.
Maybe the last thing I should be doing is trying to meet up with someone who doesn’t appear very interested in getting to know me.
I’ve just about talked myself into stepping out of line and returning home when a silky, rich male voice speaks into my left ear, making me jump.
“Hello, there. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
I turn to find myself staring up at possibly the most gorgeous man I’ve ever set eyes on before. He looks a little older than me and wears a brightly patterned silk shirt and black slacks. I’m certain his vibrant blue eyes make my green ones look washed out in comparison.
My heart skips, races, as I feel like I’m falling into his gaze. “H-hi.” The night is suddenly wrapped in magic, and the velvety sky above us doesn’t hold mere stars, but dancing lights in the eyes of the gods and goddesses of old.
I feel like anything is now possible.
His gaze slowly scans my body before he speaks again. “I’ve never seen you around before. What’s your name?”
I swallow hard. “J-John. John Cameron B-Baker.”
“Hmm. John. That’s awfully dull. I’ll call you Baker.”
I find myself nodding and smiling. I don’t care what he calls me as long as he keeps looking at me like that and the world continues feeling like this. They call me Baker at work, anyway, because there are three other Johns and two Juans.
“I’m Taylor.” He smiles. “Now all we need is a tinker, soldier, and spy, and we’re a nursery rhyme.” He giggles. “Or something like that.”
He holds out a hand and I find myself taking it and walking next to him toward the front door.
“I’m right that this is your first time at Club Toxic, aren’t I?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then you really should come in with someone who knows—oooh, Naomi, my delicious darling! How lovely to see you here tonight, pet.” He releases my hand and snags a woman from the line, pulling her into his arms for a deep, passionate kiss that makes me blush.
Suddenly, it feels like the magic just evaporated from the night. Maybe he’s not gay after all.
Then he spins around and takes my hand again, smiling down at me. Just like that, the magic’s returned. “Naomi, Baker. Baker, Naomi.” He squeezes my hand. “We are going to have so much fun tonight!”
As he leads us toward the club’s entrance, I realize I’m no longer caring if I find David inside. It feels like I’m about to step into a whole new world.
One that simultaneously thrills and terrifies me.
Chapter 3
As I make my usual pre-opening rounds to ensure everything is ready, I find my mood souring. I had hoped to find someone to play with tonight, but I suspect I’ll end up either utilizing my staff discount to purchase some blood on tap, or let one of the club’s staff house humans slake my needs.
The more I consider it, I know I’ll most likely pick the on-tap option.
Meaning it’s doubtful I’ll get laid tonight. When I glance through the house humans on the schedule tonight, none of them grab my interest, not even the men.
I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, either. Not sure if it’s because of the time of year, or what. It’s not like me to default to not wanting to feed from someone, and definitely not like me to not try to get laid.
Except I’ve been alive long enough to know that when something feels off, I listen to my instincts. Doing so throughout the years has prevented me from exiting this not-so-mortal coil before I’m ready.
I close my eyes and listen. Really listen. Other than Theophilus upstairs, and two of the human bartenders who are already present, I sense nothing amiss. No one in the building who shouldn’t be here at this time.
Yet there’s a certainty slowly spreading inside me. Like the build up of electricity in the atmosphere ahead of an impending storm. I don’t know if I should be worried, because I don’t sense danger. Still, it… disquiets me.
Once I’ve checked out the nightclub and kitchen, I make my way through the secret door in the coat check closet near the club’s main entrance. That leads me to the stairs down to the dungeon play area. Only vampires, their guests, and club staff are allowed in the dungeon. Occasionally, a shifter or two might come down, but usually because they’re doing business for or with Lucius, not because they’re here for the club. Shifters and vampires don’t normally socialize with each other.
The general public doesn’t even know about the dungeon part of the club, and we like to keep it that way. With the exception of staff, most humans who come down here don’t know anything about vampires, either. We use our powers to alter their perceptions or memories, or both.
This is the real business of Club Toxic—keeping Tucson’s vampires supplied with willing meals. Believe it or not, there are plenty of humans willing to be a meat-sack juice box.
Especially if they get orgasms out of the bargain. The trick is, they can’t be harmed.
Which is another reason why Lucius brutally enforces his rule about not harming humans in or near the club without his permission. Drawing attention from law enforcement is not an option. Especially not now.
Not when there are other entities out there—like secret military units and diabolical scientists—who would destroy our world if they could prove our existence. Or, worse, take us prisoner and experiment on us for their own nefarious purposes.
In that way, we are truly aligned with the Tucson shifters. We don’t want anyone knowing about us who doesn’t need to. In fact, it is not unheard of for the wolves and other shifters to utilize vampire services to help wipe the minds of humans who stumble across their existence.
It’s better than killing the humans.
Down here in the dungeon area, there are a few private alcoves at one end of the space, where people can play, feed, or even have sex, and draw a curtain for a little privacy.
The main space holds various play stations, such as St. Andrew’s Crosses, spanking benches, and other items. There are no holds barred down here—we allow full-on sex, as long as there’s consent.
Certainly, most vampires can compel the average human to do what they want. However, if the point is to enjoy the pleasures of a sweetblood, it’s far better to willingly coax them downstairs and have them enjoy it from start to finish.
Or, at the very least, thrall them so they think they enjoyed it.
Forcing someone downstairs against their will is not only frowned upon, but against what few rules Lucius has for the vampires who frequent Club Toxic.
Lucius and Selene’s thrones—yes, literal thrones—sit on a riser off to the far end, since the king and queen aren’t around right now to warrant the riser being positioned in the middle of the room, where Lucius prefers. There’s a bar down here, too, which serves more than alcohol. Several types of ethically sourced blood are served on tap, as it were. Not to mention, our vampire clientele can always sip from a willing sweetblood, whether they’re a customer or one of our human staff. There are also a couple of private bedroom suites in the back, which are sometimes utilized by special guests who need to stay overnight, and who also need a secure and sunlight-proof bedroom.
Although, now that Dexter’s resort is open, and he has a special wing with rooms that cater to the very exacting needs of vampire guests, it’s not often that people stay overnight here at the club. His Sunwolf Valley casino resort has become an integral part of both the shifter and vampire communities. Lucius and Garrett Green, the Tucso
n wolf Alpha, have built a lasting if not sometimes reluctant truce that has made life lucrative for all involved.
Including me, and my brothers who work for Lucius.
My house, up in the hills, has a spectacular view of the valley, but my bedroom was built in the basement because I’m not an idiot. I roll down the house’s secure shutters before I go to bed before dawn every morning.
Some vampires have an actual crypt or coffin they sleep in.
Then there are some, like me, who prefer the modern conveniences, and we custom-build our homes to that end so we can sleep in a, you know, real bed.
I’m old and strong enough that while daytime saps my strength, I can and do sometimes stay up well past dawn. Safely ensconced in my bedroom and safe from deadly daylight, of course, but if I were to have a guest, I’d rather fuck in a bed than in a coffin.
Besides, I’ve spent enough time throughout my many years sleeping in less than comfortable accommodations. When I’m home, I want the luxury I can now damn well afford.
At my age, it’s also not uncommon for me to awaken before sunset, which is another reason why I have the shutters to keep the outside away from my insides. I enjoy the nighttime view my windows give me, but they’d be lethal in daylight. This way, I can safely venture from my bedroom and enjoy my home, unlike some of my brothers, who didn’t think the logistics of their residential selections through all the way.
Lucius is a little bit of a traditionalist in that way, having a basement crypt. But many of us, if you didn’t know we were vampires, you’d simply think we are extremely security-conscious.
I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.
I’ve just finished checking our blood stocks in the dungeon bar when I hear the coat check room door open above and sense someone blurring downstairs.
“Maximus,” I say without turning. “How are you?”
“That is one sweet new ride you have,” he comments.
I smile to myself and finally turn. “You like it?”
