by Grant, Livia
Finn stripped his coat off, folding it neatly and setting it inside along with his phone. Knowing the drill, the only valuables he’d brought were his phone and wallet. He closed the door, straightened the hem of his vest. He’d gone for simple—black western boots, black jeans, white long-sleeved shirt and charcoal suit vest. He couldn’t abide ties so had left the collar of the shirt open two buttons.
“My bag?” he queried as he turned. Before Danny could answer, Finn’s attention latched onto the beautifully formed, scantily clad submissive standing by the door to the club, his bag in her hand. “Can’t fault the service, Danny.”
Another chuckle. “I should hope not. Spin a winner, Master Finnegan.”
Finn took his play bag from the pretty sub with a quiet nod and escaped into the club as a woman’s soft laughter broke into the locker room. He stopped for a moment, drawing in a deep breath and taking in the sight before him. As he exhaled, he felt the dominant side of him stretch and flex.
Oh, tonight was going to be so much damn fun.
His gaze skimmed over the room. Classy was the first word that came to mind. He appreciated class as much as he did quality, and Black Light had both in spades. He recognized several politicians—this was D.C. after all—and thought he spotted a renowned model lurking across the room, chatting with a mixed group of patrons including actors, singers, and oddly enough, a woman who resembled a recently retired pornstar.
By the stage where two huge roulette wheels waited, a couple of apprehensive subs were already in line. A little early, he mused, but he’d take that over tardiness any day. Eagerness and nerves made such a delightful combination to play with.
He noted the handful of bags already tucked away on one side of the stage, weighed his own in his hand. Shipping his toys to the club for the night had sent his blood into a frenzy at the time; now it was simmering in his veins along with the excitement of acquainting himself with some of his newer purchases.
Finn slipped around the edge of the hustle and bustle of Roulette night, eyes tracking over people and play stations. The scent of leather and money was strong, but more than that, sex and anticipation smothered the air with every second counting down to the opening ceremonies.
Dungeon Master Spencer Cook, a formidable man Finn had met on his previous visit, cut through the center of the attendees with a face harder than the Big Horns. The low lights glinted off his silver hair, cast shadows over his face. Whoever had tripped the guy’s switch was in for one hell of a dressing down.
Checking his watch, Finn kept moving toward the stage. With every step, he shed his casual, easy-going persona and let the Dominant show himself. Shoulders and back straightening a fraction, opening himself to the balance of power and responsibility that came with holding someone else in his hands.
By the time he set his bag beside the others, Finn was gone.
Master Finnegan stood in his place, surveying the club with an assessing gaze. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back against the stage and just watched.
More people were coming through the doors, more flesh becoming exposed as they did exactly what he’d just done; discarded the front they used for the purpose of societal boundaries and embraced who they were at the core.
Such a fascinating process.
Daddies and littles, Masters and slaves, Owners and pets. The lifestyle offered an abundance of choices, a wide variety of kinks, and no one batted an eye. Whatever the kink, there were others to share it with and learn from.
Finn recognized the beauty of it. Breathed it in.
He caught the curious attention of several Dungeon Monitors and made mental notes of which ones he had already met and who required the pleasure of an introduction. With any luck, he wouldn’t need them tonight, but it was always good to know where to look for assistance.
Impatience gnawed at him.
Twenty minutes to go.
Chapter 2
Ava
You’ll never amount to anything.
Should have drowned you at birth.
No one will ever want you—what is there to want?
Gripping the edge of the tiny bathroom sink, Ava banged her head against the mirror and tried to banish the voices plaguing her. They were with her every day, her constant companion, dragging her down to the depths of despair.
Failure.
Useless.
Stupid.
They’d picked a doozy of a time to hit her tonight.
It had taken weeks of lectures from her roommate, days of deliberation and fingernail biting, and one visit to the ER to get her to put her name forward for Valentine Roulette at Rosanna’s new favorite playground, an exclusive BDSM club with the alluring name, Black Light.
Rosie claimed it was the best club around, and Ava didn’t doubt her best friend in the slightest; she just wasn’t sure it was the right place for her. She didn’t fit in with people, no matter where she went, and the idea of being partnered with a man she didn’t know from Adam, letting him do things to her she had no control over, when he probably felt no attraction to her whatsoever, seemed like a cruel punishment.
For them both.
It was a contest after all, with a coveted prize of one month’s membership—what if she cost this nameless, faceless Dominant his chance at winning?
She rested her forehead against the cool glass, abhorring the woman staring back at her in the reflection. Misery was never a pretty picture.
Her eyes slid down to the drawer just inches from her hand. Her private drawer, one she knew Rosie rifled through daily to check for sharps. For each one she found, Ava had another stashed in a different place.
Pressure piled onto her chest, sitting between her bare breasts like a car. Soundlessly, mouth agape in deference to the shock of it, Ava rapped her fist against the swell of panic.
Foolish girl, did you actually think you had the balls to go through with this? Can’t hold a job down because your head’s so screwed up, can’t handle a relationship because you’re too goddamn weak. Where are your dreams now, huh? Soon you’ll have no one left to hold your hand when you’re bleeding out on the floor…
She shoved away from the counter, staggering back and hitting the bathroom door as she clamped her hands over her ears and bit back the scream threatening to tear her apart.
“Ava? Ava!”
As though she hovered in mid-air, Ava saw the vision of herself slumped on the floor, eyes glassy with blood loss and remnants of the high of the burn, while Rosie wrapped a towel around her limp, stained wrist.
One cut too far, too deep.
The door humped at her back, sucking her from the past into the future. Dazed, she stepped away and caught her friend as she pushed into the bathroom. “I’m okay, Rosie.”
The crimson-haired bullet crashed into her, nearly sent them both to the floor in an insane game of human Twister. Dark chocolate eyes searched hers intently before they scanned the room. Obviously finding nothing out of place, Rosie met her eyes again. “I can see it, Ava. You’re not okay, and you’re damn sure not pulling out of Roulette.”
“I wasn’t—”
“This is exactly why I wanted you to give this a shot,” Rosie interrupted sharply. “Tonight will give you a safe place to explore the side of you that needs the pain, without me worrying I’ll be coming home to a corpse.”
Oh, ouch. Ava sucked in a breath.
“I did it once, I can’t deal with it a second time. So, seeing as we’re running late, get that ass into the clothes I laid out on your bed and let’s get moving.” Softening her tone, her friend pressed warm palms to Ava’s cheeks. “I know you, babe. Drowning yourself in the voices won’t give you what you need. Cutting isn’t the answer. There are other ways.”
When Rosie clamped a hand over hers, Ava realized she was tracing lines over her wrist. She flushed, tried to yank her hand free, but Rosie wasn’t to be deterred. She flipped Ava’s wrist over so the bathroom light illuminated the extent of the scars scribed into
the flesh.
“This right here is a diary of your life.” She angled the other so both wounded limbs were spotlighted. “Emotional pain caused by that fucker you call a father. The voices in your head are all him, and it needs to stop. Before he puts you in the ground, Ava.”
Ava swallowed hard, blinked back the weakness of tears. No one understood how much the burn helped her silence the muttering in her head. It didn’t matter how carefully she tried to explain it, nobody grasped how a blade cutting through her skin doused the fuse leading to a powder keg of years of repressed memories and psychological torment. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just promise me you’ll give tonight your best shot. Open yourself to pain other than this,” Rosie urged, stroking her fingers over marks still red and sore.
“Okay.” What else could she say?
Tell her the truth, foolish girl. Tell her how inept you are, how stupid. You’ll never be normal. No one’s ever going to love you. She’s the only one left in your pitiful life trying to fight for you. But that will end. She’ll give up, cast you aside the next time she finds you with a knife in your hand.
“Hair looks fabulous, make-up could be better but it’s not like you need a lot.” Oblivious to the internal struggle warring inside Ava, Rosie released her and clapped her hands together. “Any Dom worth his salt is gonna be drooling over you, babe. Now, time to get you into the dress and then I think we’re ready.”
Ava lifted a brow at what her friend wore, and the amount of skin she showed. The black dress hit Rosie’s shapely thighs a handspan away from her crotch, emphasizing the length of her legs along with the admittedly sexy matching heels. Her shoulders and arms were bare, and the material barely contained the bounty of her impressive breasts. “Please tell me we’re not doing the twin thing.”
Rosie’s laugh was devious. “Absolutely not. You’re going on stage, babe; that calls for something a bit more enticing.”
“Shit.”
* * *
An hour later, Ava rued letting someone else have control of her life.
Standing in a line with fourteen other women—all of whom were prettier and obviously more suited to the submissive atmosphere—she felt ungainly and completely out of place. The underlying hum of anticipation running up and down the selection of submissives piqued her curiosity but Ava tamped it down by pulling her cloak of aloofness tighter around her.
The journey between getting dressed and being shoved into position by a weirdly excited Rosie blurred in Ava’s mind. The urge to run, the desire to cut, combined with frazzled nerves had turned her into a malleable form for Rosie to steer where she wanted.
Not to mention dolling her up like a… a slut.
Glowering down at herself, Ava plucked at the slinky material covering her from breasts to ankles. The dress attached to her like a leech, showing every curve. Perhaps the color was pleasing enough to the eye—the rich plum made her white-blonde hair pop—but for someone used to jeans and hoodies on a daily basis, Ava felt ridiculous.
Beside her, a woman pulled a water bottle from her bag, sipped nervously, repeatedly, before capping it and returning it to her cat-sized purse.
Ava shifted in Rosie’s borrowed high heels, feeling her balance wobble and the long slit running down the dress from ankle to hip parted to expose more pale leg than she liked.
“Hey, I love your gloves,” the woman to her left murmured. Curious green eyes smiled warmly at Ava when she turned her head. “Seriously classy, very lady of the ball.”
She managed to offer a small smile, tried not to pull at the elbow-length fingerless gloves she’d found in Rosie’s drawer. They covered her scars, hid her shame, but couldn’t distract her from the need to find something sharp and burn away the anxiety roiling in her gut.
Slut. Whore. Coward.
You should be at home, drowning in tears and blood.
“Th-Thank you. I-I borrowed them from a f-friend.” Crap, her cloak was slipping. Her eyes drifted over to the gathering of strong, stoic Doms at the other side of the stage and wondered which one would be furious with her for failing him by the end of the night.
“First timer, right?” Her new friend nudged her with a gentle elbow. “It’s okay to be nervous. I know a few of the Doms playing tonight and they’re all good guys. A couple don’t look familiar, like the jolly brooding giant at the back there, but Black Light has an extensive screening process and they’re big on safe words.”
Ava pressed her hand to her stomach, breathed.
“I’m Tanya, by the way.” She reached down and clasped Ava’s frozen fingers in the warmth of hers. “Whoa, ice cube alert! Are you sure you’re up to this? I can get Garreth.”
The lights dimmed and flashed, then a single spotlight illuminated the night’s MC in a wash of light. Heavy bass started booming in time with Ava’s heart and the excitement of the evening exploded in a tide of people drawing closer to the stage as the MC—young, black, and pretty damned attractive—lifted his shirt to show off a perfectly defined set of abs.
As the women in the audience let loose with screams and catcalls, Ava shut out the noise, her own insecurities, and did what she always did when she was overwhelmed—she brought in her wall of steel and stood behind it like a queen. Distanced herself from everyone around her, using the impenetrable wall as her main defense.
Applause deafened her, and she watched a tall, impossibly graceful man walk across the stage to meet the MC, lifting his arm to wave at the sea of admiring kinksters who obviously adored him.
She knew him, she realized. Recognized him from the media and the illustrious career both he and his husband were famous for even before they’d openly come out as a threesome with the pretty young woman they loved.
Jaxson Cartwright-Davidson.
Ex-model. Dominant. Father of… twins, she thought.
Lucky man.
Her vision blurred unexpectedly, and she quickly shored up the hole in her wall. She wasn’t here to find love—love would never be in her cards for this life—and she needed to remember that.
Tonight was about finding a new way to silence the voices, nothing else. She just needed to be strong, banish her weaknesses, and try her damnedest not to make whichever Dominant was unlucky enough to spin her name hate her by the time the clock struck eleven.
She listened to the MC—Excalibur? No, no… Elixxir, that was his name—run through the rules of the contest. Dungeon monitors, the club safe word—red—at least thirty minutes for each activity spun on the wheel, and time for clean-up and aftercare.
It made her feel just a little nauseous.
Tanya squeezed her hand as the Dominants filed up the stage steps to draw numbered wooden sticks from MC Elixxir. “Here we go. Three hours of submission, sex, and sinful debauchery.”
The crowd seemed to be a living entity as the wheel started spinning for the first time that night. It moved as one, reacted as one, even as her eyes dissected individuals from the throng. When the ball dropped into the slot, the reaction of the voyeurs in waiting astounded her.
One by one, the wheel paired up Dominants with their submissive partner for the evening, then their initial activity. The buzz intensified, electrifying the air. As per the rules of Valentine Roulette, no couple could start play until everyone was matched.
The jolly brooding giant, as Tanya dubbed him, was the sixth Dom to be drawn. Pewter eyes scanned the remaining submissives intently.
“Master Finnegan, the wheel has paired you with…” Elixxir almost crooned the word as the wheel tick-tick-ticked to a halt on stage. “A very lucky lady indeed. Could Ava make her way up here?”
The mention of her name jerked her attention away from people watching. She blinked once, stumbled as Tanya gave her a little push and a thumbs-up along with an encouraging smile. More than a little on edge, Ava met the DM waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps, hand extended for hers.
When she wobbled, he cupped her elbow. “Steady there. You ok
ay?”
Ava nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
They navigated the steps together. “You’re new. Nice to see a fresh face among the regulars. I’m Owen. You need me, or any of the other guys, you just shout.”
“Thanks,” she murmured as he left her at the top of the steps. She winced as the lights caught her eyes, then felt her stomach twist, backflip, and wither when she saw up close who the wheel had chosen for her. “Oh hell.”
The voice in her head laughed maniacally.
“Come here, little sub,” the giant in devastatingly sexy clothing ordered. Well, drawled. Wherever he’d sprung from, it wasn’t D.C. His voice was warm, rumbling, and stirred her pussy into weeping grateful tears.
Ava cursed Rosie for not letting her wear so much as a thong.
Blowing out a breath, she straightened her shoulders, drew herself to her full height, and met his eyes—beautiful dark-gray eyes—with a resolve not to make an absolute ass out of herself. Her gait was easy for two steps… until the third sounded like she’d shot herself and she toppled helplessly toward the side of the stage.
She flailed, knowing just how much hitting the floor was going to hurt, then squeaked in surprise when she was yanked flush against a rock-solid body. The mountain moved fast, she thought as her hands curled around biceps bigger than her slim thighs.
Applause rang out when Master Finnegan simply lifted her and carried her to the wheel. Baffled, she stood trying to keep her balance as he bent on one knee and skimmed rough-palmed hands over her ankles, to the straps of the cursed shoes.
“Step out,” he said firmly, and tossed the shoe with the broken heel to one side before repeating the move with the undamaged one. “Better.”
Speechless, Ava gaped at the top of his head. Dense black hair covered his skull, and she had an irresistible urge to run her fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked. “Thank you.”
Master Finnegan pushed to his feet, looming over her as he grasped her chin in his hand tightly. Gray eyes glowered at her. “Thank you what?”
