The Puppetmaster

by Linnea May

  “He’s on the hunt.”

  Shit.

  I need to call Melina.

  Chapter 3

  Raad

  “I hope this is to your satisfaction,” she says briskly as she leads me through the heavy curtain inside the main hall.

  Miss Barry is a true madame, if ever there was one. She’s dressed in a tight-fitting black costume, her waist cinched up in a corset that emphasizes her curves, her lips painted in a dramatic red, and the deep black lines on her upper eyelids are drawn with scrupulous accuracy. Her fake lashes flutter nervously when she turns to me, maintaining a look of pure professionalism despite her apparent tension.

  It’s like this every time. I don’t own this establishment, but it’s not like I’m just a regular customer either—and everyone here knows that. I don’t consider Miss Barry to be the kind of woman who is thrown off easily, but when I book her establishment for a hunt, she’s on high alert and more than eager to please me.

  And she better be.

  She clears her throat next to me as my gaze lazily wanders through the main hall. I have only been here a handful of times, and it’s been almost half a year since my last visit, but the place hasn’t changed much.

  The club is hosted in a gray brick building located on the city outskirts. While it mimics the appearance of a century-old European castle, it is actually the result of a failed attempt by city officials to attract tourists with a themed hotel connected to a small, tacky amusement park. The fact that it has been turned into one of the most notorious kink clubs in the area never fails to amuse me.

  Miss Barry and her investors proved good business instinct when it came to this place, as it is perfect for this kind of establishment. The slightly corroded brick walls complement the modernized Victorian décor here on the inside; its walls are lined with damask wallpaper under an antique tin ceiling and underscored red lighting. Extravagant velvet-tufted button furniture rests on a platform at the far end of the main room, matching the theme set by the name of the place—The Velvet Rooms.

  Usually that elevated area would be open for everyone to use as they please, but tonight there’s a red velvet rope separating it from the rest of the venue. Just as it should be during the nights when I’m on the hunt.

  I nod with approval, glancing over to the open bar on my left where a brown-haired girl dressed in a smart vest topped with a black bow tie is getting ready for the night.

  “Melina is one of our best. She has been working fo—”

  “It’s fine,” I cut Miss Barry off curtly before she can continue to ramble on with an unnecessary apology. If she really thought I might have a problem with a female bartender, she should have consulted me beforehand.

  I can feel Miss Barry’s anxious eyes on me, waiting for my stamp of approval. She can’t suppress a little sigh of relief when I deign her with a benevolent smile.

  “Doors open at eight sharp,” she tells me unnecessarily as we walk back to the entrance. “And we’ll provide each girl with the appropriate wristband.”

  I nod again, not even looking at her, even though I notice her desire for approval via eye contact.

  “I’d like to have a look at the guest list,” I tell her.

  “Yes, of course,” she hurries to respond, gesturing for me to follow her. “It’s in my office.”

  She turns on her heels and I follow, annoyed at the slow pace with which this woman walks. There’s no reason to hurry at this moment, but my impatience grows with every passing minute, and moving along the back corridor with such agonizing languor only intensifies my tense mood.

  I’m strained but not excited for this hunt, unfortunately. The rumors that have been spreading about me and my puppets have led to an array of unfit contenders. Young lost souls who were broken before I ever laid a hand on them. These women needed a therapist more than they needed me, but for them it was hard to know the difference.

  Because of what they’ve heard about me. Nothing but stupid little rumors that merely scratch the surface of the truth behind them.

  There’s a reason why I demand my puppets sign a nondisclosure agreement when we agree to our little dance.

  And there’s a reason why they’re never seen at The Velvet Rooms again after they have been with me.

  And despite all of these precautions, the gossip still weaved its way through the eager crowds.

  Not for long, I remind myself. There’s only one more hunt that stands between me and my goal. Only one more hunt before I’m ready to stop this madness.

  Or so I hope.

  “We’ve had a last-minute signup this morning,” Miss Barry says as we enter her office at the far end of the corridor.

  “The admission deadline is always thirty-six hours prior to the event,” I remind her, anger boiling inside my chest. I’ve been doing this for years, and The Velvet Rooms has been my primary hunting grounds for a while now. Everyone knows my rules, Miss Barry especially. Why would she allow this?

  She throws me an apologetic look. “I’m aware of that, but I’m sure you won’t mind this addition.”

  I do mind, because I detest rule violations, but I refrain from saying anything about it. Breach of rules or not, the madame has earned my trust over time, so I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  I watch as she leans over her desk, reaching for a piece of paper which she then hands to me.

  “It’s up to date,” she assures. “I just printed it out. More than a hundred registrations for the night, about half of them opting for a white wristband, and—”

  She stops speaking midsentence, and I know it is because she notices the expression changing on my face. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t return the look. My eyes are glued to the list in my hand.

  No, not to the list.

  Just one name.

  The last name at the very bottom. The late admission.

  I was curious to see who was bold enough to disregard one of my rules even before meeting my eye—only to realize that she’s no stranger.

  I don’t trust my eyes. I can’t.

  This has to be a mistake.

  That is always my first thought when something happens that I did not account for. Mind you, it doesn’t happen often, and when it does, it usually is a mistake. Because I always have things under control. I always direct, command, and plan. I pull the strings.

  But this…

  The paper crinkles between my fingers as I fight to hide how much this affects me and how unprepared I was to see her name on the list.

  This hunt was supposed to be a quick and easy one, business as usual. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

  It wasn’t supposed to matter.

  But now it fucking does.

  Chapter 4

  Alena

  I feel like my heart is sitting up in my throat, strangling each breath of air into sickening agony as I make my way anxiously through the main hall.

  I can’t believe I’m here.

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

  Nothing will happen, my pessimistic mind reminds me. He’s not going to pick you.

  But what if he does?

  He hasn’t before.

  You will never get your chance.

  The Puppetmaster will change your life, they say. It’s a rumor that’s been whispered from ear to ear for years, and it’s only reinforced by the fact that not a single one of the women who were chosen as puppets were ever seen again. No one knows what happened to them, but rumor has it that their disappearances were always voluntary. Something changed for them after being locked away inside the Puppetmaster’s gilded cage—something so profound that they were willing to leave their old lives behind.

  It’s a mystery… and a terrifying thought.

  But so deliciously intriguing.

  I shake my head, as if that could silence the persistent chatter in my head. It doesn’t help, but I know what will: a drink.

  I head for the bar straight away. It was a weird
coincidence that Melina is working tonight. If it weren’t for her, I probably wouldn’t even be here. The admission deadline had passed by the time I learned about tonight’s event, and as far as I know, no one is stricter about adhering to the rules than the Puppetmaster. But I needed to try, and Melina was my only way in. She was reluctant about it when I called, telling me not to get my hopes up before she had spoken to her boss, Miss Barry, only to present me with the good news a few minutes later.

  I don’t know why this exception was made for me tonight, but it certainly wasn’t because of a shortage of signups. The event just started, and the venue is already crowded, unusual at such an early hour.

  “You’re actually wearing white, huh?” Melina greets me when I place myself up on one of the high chairs at the bar, and I reciprocate with a coy smile.

  I’m wearing white lingerie, very delicate pieces with flowery lace trim and a matching garter belt that holds up sheer white stockings. And because I’m shy, I added a sheer white kimono to my ensemble that reaches down to my knees.

  I know that Melina is not referring to my get-up as a whole, but the wristband circling my right wrist. The last time I wore a white wristband was ages ago.

  On hunt nights, a white wristband only means one thing: I want to become his next puppet.

  I offered myself to him once, a long time ago, and when he rejected me, I never tried again.

  Until tonight.

  “Can you make me a gin and tonic?” I ask Melina, who is still fixating her probing smile on me.

  “Gin Mare with the Mediterranean, right?”

  I nod, casting her a reserved smile. I don’t know why I’m being so coy around her. Melina knows more about me and my dark little secret than anyone else in my life—and vice versa. It’s not like I’m the kinky one between the two of us; on the contrary, she even met her fiancé here. He used to be one of the earliest patrons but neglected using the services of the club because he never left the bar after meeting Melina here on his first visit. I’m surprised she’s still working here after accepting his marriage proposal a few months ago.

  “Are you really sure you’re ready for that sort of thing?” she asks as she places the drink in front of me. The ice cubes clink against the thick glass, causing the rosemary twig to jerk slightly as the cool tonic bubbles seductively.

  “He’s not gonna pick me anyway,” I respond, reluctant to reach for the drink. Just like always, it looks perfect, so refreshing and alluring, almost like a piece of art. Drinking it seems like a crime.

  Melina rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but what if he does? What about your job?”

  “I quit.”

  “What?!”

  She places her hand in front of her mouth, throwing cautious looks around to see whether her eruption drew any unwanted attention. This is a very exclusive venue, one where conversations are conducted in hushed voices. The background music is set to a mellow jazz tune, and the only time a voice gets raised is when there’s a scene played out on stage for the midnight show.

  Melina leans forward, her face so close to mine that I can see the reflection of the chandelier behind me flickering in her eyes.

  “You what?” she blurts out, visibly shocked. “How come you never mentioned that on the phone? What on earth happened?”

  I shrug, finally reaching for the gin and tonic. I can feel the need for it now.

  “It was time,” I say nonchalantly, downplaying the most frightening thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

  I did not think this through. Obviously, I didn’t. But it wasn’t a rash decision either, that much I know.

  “What are you going to do now?” Melina presses, her eyes wide with worry.

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “Become the next puppet?”

  I add a helpless chuckle, which makes my response even more pathetic. Giving up my life to become the toy of a myth-enshrouded Master is the opposite of a thought-out plan for the future, but right at this moment it’s all I have.

  Besides, it’s not like he’ll ever choose me.

  “I’m serious, Alena—”

  “I haven’t thought about it,” I interrupt, casting her an apologetic look as I reach for my drink again. “I’ll be all right. I’ll find something else.”

  Melina sighs, the worry on her face still evident.

  “You know, if you ever need help, Rowan and I would be happy to—”

  “I’ll be all right,” I insist, forcing myself to smile. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”

  I take another swig from the drink, relishing the soothing warmth of the alcohol. I have been so tense and nervous for the past twenty-four hours, shaken by the idea that he could actually choose me. But now that I am here, all dolled up and ready to meet the eyes of the most attractive and most mysterious man I’ve ever encountered in my life, the idea of becoming his seems so absurd, so unrealistic, that I find myself oddly relaxed.

  He’s never going to pick me, but it’s still a thrill to be here, to see him, to be an option for him. Maybe he’ll even talk to me. Though I find the latter hard to imagine after what happened the last time I wore a white wristband during this hunt…

  “There he is,” Melina’s voice cuts into my pondering.

  In spite of myself, I turn around instantly searching for proof, my eyelashes fluttering nervously as my heart pounds with excitement. The venue is rather crowded, pretty girls in racy dresses and alluring lingerie left and right. A few of them are in the company of a man, because only select couples are allowed to witness a hunt.

  This night is not about them. It’s all about him, the tall, broad-shouldered man in an expensively tailored black suit who now weaves his way through the room as if he owns it. And I guess, in a way, he does.

  A neatly trimmed and very short beard covers his strong jawline and upper lip, changing his look from how I remember it. He doesn’t look older, but he looks wiser and daunting in a way that makes my breath speed out of control. Even from afar I can feel his domineering presence, and the strength and power he emits just by walking through the room at an unnaturally slow pace. His skin is tan, always looking as if he’s been kissed by the sun, but it’s a warmth that’s natural to him.

  He’s even taller than I remembered, even more intimidating, and so handsome that my breath literally stops when he turns in my direction and my eyes meet the black depth of his.

  It gets only worse when he pauses.

  He freezes mid-motion… and looks straight at me.

  Chapter 5

  Raad

  I’m acting against my better judgment when I walk up to her. This was not what I had planned, and even when I come to a halt right next to her, I’m still doubting my decision. But it’s too late now. There was no going back once our eyes locked.

  Besides, it’s probably best to get this out of the way as quickly as possible.

  I tower over her, standing while she stays seated on the high chair, her head tilted back as her cool eyes remain fixated on mine. Even in the dim light I can see the scar on her left temple. It never vanished completely, leaving a faint, zig-zag-shaped canyon right next to her eye all the way to her hairline. It’s barely visible under all the makeup, but I can spot it easily.

  Because I know it’s there.

  Alena is one of the very few aspirants tonight who are not dressed in black. Black lingerie and revealing dresses are the usual go-to for any girl in here who wants to signal her interest in play. It stems from the club’s early beginnings, when the only women allowed in were the hostesses hired to entertain the guests—angels dressed in white and devils dressed in black. Only the devils were allowed to accompany a man up to the play rooms on the second level, and even though these proceedings are no longer part of The Velvet Rooms’ regular business, it has become an unspoken rule that black means business.

  However, Alena’s perfect curves are adorned with white lace, matching the wristband on her right arm—and tonight white tells a different story. I chose deliberatel
y when I decided white wristbands would signify a girl’s interest in becoming my next puppet, and it has very little to do with a foolish longing for innocence.

  White has always drawn my eye more than any other color. It could just be a personal preference, as I’ve gotten bored by the usual darkness assigned to kink. Black and red seem to dominate the scene wherever you go, and The Velvet Rooms are no different.

  This makes a girl in white stand out all the more. And I don’t know whether to be impressed or irritated by the fact that of all girls here Alena is the one who uses this to her advantage.

  Our eyes are still locked on one another as if in a silent staring contest, and I’m sure we’re being watched by half the room. I’m used to it, as every hunt comes with an audience, and the curiosity has only grown the longer I’ve been doing this.

  “Come with me,” I say in a voice that allows no objections.

  I notice the barmaid shifting awkwardly before she turns her back to us, averting her gaze just as I wish everyone else in here would. Normally I’m not bothered by their attention; on the contrary, there’s a reason why I conduct my search on a public stage. I seek the attention, the adoration, and the respect that comes with it.

  But right now I’m overcome with desire to have Alena all to myself, even if it’s just for a few moments. I want to call her out, I want to scold her for being such a bad girl, for breaking the rules before she even became mine.

  And I will.

  She nods and inflames a new surge of heat when she whispers, “Yes, sir,” as she slides down from her high chair. Too easy, too obedient.

  Fuck. Don’t be like that, Alena. Don’t disappoint me.

  I refrain from touching her as I guide her toward the separated area in the far back of the main room, the tips of my fingers hovering over the small of her back, less than an inch shy of contacting her skin as I make her walk in front of me.

  She knows where we’re headed and doesn’t need me to lead the way, and everyone knows that I prefer to have my subjects in clear sight at every moment. I watch her hips sway before my eyes, her delicate hands moving somewhat awkwardly next to her as she slowly makes her way toward the red velvet rope. She’s not wearing a thong but instead racy panties crested with elaborate lace designs that curl across her tight butt cheeks. She’s more athletic than I remember, and the way her muscles tighten as she walks turns me on to no end. I’m rock-hard by the time we reach the velvet rope—and it annoys the hell out of me.