Hell by J.L. Beck
4
Lucian
Chloe’s long gone,having done her job admirably as always. When it comes to the regular employees—my dancers, for instance—nothing but the best will do. Still, some of them manage to stand out from the crowd either thanks to looks or talent. Chloe has both.
Though she wasn’t enough to get me out of my head. I’m no closer to forgetting that girl in the basement than I was before. She’s like an itch deep under my skin, one I could scratch until I draw blood but be no closer to satisfying.
At this rate, I’d bleed to death, but I wouldn’t be rid of her. The way she stood here, frank and brave. I’m no pushover, and I lost count a long time ago of the number of girls I’ve reduced to tears in this very office.
Not her. Not Rowan.
Goddammit.
You know you can’t do this. I’ve been a hard-ass all these years, insisting on strict adherence to the rules. I’ve been merciless when it comes to firing employees for even the slightest offense.
Years ago, I heard an anecdote relating to human psychology. It had to do with the decline of a neighborhood stemming from a single broken window. That’s all it takes to get the ball rolling. If that window goes unfixed, eventually, there’ll be another. A neighbor will neglect to mow their lawn, another will stop picking up after their dog.
I took it to heart. It’s how I run my business. If one person gets away with an infraction, that will only encourage others to be lax, show up late, step over the line, and become too deeply intimate with their customers. I might be an asshole about the rules, but this isn’t a business that tolerates the undisciplined.
Well, it does, but not in establishments like mine. More than once, I’ve advised an employee to find some backwoods stripper bar if she wants to act like a sloppy slut.
Here, we practice discretion, which requires discipline. It takes discipline to properly serve customers, as well. Taking them to their breaking point and beyond without actually breaking them.
No one can ever say I don’t treat my employees well. I’m not that much of an asshole. All things considered. I’ve even practiced generosity with Rowan. I’ll barely make a profit once her debt’s clear.
Instead, I want her to stop working. I don’t want him to put his hands on her, though I’m sure that’s already happened. He’s probably marring her unblemished skin as I’m sitting here. The thought makes me sick.
What sort of hypocrite would I be if I turned my back on the rules I’ve driven into the skulls of everyone who’s ever stepped through my door?
Do I care?
I’m out of my chair and in the hall before there’s time to convince myself what a completely fucked-up idea this is. Maybe the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Unfortunately, that’s not enough to stop me from taking the back stairs straight to Hell.
The bouncers waiting in front of the doors lining both sides of the long hallway stand a little straighter when they see me coming. This is hardly my first visit, but I don’t make a point of visiting Hell often. Special occasions come up every now and then, but for the most part, I don’t mix with the fucked-up kinks we indulge down here.
Even I have limits when it comes to what I can stomach.
Glen’s room sits at the end of the hall, furthest from the stairs. I eyeball the pair guarding the room, both of whom stand with hands folded in front of them, their backs to the wall. “I’m going in there.”
Poor bastards don’t know what to do. They know as well as I do what a massive breach of protocol I’m describing. One of the conditions of the job entails staying out of the room no matter what they hear. These aren’t your typical guys off the street who only think they’re hard-asses because they’ve been breaking legs since dropping out of high school.
“Boss, are you sure?” They exchange a look. “He’s not gonna like it.”
“Are you more concerned with what he likes or what I like?” My unblinking eyes move from one of them to the other. “Because you’re welcome to work for him starting tomorrow if that’s how you feel about it. Now open the fucking door.”
One of them opens his mouth instead of the door, but it’s not his voice I hear.
It’s Rowan’s. And she’s screaming.
“Now.” When neither of the useless bastards moves fast enough, I push past them and throw the door open.
What I see on the other side turns my stomach. She’s under him, spread-eagle, tied down and bleeding.
It’s not the blood that disturbs me. It’s the terror on her face, in her eyes when her head swings my way. Her face is slick with tears, eye makeup running down her cheeks and temples. She’s been weeping and screaming, and the sick fuck on top of her is the reason.
I adjust my cuffs, focusing my gaze on them rather than looking at what’s in front of me. I might do something I can’t undo otherwise. “There’s been a change in plans.”
He’s straddling her with the knife in his hand. “What?”
I make it a point not to look at the erection jutting out from his open fly. “We’ve had to change plans.” I gesture to the pair behind me. “Escort our guest to room four. He’ll find a new companion there.”
“But I want this one.”
“I understand, and I ask your forgiveness for this mix-up.” I hold his gaze, unflinching. “Naturally, we’ll refund you for the inconvenience. Your next companion is on the house.”
He doesn’t move, though he’s at least started to soften. Rowan, on the other hand, hasn’t stopped hyperventilating. Even though Glen’s not paying attention to her anymore, she can’t take her eyes off the blade. Blood trickles in a thin line from the cut on her chest down over her side.
There’s something stark, startling about the sight of a red line over her perfect skin. The light hanging over the table only highlights the contrast. It draws my eye.
Glen needs to get out of here before I kill him.
He takes his time about climbing down from the table, muttering things about professionalism and contracts. But he doesn’t argue—that’s key. The man knows there isn’t anywhere else in town or even within a reasonable driving distance where he’d be able to satisfy his unique needs.
And once I ask a customer not to return, no matter how long they’ve been a visitor, they don’t cross the threshold again for any reason. They could be bleeding to death on the sidewalk, and I would call for an ambulance, but I wouldn’t bring them inside.
It takes a lot for me to get to that point, and I’ve only had to do it twice. After all, a contract is a contract, and I have to hold up my end of the bargain.
Unless Glen plays it smart, he’s about to become number three.
Lucky for him, he plays it smart. My guys flank him on the way out the door, though, just in case he decides to change his mind. I wouldn’t necessarily put it past him—one of those buttoned-up types on the street and a complete psycho in his private life.
No, he’s smart. He doesn’t want to have to hunt his victims on the streets.
I turn to Rowan as the door closes, leaving us alone. “Oh, my god.” Her chest heaves as she sobs, tears soaking her face and her hair. “Oh, my god, please. Please, let me go. Thank you for making him stop. Please, let me go.” She turns her wrists back and forth in the cuffs, and I notice how red and chafed they are. Ankles, too. She’s been struggling.
Goddammit. Glen’s not the only one who gets off on a helpless woman. If this were any other situation, the things I’d do to her.
My cock stirs at the mere thought of it. Even her begging turns me on. It adds to the helplessness, makes it more authentic.
In her case, it is authentic. She’s not playing. The extra desperation in her voice, in the way she struggles even though she doesn’t have a hope of escaping, makes me want to savor this moment. It makes me want to savor her.
What I could do to this woman. What I could make her do to me. Do for me. The need to possess her consumes me.
Now I know it won’t be enough to let her go. I want her for myself. I want her to please me, to work off her debt with me. Because no matter how upset she is and no matter how freaked out Glen made her, she still owes me.
I’m not a perfect man. I know there’s darkness in me. I don’t bother trying to fight it—it’d be a waste of time, like fighting my need for air and water or willing my eyes into changing color. I don’t believe in wasting time. In wishing.
And the darkness in me flares to life, threatening to overtake me now. Something in this girl speaks to that part of me. Sings to it. Entices it, teases it, invites it to come out and play. I’ve never known a temptation this sweet. A man could become addicted.
“I relate to the people who visit this club. Men and women both.” I make it a point to keep my voice low so as not to upset her further. She’s been through enough tonight. Besides, I need her to hear me, and if she’s sobbing and blubbering, there’s no chance of that.
She’s watching me now, weeping softly. “Let me go.” Her voice is like that of a wounded child. There’s none of that bravery from up in my office. It didn’t take much to break her, did it? A few shallow cuts.
Though I can imagine her horror, still. I try not to relate to the girls who come here to work, but there are times when I can’t help it. “I imagine this evening was difficult for you. I can’t help what my customers want. I only provide an outlet for their darkest desires. I like to imagine this keeps them from indulging elsewhere, under less controlled circumstances.”
Either she’s unimpressed, or she’s too busy trying to understand where this is going to offer any meaningful response. All she does is whimper, her struggles weakening. She’s exhausted herself.
“You have to understand something, Rowan.” I walk a slow circle around the table, taking in every inch of her. Imagining the many positions I can twist her supple body into. “I believe in fairness. In people living up to their promises and obligations. Tonight was too much for you. I thought it would be.”
Her whimpering grows slightly louder.
“I wouldn’t break the rules for just anybody. In fact, this is the first time I’ve stopped a customer before they reached satisfaction. I hope you know what that means.”
She lifts her head, eyes finding mine. “Thank you?”
I can’t tell whether she’s genuinely thanking me or making an ironic comment, and I like that. The fact of her not being entirely transparent. Just enough to keep me intrigued.
“However.” I come to a stop between her legs. She’s delectable: smooth-shaven, plump lips that ought to glisten with my cum. I force my eyes away from the sight. “As difficult as this evening was for you, your debt still stands.”
Her eyes go perfectly round an instant before her mouth falls open. “Oh, no, please! I can’t. I can’t go through this again, please. I’ll do anything else.”
“You’re right. You will do something else.”
Her panicked breathing only slows slightly. “Wh-what do you want instead?” she asks in a voice that’s more like a squeak.
“You will return to the club four times.” When she pulls in a breath, ready to start begging again, I hold up a hand. “I’m not finished. You’ll return four times, and we’ll play out my kink.”
Her delicate brows knit together. “You and me?”
“Don’t make assumptions.” I lift a shoulder. “Otherwise, my brothel is one of the finest in the tri-state area… but it’s still a brothel. The choice is yours. Let me remind you, though, that the debt will be paid one way or another.”
Then a wave of generosity washes over me. “I’ll include an extra ten thousand dollars for you as payment.”
“I’ll do it,” she blurts out nearly before I finish the sentence.
Something told me that would help her decide.
