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Inside his small, stark home, he jogged up the circular metal steps leading to the loft that served as his command center. In addition to his desk and a computer, he had a bank of security monitors which shared a feed with the ones in the main house. A specialized app made by a genius ensured Damien and Gregorio were able to access every camera from their phones and watches.
Since everything was calm for now, he headed for the bathroom, ripped off the bandage, gave his wound a cursory glance—he’d probably pull out the stitches tomorrow, and have another scar to add to his collection—then took a quick, cool shower.
After toweling off, he slapped on fresh gauze and tape before dressing in his usual attire.
The moment his boots were on, his watch vibrated.
He touched a blinking icon. The catering service was at the gate.
Right on time.
He buzzed them through.
Their van was quickly followed by a shiny, oversize truck towing a trailer bearing a nearly full-size image of singing sensation Zephyr ‘Zeph’ Rockwell.
Unfortunately, this was likely the star’s last appearance here.
With Zeph’s meteoric rise to success, a tour bus was in his imminent future. Maybe as soon as next summer, he’d be a headliner, looking for bands to open for him.
After closing his front door and setting the alarm, Gregorio headed for the Den to open up.
For the next couple of hours, the Den—one of Colorado’s premier BDSM clubs—was a beehive of activity.
Countless small details went on behind the scenes to ensure guests and members were able to focus on their experience without anything dragging them out of the world Damien had masterfully created.
On the main level, a check-in table had been set up, and Lillith—a fairly new house sub—was preparing for the first arrivals. She’d set up two electronic tablets and organized wristbands which would be assigned according to the role each attendee was assuming for the event—Top, bottom, house submissive, and more. Additionally, several House Monitor armbands were also stacked nearby.
“Going to be a busy evening,” he observed.
“We’re as ready as we can be.” She nodded. “Susan will be here soon to help. And luckily Master Niles and Brandy already checked in the ladies who attended their event. All we’ll have to do is assign wristbands.”
Good plan since all the people would arrive at once, on the same shuttle bus.
Next, he greeted the woman in charge of the coatroom and ensured the valet stand was in place with extra personnel on hand.
Satisfied, he continued to assess progress.
Three bars had already been erected—one on the main level, another on the patio, and the final downstairs, near the dungeon.
The one outside had several blenders in place where frothy mocktails could be concocted.
Nearby, Zeph’s bandmembers tuned up, though the man himself hadn’t yet made an appearance. Planning a special entrance?
The catering staff began uncovering platters of small desserts, including chocolate-covered cheesecake on a stick.
Looking at the sweets for too long would result in a cavity, he was sure.
Satisfied everything was under control, he headed upstairs to a private area—the Den’s unseen hub of security.
There, he had an office of his own, as did Damien and Catrina—for the rare occasions the couple visited the club.
On a monitor, the owner himself keyed the gate open.
“Well, well.”
Less than five minutes later, Damien climbed the stairs to join Gregorio.
“Boss.” They shook hands. “Surprised to see you here.”