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Dante

December 30, 2024, The Playground, New York City, NY,

The cab pulled up to the curb and I could hear the club pumping as the beat of the music bounced off the walls into the dark night. Even from the cab, I could hear the laughter of patrons as they enjoyed themselves. If it were any other club, I wouldn’t worry about entering, but this wasn’t any club. It was the Playground, the most exclusive club in the city, and it just so happened to be owned and operated by the man who helped raise me, Crispin Sinclair.

The Playground was unlike any other venue in town. Neon lights that cast a mesmerizing glow against the brick facade illuminated its entrance, heavily guarded by imposing bouncers. The line of people waiting to get in snaked around the block, each person hoping for a chance to experience the magic within.

Stepping out of the cab, I adjusted my suit and made my way to the entrance, while memories of Crispin flooded my mind.

Perception was everything.

It was the first lesson he ever taught me and according to Sin, it was the most important.

Crispin Sinclair was a man of contradictions: both a stern mentor and a somewhat caring guardian when it served his purposes. Mainly, he was a narcissistic egomaniac who demanded everything his way or he fucking made your life a living fucking hell, but hey, what did I know? I only lived with the son of a bitch until I was eighteen then ran to the first college that accepted me.

Inside, the atmosphere was electric. Bodies packed the dance floor, moving in sync with the music’s pulsating beat. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and perfume. The lighting was dim, with occasional bursts of color illuminating the crowd. The city’s elite filled the VIP area, cordoned off by velvet ropes, sipping cocktails as they exchanged hushed conversations. But under all the glitz, glamor and lights, the Playground held a secret. A dark, twisted secret that only a special few lucky or unlucky individuals knew about. Far below the dance floor lay the real reason for Sinclair’s twisted fun.

His own personal BDSM club.

Walking through the throngs of people, I could feel the weight of the club’s reputation pressing down on me. Each step towards Crispin was deliberate, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led me here. The air buzzed with electrifying energy, but beneath it all, shadows lurked, whispering of the darker facets of the Playground.

Reaching the bar, I looked up and locked eyes with Crispin as he stood at the window, glaring down at me. Years may have passed, but the intensity of his gaze remained unchanged. His smile was a mask, hiding the complexity of his character—the man who’d taught me everything about perception and control, the puppet master behind every reveler’s joy and every whispered secret.

I steadied myself, remembering all the lessons I’d learned and all the pain I’d endured. This wasn’t just a reunion; it was a confrontation, a chance to reclaim my narrative and perhaps reshape the legacy Crispin had crafted for himself within these walls.

When I saw him grin, I stiffened.

The game had started. If he thought I would just roll over and let him take control again, he was sorely mistaken. Somewhere in this messed-up den of iniquity was my husband, and I wasn’t leaving without him. If Sinclair wanted to play his iniquitous games, then I was ready to play, too. Only this time, I was playing for keeps.

Ignoring the bouncers who stepped up behind me, I glared at Sin and smirked, slowly shaking my head, turning to glance at the men behind me. “I know my way, gentlemen. I don’t need an escort.”

“Orders,” one of them said as he grabbed my upper arm.

Looking at his hand, I sighed, looked up at Sinclair, then back at the man, and whispered, “Remove it now or lose it. Your choice.”

The man scoffed while the other one laughed.

“Let’s go, pretty boy. The boss wants a word.”

Before either man could move, I quickly twisted, reaching inside my jacket, and yanked my arm up as the man holding me screamed bloody murder while he tried to stem the blood flow from his missing hand.

Good thing for me the music was pumping loudly, and no one noticed a damn thing, but when I looked up, I saw Sin frowning and I smiled before waving the man’s bloody hand up at him.

Placing the limb on the bar, I yelled to the bartender.

“Clean up on aisle shit for brains.”

Leaving the man to bleed to death, I snagged a cold bottle of beer another bartender placed in front of a patron and took a large swig as I made my way toward the elevator. Pressing the button, I stood there and waited patiently like I had all the time in the world and drank my cold beer.

I knew my actions had angered Sin. I wasn’t stupid. I just didn’t care. He had someone who belonged to me, and I wasn’t in the mood to play his damn game. Sin thought he was so smart that he was the master of everything and everyone around him. The fact was, Crispin Sinclair was nothing more than an entitled fucking rich prick people were afraid to say no to.

Well, I was done pandering to his ego. Sin could go play his twisted game with one of his submissives.

I wanted no part of him anymore.

The second he took Danny from the hospital was the moment I stopped giving a damn about him. He was nothing more than a stranger to me now, and if he knew what was good for him, he better have made damn sure Danny was still receiving the medical care he needed.

The elevator door dinged and the doors opened up.

Stepping inside, I pressed the up button and watched the doors close.

There was no turning back now.

I was about to enter the Devil’s lair and God help me if I showed any weakness, because if I did, the Devil would surely take his due. For as long as I could remember, Sin was always closed off, set apart from the rest of us. There were moments of humanity, but his past refused to let him see the light. I remembered needing to speak with him once about a project for school. Silas and Rowen weren’t around, which only left Sin. I couldn’t find him anywhere, and the only place I didn’t look was off-limits, forbidden. But I was young and stupid. I didn’t want to wait, so I entered the unknown.

His room was dark and cold, like the man I knew. There was no life in his room. Only pain and suffering. I should have known that Sinclair would have wanted a room suited to fit his personality.

The man was the Devil.

I stepped further into the gloom, and every shadow seemingly reached out to me with icy fingers. The air was thick with a palpable sense of foreboding, like the walls themselves were whispering tales of torment. Each corner of his room held secrets, perhaps reflecting the labyrinthine mind of Sinclair.

The sparse furnishings were as austere as the man himself. A solitary wooden chair sat in the middle, its surface worn and rough, much like the path Sinclair had chosen for his life. There was nothing to suggest comfort or warmth—no personal touches, no signs of humanity. Just stark, unyielding surfaces and the echo of silence.

A single window, if it could be called that, was covered with heavy drapes that blocked out any semblance of light or hope. It was as if the room itself was his prison, designed to keep out anything resembling joy or peace. The only illumination came from a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows that danced mockingly around me.

I could almost hear Sinclair’s voice, deep and menacing, reverberating through the room. It was a voice that commanded silence and instilled fear, much like the man himself. While I stood there, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread, as if Sinclair’s spirit was watching me, judging me, waiting for me to make a mistake.

Moving forward, I found a small desk, its surface cluttered with papers and books. The books were old, their spines cracked and worn, filled with the knowledge and darkness that Sinclair thrived on. Among the papers, I noticed scribbled notes, plans and perhaps schemes that had yet to unfold. Each document seemed to be an extension of Sinclair’s malevolent intent, a testament to his unyielding will.

The air grew colder when I approached the desk, a chill that seemed to emanate from the very core of the room. It was a coldness that pierced through to the bone, much like Sinclair’s gaze. The more I explored, the more I realized that his room was not just a reflection of Sinclair’s personality—it was an extension of his very being.

I could sense the weight of his presence, the darkness that he carried within himself. It was a presence that suffocated all around it, leaving no room for light, no room for life. Sinclair was a man who thrived in shadows, and this room was his sanctuary, his domain.

When I finally turned to leave, a sense of relief washed over me. But even as I stepped out into the light, the memory of Sinclair and his room lingered, reminding me of the darkness that existed not only within those four walls but within the man himself. The room was a testament to the cold and unforgiving nature of Sinclair, a man who was, indeed, the Devil.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened, revealing the wooden red door at the end of the hallway. Shaking my head, I walked toward it, knowing that Sinclair was behind it, waiting for me.

The second I opened the door, there would be no turning back.

Danny’s fate rested on my shoulders, and to save him, I had to play Sinclair’s game. The stakes were high, and Sinclair wouldn’t go easy on me. Nothing in life was ever easy, but I refused to give up.

I refused to walk away from Danny when he needed me the most.

I took a deep breath. My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob. Images of Danny flashed through my mind—his laughter, his kindness, the way he always believed in me. I couldn’t let him down. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a perfectly decorated and dimly lit room. Sinclair’s silhouette loomed in the shadows, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “I’ve been expecting you.”

I stepped inside, my heart pounding against my ribs.

This room was not what I expected. Creamy satin trimmed in crisp white ornate moldings covered the walls, and handcrafted tongue-and-groove maple floors glistened under the light from the ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling at the heart of the room. Standing behind an expensive mahogany desk was the Devil himself, Crispin Sinclair.

Stepping into the room, I stood straight, my eyes never leaving his.

Smirking, I shook my head. “You should give your decorator a raise. She out did herself. This room is nothing like you. Makes you seem almost human.”

Ignoring my comment, he said, “You constantly surprise me, Dante. I must say, I never thought you would show up.”

Getting straight to the point, I asked, “Where is Danny?”

He tsked, shaking his head. “Still stubborn as ever.”

“Not fucking around this time, Sin. Where is Danny?”

The man I once looked up to, respected, wanted to make most proud, sighed disappointingly as he sat in his venetian leather winged-back chair. “Alright, Dante. I will play your little game. What makes you think I know where the young Sypher is at?”

“Cut the crap,” I groaned. Walking over to one of the chairs in front of his desk, I sat, refusing to wait for an invitation to do so. “Silas called me.”

Leaning back in his chair, Sin smirked. “Ah yes. Of course, he stirred the air of discontent before he disembarked on another wild-goose chase. Would you like to know why?”

“Not particularly. Just tell me what you did with Danny and you will never have to see me again.”

Ignoring my question, he clearly said, “Silas left because of you.”

“What do you mean, me?”

“Did you know his little nightmare had returned from the dead?”

“Shit,” I cursed.

“Exactly, and Silas found out that you knew and didn’t tell him. So, let me ask you again. What makes you think I know where the young Sypher is at? Like you, I have a vested interest in the young man. He has information I would like to speak with him about.”

“You really don’t know where he’s at?”

“I never said I didn’t know.” Sinclair smirked.

I groaned. “Sin, please. Do you know where Danny is or not?”

“He’s at St. John’s Presbyterian Hospital, seventh floor, psych ward.”

“And just how in the hell did he end up there?” I sneered, getting to my feet.

Sinclair leaned forward in his chair and smiled up at me.

“I put him there.”

Running from the room, I could clearly hear Sin’s laughter as I rushed for the elevator and asked, “Did you get that, Ace?”

“Got it, kid. Meet you at the hospital.”

“On my way,” I confirmed when the elevator door opened and I stepped in.