Page 4 of Gamble (Black Light #38)

ELIJAH

“ H ey boss, there’s some guy at security flashing your card and saying he’s your guest.”

Elijah was in his office halfway through tallying the long liquor order when his assistant, Tyler, stuck his head in and broke his concentration. He’d fallen behind on paperwork after taking a couple nights off, courtesy of his bum hip. He was finally feeling good enough to come in.

“Yeah? This guy have a name?” Elijah asked, running through the short list of recent invitations he’d handed out.

It was an important part of his job—discreetly recruiting new members. Most were polite enough to give him a heads up before they came barging in at the entrance.

“Won’t give his name. Just says to tell you you’re a chicken shit.”

His chuckle escaped, confusing his second in command further.

He pushed to his feet, trying his best to ignore the shooting pain up his left leg to his hip. Trying to hide his limp was hard enough on a good day, but there was no way he could let his guest for the night catch a glimpse of his condition or he’d never hear the end.

It was only a few dozen feet from his office to the main entrance of Black Light. As soon as he pushed through the door, he came face to face with one of his oldest friends.

“Kent Crawford, you asshole. What the hell are you doing here?”

The two men shook hands as Michael, the security dude who worked the entrance watched with great interest to see how his boss would handle getting called a chicken shit.

Kent leaned in for a short half-bro hug, slapping Elijah on the back as he answered. “I’m in town for a few weeks. I couldn’t let this chance to harass you pass me by.”

“Sounds about right,” he retorted. “Come in. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Damn straight you will,” his friend agreed.

They were just about out the door when he heard Michael call him. “Doesn’t he have to fill out the NDA, boss?”

Fuck.

“Hand me your cell phone,” he said to Kent, stopping them in their tracks.

“Say what?”

“I said… hand me your cell phone. You can’t bring it in.”

“No shit,” Kent retorted, handing over his mobile.

He’d bet his last dollar that Crawford would take anything confidential he might see between the walls of Black Light to his grave, but rules were rules. He was a hard-ass on anyone else, so he’d have to play along.

Elijah got close enough to Michael to throw the electronic device at his employee.

“Lock this up, will ya?” He then turned back toward the entrance to finish his instructions, calling over his shoulder. “Send Sandy in to the bar with the paperwork. I’ll be sure he signs them with some blood before he leaves.”

“What the hell, Keaton? You didn’t make me sign the last time I came.”

“Yeah, well that was back on a slow Wednesday night right after we opened, if I remember. Things are different around here these days.”

The ruckus that met their ears as they got into the crowded social area did a fine job of making his point. Every seat was taken and several small groups stood milling about, prompting a low whistle from Crawford.

“I’d say things are different. Last time I was here, I was worried the club would never make it. There must be a lot of kinky fuckers in L.A. after all.”

Elijah chuckled, “You don’t know the half of it, although the bar does a steady business of guests who don’t even play in the club.”

“They come for the cheap booze?”

“Hardly. Our markup is insane. We’re just the only gig in town that is exclusive to vetted members who also sign NDAs.”

“So… what happens at Black Light stays at Black Light?” Kent said as the men watched a famously married celebrity kissing someone who was not his spouse in the corner booth.

“Something like that,” Elijah answered. “Hence the need for you to sign said NDA.”

Inspecting the friend he hadn’t seen in over a year, Elijah razzed him. “You’re rocking the long hair look. You body doubling for women now?”

Considering the guy was six-four and had done stunts for Schwarzenegger and Stallone in the past, it was meant as a dig.

“Smartass. I told you last time we talked, I got a long-term gig working on the newest MC series for Netflix. Growing my hair out saves me time in make-up.”

“If you say so.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’re Mr. Clean-cut these days. You look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.”

Crawford and his damn Texas ranch idioms.

“Yeah, well after twenty-one broken bones, a dozen surgeries, and countless stitches, what did you expect?”

The last thing he wanted to talk about was how old he’d felt, especially since his recent outing doing something as tame as golfing.

Turning his attention to his head bartender, he shouted over the music and conversations to get Suzi’s attention. “Hey, save me the next two seats at the bar when they open up, will you?”

She didn’t break a stride, juggling the two tasks she was already handling as she nodded her acknowledgment.

He turned to his buddy. “Come on. I’ll give you the ten-cent tour while we wait for a seat.”

As always, the noise level went up the second they were beyond the heavy velvet curtain separating the social bar from the business end of the BDSM club. They traded in the sounds of laughter and clinking glassware, replaced with groans of pleasure and pain.

As with most Saturday nights, almost every platform had a sexy scene in action while spectators filled the couches, loveseats, and walkways. A quick inventory confirmed his dungeon monitors were all stationed where they were assigned.

“Wow, you’ve got a good thing going here, Keaton. Not everyone gets to be surrounded by the rich and famous playing out their kinkiest fantasies when they go to work.”

“Tell me about it. I always thought being a stuntman was the best career a guy could have. I found out I was wrong.”

With the pounding music, it was too loud for the old friends to carry on much of a conversation. Elijah let Kent take the lead, winding through the main floor, past the pool full of nude bathers, and along the back corridor of specialty rooms at his own pace.

Since he knew his friend so well, he wasn’t surprised Kent didn’t spend much time on the breath play or Shibari scenes. They zipped right by the cops and robbers role play and the Game of Thrones torture scene.

It wasn’t until they stood outside the classroom, peering in through the observation window at the naughty girl’s bare ass being spanked with a wooden paddle, that Crawford lingered.

He’d always been a traditionalist—in everything from his food choices, clothing, cars, and even relationships with women. They were close enough friends that Elijah even knew it was that desire for a more traditional marriage that had ended with his friend in divorce court.

They stood as voyeurs, watching until the scene concluded with the punished little lady paying penance on her knees, her Dom’s cock choking off her air supply until he came down her throat. Only after the others gathered around the window to watch dispersed did Elijah ask.

“How are you doing since the divorce?”

His friend turned toward him, a sadness in his eyes. “It’s been three years. I’m fine.”

“There is no time limit on this shit you know. It’s okay if you aren’t okay yet.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”

“Fuck off.”

“No offense, but I’d take your advice a bit more seriously if you’d actually been in a relationship of your own for more than a few months at a time.”

Elijah didn’t bother informing Kent that it had been years since he’d had any kind of monogamous relationship at all. Why should he? Romantic liaisons had never worked out for him, just ask his own ex-wife.

“Why should I settle down with just one when I can pick a sub to play with any time I’m in the mood here at Black Light.”

He could read the skepticism on his friend’s face, even in the dim lighting.

“So, how many of these submissives have you availed yourself of in, say, the last three months?”

As he searched his memory, the truth hit him hard.

Zero. The answer was none, unless you counted the glory hole, which even he didn’t count.

Call it a crazy rule, but he assumed he needed to at least be able to see the person sucking his dick to have it count as a scene.

Hell, he had to go back over six months to think of even one night of actual play with any type of intimate connection whatsoever.

Shit. How the hell had that happened?

“I see I’ve made my point without an argument.”

“Fuck off. The fact remains I could fuck someone every night of the week if I wanted to. I just don’t want to. Anyway, I get my needs met here.”

“Oh, and how is that? Magic?”

“Follow me.”

Elijah weaved them through the short line of members waiting at the entrance of the costume room and entered the Red-Light District of the club. Not surprisingly, the enclosed space was full of onlookers along with a short queue waiting to fuck the headless pussy sticking out of the wall.

Ignoring all of that, Elijah led his friend to the two holes in the wall, each at different heights. Waving his arm as if he were Vanna White on a game show, Elijah added a “Tada” for effect.

“A glory hole. You’re the dungeon master of the hottest BDSM club on the coast and you resort to getting sucked off by strangers that you never even see.”

It was lame. He knew it.

“It’s less complicated this way.”

“No shit.”

“Listen asshole, I don’t want to get involved with someone here at the club that I’d then have to keep seeing over and over when it all falls apart. It would be too messy.”

“That assumes it will always fall apart.”

“Is that a rhetorical question? When hasn’t it fallen apart—for either of us?”

“Hey, I made it eighteen years with Yvonne. We got two teenagers out of the deal,” Kent defended.

“True, but you also got an ulcer and ended up having to walk away losing half your assets.”