Page 5 of Host Club on the Pleasure Planet (On the Pleasure Planet)
What in seven hells had his aunt been involved in?!
Benedict shut the door to his sprawling penthouse—inherited from his late aunt, of course—then pressed himself back against the wood, exhaling fear and tension, feeling his entire body shake with it. His knees went weak, and he slid down to the floor, felt the pile of the carpet beneath his clawed fingertips.
He didn’t know what to make of Saveur. He’d thought it was a simple restaurant, but what he’d seen tonight …
He gritted his teeth. The restaurant was a den of sin if he’d ever seen one. The staff, they called themselves hosts , but as far as he could figure, they were courtesans. He almost choked on the idea that his aunt had been running a clandestine brothel under the guise of a restaurant, luring in unsuspecting diners, and?—
But the clientele had wanted to be there, or so it seemed. Some of them seemed like regulars, people who came back time and again. Others were there for the novelty of it.
Benedict hadn’t been in many restaurants—it wasn’t really something the monks did—but he didn’t think the waitstaff normally sat down and drank and ate with the diners. They certainly didn’t canoodle.
He dragged a hand down his face. And that small server, Shakes, she’d said nobody there was getting paid, except in tips. And the bartender, Oz, the Vetruvian shapeshifter, he didn’t get paid at all.
He didn’t know what that meant. Or, rather, he knew exactly what that meant, but he didn’t want to fathom it. He wanted some other explanation—that Oz was a penitent, that he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, or his people had some weird ritual where they had to go out and do menial labor to be considered adults or, or, or?—
He was a slave, simple as that. His aunt had been using slave labor in her restaurant-cum-whorehouse.
He clutched his head. What the hell kind of mess had he walked himself into?
Well, there was only one thing for it. Close down the whole nasty business and set Oz and Shakes and everyone else free.
He sucked in a deep breath, feeling the resolution resonate through him. It was the only way forward. Only right. It was what God would want, and he would rectify his aunt’s sins. Maybe save her soul while he was at it.
But what about the staff? If they were slaves, they wouldn’t have anywhere to go, no money to get anywhere …
He’d need to come up with a plan to ensure they didn’t end up somewhere worse. Although he was having a hard time imagining somewhere worse at the moment. Drinking to excess and giving out veritable lap dances was pretty bad.
Slowly, he got to his feet. He’d ask to see the books tomorrow. Start winding things down, figure out how to help the staff. Maybe he could pension them off or something. After all, his aunt had been rich.
He scanned the ceiling as he strode through the apartment, pondering his options. He didn’t need all of this material … stuff. He could sell it all off, leave everyone who had labored for his aunt better off, then go back to his quiet existence as Brother Benedict and never think about the world outside of the abbey again.
“Yes,” he told himself firmly as he clambered into bed—a huge expanse of feather bed that cradled him gently, unlike the pokey mattress he had at the abbey.
He spent a long time trying to convince himself he didn’t need the feather bed, that it was indulgent and disgusting, before finally dropping off into one of the best sleeps of his life.
He walked into his office the next morning, intent on calling his aunt’s accountant and demanding the books and a plan to wind the businesses down.
All his carefully built spine was promptly shot to hell when he found two burly yetis flanking a small, slender alien with a shark-like look about them. The visitor looked up from under the brim of their hat, blue eyes flicking toward him. “Baby Benny,” they practically hissed. “A pleasure.”
Benedict glanced about hurriedly, but he didn’t see Farq anywhere.
The alien grinned at him. “Don’t worry about Farq. He’ll wake up from his nap soon enough, and I told the boys here to be gentle when they stuffed him in the maintenance closet.”
Benedict swallowed nervously. “And you are …?” He barely kept his voice from shaking.
A sinuous laugh tore from the visitor’s throat. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me, Benny boy.”
The thing was, Benedict was pretty sure he did remember the visitor. The man had made an impression, slinky in a bright white suit, standing beside Aunt Belladonna.
It was a vague memory, one conjured from somewhere deep in Benedict’s brain, so hazy it might have been a dream. But he couldn’t deny the feeling that he’d seen this man before, felt his skin crawl the same way the last time they’d met.
The visitor didn’t seem to mind, his mouth falling open, revealing rows upon rows of fangs. His eyes danced with merriment. “So you do remember,” he chuckled.
Benedict squared his shoulders. “You made quite the impression.”
“Good, good. I want to leave you with another impression now, something you won’t forget.”
Benedict hardly had time to furrow his brow when a hand whipped out and wrapped around his neck, lifting him clear off the floor and slamming him back against the wall.
“Prick up those pointy ears of yours, Benny boy, and listen to me carefully,” the shark-man hissed, eyes flashing with malice now. “Your dearest auntie might have thought she could weasel out of paying me back what she owes by tripping off this mortal coil, but you’re on the hook.”
Benedict gritted his teeth and dug his claws into the arm holding him, but the visitor didn’t seem fazed. “Owe you?” he wheezed. “What are you talking about?”
He screwed his eyes shut as the shark-man shook him. “You damn well know,” he hissed, and Benedict shook his head, then winced as the shark slammed him back again, before finally dropping him to the floor.
“You’ve got six weeks,” the visitor pronounced as Benedict lay there gasping. He snapped his fingers, and his goons closed in behind him, just as Benedict pushed to his hands and knees. “I expect payment in full.”
“Wait,” Benedict croaked, but the door to the office slammed shut, leaving him holding his throat and gasping for air, his head spinning.
What is happening around here?!