Page 17

MARISELA

T his wasn’t what I was expecting when I looked up the address on the little love note my shadow man left in my bedroom and the results turned up with the name of an underground sex club—that obviously wasn’t so underground if Google could find it.

Unless they meant more literally.

I descended two sets of stairs before I was led to an open lounge area that, despite the obvious difference of dress code, could have been one of the fancy cigar bars my father liked to hang around whenever he wanted to talk shop.

The words “Original Sin” scrawled across the large plaque on the wall in shiny gold lettering, accompanied by their logo.

A little apple with a bite taken out of it— Steve Jobs would have a field day with that one.

I continued to eye the rest of the interior. All the high-end furnishes, crystal chandeliers, and expensive artwork. Dark, hand-carved woods and black-on-black accents that made the room feel both intimate and expansive at the same time.

The music wasn’t at all what I expected either, more soothing and melodic than the thumping base of a nightclub. The air smelled somehow both masculine and feminine, a hint of lilac and spice, without all the body odor that came with crowded bars and poor ventilation.

My eyes flicked from face to face—some masked, some not—as I was guided towards a long hall with doors flanking each side. Metallic numbers passed me in a blur of gold as the girl in the leather riding pants and a matching crop top escorted me to the farthest one.

All I had was that card. Nothing else. But she seemed to be expecting me, which told me my mystery man was less of a mystery within these walls.

She turned around, her blonde hair pulled back high on her head and hanging down her back in a straight line.

It toppled over her shoulders when she craned her neck to the side.

But it was the little silver heart that sat just above her collarbone that caught my eye for no other reason than it looked more like a piece of jewelry you’d buy for your pet and not a gift for your girlfriend.

She followed my line of sight and grinned before laying a gentle palm on my shoulder. “If at any time you feel uncomfortable, there’s a red button on the wall. Press it and someone will escort you to a recovery room.”

I nodded once, because I honestly didn’t know what any of that meant, while my ego wouldn’t allow me to ask.

Then I watched her make her way back down the hallway, her hips swaying with each step she took in her impossibly-high heels before defiance had me pivoting towards the door again and shoving it open.

Red lighting danced across more black furnishings.

A couple antique-looking sofas with the high backs, a dark circular coffee table that added a hint of modern to the rest of the aesthetic, a tray with a bottle of champagne, and a chaise lounge off to one side, closest to the wall.

Once again, not exactly what I was expecting.

I didn’t risk my neck or my ankles climbing out of my bedroom window just to find myself closed inside an emo kid’s wet dream with some Poe-wannabe spitting sonnets in my direction.

I was two seconds from turning around and going in search of my own version of fun when the door crept open again and a familiar figure stepped inside.

As tall and brooding as I remember him being with the black plague doctor mask on his face that matched the red one I decided to oblige him by wearing.

That and I didn’t want to risk being recognized.

It was one thing to sneak around my father’s back, another entirely to have it make the papers.

He took two steps forward, and I took two in the opposite direction. Not because I was afraid. But because if that night in the alley taught me anything, it was that I liked the way it felt to be backed into a corner and forced to fight my way out .

My shadow man continued to walk me backward, and just when I thought he was going to pin me against the wall, he stopped. Popped the cork from the bottle of champagne and poured me a glass.

“You look parched, Marisela,” he hummed.

“I look horny, pendejo ,” I replied, listening as a low chuckle rumbled his chest.

“Is that why you think I brought you here? To fuck you?”

“No, I think you brought me to a sex club so that we could braid each other’s hair and exchange bedtime stories.”

Another laugh had me stomping towards the door.

He stepped in front of it, blocking my path.

“These rooms aren’t just about sex, little lamb.

They’re about intimacy, trust, exploring the kind of desires you didn’t even know you had.

But if you really want to leave, all you have to do is press that button.

” He gestured to his left before pointing behind me.

“Otherwise, go sit your pretty ass on that sofa like the good girl I know you’re dying to be. ”

I didn’t want to be a good girl . I wanted to do all the bad things his filthy words promised me.

But I didn’t want to leave either. It was that irritating point where what I wanted very much conflicted with my natural stubborn streak.

And I didn’t like the way that made me feel. To want to give in as much as I didn’t.

“What’s it gonna be, Marisela?” he urged, a hint of cockiness belying the smirk I was certain he was hiding under all that leather .

“You have five minutes to come up with one good reason I should stay.” I walked back towards the sofa, lowering myself down on the middle cushion while glaring at him with a leg crossed over a knee.

“No, I have five minutes to show you why you’ll never want to leave.”