Page 1 of Tower

Chapter 1

City lights illuminated the street to the point of daylight. Azalea Gothel turned the corner onto Main Street, which would take her to her targeted location. Hood raised to block recognition, she only had a few hours. Any more than that, and she would be found out.

She walked past a narrow storefront selling liquor and cheap thrills, mostly gambling from what the blinking neon lights advertised, and headed to the larger, more sophisticated-looking club. The building stood out from the rest on the strip, towering over all of them, and decorated in a much darker scheme than the rest.

The club resembled a Renaissance mansion, with ominous architecture and two large gargoyles perched on podiums overlooking the entrance. Two towers climbed to a second story with a third rising two stories higher than the others.

The owner had aptly named the club Tower, or maybe he’d built the club around the name.

It didn’t matter, and she had much bigger concerns at the moment. Her curiosity had driven her down to the city streets, out of the comfort of her suite where she lived with her mother. But she had only a few hours. If she didn’t return home before midnight, her absence would be discovered.

Having an overprotective mother had been annoying growing up. Now, it caused a desperation Azalea had never felt before.

“Hey there, beautiful.” A voice from behind her slithered over her shoulder. She quickened her steps. The owner of the voice cursed at her but didn’t follow her.

Tower may cater to upscaled clientele, but it brought out the seedy beasts as well. She wasn’t completely naïve; she knew better than to think she’d be able to walk the street without at least one man’s eyes on her. It was her hair. The golden tresses easily snagged attention.

She pulled her hood closer around her face and came to the entrance of the club. Taking a deep breath, she retrieved her small purse and dug out the cover charge.

“You alone?” The bouncer looked behind her. At such a late hour, the evening was already in full swing, yet there wasn’t a line.

“Yes,” she said and waved the bills in his direction. “Fifty dollars, right?” She pushed the money at him again when he didn’t accept it.

“Take off that coat,” he ordered.

She heaved a sigh. She would hardly hide weapons in such a flimsy overcoat, but if it would make the hulking guard take her cash and let her off the street, she’d play along.

Shaking off the garment, she threw it over her arm and thrust the bills at him again. “Okay?”

He looked her over. A smile grew on his lips as his gaze reached her chest, and brightened as it traveled downward.

Snagging the money, he nodded. “Yeah, but if I were you, I’d stay near the bar and not go wandering around. Less likely to get caught.”

She didn’t bother to ask him what he meant, since he’d spoken the words directly to her breasts, and made her way in.

Music with low, deep beats played, luring her into the club. She stopped at the coat check to drop her coat and stuffed the ticket into her bag.

As she walked into the main room, the life of the club erupted before her. The music grew more intense, or maybe it felt that way with all the scenes going on around her. The club catered to darker passions, the sort she’d been reading about, fantasizing about. It was how she found the club. Not having much to fill her days outside of her graphic design projects, she delved into every image Google had to offer on the naughty subjects.

Fog swirled across the flooring. She walked toward the bar, remembering what the doorman had told her. She’d get a drink, ease into the ambiance, and then she’d make her rounds. So much to see, so much to take in.

The sharp crack of a whip derailed her mission, and she followed the sound instead. Along the edges of each room, scenes played out. Some were simple—a woman on her knees being petted by the man towering over her—while others were more intricate. A woman hung from the ceiling, wrapped in rope in such a way that she looked more like a piece of art than a sexual plaything. Azalea took a moment to admire the knotting and the design of the rope around the woman’s torso and legs before a second snap got her feet moving again.

She made her way through the crowd, feeling men staring at her and hearing a crude murmur, but she paid them no mind. Surveying the room, she realized she was the only woman walking freely about the room without an escort. How had she missed that?

But her vision often became tunneled when she had her mind set. It was one of the flaws her mother had worked hard over the years to relieve her of without any success.

She arrived at the main scene, the large stage positioned in the rear of the club, and pushed her way to the front of the crowd. A man, a whip dangling from his hand, stood several feet away from the bound woman before him. The redheaded victim’s hands were tied over her head to the whipping post, her legs spread out by an iron bar shackled to her ankles. She had no recourse. Nothing for her to do but to accept the lashes of the man holding the braided whip.

Azalea focused on him. He wore only a pair of black slacks. She would have expected leather. His chest was completely bared to the audience except for the large tattoos covering his arms and pecs. He could have been one of the sculpted statues decorating the club, with his chiseled features and body. Everything about him appeared hard. Unyielding.

And the tent in his pants proved it.

“He better finish her off soon.” A whisper came from behind her. “I need to get you upstairs or I’m going to fucking come in my pants.”

Azalea glanced over her shoulder at the man who spoke. His eyes met hers briefly, and he grinned, pressing a kiss to the temple of the woman beside him. She appeared as aroused as her partner with her dilated eyes and her teeth biting her bottom lip.

When Azalea looked back up at the scene, her eyes caught in the man with the whip’s gaze. Her breath snagged, and she swallowed back a surprised gasp. He stared right at her, a deep crease building in his brow.

---