Page 69 of Hunt for You

“Yeah. This is the line for assessment. I think he’s got like three or four gaps.”

I gave David a look. “Wait, there’s actual numbers?”

He frowned. “Yeah, you didn’t know?”

“He mentioned limited places, but I just thought he didn’t know I’d been here before.”

“No, no. He only takes twenty per session—at the most. He’ll take less if he doesn’t have the right people there and assessed.”

The whole exchange was baffling for me—since when did a Dom assessaudience?It had to be a marketing ploy? But the end result was that I was told to wait for assessment and stood there with the others for a few minutes while David closed the door and went to retrieve Sid.

The two women had their heads together and kept whispering. They were young like me, and their costumes looked like something out of a movie. I suspected they were just rich and looking for an experience they could tell stories about, rather than being in the lifestyle. But who knew?Vigoríattracted all kinds.

The guy was older, and kept looking at me and running his hand through his hair. Like something was bugging him. Me? Or was I just under his eyes? In the end I decided it didn’t matter. I kept to myself, waiting for that door to open again, and when it did, I let the others hurry forward, trying to look like they weren’t hurrying. I kept my chin low and peered out from under the hood—only to find Sid standing in the doorway grinning at me.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

I shrugged, but couldn’t deny that the predatory grin on his face had made my heart beat faster.

“You first,” he said, crooking a finger at me and ignoring the others, who were forced to step aside to let me reach him.

Sid said something to David as I passed through the doorway, then it was closed behind me and I was in the short hallway that was the entrance to each of the Dens. I pushed my hood back as soon as the door was closed since Sid already knewwhat I looked like, and I was curious what he had set up in here. But as I walked into the Den proper, I was frowning.

If I hadn’t known better, I’d say I had just walked into one of those small amateur theaters that only seats thirty people, and the chairs climb up from the floor—which doubles as the stage.

There were nice touches here—red velvet covered seats with leather arms, the hardwood floor had been revealed and refinished, and the area I would have called the stage was surrounded by luxuriously red curtains that hung in thick folds so there was no wall visible.

At the center of the stage was a massive, four-poster bed in a deep, dark mahogany.

When I first saw it, I thought it couldn’t possibly be real. But I should have known Valerie didn’t cut corners. Not only was the frame made from solid, heavy wood—I couldn’t even make the bed jiggle when I grabbed one of those posts and leaned my entire weight against it—but the bed was covered in genuine silk sheets, and thick furs.

I took it all in, looked at the audience chairs, and frowned as Sid came to stand behind me with his arms folded.

He wasn’t dressed like a punk today—his spiky hair was brushed down and flat, and most of his piercings were out, or subtle. He wore a black collared shirt open at the throat, black slacks, and a black belt. All of them fit him like they’d been custom made, and he stood, welcoming my perusal, smiling like he knew that shirt made his shoulders look even broader and his muscles deliciously tight.

I scanned slowly to his leather boots, then back up to his sly smile.

“Bondage and voyeurism?” I said to him over my shoulder. “I mean, I won’t deny I’d like to see the show, but it’s hardly earth shattering. You’re reducing audiences, why? To choose only the richest or most attractive? Give them a sense of beingelite and others the feeling that they’re missing out? Smart, but it won’t last long. Someone will start talking and pretty soon they’ll all know you’re just peddling garden variety bondage—”

“My show is far from garden variety,” he said, but he was still smiling. “Why’d it take you so long to show up?”

I turned to face him and matched his stance, arms folded and head slightly tipped. “Last time I saw you, you tried to tackle me.”

“Did I? I saw a scuffle and your boyfriend come to your aid. Is that your kink? You’re bait and he comes in to play the hero on whatever idiot you suck into your lies?”

“Actually no.” But I also wasn’t telling him the truth because it was none of his fucking business.

He waited. But when I didn’t speak further, he smiled wider. “Art told me you had sass. I like it.”

“I have that effect on men a lot,” I said with a shrug, sweating because it wasn’t actually true. Most men found me intimidating, or wanted to break me.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you here?” he asked, his smile fading as he offered a glimpse of his dom persona—the take no shit, you’re onmyturf, kind of Alpha that a lot of the doms strived for, but there was something about him that, oddly, pulled it off.

That jawline caught my eye again. He was clean shaven today, and I once again found myself questioning the familiar line of it.

But I’d seen Cain fight him.

Hadn’t I?

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