Page 182 of Filthy Savage

Getting out of the car first, he comes around to open my door, taking my hand in his as I step out onto the street. Cars are all around us—so many, I wouldn’t even be able to count.

Together, we make it toward a security guard with a red devil’s mask, waving a device in front of a couple before us.

“What is he doing?”

“Scanning masks. Each one has a chip, which is connected by a number to our membership information.”

“Membership?”

This is insane.

“Yeah, it’s invite-only.”

Geez!

“And you’ve been a member for how long?”

If he’s been here, then he must’ve participated. I know it was before me, but my stomach goes all twisted at the thought of my husband touching other women and doing God knows what to them.

“A while.” His arm wraps around my hips, lips lowering to my ear. “But I’ve wanted you here with me from the time we met.”

I want to ask more, but it’s our turn now. As the man silently scans us, I think it’s better not to know anyway. Anything that happened before me doesn’t matter.

“Phone,” the guard says, holding out a clear plastic bag.

“Oh, uh…” I glance at Fionn, who’s already throwing his phone in it.

“It’s for everyone’s protection,” he explains. “That way no one takes photos or videos.”

That makes sense. Reaching into my handbag, I grab mine and put it in with Fionn’s. Once we’re done, a woman in a red strapless gown ushers us inside toward the elevator, which arrives in seconds.

My heart echoes in my ribs as we enter. She follows us silently, pressing a button. Her black hair is up in a tight bun; a black mask and bright red lips make her appear like she’s attending a fancy party. There’s nothing about her or the building that indicates we’re about to step into anything remotely like what Fionn described.

“You okay?” he whispers across the shell of my ear.

“Ask me later.”

He chuckles just as the elevator brings us to the top floor. As soon as we step out, we face heavy-looking red doors, two men with tuxes and black masks like Fionn’s standing on each side.

They let us in immediately, and we’re instantly assaulted by dimmed colorful lights, low sultry music, and fully clothed people dancing everywhere.

Fionn holds my hand tight as I stare around. Nothing about this smells like sex.

“He likes to change locations of the club every time,” Fionn tells me.

“How does that work?”

“They’re called pop-up clubs. The members get a text with the address and time, then it disappears.”

“Wow. That’s crazy.”

By the look of how packed this room is, I gather people really like his club.

“Do you have to pay to become a member?”

“Yeah, ten grand.”

“What?” I flip my face to his. “Oh my God.”

---