Page 3 of The Cost of Corruption

I lifted up my glass of champagne and took a long drink. Longer than was wise. I’d already made my way to the bottom of the glass a couple of times this evening, and while alcohol wasn’t technically off limits—the Lord himself made miracles with wine, after all—stepping over the line into overindulgence could be considered sinful.

The only trouble was around my cousins, it was difficult to know exactly where that line was. They were so wild that they threw off the scales completely. It was nearly impossible to gauge where moderation ended when everyone you were surrounded by was an insatiable glutton.

The moment I hit the halfway mark on my champagne flute, someone was always there behind me, filling it to the top again. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost all track of just how many glasses I had. All I knew was that as Sophia appeared behind me again to top me off, I was already starting to feel more than a little tipsy.

“That’s more like it, girl,” like a cartoon devil on my shoulder, my cousin goaded me on. “Drink up. This might be your only chance to live a little. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll need a drink for what’s planned next.”

Oh, no.Despite the warm and floaty feeling rushing through my veins, warning bells rang out loud and clear in my mind.

I swiveled around in my seat to face my cousin. “Why? What’s happening?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a wide, wicked smile that was far from reassuring. “Every bachelorette party has strippers, but only those people looking to getreallyfreaky come to La Sera.”

Her hand had been hovering over a red button on the table next to me, and when she pressed it, lights came up behind the mirrored wall in front of me, illuminating the space beyond. Apparently, it hadn’t been a wall at all but a cavernous room. One filled with more dancers. Men and women this time—all completely naked and writhing together.

A deafening roar of approval rose up among my cousins even as I ducked my head down on instinct and covered my face with my hands.

Clearly, I wasn’t as worldly as I’d thought.

“All right, boys,” Sophia, who, as Alessia’s maid of honor, had planned this bachelorette party, shouted above the din. “Now it’s really time to earn that cash.”

Wait. What was she talking about? The poor strippers were already down to the flimsiest-looking G-string. Nearly every bit of them was exposed. If they took off anymore, they’d be completely?—

Another flying piece of fabricthwackedagainst my arm.

Looking down at the strip of shiny black spandex, I slowly realized that Kent and the other men in the room were more than simply exotic dancers.

As tempted as my tipsy self was to take a quick peek to verify that theory, I managed to keep my head down. As it turned out, a decade of forced modesty was a hard habit to break.

So was the crushing sense of guilt and shame that washed over me for finding myself in this situation. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t planned or chosen any of this. My inner critic still screamed that I was somehow still to blame.

I knew what my cousins were like. I knew the trouble they liked to lead me into. I should have protested more. I should have refused to leave the house. I shouldn’t have let them lead me astray.

But fortunately, this time, someone was looking out for me.

Just as the first deep and rumbling carnal groan filled the room, I felt a hand gently grip my arm. I looked up to see Kent staring down at me with concern. “Come on, Sister. Let’s get you somewhere you’ll feel more comfortable.”

I’d never felt so grateful in my life. My chest was still so tight that I could barely draw in a deep breath, but in that moment, the stripper was like an angel, helping me up and guiding me through the crowd toward the door, all while ignoring my cousins’ disappointed groans and shielding me from the sinful sights all around me.

When we reached the door, he opened it for me, saying, “If you go to the right, the hallway will lead you down to the lounge. Tell them that Kent sent you there for ‘privacy.’ The hostess will know what that means and take care of you until your cousins are done for the night.”

Still clutching my champagne flute as if it were a life preserver, I rushed out into the hall, only daring to draw in a deep breath when I heard the door click closed behind me.

I didn’t take off right away.

Instead, I stood there with my eyes closed and settled into the first peaceful moment I’d had since arriving at my father’s house earlier in the week.

This club—La Sera—might be as sinful and debauched as Sodom, but at least it wasn’t flimsily constructed. Miraculously, the private party rooms were truly sound-proof, and once the door was closed, all the racket—the pounding music and my cousin’s squeals—disappeared.

The hallway was marvelously quiet and, as long as I kept my eyes closed, every bit as peaceful and serene as the stone-walled convent I currently called home.

Leaning back against the wall, I allowed myself to enjoy a few deep breaths. I knew that once I opened my eyes, reality would come crashing down. Because just like every other pleasure that could be found in this den of sin, this serenity was just an illusion.

Once I opened my eyes, I wouldn’t see trees or flowers or ivy-covered stone walls. Instead, I’d be faced with lush Burgundy curtains and carpet, expensive marble walls, and moody flickering candle glow—an aesthetic that dripped with overt sensuality.

But at least the silence was nice.

After what felt long enough to be a full minute, I pushed myself up off the wall and opened my eyes, ready to head down to the lounge and spend the rest of the night waiting for my cousins to either pass out or settle down enough to be poured back into the party bus and make our way back to my father’s house.

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