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This was just a meeting. It didn’t actually mean anything—I knew how the music industry was.

Pepper was just another shark. And I was throwing myself into the deep end while bathed in blood.

I liked that type of power exchange. It made her submission last night that much sweeter.

I scrolled away from Tommy’s text and hummed to myself, checking my other messages. Jack texted me a couple times about setlist notes. I’d forgotten to pay all of them out last night, so I did that quickly before opening up Instagram. I instantly regretted it—too many notifications, not enough coffee. Still, I started scrolling anyway.

Before the show, I’d posted a video of a riff from one of my songs. I’d gotten pretty good at lighting and creating a mood in my videos, and it was finally paying off. I chuckled as I read the comments, smirking at the thirsty ones and rolling my eyes at the nastier ones. I posted a couple of pictures I’d taken backstage before the show last night and then closed the app again.

I needed a hot shower. I needed to purge Pepper from my rotten soul, and head over to Nancy and Beth’s to finish building a couple pieces of furniture.

And decide if I was actually going to show up for that meeting with Rosethorn.

TEN

SALT

The workshop doorwas wide open, letting in a draft of cool air. I crossed the threshold and wasn’t surprised to see Beth tied down to one of the sex benches we’d built on Thursday. Nancy stood to the side with a very evil grin on her face, one that made me chuckle.

“Do I need to come back later?” I asked.

Nancy shook her head. “No. Just making sure the product is well-built.”

“Uh-huh,” I said as I hung my backpack on the hook.

The workshop was a massive three-car garage with everything we’d ever need for furniture construction. A grid wall held every tool imaginable, lumber was neatly stacked, and cans of wood finishes sat on the floor.

Then there was the wall on the opposite side that held everykinktool imaginable. That was Nancy’s side of the garage, where she stored her floggers, whips, riding crops, and whatever else she’d gathered over two decades of putting people on their knees.

Beth’s bright blue eyes were full of smiles as I approached and crossed my arms. She was wearing gray sweats and a black sweater with a rooster—a cock—on it. She was about a foot shorter than me with curves for days, and a neon pink mohawk that was hard to miss.

Nancy, on the other hand, was willowy, tall, and wore her hair in a silver bob. A lot of people looked at her and assumed she was more passive, but that wasn’t true at all.

It was weird to other people maybe, but I really did think of the two of them as my adoptive moms. But in a way that was like—kink-godmothers? Was that even a thing? It was for us. I’d drive them to doctor appointments, do a load of their laundry, but would pretend to gag if they kissed in a romantic way. I’d seen both of them naked at one of the BDSM clubs downtown countless times, but was still completely scandalized from the one time I accidentally walked in on them having sex. That was like three years ago, and my eyes still hadn’t recovered.

A big misunderstanding about the kink community was that everything was sexual. Seeing Beth tied down on a sex bench in the middle of the day was just another work day for us.

“Well, well, well,” Beth drawled, yanking at the restraints around her wrists. “Look who decided to show up well past noon.”

“It’s Saturday,” I protested. “I had a show last night.”

Nancy raised a brow. She was wearing black slacks and a nice blouse with a diamond necklace one of her clients gave her a couple years ago. “How’d it go, Mr. Rockstar?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Good.”

It was a vague answer, and we all knew it. Both of them narrowed their eyes on me.

“Good, huh?” Beth asked. “What’s that on your neck?”

I slapped my hand over the spot Pepper bit me at some point last night. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” Nancy shook her head, her silver bob swinging. “Well, Beth made some tortilla soup if you want something before you get to work. This bench has been Beth-verified.”

I grinned. “Oh, good—and thanks. I don’t think I’ve eaten since yesterday.”

Nancy pointed a crimson nail at me. “What are we going to do with you? Why wouldn’t you eat breakfast? Especially after whatever nonsense you were up to last night that got you that mark. Get the fuck inside and feed yourself.”

I fought a smile. “Hey, I am not your sub.”

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