Page 3 of Interview with a Sadist
Chase pinches his lips together and gently shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a brothel, but I know the rumors are running rampant through this city like an airborne virus. With those rumors in mind, it’s hard to ignore the interest the public has in this new club. Apparently, it’s very exclusive and requires people to sign up and be accepted just to get in. From what I’ve gathered through my own genuine curiosity, it’s a BDSM club.”
“Like … S&M?” I ask as my heart starts to race. I can’t exactly tell the reason for my heart’s quickened pace, but I’m pretty sure it’s fear about where this is going.
“Well, yes. S&M is sort of in the original acronym,” Chase says, mocking me with a chuckle.
I let out a long exhale as my head drops and I stare at the floor while gathering my thoughts. Chase is all about public interest. It’s a part of his job description, and Chase is great at gauging public interest and letting it guide where we place our efforts. Rumors and people talking on social media about a singular topic is almost always the reason Chase sends the hounds sniffing in a particular place. As much as I don’t want to be, I am today’s hound.
“Chase, are you about to tell me that you want me to investigate a BDSM club?” I ask, choosing to skip over the rest of the formalities.
“Pretty much,” he answers. “Obviously, we want to know everything about The Black Collar club, but since the access is so exclusive, we’re going to have to go through the club’s enigmatic owner.”
“The club’senigmatic owner?” I ask with dread taking up all the space in my throat. “You want me to meet up with some weirdo who’s into sadomasochism, who owns a club that may or may not be a brothel? Come on, Chase.”
“What did I tell you about glaring at me with those eyes?” Chase jokes with a pointed finger. “You don’t know if he’s a weirdo or not, and just because he owns a BDSM club doesn’t mean he’s into sadomasochism … whatever the hell that means.”
“Chase,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t want to hear it, Bree,” he scolds, although there is jest in his voice. “This is the assignment. The entire city wants to know what’s really going on in that club, and I refuse to allow another publication to get ahold of this story and run it before us. I pulled every string I have in order to get us an interview with this guy, and we’re not going to back out just because you have an aversion to weirdos and kinkiness.”
“Kinks are for skanks,” I reply, parroting Melissa’s statement before internally scolding myself for sounding like Teagan.
“Maybe you’re right,” Chase agrees with a nod. “But we’ve got the inside scoop on this, and we’re going to take it. You’re my most diligent journalist, Bree, so I want you on this. I already spoke to the owner on the phone, and he’s just waiting for a call from you to schedule a date and time. He’s giving us exclusive access for as long as we want it.”
I let out a loud, exaggerated sigh that Chase ignores, and my shoulders slump as I realize I’m not getting out of this. As curious as I am about the ways of the world, BDSM and everything related to provocativeness has just never been my thing. Blame my upbringing, I guess, but the moral implications of this type of story sit heavily in my gut like a stomach full of rocks.
“Okay, Chase,” I say, accepting my fate. “What did he sound like when you talked to him? Did he sound like a deviant?”
Chase laughs before leaning forward and handing me a card with a phone number scrawled across it in Chase’s nearly illegible handwriting.
“He sounded like a normal guy to me,” he answers as I take the card. “Maybe a bit reluctant to talk, but still normal—deep voice full of confidence.”
“Well, if he’s so reluctant to talk, why is he giving us exclusive access for as long as we want it?”
“We’re not the only ones who hear the rumors around here. He knows people are talking about the club, and he knows that if he doesn’t set the record straight about what happens behind those closed doors, the authorities might take an interest in the place. That’s the last thing a new club owner wants. So, he’s ready to show and tell.”
Ugh,” I say, shaking my head. “Fine, I’ll go call him now.”
I exhale one more time before standing up and turning to walk out the door. As I reach the threshold, I look down at the card and see that there’s no name on it, so I spin back around.
“Hold on, Chase,” I say. “What’s this guy’s name? I’d at least like to know who the hell I’m talking to.”
“Nolan,” Chase replies. “His name is Nolan Carter.”
ChapterThree
When I step out of Chase’s office, the air in the bullpen feels less oxygenated. I try to take a deep breath, but it catches in my throat, and I feel woozy as I stumble my way toward my cubicle. Maybe I’m more “traditional” than I care to admit, because the very thought of interviewing some kinky freak with a million tattoos and body piercings makes me nauseous. Why did Chase have to give this assignment to me?
The short trip to my cubicle gives me enough time to gather my composure and catch my breath, but my anxiety is rising high enough to tear the roof off the building. When I get to my cubicle, I step inside and reach for my chair so I can sit down, but the second I grab it, I feel I hand on my shoulder and hear a very familiar voice let out a thunderous guffaw. When I spin around, I’m met by the beautiful, annoying face of Octavia Washington.
“Oh, my god!” she shrieks, smiling big and wide. “I know he must’ve told you, because the look on your face is priceless, Bree. Priceless!”
My stunned face morphs to one of confusion.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, frowning as I sit down in my chair and look up at Octavia, dressed in a black hoodie and black leggings. Her gorgeous brown skin is vibrant beneath the office lights, and her hair is tied into four separate balls on her head, called bantu knots. Out of every woman who works in this area of the Philadelphia Inquirer, Octavia is the most stunning. What’s even more beautiful about Octavia is her infectious personality.
“Don't play dumb with me,” she says, still beaming. “Chase told me all about his assignment for you, and I knew that shit would have you reeling. So, I can tell from that sad puppy look on your face and the way you stumbled over here like Bambi that he just dropped that kinky little bomb on you.”
I gawk at Octavia with wide eyes. “You knew about the assignment?” Octavia nods enthusiastically. “What the hell? Why didn't you warn me?”
