Page 20 of Room Nine: For Their Eyes Only

I’ve never desired that from anyone else.

My mind comes down from the clouds, and I watch her carry a stack of dresses to the back of the store and disappear behind a fitting room curtain. For a moment, I consider leaving. Maybe Andrei was right. My enthusiasm is bigger than my brain. Approaching her at the sex club may not be the most brilliant idea. It may not be any worse than this.

My phone suddenly chimes, and I slip it from my pocket, expecting to find a sarcastic message from one of my brothers urging me to return to the hotel.

PinkysBedroom: Hi, there. Where have you been hiding? Sorry, I just saw your messages now.

My heart swells with excitement.

VB731: My brother, Viktor, took the last spot.

PinkysBedroom: I thought he might be your brother. The three of you have similar features and equally dirty minds.

I inwardly cringe and try not to imagine what he said. In typical fashion, he failed to mention that part of their conversation.

VB731: Are you available tonight?

I return to my original question, wondering if she’ll admit where she’s going and hoping I have a chance to tell her we’ll see her there.

PinkysBedroom: Have you ever heard of a place called Club Sin?

I’m shocked when she mentions it by name and draws attention to a possible location. With only three clubs currently open and having already admitted she’s not in New York, she must know she’s made it much easier for us to find her. After all, she doesn’t know we already have.

VB731: I know it well. I’m a member. Are you?

Of course, I know she’s not, but I can’t give myself away completely.

PinkysBedroom: No. But I’ll be there tonight with friends.

VB731: Are you in Chicago or New Orleans? Or have you been across the bridge in Brooklyn all along?

PinkysBedroom: I’m in New Orleans, and I wish you were here. I have no one to play with tonight.

I freeze as I read and reread her message. I’ve done terrible things. Immoral. Illegal. Detestable things that surely guarantee me a place in hell. And if I believed in such a place, I might spend my life in repentance. But somehow, the universe has smiled down on my unworthy soul and granted me my heart’s fondest desire.

I’m not letting this chance go to waste.

VB731: Your wish is my command. We’ll be there at 9. Look for us at the bar.

Chapter14

“Oh, my God,” I gasp and place my hand over my chest, my heart racing wildly as we walk through the velvet curtains and step onto the black lacquer floors of Club Sin. It’s exactly what I imagined. The room is dark, luxurious, and filled from wall to wall with the most beautiful people I have ever seen congregated in one space.

“What did I tell you?” Elsa hooks her arm into mine and leads me into the lounge, with Jax following close behind. “Isn’t it incredible? The exterior is so deceptive. When Jax and I rode up the driveway two days ago, I was certain we’d taken a wrong turn.”

She's right. From the outside, Club Sin looks like the Tara Plantation from the movie, Gone with the Wind. The interior doesn’t quite match. It’s edgy but elegant. A modern incarnation of a nineteenth-century French parlor room, shag carpets, candelabras, and grand chandeliers twinkling high above, bathing the room in a warm, muted light.

With measured breaths and slow steps, I scan the room for signs of Andrei, Vadim, and Viktor and try like hell not to get my hopes up. I can’t believe how reckless I’ve become. Not only have I blurted out my location, but I've also revealed my plans for the night. How could I be so stupid? How could I be so needy?

I’ve met hundreds of men over the last few months, and I’ve had no difficulty sticking to my boundaries. It’s more than simply fearing my father’s men. It’s a matter of safety. I’m a single girl living in a rough town with one friend whose only life skills are spending too much money on clothes and caring for her feet. New Orleans may feel chill and laid back, but it’s no safer than New York.

So, why did I pull such an amateur move?

Because they’re hot. They’re gorgeous and sweet. Or at least they pretend to be. No one is ever what they claim to be on the internet, and if they do show up, I’ll most likely be in for a sad disappointment.

Could I really be that shallow and horny? Have twenty-two years of virginity pushed me over the cliff into a sea of insanity where bad decisions look like clever ideas? This is a disaster waiting to happen.

It’s not like I’ve never been propositioned. I attended NYU for four years, surrounded by hot guys who tried to play grab-ass after they wowed me with a mediocre lunch and a few kind words. That was never what I wanted; each one ended before it began. No one tempted me to lose my cool, flash my tits, or, least of all, show them my pussy over the internet.

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