by Max Monroe
“I got it,” he said and leaned in the passenger window to hand the cab driver money. “Have a good one,” he added and tapped the top of the cab with his palm.
As the cab drove off, Matt led me up the sidewalk until we stood in front of a large building with ornate, gold-inlaid glass doors. What had to be thirty stories, it was a beast of a building that dominated its plot of land on South Grand Avenue and stretched up toward the sky. One small, but otherwise eye-catching plated sign hung near the entrance. Wonderland, Inc. it read in the shiniest, sparkliest gold letters I’d ever seen. If Tiffany’s ever delved into the sign-making business, this would be their fucking sign.
“I’m pleased to see you followed through tonight.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You didn’t think I would come?”
“We both know it was a fifty-fifty shot, sweetheart.” He smirked, and his eyes took a slow, not even discreet perusal of my body. From my face to the tips of my stilettos, those deep amber eyes took in every inch me. “The dress and heels suit you much better than the rabbit,” he said and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Are you ready to go inside?”
Clad in a sleek and fitted grey suit that hugged his powerful thighs and a white button-up shirt straining against the muscles of his chest, there was no denying Matt looked good. But, fuck if he didn’t look even better when his eyes were on me. I felt damn near heady from it.
I nodded and swallowed against the sudden dryness of my throat.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as a soft grin consumed his lips. “No need to be nervous, sweet Alex. It’s just a party.” He squeezed my hand with his and nodded toward the men dressed in all-black suits standing watch in front of the entrance. They opened the doors, and Matt led the way inside.
We walked through a long entry, down a spiral staircase, and the instant we hit the bottom floor, all of my senses were overwhelmed by the extravagance of it all.
Sight. Sound. Smell. There was too much to take in all at once.
Sultry music pounded against my eardrums as I glanced around the room at the beautiful people filling the space. And I was smacked in the face by the reality that most of the people at this party were celebrities or politicians or some of the richest, most influential people in the world.
This was Lemon Devlin’s birthday party guest list on steroids.
People danced. Chatted. And some made their way in and out of the black curtains lining the back of the large, open room, revealing a sneak peek of what lay beyond those curtains—a man snorting white powder off a stripper’s breasts, two women removing each other’s clothes while several men looked on with heated eyes, a group of well-known politicians boozing it up together while they passed around a bottle of champagne with a golden, expensive-looking label.
God, it was sensory overload. Forget steroids, this was Lemon Devlin’s birthday party on cocaine.
I felt like I’d just entered that movie Eyes Wide Shut. The one where Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise go to those rich, fancy parties that appeared sophisticated, yet everyone was engaging in bad, dirty behavior behind mask-covered faces.
Minus the whole satanic cult aspect, I was literally standing in the real-life version of that movie. Sure, I’d yet to witness an orgy, but it was only a little past eight p.m. I didn’t know orgy protocol, but I figured most didn’t start until at least eleven, right?
Holy hell, what is this place?
Matt’s eyes met mine. “Welcome to Wonderland, Alex.”
“Wonder-land,” I softly repeated under my breath.
Ironically, what puzzled me the most had nothing to do with the dirty and illegal behavior occurring before my very eyes. No. It was the fact that, inside Wonderland, it all appeared so natural. Like everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing with no censure at all.
WITH A HAND TO THE small of her back, I led Alex through the main room of the Wonderland party until we slid behind the veil of the black curtains. Her eyes the size of dinner plates, Alex scanned the party like a lost puppy looking for the safety of her mother. But there wouldn’t be any comfort for her here, nor any familiarity to hold on to, and the sooner she accepted the differences, the sooner I’d know how she truly felt about them.
I didn’t speak as her gaze jumped frantically from one image to the next, but I felt my pulse quicken as her scrolling eyes moved past one of the pleasure girls—her legs spread, tits bared, Spade’s finger working her tight cunt for all to see—back to the relative safety of the bar in the center of the room, and then went back again to the blatant display of eroticism and sex.
Eyes dilated with pleasure, she watched, enthralled.
Though my view was very much different, a pixie face and perfect blond naiveté, I found I did the same. I was captivated by her presence. Pretty little Alex wearing the dress and heels I’d picked out for her was the most fascinating combination of desire and innocence. Between the seductive curves hidden beneath expensive material and the silky, bare skin of her back and long, svelte legs on display, she might as well have been a beautiful, naked, wanton virgin presented to my eyes on a golden platter. She encompassed everything that attracted me to a woman, and then some.
“Erotic, isn’t it?” I asked and she jumped, startled by both the timbre of my voice and the meaning of my words.
Her throat bobbed slowly as she forced a swallow and nodded uncertainly.
“You don’t think it’s erotic?” I questioned, my focus on her hesitation rather than her affirmative gesture. My adrenaline buzzed at the opportunity to toy with her. Her emotion was so raw, so pure. I wanted to hold it in my hand and study it for a while. I wanted to dissect each subtle tremor of her fingers, the thrumming pulse of her neck, even the slight gasp every time her gaze caught sight of something new. Fuck, I wanted to do a lot of things with this gorgeous creature, and most of them required a lot less fucking clothes.
“It is. It’s just…jarring.”
“You don’t find it natural?” I asked, putting a hand to her back and making her step closer. The pleasure girl moaned and writhed, her skin a flushed rose of arousal as Spade continued to play with her. Lou Diamond had joined them now too, feasting on her breasts and stroking his cock while kneeling on the plush red couch behind her opened leg.
Alex shook her head and nodded at the same time, her every nerve ending buzzing with confusion over what she’d been taught was appropriate, and the very opposite way she felt.
“That could be you,” I whispered, leaning into her back and grazing the shell of her ear with my breath.
She shivered—for about a millisecond—before bounding away and turning to meet my eyes, panic stark in hers. “Me? Do that? Like…right here? In front of people?” she stuttered. “No. No. Um, no.”
Excitement shot down my spine at her anxiousness. “No?” I questioned, careful to keep my tone reproachful. I wanted her to feel pressured—just to see if she could withstand it.
After a brief pause, she confirmed with a curt, determined shake of her head. “No.”
At six foot six and two hundred and seventy pounds, I was nothing short of physically intimidating. I was impressed by her backbone.
“Okay,” I agreed easily. Her eyes widened, and her plump lips parted. I took pleasure in her surprise.
“Okay?” she asked, uncertain, perhaps even untrusting, of my acquiescence.
“Okay. We’ll find something else. Perhaps something where they don’t touch?”
“Don’t touch?” she asked as I put a hand to the small of her back and guided her through the crowd, down a hall, and into another open room where a stage jutted up from the floor in the center. Several of our dancers moved to the rhythmic beat of the music, their breasts swaying freely as a transfixed audience looked on.
“The other option is a…is a…” Alex paused and dropped her voice to a soft and shaky whisper. “A stripper?” She was so hilariously horrified that I couldn’t help but smile.
“No?” I
asked again, enjoying her unworldliness tremendously. I only wished there was a way for her to keep it. Desensitization was bound to happen the more she was around it all, and unexpectedly, I didn’t think I’d like it.
Though tremendously unlike me, I stayed patient, silent even, and gave her time to try to wrap her curious mind around the shocking surroundings that were Wonderland. I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced she wouldn’t attempt to dart out of the room, but eventually, she challenged my predictions further.
“Are there any job opportunities where I keep my clothes on?”
“Is that really what you want?” I pushed, trying to find how much pressure her backbone could withstand once again.
“Yes,” she answered swiftly, offering an explanation even though I hadn’t asked for one. “I’ve never taken my clothes off for money, and I’m not about to start now.”
Pride splashed throughout my chest. Not at the decision she’d made, but at the fact that she’d made one based on her own convictions and code. To me, Wonderland was about finding your true pleasure center, not feeling pressured to inhabit someone else’s. “Okay. You’ll cocktail.”
“I’ll cocktail?” she asked, but I ignored her.
“A little flirting and your sweet smile, and you’ll make more money in tips as a cocktail waitress that way anyway.”
“I’ll make more money in tips that way anyway?”
Her astonishment was quite comical, but I resisted the urge to laugh. I had more important things to discuss, and enchanted by her nature or not, I only had a limited amount of time to do it.
“Where do you live?” I asked, even though I already knew from her file. She lived in a shitty apartment complex on the outskirts of Boyle Heights, practically a goddamn hovel, but she was struggling to afford even that.
“Smith Garden Apartments.” Panic dilated the black of her pupils too late, as she realized the information she’d given up so easily. She worked quickly to backpedal. “Well, not for long.”
“Where are you going?” I asked in an attempt to catch her in her lie.
Unexpectedly, her face crumpled, and she lifted a shaky hand to her lips.
What the fuck?
I grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her out of the room, away from the watchful eyes of everyone around us and into the back hall. In addition to being private, the pounding beat of the music was muted behind the thick walls.
“What’s going on?” I asked seriously. I knew my face was set, but I didn’t realize the impact of my anger until she shrank back from me.
“Don’t be scared of me,” I demanded ridiculously. She should be fucking terrified of a man like me.
She nodded obediently even as she shook.
I worked to steady the pulsing rage in my veins and quiet my voice. “It’s all right. I’m not upset with you,” I told her to comfort her. For some fucking reason.
“What’s going on, Alex?” I asked softly.
“I’m getting evicted,” she whispered, one plump tear rolling down her cheek before she could stop it. I reached up and swiped it away from her jawline with my thumb. That one tear—her tear—burned like acid in my chest.
“Who told you that?” I asked, and her hand came up to her jaw and rested on the spot I’d just touched.
“My landlord. His name is Vinnie Pat.”
Fucking Vinnie Pat. A goddamn thorn in my side, always.
Without hesitation, I reached into my pocket and grabbed my money, closed in its stack by a sleek, simple gold clip. Sliding it off, I fingered through the smaller bills and into the center, peeling off ten large bills and holding them out to her.
“Here,” I offered when she didn’t immediately reach out to take them. I shook the bills, but she still didn’t move.
Too busy to wait for her to overcome this hurdle, I grabbed her hand myself, turning it palm up and closing her petite fingers around the money. “Take this. Use it to get current or to buy yourself something. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll be in touch with details about when and where you’ll start.”
“What’s this money for?”
I shrugged. “For showing up.”
“Matt, I can’t—” She started to protest, but I held up a quick, determined hand. She immediately shut her pretty little lips.
I had to quell the insane urge to lick a line across the seam of them. I knew if I allowed myself that, I wouldn’t stop there, but rather, sink inside the sweet warmth beyond them and get lost for an hour or too. Consequently, I focused on the task at hand. “You can, and you will,” I said, back to firm and decisive. “I don’t argue with people, Alex. You’ll take the money. Understand me?”
Her eyes narrowed, and finally, I allowed myself the pleasure of a laugh.
“Fuck, you’re stubborn,” I declared, and even I could hear the amusement in my voice. “It’s money, not a bomb. Fucking take it and go home. Give yourself time to process everything.”
She stood still, her muscles rigid, so I stepped into her space and grabbed her hip with a flex of my fingertips.
“Go home, Alex,” I whispered. Her body swayed, just once and just faintly toward me, and then, on slightly shaky legs, she turned in the opposite direction, her heels winking in the light as she made her way toward the outside world.
Down the hall and out, I followed slowly behind her and watched as she headed outside as fast as her heels would take her.
Damien came up next to me as she disappeared down the stairs toward the front door. “I take it it didn’t go well?”
I shook my head slightly, not taking my eyes from the place I’d last seen her. “It went fine,” I murmured. “Have someone follow her.”
Damien signaled Cal without question.
“She knows?” Damien asked, wrongly assuming the reason for having her followed.
“No,” I denied and then shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s not why I want her followed.”
Damien, one of the smartest of my men, again didn’t ask questions.
“Where’s Hare?” I asked, wanting Harrison March to be here for this conversation too.
“I think he’s downstairs,” Damien answered.
“Let’s go,” I said with a curl of one finger, starting in the direction of the basement. “We need to talk about Vinnie Pat.”
“That fucker is a problem,” he muttered, and I grinned.
“Exactly.”
THREE LOUD POUNDING THUDS RESONATED into my brain, and I cringed. God, what is that awful noise? Am I dreaming?
If I was dreaming, why was there no Chris Pratt?
The sound came again, even faster and more insistent, and with effort, I forced my eyelids open. Sometime in the last twelve hours, daylight had commandeered my bedroom with its damn near blinding, luminous rays. Fucking hell. What time was it?
“Alex Little,” the deep and unfamiliar voice called from outside of my apartment.
I snagged my phone off the half-packed cardboard box beside my bed and clicked the home screen to check the time. 12:00 p.m. Holy hell, I’d slept half the day away.
I had no doubt Wonderland was to blame. No normal human being would leave that experience without needing a twelve-hour-plus coma to mentally process it all.
“Open up. I have an important message to deliver.” The knocks came again, nearly breaking the door at this point, and I slid Deena off of my belly to remove my still tired ass from bed. She meowed her annoyance, but once I fluffed the comforter around her body, she snuggled into the warmth and went back to ignoring the outside world.
“Just a minute,” I called and slid on a pair of sleep shorts to avoid the awkwardness of answering the door in my underwear.
Moments later, I unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door. The man standing on the other side greeted my most likely disheveled, still sleepy appearance with an amused grin. He looked to be midthirties, and with the way he wore his sophisticated, gray fitted suit, I’d venture to guess he was the exact opposite of me—he had his shit together.<
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“Alex Little?” he asked, and I nodded.
“That’s me.”
“The building is under new management.” He handed me a white envelope. “Your next rent payment will be due in forty-five days.”
Wait…what? I had over a month to pay my rent, on an apartment I was supposed to be evicted from?
Maybe I’m still dreaming?
I pinched the side of my hip just to be sure. Ow, cripes. Definitely not dreaming.
Apparently, somewhere along the line, the fact that I’d gotten evicted and only had a few days left to live in my apartment had gotten lost in translation. So, I did what anyone in my position would do. I played innocent and discreetly pulled the door closer to my back to hide the visual of half-packed cardboard boxes scattered across my apartment.
“So, the building is under new management?” I questioned, and he nodded. “And I have an extension on my next rent payment?”
“Yes.”
“So, my next rent payment will just be for one month’s rent, correct?”
“Correct.”
Either this guy was an angel, or I’d somehow sold my soul to the devil while I was attending that Wonderland party last night. I silently prayed my life wasn’t on a path similar to Keanu Reeves in The Devil’s Advocate.
“Uh…what exactly happened to Vinnie Pat?”
The man’s face remained neutral. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” I asked. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”
He offered a noncommittal shrug. “All I know is that he’s no longer running these apartment buildings.”
“Hmm…” I tried to process the vague information into something that would actually make sense, but I came up empty-handed. “I mean, I hope he’s not, like, dead or anything, but if I’m being honest, he was a bit of an asshole. I wasn’t a big fan.”
“It’s safe to say you weren’t the only one.” The corner of his mouth crested into a slight, nearly ominous smirk.
Please tell me I didn’t sell my soul to the devil…
“Also,” he stated. “Since the building is now under new management, we’re relocating tenants because it’s being remodeled.”