Alex in Wonderland (Twisted Fairytales #1)

by Max Monroe

  But when it came to my curiosity? Well, I just prayed that other age-old saying about curiosity and cats wasn’t true.

  I had no idea how long I’d been holed up in this bathroom, but I knew if I stayed any longer, I’d be running the risk of it being way too long. It was time to put on my big-girl panties and attempt to navigate the confusing, mysterious world that was Wonderland, Inc.

  With a deep breath and one last glance in the mirror, I strode out of the bathroom on my sky-high black stilettos and headed toward my assigned station—the bar on the first floor. And believe it or not, it was an actual bar inside the mansion. One of five, to be exact.

  I honestly didn’t know why Ari Simon needed five bars inside of his home, but it wasn’t like my brain could even comprehend the kind of money that man had in his bank account, so I didn’t try.

  “You the new girl?” A bleach-blond woman with a southern accent asked once I stepped behind the large mahogany bar.

  I figured that was me, so I nodded.

  “Perfect,” she said, and her bright pink lips crested into a sugary-sweet smile. “Matt gave me specific instructions to make sure you were all settled before I headed downstairs. Everything going good, sugar?”

  Headed downstairs? What was downstairs? I’d only managed to see the first and second floors of this place, and I hadn’t even considered there was a downstairs. Sweet Lucifer.

  Remember, Alex? Curiosity killed the cat…

  I cringed at the thought, but I quickly schooled my face into a small smile. “Uh…yeah… Everything is fine.”

  “The tall blond on the terrace would like a scotch on the rocks,” she instructed and nodded toward where a twentysomething movie star—and, according to gossip rags, “heartthrob”—sat comfortably on the big outdoor couch, while what looked like the rest of Hollywood chatted around him.

  “Okay,” I muttered and pulled a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of scotch that looked so expensive I feared the mere idea of dropping it.

  “Don’t be nervous, sugar,” the woman whispered toward me as she leaned her hip against the counter.

  “I’m not nervous,” I lied.

  Obviously, I was nervous. This was my first official Wonderland party, and I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing or how I got here.

  In a matter of two weeks, I’d worn a rabbit costume to a rich kid’s birthday party and somehow met the illustrious Matt Hadder. In my fucking underwear, mind you.

  Then my life had taken a nonsensical path down a road filled with money in my bank account, an apartment that definitely wasn’t within my budget, and a job where the famous people I saw splashed across the tabloids in the checkout line of the grocery store were standing in the same room as me. Take now, for instance, Hugo Lariot—the current big thing in action movies—standing no more than fifty feet away, chatting with a group of supermodels and drinking champagne.

  I felt like I was living someone else’s life or having an out-of-body experience.

  Or maybe I’d hit my head on something and I was actually in a coma?

  I mean, was this what people in comas thought about? Working at parties for wealthy clients where everything wasn’t really as it appeared?

  That seemed highly doubtful.

  “Those shaking hands of yours can barely pour that liquor without spilling it,” she whispered with a knowing smile. “You’re nervous. Don’t worry. I was nervous during my first party, too. Although it had more to do with the fact that I was hardly a day over twenty and had to get naked in front of strangers.”

  I stopped in my tracks and looked up at her. “You’re a stripper?”

  She laughed. “Oh, no, sugar. I was one of Wonderland’s pleasure girls.”

  Pleasure girls?

  “Like a…” I paused and glanced around the room before whispering toward her, “hooker?”

  She winked. “Yeah, kind of like that. Well, at least, that’s what I used to do.”

  “But you don’t do that anymore?”

  “I’m in retirement.” She tapped her red-painted nails mindlessly across the ornate bar, and I marveled in an attempt to reconcile her young features and the fact that she was retired. She can’t be over thirty. “I only oversee the girls and make sure things are running smooth now. Clients are satisfied. That sort of thing. I’m Jessie Cat, by the way,” she added and held out her hand, a big gold bracelet spanning the skin of her arm from wrist to nearly elbow.

  Cripes, that’s a lot of gold.

  I shook it. “I’m Alex.”

  “A little advice, honey?”

  I raised my eyebrows. Maybe on a regular day I wouldn’t go to a retired hooker named Jessie Cat for my lists of dos and don’ts, but this was hardly the time to be picky.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Don’t waste your time questioning things. It’s an endless loop of things you’ll probably never know. Just enjoy the fact that you’re making more money here than you could working some nine-to-five. Matt’s a good man. Demanding, sometimes brutal, but he’s a good man. And when you work for him, you’ll want for nothing.”

  Brutal? That doesn’t sound good.

  “Uh…thanks.” I nodded and finished pouring the scotch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Once I set the bottle on the bar, she wrapped her arm around my shoulder and hugged me to her side. “I like you, Alex. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

  Wonderful. My first real friend since I’d moved to LA was a retired hooker named Jessie Cat. Aunt Delores would be so proud.

  Three hours into the party, and I’d served more alcohol than I had during an eight-hour shift on a Friday night at Maloney’s Pub. One thing was apparent: rich people liked their alcohol. They also appeared to enjoy drugs as well, but I was doing my best not to see the shady shit going on behind the scenes of this party.

  Or should I call it a charity function?

  It was a bit of a conundrum, to be honest.

  Everyone here had attended under the pretense of a good cause, but while raising money for said good cause, they were engaging in behavior that the eyes of the law would call illegal.

  At least, that’s what I’d thought the eyes of the law would call it.

  Now, I wasn’t so sure. Especially since, an hour ago, I’d realized the man sitting across from Ari Simon smoking a cigar like he was Pablo Escobar had the exact same face as the man I’d seen two weeks ago on the Channel 9 News with the title Chief of Police below him.

  It appeared that when it came to Wonderland, Inc., the line that separated good and bad was extremely distorted. Or, hell, maybe it wasn’t even there at all.

  “You look deep in thought.”

  I glanced up to find Matt standing on the other side of the bar, staring back at me.

  “I do?” I asked because, honestly, I didn’t really know what else to say in that moment. It felt like it would’ve been in bad taste to tell him the truth of my thoughts.

  “You’re confused,” he stated. “You don’t know what to make of all of this.”

  I stared at him with wide, obvious eyes. So much for keeping my feelings to myself.

  “It’s okay to admit,” he reassured easily, a little grin highlighting the softer-than-usual line of his jaw.

  I averted my eyes and stared down at my fiddling fingers, nearly halfway done destroying the label of an empty bottle of Cristal.

  “I guess I don’t really understand it,” I muttered, even though I really wanted to say, I don’t understand how all of these people in this room—some of whom are idols and heroes to children across the country—are here to raise money for a charitable cause, and yet, it doesn’t really appear it’s their real reason for being here. I mean, I just saw a professional athlete—who was recently named MVP of the championship game—walk downstairs with Jessie Cat and two of Wonderland’s pleasure girls! Jesus Christ, what is happening?

  “Humans are interesting creatures,” he said quietly. “Even the ones with the best
intentions can’t shake their greedy, selfish desires. And when you add wealth into the mix, the gluttony is exponential. That doesn’t make them bad people. It just makes them human.”

  I looked up to meet his eyes, meaning only to study what expression of his would accompany such a patient explanation, but the sarcastic words left my mouth unexpectedly before I could stop them. “So, if a bus full of nuns stops by tonight to enjoy a night of debauchery, I shouldn’t be surprised?”

  He cracked a smile. “You’ve got a smart wit, little Alex.”

  “Are you calling me a smartass?”

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything about your ass.” He winked. “Although, I could give some insight if you wish.”

  Was he flirting with me? And if he was, why was I smiling about it?

  Matt stepped behind the bar, and his large frame towered over mine as he whispered into my ear, “The real money is made behind the veil, Alex. And tonight, charitable cause is the veil.”

  His words crashed into my mind like a train. I looked up to meet his eyes, to dig deeper into the meaning, but his gaze remained irritatingly neutral. Somehow, someway, the man had an innate way of answering my questions without my actually voicing them out loud. It was like he had a direct line into my thoughts. The idea was quite terrifying. And oddly enough, only made me want to know him more.

  As he headed back into the mix of the party, Matt added over his shoulder, “Once you refill the scotch and check on the rest of the group up here, bring two bottles of champagne downstairs for Mr. Simon. Jessie Cat will show you where to go with it.”

  I nodded and watched his movements as he made his way through the crowd, shaking hands with familiar, famous faces, and walking confidently toward the spiral staircase that led toward the unknown.

  Downstairs.

  I still had no fucking clue what was down there.

  But it looked like I was about to find out.

  THERE WAS A CERTAIN SATISFACTION in knowing what someone wanted and being able to provide it. The idea of such a service was simple enough. People want things—things they can’t necessarily procure directly—and I get them for them.

  But the other, less obvious aspect of what I did that set me apart was knowing without having to be told. For my clients, having a true middleman—one who saw to their needs without advertisement—gave a sense of plausible deniability. They hadn’t asked for the drugs or the girls, and they hadn’t directly summoned me to help them with their need to hide money. They’d hired me for a party. Simple as that—at least, in their minds.

  But not asking and still partaking was not a guiltless crime. It wouldn’t hold up in a court of law—that, I could guarantee—but that wasn’t something I pointed out to our clients. They got to feel good and somehow, morally abdicated. And I got to know the truth—and make money.

  Ari Simon, in particular, had a proclivity for male domination. He wanted weak females who bent to his will in every aspect. It was obvious in the way he treated female colleagues and his general air of superiority. He supported many causes, this charity benefit a prime example, so he felt justified in his own prejudices. As if one somehow made up for the other.

  A crock of horseshit if ever I’d heard one.

  But judging people didn’t give Wonderland money or power. And money and power were everything. Anyone who said otherwise was blindly hopeful or lying.

  Katie and Caterina, two of Wonderland’s pleasure girls, danced for Ari and Stephen, his best friend, without speaking. They didn’t challenge or command like they did with other clients but instead, waited for direction. I’d briefed them directly about Ari’s needs beforehand.

  I didn’t traditionally deal in the mundane, but no one read people like I did, and I trusted no one to convey the details I could.

  Even Jessie Cat embellished, let her own feelings guide her in the instruction of her “girls.” But that wasn’t what made fully satisfied clients.

  Plus, Ari liked to be watched, and he trusted me more than anyone in the organization not to spread that around.

  A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened a crack. Alex peered nervously into the room with two chilled bottles of champagne, resting one on each hip. When her wide eyes met mine, I gestured her inside with the curl of a finger from my spot on the adjacent sofa.

  Ari spared her a quick glance as she stepped inside and shut the door, but he quickly returned his attention to Katie—who had on fewer clothes and had her focus entirely on him.

  To him, Alex was just a waitress, here to serve drinks. Nothing less and nothing more.

  “Come here,” I ordered softly, allowing myself a moment to look at the heaving skin of her soft breasts. They spilled almost precariously from her top, all supple, full, and flawless tanned skin.

  As she stopped in front of me, I wiped a droplet of water from her hip with my thumb. Whether it was condensation from the bottles or the result of a spilled drink, I didn’t know, but the skin underneath it felt silky and warm.

  “Have a seat.”

  She met my demand without hesitation. I was the only familiar thing in the room, and my authority was something she could count on. I’d yet to lead her astray, so following orders felt like the safest move. Every inch of her body screamed it.

  It wasn’t until she noticed the two gentlemen sitting on the couch across from us, hard cocks out and ready as two of my pleasure girls kneeled in front of them, that her heart started beating faster, visible in a vibrating flutter in her neck. I heard Alex’s breath catch as Katie and Caterina both took the men into their mouths.

  When Alex finally exhaled again, it was heavy with both arousal and unrest, and a full ten seconds had passed. The image of two strangers getting sucked to climax by willing but compensated women was vivid, I knew. Even I couldn’t properly describe the difference in live action and watching something like porn. It was voyeuristic and taboo, and maybe most prominently, you were faced with knowing they knew you were watching.

  I pressed my thigh against hers as my hard cock made an obvious bulge in my pants.

  Her eyes fell to it as if summoned, and I longed to put my hand to her throat to feel her thrumming pulse.

  “Are you next?” she blurted, her voice rough to the point of scratchy.

  I put my hand to her bare knee and savored the feel of her sleek skin. “Only if you’re offering,” I asserted.

  “Um…” she murmured, her innocent, sea-blue eyes so wide I feared they’d take over her face. “No, thanks.”

  My cheeks lifted as the corners of my mouth curved into a smirk.

  “So quick to answer,” I said with a tsk. “You didn’t even really think about it.”

  “No, no,” she denied quietly. “I thought about it.”

  “You thought about it?” I teased. “In your fantasy, was I heavy in your mouth, little Alex?”

  She blushed from head to toe, jerking to look away. Unfortunately for my innocent little flower, what lay in wait was no less scandalous. Ari breathed heavily as he yanked Katie’s head up and down the length of his shaft with a fist in her hair. Stephen sat back while Caterina did all the work, but both scenes were that of pure, carnal bliss.

  I leaned deeply into the heat of Alex’s rigid body and spoke directly in her ear. “Do you like to watch?”

  She shook her head, but she clutched at the meat of her thighs with her hands. She’s lying.

  “Do you like to be watched?” I asked. I stayed in her space as her surprised eyes turned to mine, bringing our lips only inches apart.

  “No,” she whispered, and this time, I didn’t doubt her sincerity.

  A hint of a smile bloomed in my throat and spread to just one corner of my mouth.

  “Have you had enough, little one?” I inquired softly. She nodded.

  “Okay,” I acquiesced, leaning back away from her and once again resting my back on the plush rise of the couch. “Why don’t you get back to work?”

  She stood immediately, an
d I reached out to the smooth, bare skin of her thigh. Up and down the skin at the back of her knee and five inches higher, I stroked her—just once.

  She shivered.

  “Thank you, Alex.”

  Her eyes held mine fiercely. “You’re welcome, Matt.”

  At the uninvited vision of her saying that to me from her knees, my come smeared across her flushed mouth, I knew with painful awareness I’d be hard all fucking night.

  WITH ONE LAST NAIL HAMMERED into the drywall, and a framed picture of Aunt Delores and me sitting together on a park bench outside of Fisherman’s Wharf hung, my new apartment was finally unpacked.

  Behind me, Deena meowed, and just in case I hadn’t heard her, she meowed again. Her plump kitty butt sat on the kitchen floor, while her big, hazel eyes stared at a bag of cat food on the floor.

  Little diva. I grinned at her impatience and tossed the hammer and extra nails into the closet.

  Once I reached the kitchen, she hopped up onto the island and watched intently as I grabbed her bowl and filled it with her favorite combination of wet and dry food. While I stirred, she serenaded me with meows, and eventually, I just gave up the good fight and set her bowl on the ground. She all but pounced toward it and dug in face first.

  Temporary or not, I still couldn’t believe this was my home.

  In my most likely naïve eyes, it screamed sophistication, even wealth.

  Two things I’d never had.

  I looked around my space, taking in every detail—light, hardwood floors, stainless-steel appliances, and big windows overlooking the bright lights of downtown LA. As I ran my fingers across the smooth, cream-colored walls, I made a mental note to set aside some of my Wonderland, Inc. funds for a trip to IKEA. I barely had enough furniture for the sad studio apartment I’d nearly been evicted from. Here, in this gorgeous apartment, my personal belongings hardly scratched the surface of filling a space that consisted of two bedrooms and enough square footage to fit a family of four. Which was why it was quite nice that I averaged a base pay of one thousand a night from my new employer. And that was before tips.