At the Brink

by Anna del Mar

  Amman honked his horn.

  “Where is it?”

  “I’d be a dead man if I told you and, even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to get in.”

  “Why not?”

  Amman’s mouth set in a straight line.

  Access to a place like that would be tightly restricted, limited to a handful of exclusive patrons. What had started as a fairly straightforward undertaking was getting complicated. I was scared. Part of me wanted to give up. The other part refused to surrender.

  A block ahead, Rachella crossed the street. I glanced at Amman. He tried to maneuver around the wreck, but the Audi was trapped in traffic and the police were everywhere. I opened the car door and leaped out into the street.

  “Miss Lily!” Amman’s voice trailed behind me. “Come back!”

  I ran across the street and caught up with Rachella as she angled for the tall building ahead. A high-rise in the financial district didn’t meet any of the admittedly jaded and preconceived notions I had on the sketchy subject of sexual retreats. On the ground floor, the building housed the entrance to a movie theater, a bank, a yogurt shop and a wine bar. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a neon sign advertising “where the naughty push the edge.”

  Much to my surprise, Rachella strolled into the yogurt shop. I followed closely, pretending to examine the specials written on the board while she ordered at the counter.

  “Plain vanilla.” She handed a red card to the clerk at the register. “Candy canes and orange liquor.”

  The odd request caught the cashier’s attention. He gave Rachella a meaningful nod and examined her card. It would’ve been easy to miss the fact that he swiped the card through a separate register at the back of the counter, but Amman’s unintended warning had me on the lookout.

  The cashier handed Rachella her card back. She slipped it into her coat’s pocket. He also handed her a receipt along with her order. Rachella licked her spoon as she walked downstairs, through the crowded sitting area and toward the back of the store.

  I followed, formulating a shaky plan on the go, rummaging through my wallet until I found the two things I needed. I stowed them in my pocket. At the back of the store, Rachella turned into a long, narrow corridor and halted in front of the emergency exit.

  I watched as she threw her yogurt in the trash and opened the fire box next to the door. I spied a keypad there. Rachella looked down on her receipt, typed in a code, crumpled her receipt and, after discarding it in the trashcan, disappeared behind the door.

  I knew I had to act fast. I backtracked to the sitting area, snatched an abandoned, half-eaten cup of yogurt, and returned to the back door. I felt as if I were starring on a spy movie. If access to this place was as exclusive as it appeared, I suspected that cameras would be focused on this spot. Imitating Rachella, I dropped my cup of yogurt in the trash. Rachella’s receipt was at the top of the trash heap. I snatched it and faced the door.

  No Trespassing, the sign said in big bold letter. Alarm will sound if door is open.

  What the hell.

  I flipped open the fire box and punched in the code on Rachella’s receipt, expecting all hell to break loose. Instead, the door opened. Taking a deep breath, I entered a small landing leading to a narrow set of steps. The door clicked shut behind me. I ran up three landings, where the stairs dead-ended in front of a small elevator door. Rachella Willis waited there with her coat folded over her arm.

  “Oh,” she said when she saw me. “Good evening.”

  “Hello,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  She gave me an uneasy smile just as the elevator chimed. The doors opened and Rachella and I entered the elevator together.

  “Excuse me.” I tried to sound professional. “Is your name Rachella Willis by chance?”

  “Who asks?” She eyed me warily.

  “My name is Alice.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and whipped out the business card that Josh’s assistant had given me at the airport lounge eons ago.

  Rachella glanced at the card. “Oh, wow. Are you Mr. Lane’s personal assistant?”

  “Who else?” I secretly apologized to Alice for impersonating her. “Mr. Lane sent me to find you. I have a message for you, but he’s a stickler for privacy, you know. So first, I must confirm your identity. May I please see your card?”

  “Sure.” Rachella groped through her pockets and handed me her red card. “Here it is.”

  I made a show of looking at the card. It had her picture on it. I hadn’t known I could be so sneaky, but when the elevator chimed again and Rachella looked up, I swapped it for the red Fresh Market discount card I’d tucked in my palm. Rachella was so eager to hear my message that she never noticed. She put the card back in her pocket without so much as a second look.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Mr. Lane wanted you to know that, unfortunately, he’s caught at a meeting and won’t be able to make it tonight.”

  Rachella’s face crumpled. “But I’ve waited so long.”

  I almost felt bad for the woman—almost, but not really.

  “Mr. Lane apologizes for the inconvenience. He knows your time is—um—valuable. He didn’t want you to waste it waiting for him.”

  “How thoughtful of him,” Rachella said. “Why didn’t he call?”

  Excellent question. “Mr. Lane prefers to keep his telephone contacts to a minimum.”

  “Understandable.” She sighed wistfully. “I was so looking forward to this. Please tell him that I’m available at his convenience. Will you?”

  Not in this lifetime. “Yes, of course.”

  The elevator opened up into a small lobby. I stepped out.

  “Where are you going?” Rachella said.

  “I’m going to—um—cancel the arrangements.”

  “Thanks for coming over,” Rachella said. “At least I get to go to the Patriots’ party.”

  “Enjoy.” I waved as the elevator doors closed.

  I exhaled the long breath I’d been holding. Well, I’d averted that catastrophe. I fingered the card in my pocket. Now I just had to find this place.

  Another door loomed at the end of the corridor. This one had a bell on the side. I pressed the button. The door buzzed. I walked into a small but lavish lobby where a lovely, tall, long-limbed woman waited for me behind a polished mahogany desk. She was dressed in a tight white minidress that left little to the imagination. She wore her bright red hair in a pixie cut that enhanced her wide mouth and her large green eyes.

  “Good evening.” She shifted her stare between me and her computer’s screen. “I’ve got your registration up. Did you cut your hair or something?”

  “Everybody keeps asking.” I feigned a smile. “I lost a couple of pounds. That’s all.”

  “You look great,” she said. “May I take a look at your card, please?”

  I handed over the product of my best subterfuge ever. She swiped it one more time. Holy smokes. This place was more secure than Fort Knox. I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far.

  “Perfect,” she said, returning the card. “My game name is Eva, and I’ll assist you with your preparations.”

  If the term “game” raised my hackles, the word “preparations” gave me the shivers. Snap out of it, Boswell. Go with the flow. What had I gotten myself into?

  I followed Eva down a hallway. She opened one of the doors and bid me to enter a sumptuous dressing room.

  “I’ve got your instructions here.” She picked up a tablet. “But first, we must go through the usual formalities.”

  I nodded, although I had no idea of what she was talking about.

  “Have you’ve come here with the full use of your faculties, in full knowledge, and of your own free will?”

  “Yes,” I said. But only out of necessity, I
thought.

  “And do you understand the club’s rules?” she said.

  I had no clue, but I nodded.

  “And do you hereby exempt the club from any damages or liabilities that you might incur during your stay with us?”

  This was getting serious.

  “Sign here, please.”

  I scrawled Rachella’s name on the screen.

  “Please sign this next one as well,” Eva said. “It states that our facilities meet and exceed the highest standards of disinfection and sterilization protocols, and that you meet all the required standards specified in the membership requirements.”

  Dear God. “There you go.”

  She set the table aside. “Let’s see what your trainer has picked out for you to wear. Yes?”

  My trainer? I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “Could I have a word with my—um—trainer before I get ready?”

  “You know the rules,” Eva said. “Besides, you don’t want to break the game’s trance before you begin. You wouldn’t want to disappoint, would you?”

  “No way,” I said, a bit too emphatically.

  “Heels, silk stockings, corset.” She drew open a set of curtains and showed me a rack of brand new exquisite corsets. “Which color would you prefer?”

  “How about the cobalt blue one?”

  “It’s gorgeous.” Eva tore up the bag. “Classy too, with all that black scrolled embroidery, although, it isn’t the most comfortable. Are you sure?”

  “I’ll be fine.” I didn’t plan on wearing it for long. I took the corset behind the screen, undressed quickly and put it on.

  “Here’s the rest.” She handed me the packages over the screen.

  The black fishnet stockings slid softly over my legs. The garters fit perfectly around my thighs. The black lace thong prickled against my skin and the pert little black bow in the front tickled my underbelly. The tall, braided leather stilettos were as uncomfortable as they looked. Worst of all, the embroidered corset itched like crazy. It was conspicuously missing two swaths of fabric, cupping my breasts with a plaited underwire but leaving them completely exposed.

  “Are you ready?” Eva asked.

  Was I? I wondered, not for the first time today.

  I had spied on Rachella Willis. I’d trailed her like a common stalker. I’d “borrowed” her card, not to mention her identity. I’d stolen into this place. I could almost hear the charges as the judge sent me to the slammer.

  It took all the courage I had to step out from behind that screen and even so, I shielded my nipples with my hands.

  “Turn around.” Eva seized the laces and tightened the corset until I could barely breathe.

  I felt like plastic toy squeezed into a giant’s fist. My waist shrunk at least three sizes. My breasts seemed to have grown in proportion. Dear God. Was I going to be able to go through with this?

  I broke out into a sweat. “Restroom?”

  Eva gestured toward the door. “Better take care of all that now.”

  I clutched my purse under my arm and went into the bathroom. I leaned against the door and forced myself to breathe. What the hell was I doing here?

  He rescued you once.

  I was making a whole lot of assumptions and any one of them could be wrong.

  Now you get to rescue him.

  What if he didn’t want to be rescued?

  My stomach clenched. Oh, God. Not now. I was not going to have a panic attack. I forced myself to draw even breaths. Okay, all right, I could do this.

  But maybe I needed a little help, combined with a little provocation, insurance and assurance. I rummaged through my bag and made my own preparations, which were surely not specified on Eva’s list.

  When I was done, I looked at my image on the mirror. “Who the hell are you?” I said to the bare-breasted floozy staring back at me.

  Eva knocked on the door. “Time to go,” she said in a singing voice.

  I forced myself out of the bathroom.

  “We’re running late.” Eva broke open a little package and extracted a pair of black tassels.

  “Earrings?” I said.

  “No.” In one swift motion, she grabbed my nipple and clamped the tassel on it.

  I flinched. “Ow.”

  “The sting will pass.” She tackled the other nipple. “After that, you’ll appreciate the stimulation.”

  Oh. My. God.

  “And now these.” She handed me a package containing twin sets of black leather cuffs with attached rings.

  Holy shit.

  Eva’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you worn these before?”

  “Sure,” I lied, fumbling with the wicked-looking cuffs.

  “Here.” Eva took the cuffs from me and fitted them around my wrists. “We want them snug so they can do the job.”

  “Of course.”

  “Cross your wrists behind your back.” With a practiced motion, she hooked together the rings, restraining my hands. “Perfect.”

  I was hard pressed not to run out of that room screeching like a madwoman.

  Eva placed a sequined mask over my eyes and nose. The narrow eye openings restricted my side views, but I could see well enough when I looked straight ahead.

  “And last but not least...”

  She placed the dense plastic ball of a gag in my mouth then adjusted the straps on the back of my head.

  “Good?” she said.

  My throat closed down. My breath refused to flow. Was I really going to throw away all my hard earned gains because I was at the verge of a panic attack?

  No way, Boswell.

  I forced myself to breathe through my nose. I wasn’t giving up, even if I was afraid. I swallowed the bubble of terror rising in my throat.

  But how on earth was I going to talk to Josh with a gag in my mouth?

  I had to figure out a way and fast, because Eva opened a back door and gestured for me to follow. Teetering on incredibly tall high heels, I trailed behind her. The time to meet Josh had come, and cuffs, tassels and gag, this was my only chance.

  * * *

  Eva parted the curtains and motioned me through. The room I entered was dark in places and carefully illuminated in other spots, but it was nothing like the dungeon I’d expected. The place was posh and swanky, private and superbly sound proofed. As the door closed behind me, I feared the world outside had been shut out of existence.

  A magnificent crystal chandelier dominated the room, casting a soft light that shimmered off the mirrored ceiling, floors and walls surrounding me. A round, tufted ottoman covered in gray silk stood immediately below the chandelier, reflecting the silver illumination.

  The corners of the room weren’t lit, but I spotted a massive bed standing at an angle, framed by a multi-tiered headboard reaching all the way to the ceiling. The ornate, silver-gilded headboard was carved into intricately detailed panels. Yikes. Each panel explicitly illustrated a different sexual position.

  I looked around for Josh, but I didn’t see him. My eyes tried to penetrate the room’s darkest corners without success. A single beam of light illuminated the spot where Eva led me.

  “Stand here,” she said, pushing up my chin with a finger. “Yes, look up, that’s it.”

  The powerful beam blinded my eyes. The white light spilled over my body, sparing me no shame. Images of me reflected on every surface, on the walls around me, the ceiling above and even the floor beneath my feet. I blinked, trying to focus, but the contrast between light and dark dazzled my eyes. I stood there, shivering, prey to all my fears.

  “It’s always hard to stand up to the light at first,” Eva whispered. “But you look good, I promise. You look fantastic.”

  My instinct was to run, to escape this odd room and f
orget everything in it, including Josh Lane. It was what most sane women would do, what Gloria Renez would’ve done. Instead, I bit down on the gag and stood my ground, if only because in Josh speak, I was so close to achieving my goal.

  A rustle revealed there was someone else in the room, maybe even somewhere in front of me, hiding just beyond the light. I needed to know that it was Josh. The moment stretched in total silence. Maybe no one was there after all. Perhaps Josh had changed his mind. Perhaps he’d gone home, or better yet, he was out, looking for me.

  It was Eva’s voice that broke the silence. “Your trainee is here,” she announced. “She’s ready when you are.”

  Someone came to with a quiet gasp, stirring in the dim corner. I heard the swish of a body stretching against leather. I spotted the dark outline of a shaggy head of hair in the mirror. A pair of cargo boots caught a glint of the room’s tenuous light, revealing also a pair of black jeans and a similarly colored leather jacket. The sight lasted but a second. Then the figure shifted in the club chair and sank into total darkness.

  “Hang on,” someone mumbled, a hoarse, sleepy voice I thought I recognized. The sound of a cap unscrewing from a bottle echoed from the corner. A glass clinked as someone poured, and then a quiet gulp.

  Whoever he was, the person sitting in that corner wasn’t Josh. It couldn’t be. Josh didn’t drink. It was because of his injuries, his father had said, because his kidney and liver had been damaged in the explosion. Had Eva made a mistake? Had she brought me to the wrong room?

  On the other hand, Baez had said that Josh wasn’t the person I knew anymore. If Josh was drinking, if he’d changed, if he didn’t recognize me or worse, if he didn’t care, I was in deep trouble because I’d would have no sway over the stranger beyond the light.

  Eva’s voice interrupted my fear fest. “Time for me to leave.”

  “Don’t be so hasty,” the voice came again, gruff and commanding as I remembered, but detached in a way that made me cringe. “Why don’t you stay for a bit?”

  Stay? The breath went out of my lungs in a whoosh. What did he mean, stay?

  “As you wish.” Eva smiled. “What would you like me to do?”