"Where are you taking me?" I ask, my blood still boiling with rage and my heart still battered from the betrayal.
"To The Wicked Horse," he says quietly. "I have to show you something, and then I can explain what's going on."
What in the fuck could he possibly show me at The Wicked Horse? Is Amy a waitress there or something?
And then it hits me.
He doesn't have anything at The Wicked Horse to show me.
He's going to show me The Silo.
*
My mouth stays firmly shut the rest of the ride, and that's only because I have nothing to say at this point. I have nothing to say because my brain is too busy trying to process everything. I'm not sure what it is about this email that's prompting this impromptu trip, but Cain just may be getting ready to lay all the evidence I need at my doorstep.
The inner child in me... the one who's betrayed... hopes I can use whatever I'm about to see to bring Cain down hard. But the part of me that's been hurt... that's the part of me who wants to beg Cain not to take me there, but come up with some other rational explanation for what I saw.
Because I know whatever is within that round building that looks like a real silo is going to change everything that I've come to figure out up to this point.
Cain pulls into The Wicked Horse and rather than take his customary spot at the part of the lot bordering the road, he drives alongside the building and parks near the rear... forty feet from The Silo.
Wordlessly, he reaches into the clean ashtray and pulls out a key that he uses on the cuff. He releases the shackles and exits the truck. Coming around to my side, he opens the door and holds his hand out to me to help me down.
I look down at the gravel parking lot and say dumbly, "I don't have any shoes."
Like he's a knight in shining armor, Cain gallantly pulls me from the seat and cradles me in his arms. The irony of thinking of him as gallant is not lost on me. He bumps the door shut with his hip and carries me over to a slate path that is lined with solar lighting, leading right up to the silo.
When we get to the door, he drops me gently until my feet are resting on the concrete threshold and fishes in his pocket for a small, black fob he pulls out. He looks at the digital screen, and then punches in a long number into the panel by the door. I hear a distinctive snicking sound indicating it's been unlocked.
Cain puts his hand on the doorknob but before he opens it, he turns to look at me and says, "That email you saw. That was a job. One that was scheduled before I ever met you. It's just a job."
"I don't understand," I say, because now I'm confused. I don't understand how that rendezvous being scheduled is a job to him. Surely he's not saying...
"Just come inside and it will all be clear," he says quietly... in a voice that sounds utterly defeated and which makes me want to comfort him for some stupid reason.
Insane really.
This guy is planning to fuck some woman in just a few days, and he wasn't going to tell me about it.
"You were going to cheat on me," I say in a small voice, my eyes lowering to the ground. "You promised me you wouldn't."
"And I didn't break that promise," he says firmly. "I was going to break things off with you before Friday."
My heart plummets and I didn't think it could hurt any more than it did, but I was wrong.
It feels like it's been stabbed with a rusty, dull knife.
Cain pulls the door open and motions me inside.
"Come on," he says softly. "Let me show you my world.
Chapter 23
Cain
I curse myself for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes for ever getting involved with Sloane Meyers. It was a stupid path I put myself on. One that was destined for nothing but pain in the end, and yet, I still gladly took all I could from her while it was available.
The low strains of some classical shit filters through the room. I much prefer something sexier when I'm doing my silo fucking, but some of the patrons wanted something more sophisticated.
As if that could make what we're doing more stylishly acceptable.
I lead Sloane down the hall and into the open, round room at the center. When we break free of the concrete walls of the hallway, the classical music is muted by two other distinct sounds.
The first is the chatter of about thirty people. It's sort of dead in here tonight, but that's normal for a Sunday evening.
The second is the moaning of people in the throes of ecstasy.
I look down at Sloane and find her eyes sweeping the room. Taking in the people mingling with cocktails, the bar at the center of the room, and then her gaze finally sweeps left and she takes in the windowed rooms of The Silo.
A small gasp of surprise escapes her lips, and her eyebrows shoot straight up. I follow her gaze and look at the first room. It's holds nothing but a raised dais with a black, silk-covered mattress. Four people occupy the room, three men filling up one woman three different ways.
Sloane takes a few steps past the window and looks into the next room. This is where she gets an eyeful.
The room is completely bare of any furnishings or implements other than a large, wooden stockade that I happen to know Bridger built himself a few weeks ago. He'd wanted to showcase it and apparently, tonight was the night.
Within the confines of the stockade is a woman.
Catherine actually, who is a regular in the club. She's a young, rich trophy wife to a decrepit billionaire who's on death's door. He gave her this membership so that she could get her rocks off. Although he's long since lost the ability to get his dick up, he loves to watch her work.
Catherine is also a woman who loves a good gang bang, and I'm talking about exactly the type of fucking that Sloane could have never imagined in her dirtiest multiple fantasy.
With her head and wrists securely locked in the wooden frame, Catherine is gloriously naked and just as gloriously getting defiled by multiple men. There have to be at least seven guys in the room. Some completely naked, some standing around fully clothed and just watching as Catherine gets fucked.
One guy is pumping furiously into Catherine from behind, causing her shoulders to jam into the frame secured around her neck. Her tits sway back and forth with the motion.
Another guy stands to Catherine's side and has his hand between her legs, working at her clit. I know it feels good because her eyes are practically rolled into the back of her head, but she can't utter a sound because another guy has his cock shoved down her throat from the front of the stockade.
The man fucking Catherine suddenly grips onto her hips hard, slams in to the hilt, and throws his head back as he starts to come. He grinds against her, unloads a little bit more, and then stumbles backward completely spent. Another guy steps up, pulls his cock out of his dress pants, and rams it unceremoniously into her.
Again, Catherine can't moan from the invasion because she's in the process of deep throating someone's dick.
Normally, watching this would turn me the fuck on. I'd be in that room with the other guys, waiting to get my crack at a woman who likes being used roughly and with little respect. Either I'd fuck her pussy, her mouth, or even her ass, and I'd do so with no regard other than busting a nut and then letting my next buddy have a chance.
The thought of Sloane doing something like that makes me sick.
"Why did you bring me here?" Sloane asks in such a small, hurt voice that I wince. When I turn to look at her, she asks, "Did you want me to do that?"
Her gaze cuts over to Catherine.
"God, no," I say in horror as I take her by the hand and lead her back to the hallway. "I'd never want you to do that."
"What is this place?"
Sighing, I turn her so her back is against the wall and lean in closer so I can talk in a lower voice. While we're away from the main crowd, this is private and I don't want to be overheard.
"Sloane... this place is called The Silo. It's a sex club. Bridger owns it, and it's a place people can co
me to enjoy a safe and private atmosphere to indulge in their fantasies."
"Bridger owns it alone?" she asks, and I think that's an odd question.
"Yeah... he's the sole owner."
"You pay to get in?"
"A flat fee membership of $50,000 per year."
"And that woman?" she asks with a nod back to the main room.
"She's a regular. Her husband comes with her," I tell her, but now that I think about it, I didn't see the old geezer out there. He's always confined to a wheelchair, sucking down oxygen while he watches his wife indulge.
"So those rooms in there," she asks, her voice sounding a little stronger and not as broken with hurt. "People can just go in there and..."
I nod. "Yes. Some rooms are themed, but some are just places you can go in and have sex while others watch. Really... you can do anything you want here as long as your partner is willing."
Her eyes drop to the floor, and she chews on her lower lip. When she finally looks back up, she asks, "Are you a paid prostitute?"
"What?" I ask in astonishment. "No. Why would you ever ask that?"
"You said that woman Amy was a job. What else was I to assume?"
Good point. I take in a breath, let it out, and lean closer. Placing my hand on the wall near her head, I say, "Sloane... I'm the head of security for The Wicked Horse. That's my main job. But I am also a member of this sex club. Sometimes, I'm requested to be what's called a Fantasy Maker. I'll indulge someone in a fantasy to their specification. That's what the thing was for Friday night with Amy."
"A fantasy?" she asks dubiously.
"A rape fantasy," I confirm for her, because no sense in beating around the bush. "Amy likes that. Normally her husband participates."
"Her husband?" she exclaims with wide eyes.
"Yes. A lot of the members here are in committed, monogamous relationships."
She nods, as if that all makes sense to her now. "And you were going to break things off with me before Friday?"
"So I wouldn't be breaking my promise to you," I add on.
"I get it."
"Do you?" I ask as I put my fingers under her chin and push up until she's looking at me. "Do you get it's a job and it's something I have to do? I don't want to do it, but I committed. And while I don't get paid for these things, my bonuses are based on how often I'm requested. It's a way for me to make good money and get my debt paid down. If I didn't have that on my back, I wouldn't feel so obligated."
"I get it," she says again, this time with understanding. "You don't have to tell me anymore."
Pushing off the wall, I step back from her and take a deep breath as I look out into the main room. I'm at a crossroads, and now that this is all out in the open, I search in vain for a way to make this still work with her.
Turning back to Sloane, I ask, "Would you give me a pass on this Friday? Would you let me fulfill this fantasy, knowing it's just a job for me?"
Sloane's eyes turn sad and her lips flatten. She gives a shake of her head and says, "I can't. I can't separate it out. I know you can do that, but I just don't have it in me to know you're with another woman. I know that seems like a double standard, but I just... can't."
My shoulders sag, but I didn't truly expect a different reaction from her. I had hoped, but I didn't give it much chance. Holding my hand out to her, I say, "Come on. Let's me take you back to my house. You can get your stuff and--"
"I want to go back in there with you," Sloane says, and my body goes stiff with tension. She points back to the main room and adds on, "I want us to go use one of those rooms... right now."
"Why in the ever-loving fuck would you want to--?"
"Cain," Sloane says softly as she steps into me. She places a hand over my heart and says, "You explained what's going on. As of this moment, you haven't broken your promise to me. We have four more nights together, so let's make the best of them. And since this place is a part of who you are... a part of the way you are... I want to experience it with you."
I just blink at her, completely dumbfounded about this turn around. She's gone from enraged hellcat to calm acceptance of my unusual proclivities and job duties. She's giving me more than I could hope for... four more nights.
She's keeping a firm boundary, telling me we're over the minute I take on this job with Amy Mason.
My choices are to just cut her loose now, or take advantage of what she's offering.
And I'd be a fool to pass up Sloane Meyers in her bare feet and baggy sweatpants, with her hair still damp from her shower in a deviant sex club.
"Then let's go," I say as I grab her hand and lead her back into the main room.
*
As soon as we step out of the hallway, I see Bridger by the bar. I pull Sloane along with me, weaving my way among the scattered patrons that are still socializing and watching the action within the rooms. Bridger's eyebrows rise when he sees us, his gaze raking over Sloane's unruly appearance.
"Hey man," I say as we get within earshot. "I'm going to be a little late on the job."
Bridger just gives me a shit-eating grin and then turns to Sloane. "Going to take a walk on the wild side tonight, darling?"
"Just for tonight," Sloane says in a matter-of-fact tone. "Tomorrow, it's back to plain old missionary."
I want to laugh at that, because Sloane may be sweet and inexperienced compared to me, but she is not a "missionary" girl. In fact, she's gotten quite bold under my tutelage the last several days, and she's graduated up to a nice-sized ass plug and is still begging for more.
"Well, enjoy," Bridger says.
"We will," I tell him, and then throw a thumb over my shoulder at the room holding the stockade. "That turned out fantastic. Looks like Catherine's having a blast."
Bridger's eyes turn a little sad, and he says, "Her husband died a few days ago."
"What?" I ask in astonishment, and Sloane gives a tiny gasp of sympathy.
"Died in his sleep apparently. She's broken up about it, I think."
"Huh," I say with a bit of skepticism. There never seemed to be any love between those two. I just assumed she was a trophy wife, and he was a rich ticket out of a bad life for her.
But whatever.
I have more important things to worry about.
Turning to Sloane, I ask her, "Which room do you want to go in?"
Chapter 24
Sloane
I can't believe I'm getting ready to do this.
It's probably a mistake, and I'm doing this for all the wrong reasons, but I'm still going to do it.
It's odd, how you can barely know someone but still share such intense experiences with them that you develop a deep connection. That most certainly happened with us.
But the truth is, we've been together a little less than two weeks, and I probably had no right to trust him. I had no business to take stock in the way he seemed to want me exclusively, and I should have never believed his promise to not fuck around while we were doing a whole lot of fucking.
But he breached that, and while I logically get that to him it's just a job, and that he was going to break it off with me and not really betray me at all, my heart still feels shredded to pieces.
He's made it clear that, ultimately, his job is more important to him than I am, which goes back to my theory that letting him give me my fantasy probably diluted any long-term respect he had for me.
As for the sex club and his role, I think this is a way Cain makes good money and digs out of his debt. Sure, he'll orgasm and enjoy himself, but I'm pretty sure these little fantasies he fulfills are nothing but employment for him.
Still, I also understand that this sex club is part of Cain's life. He said he's a member, so that means before I came along, and after I'm gone, he's going to enjoy the benefits of it. This is the part that hurts, because there's clearly no room for me here.
Except for tonight.
Tonight, I'm going to allow myself to be a part of Cain's kinky world. I'm going to experience a sexual
high most people will never even imagine, and then I'm going to memorialize every sordid detail for my article for Revealed magazine. Cain's loyalties aren't to me, so mine can't be to him.
This means I can stop worrying about what my job might do to him.
Of course, I'll have to swallow down the bitterness of throwing Callie under the bus along the way, but I can't worry about her now. With Cain out of the picture, there's no life for me here. That means no friendship with Callie.
It's done, even though the sordidness of what I'm doing feels like a jagged razor cutting into my very soul.
I look among the rooms, taking into consideration where I want to go. There's a room with a woman tied to a large cross, getting flogged by another woman. The room with the one woman and three men going at each other, of course, and the room with the woman in the stockade. I watch as the guy getting his dick sucked pulls out of her mouth and comes on her face--another guy stepping in and taking his place. I grimace, because Cain was absolutely right. I wasn't built for that type of gang bang, but she seems to be enjoying it for sure.
There's another room with a woman strapped onto what looks like a medical examination table with stirrups, her feet secured in them and legs spread wide. An enormous guy dressed head to toe in leather, including a black leather mask that covers his face, stands in between her legs. He holds a machine with an electrical cord that's plugged into an outlet. The other end of the machine has a giant dildo on the end that's attached to some type of mechanism that causes it to pump in and out of her vagina like a jackhammer. She thrashes and moans on the table, and then her back arches up as she orgasms.
A cramp of desire hits me hard between my legs. I realize I've been turned on from the minute I got here, but I've only now had the freedom to appreciate it.
My eyes slide over to the next room, filled with various pieces of furniture and three couples in there fucking. That would be an easy enough choice, but I hesitate. None of it seems right.
None of it seems like it makes a statement to the man who I want to understand fully that I have the ability to satisfy him in all counts if he'd only just stay committed to my body alone.
So I turn to Cain and say, "Any rule against us fucking right here?"
Cain jerks and Bridger, who's still standing right beside us, laughs darkly. "You got a wild one there."
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