Chapter 1

ONE

DOMHNALL

I sip my Jameson and look around the room that’s been darkened for ambiance. The event planner did well, and I’m difficult to please.

The gleaming mahogany stage for the auction is the only well-lit spot in the club. They even hung a floor to ceiling burgundy velvet curtain for the virgin and the auctioneer to enter through. The spanking benches and St. Andrew’s Cross have been discreetly pushed off to the side. Instead, plush chairs upholstered in dark red fabric are arranged in an arc in front of the stage.

All a little dramatic, yes, but the rich arseholes in designer suits meandering around and laughing too loudly at each other’s jokes love this shite.

I ought to be playing my part as host. But one perk of being richer than god is getting to be an anti-social bastard.

“What the fuck, Dom?” Caleb says, suddenly appearing at my shoulder. He’s the club’s actual owner, and my self-proclaimed best friend. I’ve told him a thousand time my name’s pronounced Donal , but he insists on shortening it to Dom. Mostly because he says if anyone should be nicknamed Dom it’s me, since I’m such a controlling, sadistic bastard. It caught on and now everyone follows suit, even my sister. “I told you, no drinking tonight. Everyone’s got a goddamn glass in their hand.”

I glance over the rim of my tumbler. “You’re welcome. I didn’t have to organize this little soiree here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Dom, for helping me pull off this event and inviting your billionaire friends. Now why the fuck is everybody drinking? I know this isn’t a ring member event, but I thought you told them the rules.”

I scoff even as I finger my platinum-gold ace of spades ring that indicates my top tier membership in Carnal . You have to be a member in good standing for three years to qualify and be able to afford the fees. Then it provides entry to the darker, kinkiest events that require the trust of an inner circle.

Tonight, however, is what one might call an invitational event. We’re showing off the perks of what being a member of Carnal can provide. And it’s a hell of a fundraiser to inject some quick cash into the club.

“For the kind of money you wanted in this room,” I say, “there are expectations. They don’t know the rules of the scene. These men assume there’s going to be a bar to order top shelf shite from.”

I nod towards the sleek bar, the only other source of significant light in the room. The bartender is in a black tux with a gold masquerade mask on. He’s framed by a backdrop of hundreds of black and red roses clustered in a living wall.

“Fuck,” Caleb runs a hand through his hair.

“Don’t worry so fecking much, you’ll get a hernia. I had them water the drinks down.”

“Even yours?” In the dim light, I see Caleb’s eyebrows lift skeptically.

“I’m just the host, remember? I’m not bidding tonight. I have no interest in virgins.”

I only want experienced subs, preferably pain-sluts. I want to mark them, fuck them, and then have everyone go on their merry way without ever knowing each other’s names.

“You should bid,” Caleb says. “Maybe what you need is something different. Someone to settle down with.”

I bark out a laugh and look over at him. “Don’t be fecking ridiculous. Don’t hang that picket fence shite on me. It’s a lie sold to muppets like you.”

“It’s not a lie.” His jaw tenses ever so slightly. “Silas and my mom had it. ”

Well shite. There’s no saying anything against his sainted mam, may she rest in peace, his stepdad, Silas. No matter that the man’s doing ten to fifteen for bank robbery.

“Plus,” I swig down the rest of my drink, “I hardly think a woman getting a paycheck for her cherry’s looking to settle down.”

“I don’t know,” Caleb grins at me. “I’d think a billionaire would be a hell of an attractive get for a woman down on her luck.”

I give him my deadpan stare.

“C’mon. You’re such a closed off prick,” Caleb says. “I met the girl. Moira brought her by the club this week. She’s sweet. Real genuine.”

“Even worse. I don’t like sweet. I like silent. Preferably masked and faceless. Fucked up with daddy issues or whatever makes them like getting the shit flogged out of them.”

Caleb turns his whole face towards me and frowns. “Dude. That’s dark.”

I sigh on the inside. It’s so tedious to keep up this facade. All this pretending to be something other than what I am, just so I can walk around in normal society. If it weren’t for Moira, I wouldn’t make nearly as much effort. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for my sister.

Still, I’m a sadist. Deep in my dark little core, I like to hurt people. It brings me pleasure. Such great, deep-down pleasure, it’s the only time I feel alive.

One would think that Caleb, being the owner of the most exclusive BDSM club in Dallas, would understand people like me. But in spite of the life he’s lived, somehow, he’s still soft inside.

“Okay, not this girl, but someone ,” he says. “Connection is important. All you do is work and take care of Moira.”

Time to don society’s tedious mask again. I smile winsomely. “Well, you have met my sister. Over and over and over .” I mock a cringe. “And too many times in my face at the club. So maybe you’re not one to talk about taking care of Moira.”

His eyes roll. Facade or not, he’s at least acquainted with me enough to know that I don’t actually give a shit about my sister’s sexual exploits at Carnal . I’m happy about them, in fact. All I’m trying to do is keep my sister safe.

Moira’s what you call an anysexual. Anyone, anywhere, anytime. Addiction runs in families, they say. And our family tree is… well, statistically, Moira and me were fucked before we ever took our first fecking wail.

Carnal is a safe sandbox for her to play in. This world is a fucked ball of death and destruction hurtling towards its inevitable brutal, bitter end. But my sister is somehow still a bright fucking beam of joy and sunshine screaming back into the void. Not that she even knows it. If I have any purpose in this life, it’s to never let anything put that fucking light out.

“I’m serious,” Caleb keeps at it. “You should at least consider taking a short-term sub. You know all the subbies at the club are drooling for you. Why not try? ”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, saving me from continuing the useless back-and-forth banter. There’s no point in small talk about how I’m not interested in anything even relationship-adjacent. I am what I am and while I will try to present a socially-acceptable facade, I won’t apologize for it.

“Shit,” he whispers, looking back up at me from the phone. “It’s time.” Anxiety tenses his forehead. “You really think this will work?”

I lean in and mutter quietly, “You see how Eyes Wide Shut we made this shit? These guys are already nutting in their pants to be the one who takes the virgin home.”

Well, not home, but to the privacy of the private rooms, with careful monitoring. Carnal ’s bouncer, Isaak, is bar none. I’ve seen that guy toss a biker two times his size out of the club for causing trouble.

And for the highest bidder, the bragging rights alone will make him a legend in their little circle for years to come. Obnoxious male bonding and one-up-man-ship rituals are what really get those pricks off.

I clap Caleb on the back. “It’s gonna be great.”

He nods hard, repetitively for several long moments, then stomps backstage with purpose.

Stubborn bastard. The club is in financial trouble and Caleb refused my offer of the money. Then he refused a no-interest loan. Friendship and money should never mix , the idiot kept repeating.

But the club needs the money, and I need the club for Moira. I even once tried to tacitly explain that I see him less as a friend and his club more as a supply line to what Moira needs, but he just laughed, clapped me on the back—another favorite form of male communication—and said he’d figure something out.

This was his solution. A virgin auction. Apparently, others at the club helped talk him into it. Moira was there and I’m sure she was an amazing voice of reason.

Caleb comes through the velvet curtain and strides confidently up to the microphone. All the nerves from moments ago appear to have dissolved. I’m not that na?ve. Maybe that’s why Caleb and I get along so well. He knows a thing or two about swapping masks.

“The auction is about to start,” he announces into the mic, “so have a seat, gentlemen. We have a gorgeous prize to present to you tonight.”

Everyone meanders towards their seat while Caleb introduces the evening and tries to get the crowd enthused. I take a chair in the back, watching on with bored curiosity. This is entertaining enough, I suppose, but it’s not like being in the club with a whip in my hand and a beautifully pink-assed sub whimpering beneath me.

I can’t even take out my phone because Caleb required leaving them at the door. It only seemed sporting to join along, even though I’m just hosting.

I cross a leg and lean back while Caleb settles into salesman mode .

But the other men seem restless too, at least until a woman steps through the curtain wearing a silk negligee with barely any actual material to it, sky high white heels on her feet. A fall of chestnut curls covers her face.

Caleb hurries back to her and they have a quick consultation about something off-mic. Then Caleb lifts the microphone up again, back in ringleader mode.

“Here,” Caleb says to the woman, holding out and arm to lead her towards the front of the stage, “come stand right up here.”

Her head is dropped, so I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed, ashamed, or shy.

Finally, she lifts her head, and I’m glad I emptied my glass, because it falls right out of my hand, thudding onto the carpet below.

I can only stare at the ghost standing before me, looking even more beautiful now than she does in my memory.

Too bad the last time I ran across her, I swore I’d kill her for what she and her father did to me.