Riley: Members Only
Jack binds my hands behind my back, undoes my chastity belt, and shaves me smooth again except for the little patch of pubic hair. He knows I’ll try to masturbate if he leaves me alone to do it. He knows how desperate I am. He leaves the chastity belt off and dresses me in the lingerie. I shiver as the soft, tight fabric cups between my legs. Jack can see the thoughts flashing across my mind. Those dark eyes seem to cut through me.
“I’ve been spanking you and teasing you. Do you have any idea what I could do to you if you did something I didn’t like? I could make the last week seem easy in comparison.” The calm in his voice makes me shudder. “Are you going to try to touch yourself tonight without my permission?”
"No," I say obediently, in spite of the nearly overwhelming urge. And I mean it. Jack can scare the hell out of me when he wants to. It's not that I'm afraid of him hurting me, exactly. It's the shame and intensity of the first spanking that he gave me; I'm not sure if I could handle an erotic experience that went beyond that. It's like being tossed by an ocean wave—terrifying and thrilling at the same time.
He slips another pair of stunning, black six-inch heels onto my feet. I always thought I would be inevitably awkward in shoes like this—shoes that I always saw other girls wearing into clubs. But wearing them every day for all my chores, I’m starting to find balance.
I slip into the crimson dress, and Christie comes in and does my hair and makeup. When I see myself in the mirror, it nearly takes my breath away. The girl staring back at me is striking. Black stockings and a crimson dress. Each curve and flash of naked flesh accentuated. Makeup and hair subtle but striking. Christie’s been making me hold myself straight and poised all week as I cleaned—per Jack’s orders—and my body’s starting to hold the posture instead of my usual curved-shouldered slouch.
I look like every girl I ever admired and envied. I look both younger and older than I usually do. I’m only in my early twenties, but sometimes with Caleb I just looked…not old, exactly, just…boring. But now…there’s something youthful and vibrant about the girl in the mirror, yet something timeless, too. I realize my mouth is hanging open and I snap it shut.
“You okay, kid?” Christie says.
“I just…I didn’t know I could look like this,” I mumble.
“I told you before: You already have everything you need.” And before I can say anything, she’s gone.
Jack’s car roars across the city at frightening speeds. It’s jet black, and I don’t even recognize the make. It’s the smoothest ride I’ve ever experienced, and it goes from zero to sickeningly high speeds in an alarmingly brief span of time. Jack handles it with absolute confidence and control. He uses lanes reserved for taxis and buses, and again no one stops him. We fly past traffic and the city’s vibrant neon blends into a rich blur. When we reach the road across Central Park, it’s blocked off by police cars, closed for the night. They pull one aside and Jack roars through. We fly through the park—all our own—and then across the East Side to the East River.
There's a speedboat waiting for us, jet black like the car. Jack helps me aboard and gives me his jacket for the cool breeze coming off the water. We soar down the river, lights blurring on either side of us. I want to ask where we're going, but instead I sit back and try to act unimpressed. It's beautiful, the enormous city sliding by on each side as we fly over the dark, glassy water.
Then Jack cuts the engine. My heart begins to race and I don’t even know exactly why.
“Why are we stopped?”
“I wanted to let you take it in—it can be beautiful here, in the stillness, in the dark.”
“Oh, good. I was worried you were going to throw me over the side.”
“I want to possess you, not throw you away.” My tone was light, but Jack’s completely serious and he watches me with a steady, unwavering gaze. I have to glance away. My breaths are coming a little too quick. I clamp my legs together and pretend to look out over the water.
We drift over the silent dark. It truly is beautiful, but I can hardly focus on it. My whole body is filled with need. I so badly want to touch myself or be touched. My heart is beating so hard that I feel like Jack can actually hear it from across the boat.
This is what I had wanted from my trip to the greatest city in the world: to actually see it. To soar along the water and take in its majesty. I just didn't think that it would be a criminal who would show it to me. I turn to Jack to comment on the view—break the suddenly awkward silence between us—but when I look at him he's gazing back at me, and it makes me catch my breath. He's not watching the city or anything else. He's only watching me.
My breath is coming harder. I feel like I’ve just run a sprint. What the hell? My body knows something that my mind doesn’t—can sense something in the air between us. The need in me, built up over unbearable days, is so raw, so apparent. Jack steps very close to me, pressing into my personal space, heat radiating off of his body. “Jack…” I try to protest. But I just can’t think of anything to say.
He grips my waist and pulls me up against him, hard. I throw my arms around his neck to steady myself. I feel almost feverish, filled with this strange emotion. Could I really want a man like this?
“I…I can’t…” I mumble to him.
“I don’t care.”
I look up and we gaze into each other’s eyes. We hold there for a long, long time, taking in each other and feeling every subtle flicker and swell of thought and emotion.
“I—”
And he silences me with a kiss.
It’s sure and warm and hungry. His lips are rough. His tongue presses past into my mouth, dipping into me and exploring. He doesn’t hesitate. There’s zero unsureness. He knows exactly how to kiss a woman. I feel like I’m going to melt in his arms, but he holds me tight against his rock-hard body.
He pulls back and we gaze into each other’s eyes again, our lips wet with each other’s mouths.
"Oh…" is all I can say. He kisses me again, then again and again. Full, long kisses—feeding on my soft lips, probing and exploring my mouth. My back arches. My whole body tingles and explodes with feeling. I press myself against him, hard. I open myself to him. Submit to him. All thought is swept away—all doubt. I just want to be kissed—want to be taken by this dark angel. Time stops there on the water. We drift in eternity for just a moment—the world is only darkness and shimmering lights and the two of us, wrapped in each other's arms.
Need throbs in me. The thought starts to pulsate again and again through my entire body. Take me, take me, take me.
But I manage to bite it back before it's transformed into words. Finally, the kiss ends. Jack pulls away and gently lowers me into one of the boat seats—which is good because my legs are trembling so much that I'm not sure I could stand. He doesn't say anything. We both know what he's just taken from me—my last reserves, the last of my ability to resist him.
The boat purrs back to life and we sweep down the river, then take a left onto Newtown Creek and wind through Brooklyn. Jack doesn’t reduce his speed and we fly up the narrower channel, swooping around slower ships—and they’re all slower—and curving gracefully around the waterway’s twists and turns.
The ride feels too short and I breathe a small sigh once it’s over, yearning for more. Jack ties up the boat and offers me a hand to help me out. I return his jacket and we walk up the dock to a red door set in a black wall. It’s a private entrance. I feel a moment of anxiety as I approach the door—I’m waiting for a bouncer to tell me to wait on the side while he lets prettier, more attractive girls in. But then I remember what I look like now, and that I’m on the arm of the guy who, most likely, owns the place. I can’t get rid of the feeling, though.
“Daemon won’t be charmed by your resistance or your inexperience. Do you understand?” Jack says as he leads me into the club. “If you disobey him, or make some mistake, he will simply cast you aside. He doesn’t like to play games. He likes perfect obedience. That’s it.”
He pauses a moment in the dark hallway between the door and the main club and takes me by the arm. There’s an earnestness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.
“You think I’m cold. You think I’m a monster. You’re right: I am. But I…I was made this way.” And something flashes across his face that’s too complicated for me to pull apart. “Daemon’s…something else. He’s not human, exactly. You’ll learn to operate by the rules of his world, by his standards, or you’ll be done.” And then the cold emptiness returns to his eyes and he leads me into the club.
I’m met by a wash of futuristic blue and pink neon lights filtered through a haze of smoke machines and cigarettes. Girls dance on slick, silver walkways and platforms, and men and women in otherworldly clothes mingle in the semi-darkness. The club is packed, but Jack guides me through the crowd with a hand on my lower back. Like always, everyone seems to understand innately that they need to get out of his way.
There’s a large table in the back corner with a silver runway leading up to it—its own private stage. Jack seats me at the table.
“I thought we were meeting people?” I say.
“We are. I like to be early.”
And then the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen appears.
She has dark hair and dark, glittering eyes. Her smile flashes a shining white that reminds me of a vampire’s fangs. She’s wearing red jewels and a gorgeous black dress with long slits up both legs.
“Hello, Jack,” she says.
Her body is almost sinfully erotic. She’s slim everywhere except for the ample curve of her breasts, bottom, and thighs, and she holds herself with absolute confidence. She’s young yet entirely timeless.
“Talia,” Jack says.
“This must be Daemon’s new toy.”
“My new toy, for the moment. This is Riley Lark.”
“It’s a pleasure, I’m sure. Come, Jack, I’m sure Daemon’s paying you enough to buy me a drink.”
For just a moment annoyance seems to flash across Jack’s face, but it’s gone so fast that I’m sure I’ve misread it. This is the type of girl Jack can have. Fuck, she could be an actress or a model. She's perfect. Already, our kiss on the boat feels like a distant dream.
He gives me a look that I can’t read, raises a hand, and then moves off through the crowd with Talia. Wyatt Rylance appears, and I realize that Jack called him over to keep me company while he’s gone. Caleb had a habit of bringing me to work parties then leaving me while he cracked a cold one with his “bros.” Great, the psychotic gangster has the decency to call company over when he’s pulled away.
“Miss Lark,” Wyatt says, sliding into a seat next to me. His eyes trail hungrily after Talia, but only for a moment. Then he turns to me and examines my body in the little dress. For some reason it doesn’t bother me—he seems like a man appreciating a fine work of art. You’re flattering yourself.
“Jack’s told us that we’re not technically allowed to look at you. And certainly not touch. He can be a bit possessive. But I think he’ll forgive me glancing in your direction for the sake of conversation.” Wyatt’s voice is deep and rich. He reminds me, again, of the kind of guy I wish I’d had as a dad. Strong, calm, sure. “I see you’ve met Talia Amontillado.”
I choke on my own spit.
“She’s an Amontillado? Like one of the Amontillados? Like that shit that owns me now?”
Wyatt’s face goes dark and scared for a moment. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Joke around about Daemon. Call him…anything. You talk about Daemon Amontillado with the respect you would give him if he was in the room with you. With a knife at your throat. He sees…too much. More than you could know. And he could actually have a knife at your throat before you know it.”
He takes a sip of his drink and I think there's just a hint of damp sweat on his brow.
Damn.
“Anyway, yes. That’s Talia, his sister. Don’t fuck with her. She’s one of the only people in the family with as much power as Jack—she has Daemon’s ear. Jack’s in the equivalent of a U.N. meeting having that drink with her.”
Things are always more complicated than they seem in this damn underworld.
“You look beautiful in that dress,” Wyatt says. He’s not hitting on me. He just wants me to know.
“Thanks. I love being dressed up like a doll and paraded around.”
“Jack’s done a lot worse for a lot less.”
“I’m sure he has.”
Wyatt sits and drinks, comfortably silent.
Use this. Get something out of him. Find information.
“So, did he win you in a poker game, too?”
“Ah,” he says, politely amused but also acting as if he’s taking the question seriously.
“No, no, didn’t win me in a poker game.”
I stay quiet and it pays off. It turns out Wyatt loves to talk. He takes another sip of his whiskey and stares into the distance.
“I knew Jack when he was just a kid in Montana.”
“You knew him before all of this?” I’d sort of pictured Jack emerging fully formed out of the shadows—no record or past.
"I met his dad doing some bad stuff. I was home from the war. Didn't have much to do with myself. I liked Jack. He was a quiet kid. Not shy. Just didn't say anything that wasn't worth saying. We'd hunt and fish. Race trucks on back roads." Wyatt laughs. "Jack was just a fun kid to be around. You'd think he didn't care or wasn't paying attention, then it'd turn out he'd been setting something up to amuse you the whole time.
“I remember once he tricked us all into thinking he’d jumped off this bridge into a quarry. We were all losing our minds. Thought hitting the water from so far up would kill him. It turned out he’d been to the bridge before; he knew there was a little lip on the underside that he could land on if he jumped off the railing. So he jumps over, we freak out, and then he pulls himself back up, laughing.”
“He sounds like a reckless moron.”
"Here's the thing about Jack: He showed us that he could pull off the trick. But that wasn't what was so amazing about him. What was so amazing was then, he actually jumped. It was over a hundred feet above the quarry. And he jumped."
“That’s impossible.”
Wyatt’s eyes are sparkling at the retelling. He's staring off into the distance smiling.
“He broke two ribs, dislocated an ankle and a shoulder. Came out of the water howling laughing. None of us had the guts to follow him.”
When I don’t say anything he keeps going.
“He was just fun to have around. You’d think having a kid tagging around would be a pain for a man, but Jack always knew stuff. If our fishing rod broke he knew how to set up a line to keep fishing. When we were cold he could always start a fire. If you got in a spot he was always there with you to punch your way out, even when he was small. If we got lost he knew how to get us back with the stars.”
“What a charming little prince.”
Wyatt shrugs.
“I went back to the army, eventually, and Jack’s mom died. And when Jack was nearly old enough he followed me. He didn’t come back the same after the war.”
I realize that Wyatt’s a little drunker tonight than Jack realized.
He takes another sip. “He disappeared into Texas and Mexico for a long time once he came back. I thought he’d killed himself some way or another. I wasn’t in too good shape myself. When he started working for the Amontillados he brought me along with him.”
"I see, the psychopath has a sad backstory."
“Nah. Not trying to make you like Jack. And I’m not as drunk as you think, either.”
I stare at him and don’t offer anything back.
"I just don't have that many people to talk to. And you're smart enough to not tell on someone who's giving you information." He grins at me and finishes his drink. "I'm just an old man who wants to tell a pretty girl about a friend he lost. That's what we do with stories, isn't it? Try to bring back lost things, just for a little bit?"
“What do you mean you lost him?”
“He’s not the same anymore. It started with his mom dying and then the war. Jack's just different now. He used to be a dreamer. He used to believe in things; he'd never talk about it, but you could tell he wanted to change the world. Now something is broken in him, and I don't think it can ever be fixed. That's what the world does to people who try to stand up against it, doesn't it? It kills them or it breaks them until they’re not the same anymore.”
“Plenty of people have bad stuff happen to them. They don’t turn into murderous psychopaths.”
"Maybe not. But Jack's not an ordinary man. He's a great man. And he's only capable of great things. When he goes bad, he can go really bad. But if he ever chose to do good again…well, I don't know. It could change some things around here."
“Whatever you say.”
An enormous, bearded bald man is giving one of the gorgeous serving girls a hard time. Wyatt slides away from the table. “Need to diffuse a situation, Miss Lark. Nice talking to you.”
I get up, wander to the other end of the bar from Jack and Talia, and order a vodka, neat. No one in this place is willing to look at me since they know I’m with Jack. I sip on my drink sullenly. Why are you angry about being ignored by your captor, you idiot?
And then opportunity arrives.
“You’re Jack’s new pet, huh?” a voice growls out of the shadows. It’s coming from a grizzled man at the very end of the bar. Beside him is a gorgeous blonde girl in an elegant little crimson dress. I move over towards them.
“Yeah, sure.” I’m wondering who the idiot is who wants to get his face punched in for talking to me.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Riley, what’s yours?”
“Byron Kent.”
He’s in his forties, but he’s not unattractive. His hair is flecked with gray and his face is angular. He’s wearing an expensive, dark suit.
"Does Jack usually let you talk to his girls?" I purr. It's sort of fun playing at being a femme fatale since I'm bored anyway. Why not entertain myself with some drunk idiot?
“Jack has to let me do nearly anything I want.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
His answer makes my breath hitch. “‘Cause I work for the man, baby. The big man.”