One side of the room had slats running horizontally from wall to wall with spaces between the long pieces of wood. There were metal eye hooks screwed into the wood in random places. Or maybe not so randomly. Maybe they were perfectly placed to chain or tie or cuff a woman to the wall. An abundance of chains, ropes, and cuffs hung on the wall to the right of the wall of pain. To the left whips, paddles, crops, and other leather instruments I couldn’t begin to name. Ten black leather chairs were arranged in the middle of the room facing the slatted wall.

I could barely breathe as I took it all in.

Sammy stood silently next to me, and I knew the minute she’d accepted her fate. Her shoulders hunched forward, her eyes cast downward to the hardwood floor, and she blew out a long, slow breath.

I said nothing while Lorenzo explained the evening he’d planned.

Which begged the question of why the hell he called me into work early to plan a party when he’d already had everything worked out.

Then there was Adria. Not even two hours ago I told Asher, Wilson, and Cole the club didn’t hire outsiders. The woman certainly didn’t work at the club, and I’d never seen her attend a Soiree, though she could be an inactive member.

I had been confused, pissed, and I hated to admit it even to myself, scared.

After Lorenzo and Adria worked out a few kinks—pardon the pun—we were dismissed. As soon as Lorenzo had left Sammy and me upstairs in the huge living room I tried to broach the evening with Sammy. She’d immediately shot me down and told me she needed the money.

Out of fear that Sammy had no idea what she was getting herself into even though Lorenzo had explained in great detail how Sammy would be the one secured to the wall while Adria the Dominatrix worked her over—whatever the hell that meant—I offered to give Sammy the thousand dollars if she called out. She met my offer with a sweet smile and denial.

Sweet Sammy was going to do it.

She was going to allow a woman she did not know chain her to a wall and beat her for the entertainment of a group of men who’d get off on hearing her cry and beg.

This next part was a mistake.

I called an Uber and went home to change for work. I didn’t do what I should’ve done and called Asher to tell him what was going on. I should’ve called to tell him there was a secret room I knew nothing about, which meant there could be more rooms.

Torture chambers.

I didn’t call because I was being stubborn. I knew telling him would only give him more ammunition and another demand I quit. Which, hindsight being what it was, I should’ve listened to Asher and quit over the phone. I should never have gone to the club early. I never should’ve met Adria. I never should’ve seen the wall of pain.