Rowan nods slowly a few times, pretending to mull it over in his head as if he hadn’t already decided the second Camilla mentioned it that he’s going to check it out. If he strikes out, he’s sure he can find that guy who winked at him earlier, or even see if Jeremiah’s shift is ending anytime soon. After all, he’s never had a hard time finding someone to spend the night with when he’s wanted to.

“Are you planning on getting another drink tonight, or should I put that in for your freebie?” Jeremiah asks.

“Oh, uh, no, I’m good with this. Thanks.” He pauses, tapping the side of the glass a few times. “Do you guys carry Blue Ribbon by any chance?”

To his surprise, Jeremiah huffs out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound unkind. “We do, but hardly anyone orders it ’cause it’s such a shitty beer.”

Rowan isn’t offended. “I’m a shitty beer kinda guy.”

“You’re in luck. Turns out so is Malcolm—he’s one of the few who drink it, so I always keep a couple cases in stock.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm.”

That surprises him. For some reason, Rowan had expected him to like top-shelf liquor, so now his mental picture of the guy is all over the place.

Jeremiah makes small talk with him between helping other members at the bar, none of whom catch Rowan’s eye. Rowan lets himself get lost in his thoughts, most of which migrate inevitably to this Malcolm guy. It’s an uncommon name. Rowan doesn’t know shit about name etiology or he’d try to develop a picture of him based on his name alone.

He’s finishing his drink when he notices many of the members in the bar and lounge migrating toward the end of the hallway and a set of black double doors. He checks the time: 7:58 p.m. This must be what Camilla was talking about.

The gangbang is going to start soon.

He discards the empty glass on the bar with a five-dollar bill under it as a tip and heads toward the crowd. There’s an excited buzz in the air, like the feeling at a concert after all the openers have left and the main act is about to begin.

Rowan worms his way to the front to find the double doors to the Black Room have been opened and the men have started filing in.

As expected, the walls and floor inside are completely black, the room lit surprisingly well by white spotlights in the ceiling. Also on the ceiling are large hooks, likely designed for suspension rigs. Rowan can practically feel his pupils dilate.

A series of glass cases lined with black velvet adorn the walls, filled with more toys than Rowan’s ever seen in his life. Everything from cords of every color rope to dildos to bondage gear. The cases are surrounded by open black curtains on either side, the silky fabric catching the light and making them shine.