Room for Sin

Cassie Morgan knew the weekend would be a mistake before Ben even turned off the highway. The narrow road ahead disappeared beneath trees already stripped nearly bare by late October, and orange leaves skittered across the pavement whenever the wind pushed through. No other car had been behind them for almost twenty minutes, their cell service had vanished twelve miles ago, and the GPS had decided Blackwood Hotel apparently didn’t exist. Ben drove with one hand on the wheel while tapping the useless navigation screen with the other. Cassie watched another NO TRESPASSING sign pass outside her window and said, “You know murder documentaries always start with people ignoring shit like that.”

Ben laughed, which was probably the reaction he’d been hoping for since they’d left home three hours earlier. “It’s a hotel, Cass.” He glanced toward her, his mouth turning into the crooked smile that used to get him laid before their relationship had somehow become schedules, grocery lists, and falling asleep with Netflix asking whether they were still watching. “A very expensive hotel, actually.” Cassie folded her arms beneath her breasts and looked back outside. “That makes it worse because now we’re paying somebody to murder us.”

The advertisement had appeared on Ben’s phone two months earlier while they were sitting on opposite ends of their couch. BLACKWOOD HOTEL: AN ADULTS-ONLY HALLOWEEN EXPERIENCE had been written across a photograph of a massive Victorian building glowing orange beneath a full moon. Beneath it were promises of masquerades, private suites, themed parties, unlimited alcohol, adult games, and complete anonymity during the weekend. Ben had stared at the advertisement much longer than necessary before finally turning his phone toward her and asking whether she wanted to do something different for Halloween. Cassie had understood immediately that different meant anything other than spending another Saturday night beside each other without touching.

They weren’t miserable together, which almost made everything worse. There hadn’t been a huge betrayal, a screaming fight, or a dramatic moment that explained why their sex life had quietly wandered into traffic and died. Ben still kissed her before work. She still bought the ridiculous coffee creamer he liked, and they still told each other they loved each other almost automatically. They just hadn’t fucked in nearly 12 weeks. Cassie hated knowing the exact number of weeks because it meant she’d been counting.

The trees finally opened into a clearing, and Blackwood Hotel appeared like someone had dropped another century directly into the forest. Four stories of black brick stretched across the property, with pointed rooftops, narrow windows, wrought-iron balconies, and climbing ivy burned red and orange by autumn. Hundreds of carved pumpkins lined the driveway, their candles flickering despite the afternoon sunlight, and black lanterns hung from crooked posts leading toward the entrance. A fountain shaped as a winged woman stood in the center courtyard, though the water flowing from her mouth was dark enough to look like wine. Cassie leaned forward despite herself and whispered, “Okay, that’s fucking gorgeous.”

Ben smiled as he’d personally constructed the building. “Worth getting murdered?” He parked beneath the covered entrance where a man dressed entirely in black immediately approached the trunk. Cassie noticed the employee wore a smooth black mask covering the upper half of his face, but she assumed it was part of the Halloween gimmick. Then another employee appeared beside her door wearing the same mask. When he opened it without saying anything, Cassie suddenly remembered every warning sign they’d driven past.

“Welcome to Blackwood,” the masked man said. His voice was warm enough to make her embarrassment feel silly, and he offered one gloved hand while she stepped from the SUV. Cassie tugged her sweater down over her leggings and immediately regretted dressing for a road trip instead of whatever strange fashion show was happening around them. Another couple walked toward the entrance with the woman wearing thigh-high boots, a tiny leather skirt, and a coat that probably cost more than Cassie’s monthly rent. Her partner had one hand resting firmly against her ass like he wanted everyone watching to know it belonged there.

Cassie looked at Ben. Ben was watching the couple too. Their eyes met at exactly the wrong moment, and he cleared his throat immediately. “Nice boots,” he said. Cassie burst out laughing because the panic on his face was funnier than jealousy ever could’ve been.

Inside, Blackwood somehow became even more dramatic. Candles burned everywhere despite the obvious fire hazard, crimson velvet curtains hung between enormous black columns, and chandeliers dripped what looked suspiciously like melted black wax. The lobby smelled like cinnamon, smoke, expensive perfume, and something underneath that Cassie couldn’t identify. Guests stood around drinking champagne while masked employees carried luggage toward an antique elevator at the far end of the room. Every guest Cassie saw looked old enough to know better and attractive enough to make bad decisions anyway.

A woman approached carrying two narrow black boxes tied with orange ribbon. Unlike the other employees, she wore a dark red mask with tiny gemstones surrounding the eyes. “Mr. Harper and Ms. Morgan?” she asked. Ben nodded, and the woman held out the boxes. “Your masks for tonight’s welcome masquerade.”

Cassie opened hers and found delicate black lace stretched across a thin frame. Ben’s was heavier, simple black leather with silver around the edges. A small card rested beneath each mask, reading, WHAT HAPPENS AT BLACKWOOD BELONGS TO BLACKWOOD. Cassie turned the card over, expecting fine print or a joke, but the back was completely blank. “That’s comforting,” she muttered.

The receptionist gave her a strange little smile. “You’ll understand tonight.” She handed Ben an old-fashioned brass key rather than a plastic hotel card. “Suite 217, second floor, east wing.” Then her gaze moved between them before settling on Cassie. “We hope you find what you came looking for.”

Ben waited until they were walking toward the elevator, then whispered, “That sounded sexual.” Cassie pushed the button and looked at him. “Everything about this place sounds sexual.” She glanced toward the woman in the leather skirt again and found her kissing her partner beside the lobby bar like their room apparently couldn’t arrive fast enough. Cassie looked away before her imagination decided to remind her what enthusiastic sex used to feel like.

The elevator doors started closing until a hand shot between them. They opened again, revealing a man standing on the other side. Cassie’s first thought was that Blackwood apparently had a hiring requirement involving unreasonable attractiveness, but then she noticed he wasn’t wearing an employee mask. He wore dark jeans, black boots, and a fitted charcoal sweater, casually pushed up his forearms. His dark hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it recently, and his smile landed somewhere between polite and trouble.

“Mind if I steal your elevator?” he asked. Ben stepped aside. “Be our guest.” The man entered, but instead of pressing another floor, he leaned against the wall as the doors closed. Cassie watched the numbers climb and tried very hard not to notice that he smelled better than any stranger had a right to smell.

His gaze shifted toward the black box tucked beneath her arm. “First time?” Cassie looked at him. “Is it that obvious?” He smiled. “You’re still carrying the welcome card.”

Ben glanced at Cassie, then asked, “You’ve stayed here before?” The stranger looked toward him, but something about the pause before he answered made Cassie pay closer attention. “A few times.” The elevator stopped at the second floor with a soft bell. Cassie stepped out beside Ben, but the stranger followed even though he still hadn’t touched a button.

Their room was three doors down. Ben stopped beside 217 while Cassie glanced back and discovered the stranger still walking behind them. “Are you on this floor?” she asked. His eyes dropped briefly toward the brass key in Ben’s hand. “Sometimes.”

Cassie laughed. “That’s not creepy at all.” The stranger stopped several feet away and slipped both hands into his pockets. “Dean.” He said it like an introduction she should’ve asked for earlier.

“Cassie.” She wasn’t sure why she answered before Ben could introduce them both. Dean’s eyes stayed on hers a second longer than necessary, and something low inside her stomach tightened with an irritation she immediately recognized as attraction. She hated that her body could apparently remember how to work for some random man in a hallway when she’d spent months barely responding to the person she’d shared a bed with for four years. Ben finally said his own name, and Dean acknowledged him with a small nod that somehow made the entire exchange feel competitive.

“Enjoy your first night,” Dean said. Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Is that a warning?” His smile changed just enough to make her wish she hadn’t asked. “Depends what you want.”

He walked away before she could answer. Cassie watched him disappear around the corner, then looked toward Ben and discovered him already watching her. Neither spoke for several seconds. “What?” she finally asked.

“Nothing.” Ben unlocked the door. Cassie followed him inside while wondering whether nothing had always sounded that irritated. Their suite quickly distracted her because apparently Blackwood’s definition of luxury involved designing rooms specifically to make adults forget their responsibilities. A huge four-poster bed occupied the center of the room, a freestanding black bathtub sat behind folding screens, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the pumpkin-filled courtyard below.

Champagne chilled beside the bed. A small tray held chocolate-covered strawberries, massage oil, two blindfolds, and something in a velvet pouch Cassie decided not to investigate while Ben stood beside her. An envelope sat against the champagne bottle, their names handwritten across the front. Ben picked it up and opened it. Cassie watched his expression change.

“Well?” she asked. Ben handed her the card. Elegant black letters across the heavy paper announced the rules for that evening’s masquerade.

WELCOME TO BLACKWOOD.MASKS REQUIRED AFTER 9:00 P.M.REAL NAMES ARE OPTIONAL. JEALOUSY IS DISCOURAGED. HONESTY ISN’T.

Cassie read the final instruction twice. At the bottom, written in red ink rather than printed with everything else, was one additional sentence. MATCHING MASKS MAY KISS.

She looked at Ben. “You knew about this?” His eyebrows rose. “No.” Cassie held the card toward him. “You booked a couples sex hotel and didn’t read the fucking itinerary?”

“It didn’t say sex hotel.” Ben laughed as he stepped closer. “Although I’m starting to think their marketing department knew exactly what they were doing.” His hand settled lightly against her waist, and for one hopeful second Cassie felt something familiar spark between them. Then he kissed her forehead instead of her mouth and stepped away to inspect the champagne.

The disappointment embarrassed her more than it should’ve. Cassie walked to the window and looked down at guests still arriving beneath the pumpkins and black lanterns. Dean stood near the fountain talking to one of the masked employees. Before Cassie could wonder why that seemed strange, Dean looked directly toward her second-floor window. Their eyes met; Cassie froze; Dean smiled; then every carved pumpkin in the courtyard went dark at once.