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BOOK THREE

Carter

The first time Delaney took money from me, she hadn’t even touched me yet.

That probably should’ve been my first indication that I was completely fucked.

I sat in the back of a black SUV outside a building that didn’t advertise what it was, staring through tinted glass at the same dark brick exterior I’d watched from across the street weeks ago. There was still no sign above the door, no line curling around the block, no drunk college girls taking pictures beneath some glowing logo for Instagram. The windows were blacked out completely. A single brass light cast a muted circle over the entrance, and beside it stood a man in a black suit who looked considerably more like private security than a nightclub bouncer.

I’d been here before.

Technically.

I’d just never been inside.

The first time, I’d followed Tatum here.

Not my finest moment.

I’d known that while I was doing it, too, which somehow made it worse. Mason had been losing his fucking mind after everything blew up between him and Tatum, and because Carter apparently translated to guy everyone sends when they need something done without making it a whole fucking production, I’d agreed to make sure she was okay. That had been the assignment. Make sure she was alive. Make sure she wasn’t in trouble. Leave her alone.

I’d taken it considerably farther than necessary.

I’d watched Tatum meet a brunette I’d never seen before. I’d watched them disappear through the unmarked door. I’d sat across the street far longer than I had any legitimate reason to, wondering what kind of place required someone to check your name before they’d even let you near the entrance.

Then I’d seen the brunette again.

At Noah and Abby’s party.

Delaney.

Long dark hair. Dark eyes. Black dress. Leather jacket. A glossy mouth that had distracted me enough that I’d missed half of whatever Tatum had been saying when she introduced us.

Delaney had looked at me for approximately three seconds before narrowing her eyes and asking if she’d seen me before.

I’d lied directly to her face.

I don’t think so.

Smooth.

Really fucking smooth.

Now, three weeks later, I was sitting outside her workplace like a man with absolutely no self-preservation instincts.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Noah: You alive?

I stared at the message for a second before answering.

Me: unfortunately

His reply came almost immediately.

Noah: where are you

I looked through the window again.

Me: out

A few seconds later, another message appeared.

Noah: mason says you’re being weird

I snorted quietly.

That was rich coming from Mason.

Me: mason alphabetizes spices

The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then came back.

Noah: he says that’s irrelevant

Me: it’s never irrelevant

I expected another stupid response. Instead, the next message made my thumb stop over the screen.

Noah: you going to that club

I stared at it.

Fucking Noah.

I hadn’t told him.

I hadn’t told anybody, actually.

Not because I was hiding it exactly. Mostly because I didn’t feel like listening to the commentary that would inevitably follow once they figured out why I was here.

Carter saw hot girl.

Carter couldn’t stop staring at hot girl.

Carter discovered hot girl worked at an exclusive members-only club where rich people paid obscene amounts of money for privacy, sex, drugs, and whatever else they couldn’t comfortably do in public.

Carter somehow got himself approved for membership.

Carter immediately went looking for her.

When laid out like that, it sounded considerably worse.

I locked my phone without answering.

The driver met my eyes through the rearview mirror. “Want me to wait?”

“No. I’m good.”

I reached for the door and stopped with my hand around the handle.

For half a second, I considered telling him to drive.

There was no good reason for me to be here. I’d met Delaney once. I didn’t know anything meaningful about her. I had women I could call who wouldn’t require a background check, a membership fee, and a small fucking fortune just to spend an hour with them.

Jules probably would’ve answered.

That thought should’ve been enough.

It wasn’t.

I got out.

Cold air hit my face as I crossed the sidewalk. The man at the entrance watched me approach without moving, and up close, he looked even less like someone interested in hearing excuses.

“Name?”

“Carter Hayes.”

He checked the tablet in his hand.

There had been an application. References. Financial verification. A membership fee that would’ve made Mason stare at me in disgust despite the fact that I could comfortably afford it. Privacy agreements. Rules. An entire vetting process that had initially made me wonder whether I’d accidentally applied to join a cult instead of a nightclub.

I’d gotten the approval yesterday afternoon.

I’d waited twenty-seven hours before coming.

I considered that admirable restraint.

The doorman looked up. “Phone.”

I pulled it from my pocket. I’d known about that rule.

He took it, placed it into a numbered lockbox behind him, and handed me a small black card corresponding with the box. There was no joking with him. No small talk. Nothing that suggested he cared who I was beyond whether my name belonged on his list.

Then the door opened.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Hayes.”

I stepped inside.

The hallway was narrow and almost entirely black, illuminated by strips of low red lighting along the floor. The music reached me first as vibration rather than sound, bass moving through the walls and beneath my shoes. At the far end stood a woman behind a small podium, dressed in a fitted black suit with nothing beneath the jacket. She gave me a polite smile when I approached.

“Membership card?”

I handed it to her.

She scanned it before returning it. “Main floor is through the curtain. Bar is open until four. Second level is lounge space and private rooms. Closed doors stay closed. Security controls access upstairs.”

I nodded.

Her expression remained professional as she continued. “Private bookings are arranged through the desk on the second level. Every worker chooses their availability before the start of a shift. The booking desk will show you the services that person has made available tonight and the corresponding price. You can purchase anything listed.”

That caught my attention.

“And once it’s purchased?”

“If it’s on their menu, they’ve already agreed to provide it.”

There was something almost clinical about the way she said it. No coy language. No euphemisms.

She must have noticed the question on my face, because she continued before I asked.

“That doesn’t give you permission to change the booking once you’re in the room. If you purchase private companionship, that’s what you’ve purchased. If you purchase a sexual service, that specific service is what they’ve agreed to. Anything beyond what is listed and booked requires a separate agreement. Safety requirements are mandatory, and a worker can end a booking if you become aggressive, violate club rules, or attempt something outside what was agreed upon.”

I glanced toward the curtain behind her.

“So they decide what they’re offering before they start working.”

“Exactly. Some menus change nightly. Some don’t. What you see at the desk is what that person has voluntarily made available for that shift.”

That made sense.

It was transactional in a way that was almost startlingly clear. Nobody had to guess what somebody wanted. Nobody had to pretend money wasn’t changing hands. The agreement existed before the room was ever booked.

“Understood.”

“One other thing.” Her gaze sharpened slightly. “No photos, no recording, no outside discussion of other members. You violate anyone’s privacy, your membership is permanently revoked.”

“Got it.”

She opened the black curtain.

I stepped through.

And stopped.

“Holy shit.”

The room was enormous.

Not nightclub enormous.

Something else.

The ceiling rose two stories overhead, crossed with exposed black beams disappearing into smoke and shadow. Red light poured over everything without ever fully illuminating it. Velvet booths lined the walls, some open to the room and others partially concealed behind heavy curtains. A glowing bar stretched across one entire side, bottles backlit against mirrored shelves. Music pounded from somewhere near the center, loud enough to vibrate through my chest without making conversation impossible.

People were everywhere.

Dancing.

Drinking.

Touching.

A woman in a glittering black bodysuit moved on a raised platform while several people watched from the couches below. Another dancer circled a pole farther across the room. Couples occupied booths in varying degrees of intimacy. A woman passed me wearing lingerie beneath an open blazer, laughing at something another woman whispered into her ear before disappearing into the crowd.

And nobody seemed impressed by any of it.

That was the strangest part.

Nobody was gawking.

Nobody was pulling out a phone because they couldn’t.

Nobody was nudging a friend and pointing.

Whatever happened inside these walls became normal the second the door closed behind you.

I liked that immediately.

Probably more than I should have.

I made my way to the bar and ordered a whiskey. While the bartender poured it, I turned to take in the room again.

I wasn’t looking for her.

That was the lie I told myself for approximately eleven seconds.

My eyes moved over faces.

Brunette.

Not her.

Another brunette.

Not her.

A woman descending the stairs.

Not her.

I accepted the glass from the bartender and took a drink, irritated with myself for reasons I couldn’t properly explain.

This was fucking ridiculous.

I’d met Delaney once.

Once.

We’d exchanged maybe twelve words.

I knew she worked here because Tatum had mentioned it after I’d asked a question casual enough that she’d immediately accused me of being interested.

I knew Delaney was twenty-two.

I knew she worked several nights a week.

I knew she liked tequila because she’d stolen Tatum’s drink at the party.

I knew she called Tatum a menace with enough affection that it was obvious they’d gotten close quickly.

And I strongly suspected she thought I was an asshole.

That was about it.

Apparently my brain had decided this constituted enough information to spend thousands of dollars getting into the building where she worked.

A blonde approached the bar beside me.

She was beautiful. Tall, long legs, silver dress, glossy lips. She ordered something from the bartender, then glanced toward me with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what she looked like.

“First night?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’ve looked at the stairs about six times.”

Had I?

I took another drink instead of answering.

She smiled slightly. “Sienna.”

“Carter.”

“I know. New members get flagged so staff know who hasn’t been here before.”

That made more sense than her somehow knowing who I was.

Her gaze moved over me, openly interested. Normally, I would’ve enjoyed that. Actually, normally I would’ve already been returning it.

I liked women.

I liked sex.

I liked flirting.

I liked the uncomplicated moment when two people realized they wanted each other and neither bothered pretending otherwise.

I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend.

Hadn’t been.

Jules and I had been having fun for exactly that reason. No promises. No exclusivity. No pretending it was heading somewhere because that was what people were supposed to do after sleeping together enough times. We kissed when we wanted. We’d ended up in bed more than once. She knew I saw other women. I knew she was free to see whoever she wanted.

Nobody lied.

Nobody belonged to anybody.

Easy.

I liked easy.

Sienna followed my gaze when I looked toward the stairs again.

“You’re looking for Delaney.”

It wasn’t really a question.

I glanced at her.

“I know her.”

Something faintly amused crossed Sienna’s face, but she didn’t make a production out of it.

“Then I hope you find her.”

She collected her drink and disappeared back into the crowd.

When I looked toward the opposite end of the bar again, I finally saw her.

Everything else disappeared so fast it pissed me off.

Delaney stood near one of the velvet booths talking to another woman.

Her hair was down tonight, long dark waves falling almost to her waist. She wore black, obviously. A fitted dress with thin straps and a hem that stopped high on her thighs, paired with tall black boots. Dark makeup sharpened her eyes beneath the red lighting, and thin silver rings flashed on her fingers when she lifted her drink.

But it wasn’t the dress.

It was her.

She looked different here.

At Noah’s party she’d been relaxed, amused by everybody around her, almost detached from the chaos.

Here, she belonged to it.

People noticed when she moved. Men watched her. Women watched her. Staff stopped to speak to her as they passed, and Delaney seemed completely accustomed to being looked at without performing surprise or false modesty. She didn’t shrink beneath attention.

She enjoyed it.

That was obvious.

Someone beside her said something that made her laugh.

My grip tightened around my glass.

A moment later she disappeared into the crowd again.

I exhaled slowly.

I should’ve left.

Seriously.

I could’ve walked out, collected my phone, gone to Noah’s, smoked something, found Jules, done literally anything that didn’t involve behaving like a man in the beginning stages of a psychological problem.

Instead, I ordered another drink.

And waited.

Twenty minutes passed.

Maybe thirty.

I talked to people.

A guy named Adrian who apparently owned several restaurants downtown.

A woman named Celeste who asked if I wanted to dance and accepted my no without caring.

Someone offered me something in the bathroom. I took it without asking enough questions, because apparently tonight was about excellent decision-making.

By the time I came back downstairs, everything felt warmer.

The music better.

The lights softer.

My skin alive.

I should’ve known better than to take something without knowing exactly what it was. Noah alone should’ve taught me that much.

But I felt good.

Loose.

Sharp and hazy at the same time.

And then I saw Delaney again.

This time, she saw me too.

Her eyes landed on mine from across the room.

She stopped.

Not dramatically.

Just enough that I caught it.

Recognition came first.

Then suspicion.

Then something that looked a hell of a lot like amusement.

She finished saying something to the man beside her and started toward me.

My pulse changed.

I hated that.

She moved through the crowd without rushing, pausing once when someone caught her hand and leaned close to speak into her ear. She listened, smiled briefly, then continued.

By the time she reached me, I’d managed to arrange my face into something resembling casual.

Her eyes traveled over me.

“You actually came inside this time.”

So she had seen me.

I gave a quiet laugh and looked down at my drink. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“I watched you sit across the street for three hours.”

“That sounds worse when you say it.”

“It looked worse while you were doing it.”

Fair.

I leaned one shoulder against the bar. “Mason asked me to make sure Tatum was okay. Things were bad between them.”

Delaney waited.

I sighed. “No. It didn’t require three hours. I was being nosy.”

That earned me a small nod.

At least I’d stopped lying.

“I knew you recognized me at the party,” I said.

“I did. I wanted to see whether you’d admit you’d been here.”

“And I failed.”

“Pretty spectacularly.”

There was enough dryness in her voice to make me smile, but she wasn’t trying to entertain me. That was one of the first things I’d noticed about her. Delaney didn’t fill silence because she was uncomfortable with it. She didn’t seem particularly interested in making herself easier to consume.

Her gaze shifted to my eyes.

The amusement disappeared.

“You’re high.”

“Little bit.”

“On what?”

I didn’t answer quickly enough.

Her expression flattened.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Delaney looked genuinely unimpressed. “That’s stupid.”

“Probably.”

“You should figure out what you’re putting in your body before you put it there.”

There wasn’t concern in her voice exactly. Not the kind Mason would’ve used. She wasn’t trying to take care of me. She was simply stating something obvious that I’d been too careless to consider.

“I feel fine.”

“For now.”

I nodded.

Fair.

A man in a dark suit approached from behind her.

“Lane.”

She looked over.

“Yeah?”

“Room six booked you. Forty-five minutes. Full service.”

Something in my chest pulled tight.

Delaney didn’t react beyond setting her drink on the bar.

“I’ll be up in five.”

The man walked away.

I stared after him before looking back at her.

Full service.

I knew enough about the system now to understand what that meant.

Somebody had looked at Delaney’s menu tonight.

Sex had been on it.

He’d selected it.

Paid.

And now she was going upstairs.

Delaney caught the change in my expression immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She didn’t believe me.

I took another drink, then asked the question anyway.

“So you chose to put that on your menu tonight.”

“Yes.”

No embarrassment.

No hesitation.

“I decide what I’m available for before the shift. Full service is on there tonight.”

“And once somebody buys it, you take the booking.”

“That’s the point.”

My jaw tightened before I could stop it.

She noticed.

Her expression cooled.

I caught myself before she needed to say anything.

“I’m not judging you.”

“Good.”

“I mean it.”

She watched me carefully.

The jealousy was mine. Irrational, immediate, and completely unjustified, but mine. Delaney didn’t owe me an explanation because some stranger had purchased something she’d freely decided to offer.

I looked toward the staircase.

Then back at her.

“How much?”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“For the booking.”

“Why?”

“I’m curious.”

Delaney considered me for a second before answering.

“He paid twenty-four hundred.”

The number took a second to register.

“For forty-five minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus.”

A small smile touched her mouth.

“You asked.”

“How much of that do you get?”

“Eighteen hundred.”

I stared at her.

Delaney looked almost amused by my reaction.

“You make eighteen hundred dollars for forty-five minutes?”

“For this booking, yes.”

“And the club keeps six?”

“Twenty-five percent.”

I let out a breath.

No wonder she liked working here.

“You could make more in one night than most people make in a month.”

“I have.”

There wasn’t a trace of shame in her answer.

If anything, she sounded proud.

I found that ridiculously attractive.

“You like this.”

It wasn’t a question.

Delaney glanced around the club before looking back at me.

“Yes.”

No tragic pause.

No hidden sadness.

No confession waiting underneath.

Just yes.

She liked the money.

She liked the attention.

Maybe she liked the sex.

She had chosen the work and the terms under which she did it.

For some reason, that made the jealousy easier to recognize for what it actually was.

Mine.

Not evidence that something was being done to her.

I had no claim here.

The man in the suit caught her attention from across the room.

Delaney straightened.

“I have to go.”

I nodded toward the stairs. “Room six.”

Her eyes sharpened.

“I know,” I said before she could correct me. “Not my business.”

Something in her expression eased.

“Exactly.”

She turned.

I watched her take two steps before I spoke.

“Delaney.”

She looked back.

“How do I book you?”

That stopped her.

The noise of the room seemed to recede around us.

She came back a step.

“You go upstairs to the desk. They’ll pull up my menu. You choose whatever I’m offering, pay, and they’ll assign the room.”

“So I don’t book through you.”

“No. I’ve already decided what I’m willing to take tonight. The desk handles the rest.”

I glanced toward the staircase.

“What are you offering?”

Her mouth curved slightly.

“You’ll have to look.”

I laughed under my breath.

“You’re really not going to tell me?”

“No.”

There was no elaborate teasing behind it. She simply seemed curious whether I would actually go upstairs and find out.

Our eyes held.

For the first time since she’d walked over, something shifted between us.

Her gaze moved down my chest before returning to my face.

Slowly.

She was attracted to me.

At least I thought she was.

And that was exactly the problem with this place.

Soon, I wouldn’t know.

If I paid, Delaney would come to whatever room they assigned because she’d already consented to whatever service I selected.

If she touched me, would she have wanted to?

If she kissed me, would she have done it outside these walls?

If she looked at me the same way she’d just looked at me, would I know whether it belonged to me or the booking?

I didn’t like that uncertainty.

Which was ridiculous considering I’d come here expecting uncomplicated sex.

Delaney stepped closer.

Not enough to touch me.

Enough that I could smell her perfume beneath the alcohol and smoke.

“If you want to know,” she said quietly, “go upstairs.”

Then she walked away.

I watched her reach the staircase.

Security unhooked the velvet rope.

She stepped through.

Halfway up, Delaney looked back.

Directly at me.

Our eyes met.

She held mine for one second.

Two.

Then she disappeared upstairs.

I exhaled.

“Fuck.”

The bartender set another whiskey near my hand.

I hadn’t ordered it.

I looked at him.

He gave me the kind of expression that suggested he’d watched men make stupid decisions over women in this building a thousand times.

I picked up the glass.

He wasn’t wrong.

I had come here because I wanted to see Delaney again.

That was all.

At least, that was what I’d told myself.

Now I was standing inside a members-only club, high on something I should’ve identified before taking it, thinking about the fact that another man had just paid twenty-four hundred dollars to spend forty-five minutes having sex with a woman I’d barely met.

And Delaney would walk away eighteen hundred dollars richer.

That shouldn’t have bothered me.

She wasn’t being forced.

She wasn’t being tricked.

She had decided before the shift that sex was something she was willing to sell tonight, and someone had bought it.

The clarity of the arrangement almost made my reaction more embarrassing.

Because I didn’t have anything righteous to hide behind.

I was fucking jealous.

That was it.

Jealous of a man whose name I didn’t know because he was currently getting something from Delaney I hadn’t even earned the right to want.

I finished the whiskey.

Then I went upstairs.

Security checked my membership card before allowing me through.

The second floor was quieter than the main level, the music reduced to a deep pulse beneath my feet. A long hallway stretched in both directions, lined with black doors bearing small brass numbers. Some had security standing outside. Others were empty. Heavy curtains covered small lounge alcoves between sections of rooms, and the lighting was even darker up here.

Room six was somewhere down that hallway.

I deliberately didn’t look for it.

At the end sat another desk.

A woman looked up when I approached.

“Can I help you?”

I put my membership card down.

“Delaney.”

Her fingers moved over the tablet.

“She has another booking first.”

“I know.”

“She’ll be unavailable for approximately fifty minutes including turnaround.”

“I can wait.”

The woman nodded as though men waiting for Delaney was hardly unusual.

That irritated me too.

Then she turned the screen toward me.

Delaney’s name appeared at the top.

Below it was her availability for the night.

Private companionship.

Lap dance.

Private dance.

Several more intimate options.

And then—

Full Service — 45 minutes — $2,400

There it was.

Same thing Room Six had purchased.

Sex.

Protection mandatory.

The remaining boundaries and requirements were laid out underneath it in clear language. No ambiguity. No room for anyone to claim they hadn’t understood.

I stared at the price.

Twenty-four hundred dollars.

Eighteen hundred to Delaney.

Six hundred to the club.

It was objectively ridiculous.

It was also less than I’d expected after hearing her say it downstairs.

The woman behind the desk waited.

I should’ve selected companionship.

That would’ve been the sane choice.

I could’ve paid for an hour and talked to her. Figured out what the fuck it was about this woman that had dragged me across the city and through a membership process just to get inside the building where she worked.

Instead, my eyes went back to the full-service line.

I’d wanted her since Noah’s party.

I wanted her now.

And pretending otherwise because suddenly I’d developed some weird fascination with whether she genuinely liked me felt even more dishonest than paying her.

“She gets eighteen hundred of this?”

“Yes.”

I looked at the screen again.

“Book it.”

The woman didn’t react.

“Forty-five-minute full service with Delaney?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty-four hundred dollars.”

“I heard you.”

She took my card.

The transaction went through with a quiet beep.

That was it.