Page 12 of Scarlet Thorns
“Whatever kind you want. Talk, companionship, physical contact— up to the participants. No names, no personalinformation, no contact outside these walls.” He pauses. “No judgment, no expectations, no consequences beyond what happens in the moment.”
“Sounds like a fucking fairy tale.” I snort lightly.
“The best things usually do.” Jack’s smile is pure charm. “But sometimes we need fairy tales to remember we’re still breathing.”
The words hit deeper than they should.
When’s the last time I felt alive instead of just surviving?
Never.
“What kind of people do this?” I can’t help the curiosity that’s beginning to build.
“People who want to forget who they are. People tired of performing their lives instead of living them. Interested?”
I drain the vodka. This is insane. I have responsibilities, a pregnant wife who trusts me to be discreet. But discretion and anonymity aren’t the same thing.
“How does it work?” I shouldn’t be asking this shit. But what the hell. You only live once.
Jack shifts to something more professional. “Everyone wears masks. Random room assignment— no choosing, just fate. If you don’t like your pairing, you leave. If you do like it…” He shrugs. “That’s between you and them.”
“Security?”
“Cameras in common areas, emergency buttons in private rooms. Break the rules— reveal identity, make outside contact, violate consent— and it’s a permanent ban. We protect members because they trust us with secrets.”
I think about Galina’s careful permission, Stanley’s accusations, the weight of always being “switched on.” When’s the last time someone looked at me and saw just a man instead of a reputation?
“Interested.”
Jack nods like he expected this. “Follow me.”
The corridor behind the bar feels like entering another world. Soft lights, thick carpet, fabric-lined walls that swallow sound. Everything designed for intimacy and secrets.
He stops at a cabinet and pulls out something black and elegant— a mask that would cover the upper half of my face. The leather is butter-soft, expensive.
“No phones past this point. No weapons. No real names.” Jack hands me the mask. “What happens here stays here. What you learn about yourself is yours to keep.”
The mask feels oddly heavy in my hands; like its weight will keep my secrets. Quality craftsmanship, nothing cheap or theatrical. Crafted by someone who understands that anonymity can be a luxury.
“Room assignments are random?”
“Completely. The person inside could be a lawyer, a teacher, a socialite looking for thrills. Part of the appeal is not knowing.”
The mask changes everything when I lift it to my face. Once this goes on, I stop being Osip Sidorov— businessman, husband, criminal. I become just another anonymous figure looking for something he can’t name.
“Any advice?” The question feels foolish. I always pride myself on knowing exactly what I’m getting into. But for once in my life, I like the idea of stepping into the unknown.
Jack’s smile is mysterious. “Don’t think too much. Thinking is what brought you here.”
Blyad.
He’s right.
“Room Five,” Jack says, pointing down a hallway with numbered doors. “There’s a change room at the end of the hall, if you’d like to get washed up. Maybe change out of your clothes. Take your time. Leave whenever you want. Trust your gut.”
I nod, turning away as he leaves me standing there.
The change room is as luxurious as everything else in this place— slate floors, rain shower heads, towels thick as fur.
