Page 2 of Dangerous Pursuit
"Yeah. This place will do that to you," Blake's chuckling words barely register, and it's not until his fingers dig into my shoulder and he physically moves me that I manage to finally blink. "Come on. Don't make a scene."
Makea scene? I doubt anyone would notice me, even if I dropped to the floor and had a seizure.
I shake my head and do my best to focus on the back of Blake's head as he drags me toward the wooden bar stretching along the entire wall at the opposite end of the room. A few bodies brush against me as we walk, no doubt on accident, and I pick up the pace, heart beating faster in my chest. Again, it's not like anyone would notice if I popped a random boner, but still. Why is the fucking bar so far away?
We reach it after what feels like three full feature-length pornos later and I claw at the wooden edge to keep myself grounded, my eyes darting to the naked mass around me involuntarily.
"Welcome." A voice reaches me and I force myself to focus on the figure across the bar. Sawyer.
"Hey, man," I half-whisper, even though there's no need, my words getting drowned out by music and lewd slapping noises. "How do you get any work done around here?"
Sawyer leans over the bar and answers in the same half-whisper, "I'm not gonna lie. It was hard to zone out the shenanigans at first." He winks. "What can I get you?"
Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna leave half my paycheck at the bar. "Actually, I'm good. I've been trying to cut back on—"
"It's on the house."
I perk up. "Oh. Well, in that case, some red wine would be great."
"Coming right up."
Sawyer strolls to the other side of the bar and selects a bottle from a shelf, and only now do I realize he hasn't spoken a single word to Blake.
My head snaps to Blake and I'm about to ask, but he's too busy shooting daggers at the back of Sawyer's skull to notice.
What the fuck is going on?
Deciding it's physically unsafe to ask that particular question, I opt for a distraction instead. "What's behind all those doors?" I point my chin toward several closed doors scattered along the walls.
Blake turns his head to face me, but his eyes remain fixed on Sawyer, and it takes him a few seconds to notice me and blink me into existence. Once he does, he schools his features. "That's where they keep naked people—tied up and hanging from the ceiling."
And now I regret asking. What kind of place is this, exactly?
My expression must reflect my distress, because Blake adds, "Relax. It's pretty much more of the same, only… more intense."
"More than this?"
But before Blake can answer, Sawyer returns. "There you go," he says as he puts a large wineglass in front of me.
I murmur a "Thanks," while I evaluate the situation. Blake and Sawyer are sizing each other up, the tension between them making my skin tingle. Whatever's going on, I'll be damned if I get in the middle—it's time to scram.
I turn to Sawyer. "Would it be cool if I," I lower my voice, "took a look around?"
Sawyer winks. "Have at it." And before either of them has a chance to make me a witness of what I'm sure is going to be a murder, I bolt.
I stroll deeper into the club, trying my best not to stare, but it's nearly damn impossible—if I thought the squabble between my friends was intense, I don't even know how to describe the scenes unfolding before my eyes one after another.
As I walk across a spacious room filled with people, my eyes roam around the scene. Everyone's engaged in some type of sexual activity, and it's just…a lot.
I stride toward one of the doors and thrust it open, entering a narrow hallway. The walls are lined with doors again, some gaping wide, others shut tightly. I peer through the open ones to find more of the same—people going at each other like there's no tomorrow. Like their entire existence depends on this very moment, on making sure that they give whomever they're with the time of their life.
I keep walking, but the tightness of the corridor is suffocating, so I shove open the nearest door and plunge inside.
And now it's a whole different ball game.
There's a giant square sofa in the middle of the room, and people are gathered around it, watching, touching themselves and others, eyes and hands hungry, starving for the main course. And the main course is the scene taking place on top of the sofa.
There is a woman sandwiched between two men, all naked, their skins glistening in the lights, sliding, rubbing. Intrigued, I step closer. This feels fucking illegal.
