My Stepbrother's Rules: The Complete Series (Steamy Stepbrother Romance) (6 page)

The lash marks on my back started to burn. I stood up straighter.

“They pay well?” I asked.

The girls laughed. “Sweetie, you have no idea. I hooked up with a guy once who paid me to spend the week with him. Bought me a new car, plus fifty thousand in cash. Easiest money I’ve ever made. All I had to do was call him, ‘Daddy,’ while he spanked me.”

“I know this one girl, she moved in with her Dom. The guy lived in a penthouse. He gave her credit cards, a sports car, jewelry- you name it. She’s set for life.”

“It all sounds too good to be true,” I said. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is you don’t get to pick your Dom. These guys aren’t all Prince Charming with a whip.”

The girls laughed.

“It’s not like romance novels where all the guys are hot and basically respectful of women. Sometimes, they don’t want to hear the safe word. That’s why we’ve got all the security,” a girl wearing a purple wig said.

“Yeah, and they’re not all eager to sweep you off your feet and throw money at you. Some of them are cheap despite being rich.”

“You get a lot of rich guys in here?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. Most of the clients are wealthy. I saw that hot Dom you were with. You better hold onto him. You’re lucky.”

“Yeah, you fuck that up and I’m stealing him.”

“What about the club?” I said, changing the subject. “You don’t have trouble with them, do you?”

“Nah, Ivy’s cool. She used to be one of us. She knows what it’s like. Just don’t go hiding money from her or pissing off the clients.”

“Why not?” 

“She’ll throw you out on your ass.”

“Oh.” I didn’t mean to sound disappointed. I was happy the girls were treated well, but I was starting to wonder what kind of story I had.

“The best is when you get invited to one of their parties,” a girl said.

“Yeah,” the others agreed.

I perked up. “Parties?”

“It’s at this mansion out in the hills. Full of rich dudes. They pay to watch mostly.”

Maybe there was a story here: prostitution and the rich and powerful. It was a story I could sell to my editor.

The door opened and Ivy entered. I turned away from her, but it was too late. She’d caught sight of me.

“Are you lost?” she asked.

The girls were watching the scene unfold. They’d caught a whiff of drama and they were eager to see what happened next.

“No, I was just talking with the girls.”

“These girls are supposed to be working.”

She shot them a look and they scrambled to dress, reapply makeup and get back out into the club.

“What are you really doing back here?” she asked.

“She said she was working here,” a girl chimed in.

She reminded me of that girl in elementary school who tries to curry favor with the teacher by tattle-telling on the other students. I forced a smile on my face to try and hide my feelings of betrayal. It was silly. I didn’t even know the girl, but I felt like she was ratting me out.

“I was thinking about applying for a job,” I lied. “The girls were just filling me in on what it’s like to work here.”

“Were they?” she said with an incredulous laugh.

“Are you hiring?”

“Always. Especially when the applicant is a sweet little thing like you.”

I took a step back.

“Great! We’ll be in touch.”

I ran past her and out the door. Ivy turned to watch me flee. I struggled to open the door. She calmly walked up to my side and opened it.

“Why don’t you come back Friday night?” she asked. “I’ve got something special in mind for you- that is, if your boyfriend doesn’t mind.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I replied as I ran past her.

I didn’t bother to tell her I wouldn’t be back Friday night. Had I already made up my mind to return? Alex wouldn’t like it. Ivy wanted me alone, free from Alex and his jealousy. How far was I willing to go for a story?

4

“Henrietta! My office- now!”

I nearly jumped out of my chair with fright. When my editor screamed across the office like that it almost always meant trouble. I was prepared for the worst.

I walked into his cramped office cautiously. Stacks of papers and books covered the room, along with an old typewriter. My editor loved telling stories about the old days when it was just him and his trusty typewriter, an antique he’d inherited from his father.

I usually smiled along politely while he talked about how different things were back in his day.

“That’s when being a journalist meant something,” he’d say. “It’s not like today with your blogs and…”

I usually tuned out the rest. He could rant like this for hours. I could taste acid in the back of my throat as I entered his office.

“Sit down, Henrietta.”

Obediently, I sat. My editor loved giving commands. He’d fit in well at The Red Room, I thought absently.

“Most people call me Etta, sir.”

“Henrietta,” he continued, “it’s amazing.”

He tossed my story onto the desk before me. When I got home from the club last night, I’d quickly written a two thousand word essay about the club, the girls, and a watered down, PG-13 version of the BDSM experience. It was more than my editor had asked for, but I couldn’t help myself. There was more to talk about than I realized.

I wanted to capture the atmosphere and people as best I could. I edited the piece several times, trying to make it shorter, with little success. As I glanced over the version on my editor’s desk, I noticed several red mark and crosses. He’d obviously cut my piece way down. I didn’t care though. I was too excited by his enthusiasm.

“It’s great. You give me more and you might have a real future here.”

“More?” I asked.

“I want you to get inside at one of these parties. Are the clients elected officials? Are they using government funds for these parties? Are they buying prostitutes on the taxpayers’ dime? These are the questions I want answered. Familiarize yourself with the names and faces of government officials and be on the lookout for them. Your first story is a good introductory piece. It’s full of sizzle, but I want red meat. Corruption, sex, misappropriated funds… this story has it all. You better deliver it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now get out of here and get to work.”

I swallowed hard and rose. How was I going to get into one of the parties? And what about Alex? I hadn’t spoken to him since ditching him in The Red Room. He would never approve of my undercover work. Some of the BDSM club’s patrons were his colleagues, maybe even his friends.

I had a lot of work to do and not a single ally.

I sat at my desk all afternoon coming up with a strategy. Finally, I picked up the phone and called Ivy. After speaking to three different people at the club, I finally got her on the line.

“Ivy, this is-”

“Natasha,” she said.

I started to correct her, then I remembered the fake name I’d given the bodyguard. He must have passed it along to Ivy.

“Yes. Listen, I’m dying to get started. The girls told me about a party in the hills. I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but…”

“Sweetie, if this business is about anything it’s overstepping boundaries. Of course I’ll give you a shot. Be at the club and ready to go by six. I’ll have one of the girls take you out to the mansion.”

“Great!” I said.

I surprised myself by how sincerely excited I was. A twinge of guilt twisted my stomach. What about Alex? I didn’t know how to define our relationship anymore. It was hard to say if I was betraying him or not, but I didn’t like the idea of hurting him.

“Six o’clock sharp,” she said. “And wear something classy.”

PART THREE

1

I sat in the backseat of a sports car next to one of the girls from the club. I fidgeted nervously, straightening and readjusting the neckline of my dress. I wore a plunging black number with a high slit in the side. I ditched my wig and decided to dye my hair dark red. Ivy said it flattered me so I decided to make the change. If nothing else, it would please her which could work out to my advantage. Staying friendly with the boss of The Red Room could have its benefits.

I rode next to a girl named Angie who didn’t like to talk. I’d tried unsuccessfully to question her about the party and the club. She shrugged off most of my questions or answered with an irritated: “Apparently.”

“Is the party full of rich, powerful men?” I’d asked.

“
Apparently
.”

“Do things get rough?”

“
Apparently
.”

“Will we make good money?”

Shrug.

I gave up questioning her. It was clear she knew more than she was willing to tell me, but getting her to talk was too difficult. Besides, I’d soon have the answers to my questions once I was inside. Still, I wished I knew what I was walking in to.

After a meeting with my editor, I was feeling paranoid. He warned me not to confront anyone at the party and to keep my true identity secret. He was convinced these people were dangerous. There was no reason to believe I was in danger, but his words had left me shaken.

I pulled a loose string from the hemline of my dress and sighed. Ivy told me to wear something classy. I didn’t own any formal party dresses. I’d been forced to go through my mother’s closet and take an old cocktail dress. When I tried on the dress I was shocked by how revealing it was. I had no idea my mother owned such sexy clothes. What kind of parties was she going to when I wasn’t around? I found it all mildly amusing and mildly disturbing.

Our driver was one of the bodyguards from the club. He hummed to himself and kept one hand on the radio. How much did he know? He acted as if this was routine.

We turned into a long driveway and slowed down. Woods hugged the road tightly. The trees and underbrush were so thick that they acted as an impenetrable boundary. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. The woods wouldn’t shelter you from predators.

I sighed and tapped my foot.

“Could you please stop?” Angie said. It was the most she’d said to me all night.

“What?”

“Shaking your foot. It’s getting on my nerves.”

“Oh, sorry. Hey, do you think-”

“I don’t know.”

She didn’t even let me finish my question before shutting me down. I turned away and sighed again. Angie groaned. Apparently, my fidgeting wasn’t the only thing that irritated her.

Suddenly, the woods opened up, revealing a huge house. I leaned forward and wrenched my neck to get a good look at it. It was lit like a Christmas tree. Tall windows revealed people inside, talking and drinking.

It didn’t look like a sex party. Everyone was dressed like they were going to the Oscars. It was a bit odd in its formality. I’d expected to walk into a scandalous event. This looked pretty tame. Of course, I wasn’t inside yet.

The bodyguard pulled up to the house. “You girls have my number?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Angie replied.

“Wait, what? I don’t have your number. Why would I need it?”

“It’s just a precaution. If things get too rough, one of the guys disrespects you, you call me and I’ll come and take care of him.”

He handed me a business card with his number and the name ‘Mickey,’ written on it. I swallowed hard. My editor was right: this was a dangerous situation.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Mickey said. “You’ll be fine. We just like to stay extra safe around here, right?”

Angie made a sound that could have meant she agreed or disagreed. It was impossible to tell.

“Call me when you’re ready to be picked up,” he said.

A man opened my door and offered his hand. This was it. I could still leave with Mickey. It wasn’t too late.

I took the man’s hand and stepped out. I had to get a story. This was my big chance. It may never come around again. Besides, I was dying to find out what went on inside the party. What if Alex was inside? Was he with another girl? I hadn’t heard from him since our last encounter at The Red Room.

I took his silence as a bad sign. Of course, I’d made no move to contact him either. Every time I picked up the phone my mind went blank. How could I explain to him what I felt? When we were together, he made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. My body reacted to him explosively. When we were apart trouble started.

I imagined him with other girls, whipping and fucking them. I shouldn’t have cared. Alex and I weren’t a couple. We could never be together: he was my stepbrother. But I’d be lying, if I said I wasn’t hopeful. Hopeful for what was the question. There was no future for us. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. It made what I was about to do a little easier.

Angie rushed ahead of me as if she couldn’t wait to put distance between us. I was on my own inside the mansion.

Stepping into the house took my breath away. It was covered in a mixture of modern and classic artwork; a huge library to my right was full of three levels of antique furniture and books. What was it like to live like this? My family was rich, but nowhere near close to being this wealthy.

People talked and sipped from champagne glasses. I caught pieces of conversations as I drifted among them.

“Can you believe she showed up with him?”

“Well, her husband is out of town…”

“No one knows where the money is.”

“Did you talk to-”

“Yes. He knows nothing.”

Talk of money caught my attention. I looked at the two men, but didn’t recognize them. My editor had me memorize the faces of many of our city and state’s elected officials, plus their staffs. I’d spent hours poring over flashcards.

As I looked around the room now, I was met with the faces of strangers. It was disappointing, but I’d only just walked into the party and the house was crawling with people. I was confident I’d find my story eventually; I just had to keep looking.

“See something you like?” one of the men discussing money asked me. He said it flirtatiously, but it came across rude.

“I, uh-”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. The man was older with beady eyes and a jowly face. He looked like a bulldog. I remembered what the girls at the club said about how not every guy was Prince Charming with a whip.

“I mistook you for someone else,” I lied.

“I don’t think so,” the man replied. “I think I’m just what you were looking for.”

I wanted to groan with disgust, but somehow managed to keep a smile on my face.

“The night is young,” I said in my best sultry voice. “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

The man’s companion laughed as I turned and disappeared into the crowd. Large crowds usually gave me anxiety, but tonight I was grateful. There’s safety in numbers.

As I moved between the partygoers, I started to feel both more at ease and more confused. The threat of danger faded and with it went my story.

I scanned the faces looking for anyone I might recognize, but these people were strangers. They mingled in expensive tuxes and dresses, talking and drinking amicably. There had to be more to the party than met the eye. Why else would they pay The Red Room to supply girls?

I wandered into a sitting room and caught a glimpse of Angie. She stood between two men. They pawed at her, touching her hair and face. I watched as she threw back her head and laughed way too hard at something one of the men said. She was laying it on pretty thick, but the men seemed to like it.

When she saw me staring, she shot me a dirty look. Angie raised an eyebrow and looked over at a man standing by himself on the other side of the room. She nodded her head, gesturing to him.

I couldn’t figure out what she was trying to tell me. I shrugged and shook my head in confusion.

Angie smiled sweetly to her companions then sauntered over to me like a cat. She grabbed my elbow painfully. Her long acrylic nails dug into my skin.

“Ow!” I protested.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just-”

“
Exactly.
You’re doing nothing. There’s a guy over there standing alone. Go keep him entertained.”

“That guy?”

He was short and bald; his suit ill-fitting. It made him look like a penguin.

“Yes,
that guy
. Go talk to him. Why do you think we’re here?”

“To just talk? I thought there would be more… you know.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “That comes later. There are private rooms in the back for couples, but first you have to find a date.”

“I can’t just go back to one of the private rooms and-”

“And what? Sit there alone?”

I remembered the girls in The Red Room’s changing room saying how most of the guys at these parties liked to watch.

“What about group parties?” I asked. “Some of the guys like to watch, right?”

“Yeah, but like I said, you need a date. Worry, about finding one guy first, before you start planning viewing parties.”

Angie rolled her eyes and pushed me toward the bald man. He looked timid and unassuming. Was he a Dom? Maybe he liked being dominated. I wondered what it was like to be the one wielding the whip.

I tried to imagine myself whipping the man before me. The thought of his naked, pale, out of shape body wasn’t exactly turning me on, but you never know. Looks can be deceiving. Maybe I was in for a good time with the man.

I tried to mimic Angie’s cat-like walk as I strolled up to him.

“I’m all alone,” I said. “I don’t know anyone here. Will you keep me company?”

The man perked up. “I’m alone too. How does a girl like you not have a date?”

I smiled warmly. He seemed sweet.

I shrugged shyly. “What do you do for a living?” I asked.

Flirting wasn’t my strong suit, but I was dying to check out the backrooms. According to Angie, I needed a date to access the area. I was going to have to step up my game. Internally, I frowned. I’m not a seductress. I have no idea how to make a disinterested man interested.

“I work in finance,” the man responded.

He started to drone on about his work developing special computer algorithms for Wall Street investment firms. I nodded along as if I found it fascinating, even though I was bored to death.

“You know, most girls aren’t interested in all this,” he admitted.

“Really? Why?” I feigned surprise.

“It’s a bit boring, I suppose.”

“Not when you explain it.”

The man blushed. It gave me a strange surge of confidence. I wasn’t used to seeing men act shyly around me.

“Well, it’s very important work. I’m just a small cog in the machine.”

“I doubt that. It sounds like these companies would go bankrupt if not for you. They’re lucky they have your brain at their disposal.”

The man shrugged and sipped his drink.

“Would you like to get out of here?” I asked.

“The parties only just started. It would be rude to leave so early.”

“No, I mean, would you like to check out one of the back rooms? I hear there’s a whole other world back there.”

“What do you mean?”

I leaned in close as if I was sharing a secret, though I’m not sure that it was one. Why this man had no knowledge of the sex element to the party was a mystery. It was something to consider.

“I hear they have private rooms where…” I paused dramatically. “People have sex, and not just regular sex- BDSM.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s go back. I’ll show you.”

I took his hand in mind and started to lead him away. As we exited the room, it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea where I was going. I looked around for Angie, but she’d disappeared with her two dates.

A waiter walked by carrying a tray of drinks.

“Excuse me,” I said to him, “can you tell me where we can find a private room?”

I felt embarrassed asking, but I didn’t know who else to speak with. The man shrugged and walked away.

I felt my temper flare. If Ivy or one of the girls had bothered to brief me before the party, I wouldn’t be making an ass of myself now.

“Over there,” my date said.

I followed his gaze. The crowd parted and I caught a glimpse of a large man in a black suit standing before a door. He was dressed formally, but he looked strangely out of place. His suit didn’t quite fit and he wasn’t wearing a tie. He stood stiffly like a soldier. His hands were crossed in front of him; his eyes steely.

“I’d bet that’s where the private rooms are,” my date said.

I frowned. I felt a bit chagrinned by the fact that my lame, dorky date understood the party better than I did. Clearly, I had a lot to learn. I walked up to the guard with my date in tow.