The Auction: A Dark Romance (Club Indulgence Duet Book 1)

I‘m in uncharted territory, and I’m unsure how to navigate out of it. The more I try to stick with my normal playtime activities, avoiding anything intimate with Blakely, the more I fail.

I can only go so many sessions without kissing her before I break. And once I touch her lips, it’s like relief hits me.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s a vicious cycle, but it doesn’t help that the only time I really feel like Blakely fully submits is when I allow her to kiss me. It’s why I let her the night at the club. I didn’t plan it, but it seemed like the only path to take after her admission.

We’ve had too many play sessions to count. Every night, sometimes during the day if it’s the weekend, or even the morning if I can’t surf, leads to sessions.

The ones I get through without kissing her don’t eliminate the chaos looming inside me. If anything, I feel more on edge. Nightmares always follow. Blakely always wakes me, giving me a pitiful expression, which I hate. But my past continues to terrorize me until I finally cave. The nights we kiss and my pet fully submits, I sleep peacefully, sometimes later than normal, and I miss the ability to surf.

It turns me into a bigger dick.

Blakely doesn’t take my shit, talking back to me and standing up for herself, which only irritates me further. So I always revert to our sessions, trying to keep my boundaries until I fail again.

My secret plans to take down Hugh continue to evolve. I’ve become ruthless in sending him footage of my pet. Sometimes she’s at the piano, belting out a tune. At others, on the beach, with the wind blowing her blonde locks all over. But then there are the times I really piss Hugh off. Like last night, I took a video of Blakely sucking my cock and looking at me with her glistening, doe eyes.

It was only a few seconds of coverage, but I didn’t hesitate to send it. And I’ve been editing footage from our night at the club, using an app to hide the identity of my voice. Hugh’s seen nothing of that footage. I’m saving that for public humiliation.

My pet stirs, a soft whine coming from her as she curls closer into my chest.

I curse myself again, stroking her hip. Last night was another example of my lack of discipline. Right now, I need to get away from her, but even that is getting harder. On these types of mornings, I want to kiss her some more and go at it again.

I’m turning into a pussy.

This has to stop.

She’s learning how to fuck with my head to get what she wants.

I walked in the door after nine o’clock last night, and she was in a hot-pink lingerie set, kneeling next to her piano.

I had no idea how long she’d been in her position, but my cock got so hard, all I could think about was getting inside her. Within two minutes, I kissed her and carried her to the bedroom. We fucked, and talked, and fucked some more until the darkness started to break with a brilliant orange glow.

I internally groan, recalling how I admitted to her that my mother was a prostitute, alcoholic, and drug addict. It came out of my mouth before I realized it. And she pushed me for more info until I cracked further and confessed too many things.

Yep, I’m a full-blown pussy.

Unable to hide from my reality, I slowly move her off me, then sneak out of the room. It’s close to eight, which usually means I missed my surfing window. But a storm is coming, making the swell higher and more dangerous to surf. It’s the perfect morning for how I’m feeling.

I go outside, put on my wetsuit, grab my board, and enter the ocean, fighting to get past the break.

There’s no calm chaos today, except for the image of my pet’s blue orbs. It’s a fight to stay on the board, and the challenge helps alleviate some of my stress.

Then her lips pop back into my mind.

Hours pass, and it begins to rain. I head to shore, shower, and go inside.

Blakely sits at the table, drinking coffee, looking lost in thoughts.

Panic grips me. I question, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she states, but she’s lying. Her fingers tap her mug like she’s playing a fast song on the piano. Her other hand is softly scratching her neck. If I didn’t know her, I’d wonder if she’s an addict, jonesing for a hit. It reminds me of my mother or hers, but I try to shake it off. Since the night Blakely drank that bottle of wine, I’ve never seen her anything but sober.

I sit next to her, grab her hand from her neck, and assert, ‘You’re going to have scratch marks. Stop lying to me and tell me what’s bothering you.’

She cringes and sighs.

I wait for her to speak, but when a vision of my mother pacing our falling-apart house appears in my mind, I reach for her hand that’s tapping the mug. I hold it flat against the ceramic and arch my eyebrows.

She blurts out, ‘I’m going backward.’

‘How?’

‘My career. I should be on stage singing. I’m not developing.’

‘You’re supposed to be working on material for your demo,’ I remind her.

She bites her lip.

‘Isn’t that what you said you needed? A demo?’ I question.

She nods. ‘Yes, but that requires me to write something. I-I can’t.’

I release her hands and sit back in the chair, inquiring, ‘How many new songs have you written since you got here?’

She winces again.

‘It can’t be that bad,’ I assert.

She closes her eyes, shakes her head, and confesses, ‘None.’

Shock fills me. I blurt out, ‘Surely you’ve written something. You’ve been here almost two months.’

She covers her hands over her face and groans. ‘I have nothing.’

‘What have you been doing all day?’

She glares at me. ‘I’ve been trying to write. It’s just not coming to me. It’s not that easy, or everyone would do it!’

I put my hands in the air. ‘Hey, I’m not judging.’

‘Sounds like you are,’ she says.

I soften my voice. ‘I’m not, pet.’

Silence ensues. I curse myself. I promised her she’d be farther along in her career after a year with me. It’s time to make good on that.

My phone vibrates. I glance at the screen.

Chainsaw: Ready for you.

Excitement fills me. I’ve been waiting for this longer than I ever expected.

Me: Be there in an hour and a half.

I ask, ‘What do you need to write?’

She scoffs. ‘A new brain.’

My lips twitch.

‘This isn’t funny,’ she claims.

I rise, bend down, kiss the top of her head, and declare, ‘Your brain is fine. In fact, it’s impeccable. Stop worrying, and it’ll come to you. I have to get to work.’ I go into the bedroom, change, and leave.

I fight traffic, finally get in front of the warehouse, and hit the remote. The garage door opens. I reverse the Porsche in, then close the door. I take an envelope out of the glove compartment and exit my vehicle. I step inside the large, almost empty space.

Chainsaw sits on the desk, his arms crossed. The man, who I assume is Snake, is tied to a chair, his wrists bound behind his back and ankles strapped to the metal legs. He’s huge, not unlike anything I’d imagine for a bouncer at a high-end strip club in L.A. A white cloth fills his mouth. Several layers of duct tape circle around his head, securing the gag.

My phone buzzes. I read the text.

Jones: Have an update, but I’m leaving in the next two hours.

I glance at my watch, determining what traffic will be like. I could wait, but I told Jones not to text me until progress was made. My patience has worn thin, so I’ll have to cut my little session with Chainsaw early.

Me: I’ll be there before you need to leave.

I refocus on the current situation and toss the envelope on the desk. I glance at Snake’s black eye and say to Chainsaw, ‘Looks like you started the fun without me.’

‘Nah. He’s a pussy,’ Chainsaw says, as if bored.

Knowing I’m pressed for time, I go over to Snake, slowly rip the duct tape off him to intensify the pain, and toss the skin-and-hair-covered adhesive onto his lap.

His muffled cries echo in the room.

I tug the cloth out of his mouth.

‘I didn’t do nothing,’ he claims.

I yank his head back so fast he screams. I lean over him, keeping my voice calm, and ask, ‘How much did you get for tricking Blakely?’

He blurts out, ‘That skank is why I’m here?’

I snap and punch him so hard he falls to the ground. The metal chair bangs on the concrete floor. Blood spews out of his nose, and he yelps.

I grab him by the hair, yanking him back into a sitting position, and he shouts, ‘Stop it!’

‘See, nothing but a pussy,’ Chainsaw interjects.

‘How much?’ I repeat, my spit hitting his face.

‘Two fifty!’ he cries out.

His answer makes me angrier. I tug his head farther and fight to reclaim control of my emotions. I seethe, ‘That’s the price of your life, then.’

His eyes widen. He tries to get out of my grasp, but he’s not going anywhere.

I release him, turn to Chainsaw, and order, ‘Finish the job.’

Chainsaw cracks his knuckles. ‘Gladly. No one’s gonna be missing this piece of shit.’

I point to the envelope. Cash and pictures of Roy and George are in it, along with their home addresses and family situations. The last thing I need is women or children getting hurt. Surprises aren’t good for Chainsaw’s line of work. I assert, ‘When you’re done, I’ve got two more pieces of shit for you. Destroy it once you’re clear on the targets.’

‘Got it,’ he replies.

I leave, cranking the music in the car. Hugh’s going to have a fit when Roy and George go missing. Jones has something for me now, and it has to be good news. I get to Compton and reverse into his garage.

He doesn’t shut the door, comes over to my window, and announces, ‘I cracked it. I just siphoned the first million from one of his offshore accounts. I’m taking smaller amounts from the legal ones he has here.’

A rush of adrenaline almost makes me dizzy. I’m finally making progress to take Hugh down beyond pissing him off with footage of my pet. I ask, ‘It’s untraceable?’

Jones furrows his brows as if insulted. ‘Of course it is. My system is bulletproof. However, I’ll continue upgrading it, as things always move fast in the cyber world.’

I fist-bump him, feeling giddy. ‘Good man. Keep me posted.’

I pull out, turn my music up again, and fight more traffic, not even bothered by it. I finally veer off the exit, and a car pulls out of the space directly in front of Naked Pipe Entertainment, one of L.A.’s hottest recording studios.

‘My lucky day,’ I mutter, sliding into the spot. I get out and stroll through the front door.

A woman with bright-green hair, obnoxiously chewing her gum, removes her earphones, and asks, ‘Can I help you?’

I demand, ‘Riggs Madden. Here to see Ears.’

She glances at her screen and offers a fake smile. ‘Sorry. He’s in a meeting. Can I give him a message?’

I toss a thousand dollars in cash down on her desk, repeating, ‘Tell him Riggs Madden is here. That’s for your trouble.’

She glances at the cash, clears her throat, then folds the bills. She stuffs it in her bra and chirps, ‘Let me see if he’s on a break.’

‘Yeah, you do that,’ I state.

She isn’t gone long before Ears steps into the lobby, grinning. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ He slaps hands with me and pats me on the back, claiming, ‘Long time.’

‘Yeah. Got a minute for me?’ I ask, knowing he’d give me the shirt off his back. He’s another friend from Compton who made it out. I was in more fights than I can count with him. We’ve always had each other’s backs.

He leads me to a private office. ‘You want a drink?’

‘Nah. All good,’ I reply.

He sits on an oversized armchair and motions for me to sit on the couch. I obey.

Ears pushes his fingertips together, asking, ‘What the fuck are you doing in my studio?’

I chuckle. ‘Love how you never beat around the bush.’

‘Nor do you, as I remember.’

‘No, I do not. I need studio time for a demo. And I need the top agents in the room.’

Ears whistles. ‘That’s a hefty demand.’

‘But I’m sure you can get it done. For a nice amount of change, of course,’ I add.

Ears crosses his arms, declaring, ‘I can’t mess with my relationships.’

‘She has the talent. I promise you,’ I state.

He narrows his eyes. ‘You fucking her?’

I don’t answer, keeping my eyes on his and clenching my jaw.

Ears scoffs. ‘Of course you’re fucking her.’

‘This isn’t about that. I wouldn’t come to you if she wasn’t the real deal,’ I insist.

Ears sighs. ‘Okay. I’ll bite. Tell me about her.’

‘She plays piano, has the voice of an angel, and writes her own songs,’ I inform him.

He huffs. ‘Sounds like most of L.A.’

‘She has talent,’ I firmly repeat.

A moment passes. He asks, ‘What’s she look like? She a looker? If she’s not a looker, it’ll never work. This industry is rough.’

‘Like you said, I’m fucking her,’ I reply.

Ears scrubs his face, then nods. ‘I had a cancelation today. Two months out.’

‘Perfect. Send me the bill,’ I say and rise.

Ears stands, warning, ‘Riggs, if she’s not the next Mariah Carey, don’t have me call my contacts.’

I grunt. ‘You still have a thing for her, huh?’

He grins. ‘She’s my queen.’

‘Don’t worry. You’re going to love Blakely,’ I reinforce.

‘What’s her last name?’

I almost say Gallow, then stop myself. ‘Fox.’

He repeats, ‘Blakely Fox. Well, at least she doesn’t have to change her name.’

‘Nope. See you in two months. Have your girl send me the date,’ I order, wanting to get out before he asks any more questions or changes his mind.

I fight through more traffic, heading straight to the beach house. It’s around three when I stroll through the door, still feeling giddy.

Today couldn’t have gone better.

Lightning streaks through the sky as I step inside, momentarily lighting up the dark house. Blakely’s at the piano, but she’s not playing. She’s staring out at the water, lost in her thoughts.

‘Pet,’ I gently say, sliding my hand on her shoulder.

She jumps, then glances up. ‘Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come inside.’

‘I guess not.’

She glances at the clock, then says, ‘You’re home early.’

I slide next to her on the bench, teasing, ‘Is that a good or bad thing?’

She smiles, but the worry doesn’t leave her face. She answers, ‘Always good.’

Damn, if her statement doesn’t make me happier.

And she sees it. She asks, ‘Why do you look elated right now?’

I chuckle. ‘Elated? That’s an interesting choice of words.’

Her smile grows. ‘Guess one part of my brain still works.’

I lean closer to her face. ‘I have some news for you.’

‘Oh?’

‘You’ve got two months to get ready.’

‘For what?’ she asks.

‘Your demo.’

She gapes at me, then questions, ‘Riggs, what are you talking about?’

I drop another bomb. ‘It’s at Naked Pipe Entertainment.’

The color drains from her cheeks. She stares at the piano keys.

My heart races. ‘I thought you’d be excited.’

She swallows hard and locks her blues on mine. She asserts, ‘Naked Pipe Entertainment isn’t just somewhere you go to demo, Riggs. Anyone charting right now records with them.’

Arrogance flares inside me. ‘I’m aware.’

She gets up and paces in front of the window.

My gut drops. I question, ‘Pet, I thought you’d be excited.’

‘I-I’m not good enough for that studio!’

‘Sure you are.’

She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m not. I’ve never even properly recorded anything. I’m an amateur! I’m… I’m nowhere near ready for their caliber.’

‘That’s absurd,’ I state.

‘You don’t understand. I only get one shot. They’ll never let me return if I screw it up!’ she cries out.

I step in front of her. ‘Breathe, Blakely.’

Her fear-laced expression intensifies. She taps her fingers on her thighs like she has a nerve problem.

I pick up her hands. ‘Calm down.’

She takes a few breaths, then asks, ‘How did you even line this up?’

‘I’m friends with Ears.’

Her eyes widen. ‘You spoke to Ears? About me?’

‘Yes.’

She squeezes her eyes shut.

My chest tightens. This is going the entirely wrong way. I restate, ‘I thought you’d be excited about this. Isn’t this what you were shooting for? A demo?’

She glances at the ceiling, then me. ‘Riggs, you don’t just go up to Ears and tell him your girlfriend needs a demo and to let her record.’

‘Girlfriend?’ I blurt out, shocked that she used the term.

Her face turns red. She shakes her head and shrugs out of my grasp, biting out, ‘No. Of course not. God forbid anything is normal in your world.’

‘What does that mean?’ I snap.

‘Exactly what I said. Thanks for setting it up,’ she adds, but she sounds anything but grateful. She moves toward the bedroom.

I ignore all the alarms going off in my head. I follow her and claim, ‘I don’t understand why you’re pissed.’

‘I’m not pissed.’

‘Could have fooled me.’

She spins toward me. ‘Did you not hear me this morning? I have no content. I’ve stagnated.’

I cross my arms. ‘Yes, I heard you. Maybe this is what you need to move forward. A bit of pressure.’

‘A bit of pressure?’

‘Yeah.’

She scoffs. ‘I have enough pressure in my life.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘I’m not,’ she shouts.

‘You have a safe roof over your head, no bills, and food in your stomach. What is possibly creating pressure in your life?’ I question.

‘You! You’re the pressure in my life!’ she cries out, her eyes blazing and cheeks flushing.

I jerk my head back. Tension rapidly builds between us.

She realizes what she said and tries to backtrack. She lowers her voice. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’

‘Don’t lie to me, pet. Just put it all on the table,’ I seethe.

She shuts her eyes. ‘Riggs…’ She opens her lids, and they’re wet.

My pulse beats hard between my ears. I keep my voice as neutral as possible and state, ‘You have two months. And I wouldn’t go to Ears if I didn’t think you were ready…if I didn’t believe in your talent. One thing I thought you’d know about me by now is that I don’t put my reputation on the line unless I’m convinced it’s a sure thing.’

She swallows hard.

I add, ‘But you’re only a sure thing if you want to be. And it doesn’t matter if I believe in you or not. You have to believe in yourself. Make a choice, pet. You either want to make it happen, or you don’t.’ I walk out of the house, slam the door, and take off to my apartment in the city. If Blakely thinks I’m her root of pressure, then I’ll eliminate it for her.

It’s probably best for us anyway. She’s confusing our relationship with her girlfriend comment. And I need to stop being such a pussy when it comes to her.