Authors: Leeann Whitaker
Sara parks up outside The Mill. There are no lasers casting light in the night sky, or security outside. The place looks closed for business.
I step out into the winter rain, pulling up the collar of my green jacket. Sara quickly trots into the sheltered doorway, fiddling with her keys. I stand next to her, brushing the rain from my hair, then readjust my windswept fringe.
She opens the door into darkness and flicks on the lights. It looks so different. Bigger now. I can see just how well the place has been renovated. It’s a hell of a lot cleaner and classier than the average nightclub.
Sara walks across the white tiled floor and I follow. I look up in awe to the fourth floor, noticing the great chandeliers hung on different levels. She goes behind the bar, and flicks on yet more lights. Then she takes a bottle of champagne out from the fridge, before filling a bucket with ice.
I feel lost in this massive space. When the place was full to the rafters with partygoers, I didn’t notice all the small details that makes this a club unlike any other. From the tiled edging around the vast dancefloor, to the fancy handles on the doors. I hover a few steps back, taking in the magnificence of the building.
Sara opens a wooden cabinet as I make my way back to the bar. She takes out six high-cut crystal whisky glasses, and places them on a tray. Then, while wiping her hands on her skirt, she walks to a small grey intercom on the wall. She presses the button and waits.
“Yes,” Mr Knight’s voice calmly echoes.
Sara pushes the button. “Mr Knight, Miss Lovell is here.”
“Good evening Miss Lovell, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Oh, I don’t think my heart can take this. I twiddle my fingers as my fever climbs. I can’t keep my legs still. It’s hard enough being around him without wanting to implode. Never mind meeting his close friends and trying to make a good first impression.
I peer down at my pumps and jeans. I should take this jacket off, at least make myself look less, what’s the word, dishevelled. God, I should have chosen a dress.
You’re a stubborn fool Liz.
Sara watches as I anxiously yank my damp sleeves down. She pours me half a glass of wine, and slips it my way. I smile with a quiver and pick up the glass, flinging my jacket on the bar. After last night, I should be throwing up at the sight of the stuff. But now, I need it. I’m heading right for borderline alcoholic status here.
I rest the rim on my bottom lip. As soon as I tilt my hand, Mr Knight, out from nowhere steps before me, and pulls down the glass. His lips straighten, and fiery eyes glare. I scrunch my brow and huff. I really needed that wine.
“Ah-ah. Don’t think that’s a smart move is it?” He puts the glass on the bar.
My mouth is still open at the sight of him, and I have to fight to snap it shut.
“What happened to the dress? I went to a lot of effort,” he enquires in a ruthless manner.
“Sorry.” I shrug, noticing he’s dressed informally, because to him I think Marco polo is.
He’s still wearing black jeans and Lacoste sneakers, but he’s changed his top. A white Marco polo shirt, three quarter length sleeves, with black cuffs and buttons. Wow, it’s so suggestive the way he’s left the top buttons open. I breathe out before his sensuality melts me.
“Elizabeth.” He grabs my fluctuating attention.
“Err… the dress, well not to be rude, but you don’t need to provide me with clothing.”
Unclothing me however, well, you need to do that, and soon
.
My mind wanders to a dirty place. He smirks like he knows where my head is at, and sways closer so I can smell his irresistible cologne. Hell. He makes my mouth water.
“I thought this may happen,” he says. “Some things cannot be tamed with ease.”
Pardon Mr Knight. You want to tame me. I’m not some wild animal in the zoo. I take offense. You may be gorgeous, prosperous, and absolutely sex worthy. But please don’t make me more uncomfortable than I already am.
I go quiet at his comment as Sara looks on. She is probably getting off on this.
He sighs, lifting up my chin. “What I mean is, you don’t need expensive garments to radiate your beauty. You’re perfect the way you are.”
Why does he speak that way to me; like he’s just walked straight out of a Bronte novel? Even his American accent is too smooth. I blush, not only because I hate receiving compliments, but Sara is still observing, and I see her pupils revolve.
“Elizabeth, there are few things you should know about my friends.” He leads me away from Sara’s ears, into the middle of the dancefloor. “You may find them ambiguous.” I stiffen up at his warning. “They can be a little unforgiving, occasionally.”
I frown and chew on my cheek. I really do not understand why he wants me to meet them at all if it’s going to be a difficult encounter. It’s like me asking him to come over to Cate’s and watch football with Nathan. For one: he doesn’t strike me as the football type. And two: Nathan has become a Neanderthal when it comes to Mr Knight. I can imagine them both drinking beer, eyeballing one another, and it turning into some bloody boxing match.
“Unforgiving?” I peer at him confused.
“Elizabeth, it’s just business,” he huffs. “You have absolutely nothing to fear.” He grins down at me.
“Business?” I frown.
“There are formalities when it comes to the people I let into my life.” He hesitates, touching my shoulder. “Confidentiality is the key to the success we’ve had. Just trust me, you have nothing to worry about.” He sweeps his hand over my ear. “I will introduce you, we’ll have a drink, and then that’s it.”
Okay. I believe him; how can I not. He’s reassuring me with his magnetic words and touch. It’s difficult to question him. Like he said, just say hello and goodbye, then we can finish what we started in that garage.
I nervously smile as he leads me to a small red elevator beside the bar. There’s not much room; just enough standing space for two. My chest shudders as I squeeze in and the door slides shut. It’s the smallest lift I’ve ever been in. And if it breaks down, I think through sheer fear, I might possibly die. Mr Knight chuckles under his breath as all the blood drains from my face.
“Confined spaces bother you?” He asks, pressing zero on the keypad.
“Hmm.”
“Look, see, not that bad.” The door opens and I’m the first one out of there.
Cigar smoke, it reeks of it. I used to smoke myself, but the smell of a rich man’s toot knocks me sick. I cough, looking at the deep red walls and black padded doors to each side of me. There must be over twenty rooms down here.
He walks ahead, to the very end door.
“So, what kind of music do they play down here… house, metal, grunge?”
I have to ask. I’ve been to plenty of underground clubs. It’s always dark, dingy, with an eardrum bursting beat. And of course there’s a bar and dance floor. I look at each door, wondering where these things are.
He stops and turns, lowering one brow. He seems stumped by my question. It isn’t a difficult thing to answer. And now he’s looking at me as though I’ve just given him a conundrum to solve.
“It’s my storage facility.” He glances to the floor. “Full of my paperwork.”
I look at all the doors. “That’s a lot of paperwork,” I say, sceptical.
Storage facility. Not upstairs, or in some restaurant. He wants me to meet his friends down here in the depths? Either he has me well and truly under his spell, or I’m just plain stupid. I want to say to him,
‘look Mr Knight, we don’t need to do this, let’s get out of here.’
But instead, I stand aversely still, with my hands held before my waist.
“Elizabeth.” He gestures his head, but I don’t move.
He approaches me, biting his lip.
You’re forgetting Mr Knight, we do not bite,
hmm
.
I don’t know if he’s more apprehensive than I about this. He places his hands on my face, and lifts my eyes to his. Oh, his breath on me, it sends tremors down my legs. He swallows, loud, releasing his lip.
“You should not be scared,” he says in a low tone. “Are you? Because shit, I never intended you to feel this way?” I nod a slow no; his power over me is too great. “If you want me.”
Yes-yes-yes, I want you,
my head screams out. “Then come meet my friends. They’re not criminals, they are like family to me.” I inhale, as he lets me go to wrap his fingers around the silver door handle.
He stands aside to let me through. It’s foggy, and right before me I can see why. There’s a guy about my height, I’d say no older than myself, beaming like the Cheshire cat. City worker, pink tie slack, cigar in his hand that cradles a whisky glass. He has light blonde lengthy hair, and stark abnormal blues eyes.
Mr Knight runs his hand across my shoulders, blade to blade, and stands at my side.
“Elizabeth, this is Dominic Lawson.” Dominic holds out his hand. “He’s just arrived over here from Seattle… here to tie up some loose ends for our associates in Europe.” I pull my lip to the side and smile faintly. “Elizabeth.” He motions at Dominic’s hand that is out waiting to greet me.
“Oh… sorry.” I flush.
I take his hand and notice how well trimmed it is. Smooth skin, clean cuticles, not a mark or scratch on him. Now he’s going to notice my unrefined dry digits.
He arches over and kisses below my knuckles. “My Lady, pleasures all mine,” he says in a brood American accent.
“Stop being an asshole, Dom,” Mr Knight groans. “Call him Dom Elizabeth, and ignore his immaturity. New blood, whisky… And why the hell are you smoking, can you not read.” He takes the cigar from Dom’s fingers and drops it into his drink.
I chuckle quietly at the dumbfounded expression on Dom’s face.
“It’s nice to meet you Dom,” I say.
“Yeah, same to you.” A degraded Dom drops down into one of the green leather chairs around a large mahogany table.
Now I see the others. Three men sat in this dark red room. All below thirty, and all watching me like I’m a piece of fresh steak. Crap. For a second I thought this wasn’t going to be as intense as I feared. But these guys don’t look as pleased to see me as Dom.
“So” The austere man on the left hums.
He’s freaking me out. I come over all peculiar, and can’t look at him for more than a second. He has jet black hair all gelled back, and is wearing a black suit. He looks like he’s just been to a funeral, and has the leaden expression to match.
“You must be Miss Lovell.” His voice sends a chill down my spine.
“Hello.” I wave, fleetingly.
“Elizabeth, this is Laurence Carmichael,” Mr Knight says. “Call him Laurie. As you can see he’s just got back from having his own personality cremated,” he jokes. “And this is Ben Blackstock.”
I look to Ben who is sat beside Laurie. He has warm brown short hair, and fair skin. He looks like he’s had a little too much whisky. His eyes are barely open, and he’s swaying against his hand. Suddenly, he jolts up with a start and stares straight at me.
“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth,” he smiles, then slumps back into his stupor.
“Hi,” I grin.
“And you be relieved to know that our last introduction is, Connor O’Leary.”
Connor looks about as enthused as this get together as myself. His shirt is open, cuffs undone, and he’s inclined back with his arms crossing his chest.
“Elizabeth,” he nods.
“Right then, let’s get down to business,” Laurie announces.
Business. Business! What the hell is this turning into? Shit. This is not one of those freaky bondage rooms is it? I peer around quick, looking for any handcuffs hanging from the walls, or attached to the chairs. If this is some fucked up fetish club, I’m out of here.
I can’t breathe. Breathe for crying out loud. Take a goddamn breath. My hearts going like a horse in the Grand National. Oh, I need to sit.
“Elizabeth, jeez, sit down for fuck sake.” Dom notices my meltdown.
Oh god. Dom. That’s not a nickname is it? Short for something more sinister. He doesn’t look sinister.
Mr Knight takes my arm. “Elizabeth, you’ve got this all wrong.”
I catch my breath as Laurie scrutinises my pathetic nerve attack. I fall down into the seat, waiting to hear the words,
‘okay Miss Lovell, are you ready to be punished?’
I mean, don’t get me wrong, we all have fantasy’s. But mine don’t involve being flogged for pleasure on some medieval contraption of torture.
“Okay.” Laurie rolls his eyes as I fidget in my seat.
Mr Knight stands behind me. He reaches over my shoulder, and places a wine glass on the table. He pours the chardonnay half-way. He didn’t want me to drink upstairs, but down here he’s fine with it? Is this supposed to be my Dutch courage?
Laurie picks up a briefcase and places it on the table. He opens the lid, and his head disappears under the top. Oh god. Is he about to introduce me to a cat of nine tails, or some bizarre tickling stick?
Brace yourself Liz. Cate told you to always carry your pepper spray, you fool.