“I don’t know if I can do this,” Brie whispers in a panic as we make our way out onto the flimsy deck.
We join a handful of other young women, huddled together before the intimidating scene unfolding before us. Not a single one of us has cleared her early twenties. Hell, some of us are barely eighteen. But there’s one thing we all have in common: we’re here to spend a night among the toughest, most dangerous, sexiest men we’re likely to ever meet. Each of us made the decision to come here of her own free will. We all have different motives for seeking this place out—escape, adventure, curiosity. Me, I’m here in search of answers that have long eluded me. Answers about my past that might just end up shaping my future. And I’m not leaving until I’ve found them.
I feel the group of girls tighten around me as the yacht pulls away, leaving us to face the night on our own. As one, we turn our gaze toward the island, toward the place we’ve only ever heard about in whispers and rumors. The place simply called The Club. When I first heard of this one-of-a-kind spot, I wondered about its nondescript name. But what I’m quickly coming to understand is that The Club defies all other description. It has to be seen to be believed.
“Ladies!” calls a booming voice from just beyond my field of vision.
The yellow glow of a rusty lantern cuts through the darkness, illuminating the swaggering form of the large man making his way toward our little pack. His wide, wily grin is the first thing I notice. But it’s not just his teeth that are huge. Every bit of his body seems to be super-sized, from his bulging biceps to this bushy beard. He’s the closest thing to a giant I’ve ever seen up close. But something tells me he’s not likely to be a giant of the “gentle” variety.
The towering man looms over the group, a good foot taller than any of us, stilettos notwithstanding. He wears his long hair pulled back into a ponytail, a sleeveless leather vest over a white tank, and well-worn blue jeans. The steel toes of his boots gleam even in the darkness. He surveys each of our eager, upturned faces, nodding his approval.
“Good pickings tonight,” he grins, rubbing a hand through his sandy blonde beard, “The guys are going to be pretty fucking stoked about you lot.”
A nervous titter runs through the group, but I can already feel the bodies around me beginning to relax. Despite this man’s dangerous edge, there’s something strangely comforting about his demeanor.
“My name’s Titan,” he goes on, “I’m what you might call the welcoming committee. It’s my job to make sure things at The Club run smoothly. Make sure everyone’s having a good time. That’s what you girls are here for, isn’t it? A good time?”
“That’s right,” pipes Kari.
“Uh-huh,” adds Ani.
“Well, then you’ve certainly come to the right place,” Titan assures us, spreading his brawny arms wide, “I promise you, this will be a night you remember for the rest of your lives. Now, why don’t you follow me, and we’ll get this party started?”
We hurry to follow Titan as he strides away, leading us toward the pulsing, pounding heart of the party. As we make our way deeper into the thick woods, I see that the very shadows are alive with orgiastic abandon. My jaw nearly hits the rocky ground as I spot a naked woman pinned up against an ancient oak tree by her muscled mate, their hips bucking wildly as their cries of ecstasy are swept up by the rollicking music. I watch as Brie catches sight of the couple, all color draining at once from her face. One thing’s becoming clearer by the moment—The Club is no place for the faint of heart.
I feel the heat of the bonfire before we’ve even stepped into the clearing. The crackling flames sear through the summer air, sending a thick cloud of smoke rolling over the treetops. Titan turns to face the group of us as we fan out along the fire pit.
“Here you are girls,” he roars above the cacophony of raised voices and blasting music, “Grab a drink, grab a joint, grab a guy, and have at!”
A cheer goes up from the assembled pack of men and women all around us, all craning their necks for a view of the new goods.
“Christ, do I love me some fresh meat,” growls a tall, wolfish man from behind us. He slips his arms around Kari’s slender waist, tugging her tightly against his ripped body. “And you look tasty enough to devour, little girl.”
“Do your mommies and daddies know where you are tonight, little ones?” sneers a barrel chested man with a wild mane, tucking a lock of Brie’s hair behind her ear.
“Be nice now,” Titan cautions the circling men, “These girls are our guests tonight. Let’s make them feel nice and welcome.”
At his command, the swarm of bulky bikers and busty broads descends upon our group. I step out of the way as girls are snatched up, left and right. I’m not here to get down with just any biker boy, after all. I have my sights set much, much higher.
I scan the faces around the roaring blaze, seeking out my target. But I don’t have to look for very long. There, across the fire, stands the very man I’ve come so far to find.
He presides over the party like a god in his own right. His staggering body looms over the raging fire, as if lending the blaze its heat. With thickly corded arms crossed over his bare chest, he stands with feet firmly planted. Nothing on heaven or earth could move this man an inch—that much is clear. Dark, inky lines snake along his cut chest and shoulders, skirting down his arms in dizzying configurations. But the most prominent tattoo stands out in sharp relief, centered across his tanned pecs. In thick, scrawling letters, it reads: “Diabolus”.
The Devil.
It’s all I can do to drink in the sight of him, this towering man I’ve set my sights on. I’ve been researching him for weeks, tracking down mug shots and newspaper clippings, acquainting myself with every aspect of his public life. But no amount of research could have prepared me for the real thing.
His body looks like it was cut from the smoothest marble, his every muscle stands out in perfect definition. But you can tell, just from looking at him, that those muscles weren’t sculpted during long hours at the gym. His is a body that’s lived hard and tough for decades. For an entire lifetime. And oh, how it shows.
He raises a steel flask to his full, firm lips. I watch, transfixed, as he slugs back his liquor, his scruffy jaw sharp as a razor blade. His high cheekbones, straight nose, and thick black stubble would make most models weep with envy, but there’s no fussy vanity in this man’s face. He knows he’s gorgeous, powerful, intimidating, but he doesn’t have to try to be any of those things. He just is.