Yasmine watched the black limousine speed off, leaving her alone in the quiet yet creepy parking garage in Chicago’s West Loop. The place was called “The Cage,” but this garage only caused her internal rage.
Who would think that a place like this existed in such a posh part of town?
From the outside, the garage looked like one of the industrial has-beens in the city—brick upon brick, concrete slab upon concrete slab, stretched outward in all directions. Yet, the building the garage was attached to was striking. A vintage dream, it screamed of class and sophistication.
That’s all a front, isn’t it?
Shaking herself out of her wayward fears and suspicions, she held onto the little card. The way she had it in her grasp, it was a miracle the damn thing didn’t snap off and break in two.
This was a mistake! Why did I fill out that online form? What was I doing on that website in the first place? If anyone finds out about this, it could get me into some serious trouble! Shit. It’s too late now. Maybe I can get inside and let them know I’ve changed my mind.
Her bones and muscles constricted to the point her dark green leather jacket felt heavy and uncomfortable. Her legs trembled in her black four-inch heels as she shook with each step.
She was never nervous. In fact, Yasmine prided herself on her confidence and poise. She’d looked killers in the eye and not busted a sweat, yet this was an entirely new ball of wax, one now filled with homespun regret. Her gaze roved from left to right, trying to navigate her way to the elevator. She followed a stream of glowing red lights that pointed to where she surmised would be her next destination.
The owner said it would be right over here … oh yes, there it is.
Yasmine placed her special key card inside the elevator door. It opened within a matter of seconds. A cool invisible chill twisted and turned, almost grabbing her by the hand and leading her inside. On a swallow, she stepped inside and pushed for the doors to close, then placed her card in once again, selecting the fourth floor.
The jerky ride up made her insides churn. She leaned into a corner of the elevator, closed her eyes, pressed her hand against her stomach, and talked herself out of puking right then and there. It wasn’t the damn silo, but her nerves; they were an absolute wreck, and it would be a miracle if she got through the next five minutes, let alone an hour.
When the doors finally opened, she stepped out only to be swallowed in a haze of dense smoke, soft music, and crimson walls. She stood there and gasped, then coughed on what she presumed to be hookah smolder, incense, and the burning, sinful souls of many.
No need to be getting all sanctimonious now. You knew what this was about.
Waving her hand to and fro, she made her way over glossy hardwood floors that she’d almost mistaken for being wet.
A damn slip and fall—that would be a nice excuse to go home. And I could sue, too…
She was now standing inside of ‘The Cage’, an exclusive sex club open to members or by special invitation only. Plush loveseats and gorgeously decorated tables filled the place. The furniture was modern and well-made, and the club was crammed wall-to-wall with scantily clad people, all of whom appeared to be in their own little world. So many faces about, most looking high, pumped full of drugs and pure ecstasy. All wore painted-on grins, likely the result of an evening of unadulterated debauchery.
Taking timid steps, she made her way towards the registration table. There stood a tall woman donning all white, except for her boots. Those were blood red, matching her long hair parted down the middle, but the boots caught Yasmine’s eye first. The damn things were thigh high and shiny, reminding her of melted cherry lollipops.
“Uh, my name is Yasmine Prince. I was told to—”
“Yes, my love. I remember seeing your name for this evening. Such a beautiful name. My name is Taz.” The woman winked at her. Yasmine pursed her lips. At this, the woman burst out laughing, then picked up an iPad and scrolled through what appeared to be some sort of registry. “I’m the host. Here you are…” The woman rattled on various rules, regulations, fuck if you dos, fuck if you don’ts.