Yesterday’s Betrayal, Today’s Scars

Chapter 2 - VOYEUR ONLY

Alice

After leaving Star, I head to the basement garage. Walking to the far wall, I enter the code to open the hidden weapons room. I grab two throwing knives, slipping one into each boot. Next, I snag a Glock and clip, loading it. The door closes as I leave the room, and I tuck the Glock in the hidden compartment on my Ducati.

I slip on my leather jacket and a full-face helmet. The desert air will be cool riding tonight, but I need my high-speed fix for the week. I zoom down the left tunnel, the sensors tripped by my bike, and open the outer door. Within seconds, I'm winding out third gear and shifted forth.

As I make my way to the club, I let my mind wander to Star. I wish she would cut loose a little. She is always so focused during the day but so sad and lonely at night. I know she doesn't like to talk about it, but Alex and I both see it.

The only person she knew love and devotion from was her father. After he passed, she became more focused but yet lonely. She knows that Alex and I love her. Hell, we would die for her, but it's not the same.

As I start down-shifting, I turn my signal on to pull into Desire—the most reputable members-only b**m club in Las Vegas. My membership here was not only free but guaranteed. As p*****t for a job “lightning” did for the bratva. Or, more specifically, Demitri Petrov, the head of the Las Vegas bratva. He also owns Desire. Star knew I was planning on joining Desire, so it was no surprise when they requested our disposal services; the first drop was paid for with a membership for “Lightning’s” associate.

See, no one knows that Star is lightning. s**t, no one knows lightning is female. I laugh to myself as I park my bike. After taking my helmet off, I tuck it under my arm, run my hand through the length of my ponytail, and stroll my badass self into the club.

Meeting a few roving eyes as I approach the counter. I hand over my jacket and helmet, then retrieve my yellow bracelet that is automatically handed to me. They know me so well. The bracelets indicate the level of play. My yellow means caution, hands-off voyeur only.

I turn on my heel, slipping my bracelet on my wrist. I look up with a smirk on my face and wink at the two men who had roaming eyes. Clearly, they are dominant and looking for a sub. I am definitely not a sub.

With all the bravado I can muster, I stroll through the door leading to the main meeting room. Walking straight to the bar, I order a beer and climb the stairs to the observation deck. Everyone knows my routine. I don't linger in the meeting because I have no intentions of meeting anyone.

Watching and observing people is what I crave. What do people like and why? Do they think a s****l encounter will miraculously lead to love or a long-term relationship? I laugh at my thoughts. I don't believe in romantic love. Sure, I think we crave it, search for it even. However, I don't believe men can give it long-term. From what I’ve seen, they want s*x and are incapable of loyalty.

As I slowly walk the platform, scanning the rooms, each with couples in the throes of pleasure. My mind plays random thoughts. How many are married or have partners? Stopping, I watch as a Dom spanks his submissive, who's on a spanking bench.

If a man tried doing that to me, I would feed him his family jewels. But what has me rooted to my spot is the different looks of desire and pleasure on their faces. He is relishing in the power of control and bringing her pleasure. My eyes glide back to her. She seems free and is lost in the moment, feeling what he is doing. His every action and touch excites her more.

It's that connection and pleasure brought on by another person I crave. Sighing, I take a swig of my beer and stroll further down to observe other rooms.

When I feel eyes on me, I casually stop appearing to take in the couple in the room below. But really, I'm using my peripheral vision and reflections in the glass to locate who it is.

I should have known it was Demitri, or Dem as I call him in my head. He watches me every time I'm here. Never approaches or tries to talk. He stands in his spot staring. Does he like what he sees? Or is he just curious about my connection to lightning?

Either way, I'm glad he keeps his distance. Asking me about lightning would be fruitless and dangerous for him. And liking me is pointless. My past has made me stay far away from men and relationships.

My mind is too busy thinking actually to enjoy myself tonight watching. It's time to head home. I drop my empty beer bottle into a bin and sway my hips like I'm a horny teenager on prom night as I make my way back downstairs. I might as well put on a show as I exit.

Exchanging my bracelet for my helmet and jacket, I head home for the night. As I approached my bike, I slipped my jacket and helmet on. Mounting her, I fire her up and slip into first gear.

Pulling onto the street, I roll the throttle, climbing through second, third, and fourth gears fast, glancing at my mirrors carefully every minute or two. Sure enough, this isn't the first time I've picked up a tail.

Leaning forward more, I roll the throttle. The front end comes up, and I ride a wheelie for about thirty feet. Dropping her back down easily, I'm now weaving through traffic. Rechecking the mirrors, they are backing off just like last time. That's weird. I continue until I'm positive I've lost them, then switch to a secondary, less traveled road. It's taking the long way home, but at least I know there's no chance of being followed.