The Parlour (VDB #1) (31 page)

I need to talk to him. Not Mr. White, nor anyone else. No one is better prepared to tell me why I’m feeling the way I’m am, and why I did what I did, than him. Nor will anyone else be able to explain why he wants me to do it.

Snatching my coat up and drinking my hot chocolate as quickly as possible, I head back out into the cold to face the issue head on. If Pascal wants me to be something I’m not aware I am, and if he needs me to understand him to be with him, then he can damn well explain himself properly. I will not waste another moment of my life being inconsequential or irrelevant. I will not be around these people and waste my chance of becoming one of them and understanding myself a little better. I have a life to get on with, and a man I very much want to be part of it with me. If that means I have to be the one that forces it all, then that’s what I’ll do.

Whether he likes the repercussions or not.

I’m standing outside Eden and desperately trying to keep hold of the fierceness I had an hour ago. The walk over has given me time to try to talk myself out of going in there all guns blazing. Who on Earth do I think I am? These people have been doing all this kinky stuff for God knows how long and now I’m going to walk in there and demand something of him? I’m an idiot. Lilah James is a no one.
I
am no one. I don’t even know what it is that I’m supposed to say to him. “If you want me to beat you, you’ll have to promise undying love”? I mean, what a stupid thing to suggest to such a man. He already told me not to expect faithfulness or any sort of normality. Not that I’d ever expect that, but the faithfulness thing? I might need that. I may need some way of knowing I’m more important than the rest, because clearly there will be others. Why that feels okay, I’m really not sure, but it does, at least in this scenario. Obviously it’s the nature of this new world I’ve found myself in. I just need some clarity on the protocol. And Christ, is he clean? Jesus. I hadn’t even thought of that. Oh my God. I need to ask that now, too. I don’t even have a doctor anymore. How the hell am I going to get a blood test? I just let him fuck me, no, asked him to, and I didn’t even ask him to use a condom?
Idiot, Lilah.

I scan the street again and weigh up my options. I could still leave all this and move on with my life. I could just get on with working for Mr. White and get my money, job, and apartment. I don’t have to have Pascal in my life to any significant degree. I could just be a normal person who works for White Industries and find myself a normal man, with normal expectations of a relationship. The thought instantly depresses the life out of me as I watch a family wander past Eden’s black door. Normal. Dull. Although, they are all smiling and laughing with each other.

“Lilah?” A voice calls out to me from somewhere. I swing my head around and find Ruebin making his way across the street. He’s shivering and blowing into his hands as he dodges traffic and eventually comes to a stop beside me. “Why are you standing here in the cold?”

“I’m deciding.”

“You’ve been deciding for twenty minutes. I’ve been watching you. Have you decided at all?”

“About what?”

“Whatever you’re deciding. Why don’t you come in and decide? You look freezing.”

Do I? I don’t feel freezing. I feel warm. In fact I’ve never felt warmer as I stare at the black door with a frown and keep imagining his back covered in sore red welts. I feel enthused. I can feel that itch Mr. White was telling me about. I can feel it heating my body and narrowing my focus to nothing but the man who’s in there, waiting for me. Ruebin’s teeth chatter next to me, reminding me that he’s there. I look at him and notice the slight deference in his posture as the wind buffers his blonde hair. It’s just an odd something I can see, as if he’s happy to accede to anything that someone of a more dominant nature might wish.

“When did you know what you are, Ruebin?” He rubs his hands together and looks confused. “A submissive?”

“I’ve always been submissive, happily so,” he replies, now bouncing on his feet to create more heat. “Even when I didn’t know this world existed, or what the term meant, I was always the one who bowed down to someone else. I worked the gay clubs until I found some answers. Then Sir found me.”
Sir.

“What did he do for you?” I ask, still staring at the door, tuning out anything other than the sound of his voice and the small, bronze emblem of a dragon gazing back at me.

“He showed me what I needed, helped me understand who I am.”

“Does he do that for everyone?”

“No, just the few he seems to feel kindness towards in some way. He is a difficult man to be close to. He gives very little of himself to anyone. Mr. White is the only one to whom he gives everything,” he replies sadly. I flick my eyes at him to find him looking at the floor and rubbing his arms again while he kicks some snow around. My heart lurches a bit at his demeanour. He very clearly wants more than he’s being offered.

“How often is he with you?” He looks confused again. “Fucks you, Ruebin. Sleeps with you, looks after you?”

“Oh. Maybe once every few weeks. He mainly has me look after his needs, but in a sense, he looks after me all the time. I live here. He pays me a wage. I’d be nothing if it wasn’t for him. He is everything to me.”

I watch him still bouncing around, completely relaxed with what he’s just announced, and wonder whether I’ll ever be so comfortable. Can I do this with someone like the man inside those walls? Can I be what he needs me to be with no worry for the complete lunacy of this world?

“Can you leave me alone for a bit, please?”

“But you’re freezing. Come inside and I’ll–”

“Go, Ruebin.”

He jumps next to me and instantly moves a step away, head lowered and submissive posture on full display. “Sorry. Just, please. I need to think and I can’t do that with your teeth chattering ten to the dozen.” He nods and begins to move, then turns back to me.

“Lilah, can I say something before I go?” I nod in reply and watch him move a step closer again, still rubbing his hands. “Don’t you think it might be better not to think too much?” His mouth smirks a little as I frown at him. “Whatever you are, Lilah, you’re not submissive, are you? I can feel it in you. You might not know it yet, or understand it, but he will do. And he will play all the more unless you offer him no option to.”

“You’re a clever thing, aren’t you?” I chuckle.

“Me? No. I’m simple,” he says, rubbing his hands again and smiling brightly. “I’m just comfortable with who I am. Sir’s made me that way. I have watched him closely, learnt from him. I even feel I know him reasonably well. I know I’ll never have his respect or commitment, but I hope to find it with someone else when he releases me. I only wish the same for him. I love him deeply.”

My frown returns instantly. He already has someone to love and respect. He also has two people who love and respect him.

“He has Mr. White.”

“No, he doesn’t. Mr. White has him. He has nothing that is solely his.”

“You’re his. Emanuelle is, too,”

“No, we’re not. He doesn’t want us. He accepts us, but he would dismiss us tomorrow if Mr. White told him to. He needs something to fight for. Maybe someone to love.”

Much as I’d like to argue and let him know that he is loved, I can’t. It’s probably true. Everything that’s come out of his mouth is more than likely correct. I don’t even know Pascal that well, but the fact is that he would drop everything for Mr. White. Even I know that. He told me that. He would never stand up and fight the man for anything. He loves him too much for that.

“Go, Ruebin. Get warm. And thank you for your honesty.” He nods and gives me a salute and yet another quite charming grin. He’s cute with his pretty looks and slim frame. He’s clued up, too. He probably knows more about this world than anyone really. Subs probably see more than the Dominants do in reality. I watch him safely cross the road and open the door to Eden, leaving it open a little as he disappears inside.

I sigh out a breath and fortify myself for the onslaught that is Pascal, and then feel my insides tighten at the thought. What does he need me to be when I walk in there? What do I need me to be? I can’t fathom too much more without knowing the answers, so I head straight over without any clue what I should be doing other than facing him and asking what it is he needs from me.

The door swings gracefully and I look along the corridor at nothing but open space. No one is around. There are no men on patrol like there were the other day. It’s just quiet and peaceful. I thought I’d feel anxious or confused, but there’s a sense of serenity here, an odd feeling of pleasure within the walls themselves, as if everything is okay here. Safe maybe.

My boots clunk on the parquet floor as I head towards the bar area. Sticking my head around the office door, I realise there’s no one in there either, so continue on to the main club. A man appears out of nowhere. He’s tall and quite foreboding. I’ve never seen him before.

“Can I help?” he says pleasantly, his voice laced with what sounds like a German accent.

“I’m here to see Pascal. Do you know where he is?”

“Apparently he’s gone to the airport,” he says, checking his watch. “He should be back in the next ten minutes, though, according to Emanuelle.”

“Oh, right.”
Balls.

“You’re Lilah, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” How the hell does he know that?

“Why don’t we wait in his office. I’m quite impressed with what you did in there. It’s about time someone organised him,” he says, turning me back around by grasping my arm and heading us back to the office. I’ve shrugged myself from his grip and glared at his audacity before I realise it. “A Domme, too? That’s a complication I’m sure he enjoys no end.”

“Excuse me? Who are you?” I snap, watching him open the door and wave a hand at it as if he owns the building. He doesn’t, and I suddenly feel protective of Pascal and his assets for some reason.

“Jon Innsbrucker,” he replies, as if I should know who he is. I don’t. No clue. Although he is quite attractive in an uninteresting way – very tall, a little less meaty than Mr. White, and slightly bigger than Pascal. His blonde hair is laced with grey edges, offering a distinguished appearance, and his business suit shows he’s a professional of some sort. I stare in response and notice his greeny blue eyes. They’re pretty, for an older man anyway. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“No, no clue,” I reply, wandering past him to sit myself on Pascal’s desk, almost instantly flicking my eyes at the safe to ensure it’s closed, and then scanning the lockable filing cabinets. They’re all closed and locked, so I get myself comfortable and stare at him until he sits on the sofa.

“You’re not going to sit over here and keep me company?”

“It’s not my job to keep you company. Call Emanuelle for that.”

“What is your job then?”

“To protect Pascal from people I don’t know.” He chuckles and stretches his arm along the back of the Chesterfield sofa.

“Well, that’s Alexander’s job now, or so I hear,” he says, opening a box on the table and pulling out a pack of cards and a cigar. “Why don’t you pour us some drinks and then come and show me what you can do?”

“What?” That’s my incredulous voice. Who the hell does he think he is, asking me to entertain him? Presumably he’s a Dominant and this is the way he always behaves.

“Cards, Lilah. We can play until he gets back. Snap okay with you?”

“I’m not sure you can handle my snap,” I reply as I rally myself to deal with arrogant Dominants who think they own the world. It’ll be good practice for when Pascal arrives. He chuckles again and scans my clothes.

“You’re not exactly dressed for him.”

“I’m dressed. It’s a start, and better than most in his company,” I reply irritably, trying to dismiss the fact that I actually look like a disaster in my jeans and top. I should have dressed up for this. He’s right, not that he understands why, but it does make me question why on earth I didn’t go home and change first, prepare myself, so to speak.

“A fair point,” he says, shuffling the cards blindly and staring across at me.

He doesn’t remove his gaze as his hands work the cards, and I find myself staring back and wondering what sadistic gifts his hands hold. He’s so calm as he continues to just watch me, as if he’s weighing up his options, maybe just trying to work me out, so I try for some pleasantries to break the tension.

“What do you do, Jon? Have you known Pascal long?” I ask, sliding from the desk and making my way to the drinks cabinet.

“Business things,” he replies with a tone that implies I wouldn’t understand, which irritates me yet more.

“What kind?” It’s my second attempt at being pleasant, pouring some Scotch and offering the bottle up to him. He nods at me and then smirks again, eventually looking down at the cards and cutting them on the table.

“Who are you, Lilah?”

“Excuse me?”

“I arrive here to see one of my oldest friends and find out that Lilah James has reorganised his office, has his allegiance for some reason, enough to have him demean himself in front of his own people, and is now living in one of Alexander’s apartments and working for him,” he replies, stacking the cards again and beginning another shuffle. “So, again, who are you?”

He narrows his eyes and draws out a gun from nowhere, then lays it on the table beside his cigar. I ignore it and remaining composed in the face of the obvious attempt at intimidation. I’ve seen plenty of them on the streets, even had a few pointed at me when some thug was trying for money or a free fuck. There is, however, something more threatening about a man in a suit holding a gun. It seems more disciplined somehow.

“I’m no one of importance,” I eventually say, sipping at my drink and making my way back around the furniture to the safety of the desk. “Nice gun, Jon. Should I be nervous?”

“Yes,” he replies simply. He leans back with the cigar and clips the end off, then starts puffing on it until the end glows red. He stares at me constantly, beginning to show that he holds the power between us. Potentially dominant I might be, but not in the face of these types of men. I can feel myself falling to pieces at the very thought of having to explain myself, so I decide that I won’t. The best thing I can do is stay still, quiet, and respectful to one of Pascal’s oldest friends. I slide myself back up onto the desk and fiddle with my glass a little while I wait for Pascal to get back. With any luck I won’t have to deal with any more questions. “Are we playing cards then?”