Taking Turns (Turning #1)(8)

“I didn’t even really see her. I f*cked her in the dark and then tied her up and put her in the closet. I have no clue who she is.” He looks at me, defeated and sad. And Jesus Christ, I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. He’s in love with Rochelle. Has been for a while, I think.

“She’ll call,” I say. “Or…” But I trail off. She won’t call. We have rules. We all signed a contract three years ago when Rochelle joined the game. And the rules state she can leave whenever she wants, but once that happens, she will never come back. She will never enter Turning Point Club again. If she ever sees us on the street, she will not engage. And we will not look for her.

“What if something happened to her?” Quin asks.

“Like what? She wasn’t into anything I know of that might put her in danger. She’s just one of those free-spirit girls, Quin. The flighty ones, you know? Not the type to stick around long.”

“Three years?” Quin says, his voice loud and filled with disbelief. “I’d call a three-year relationship sticking the f*ck around, Bric.”

“I’m just trying to be nice,” I say.

“Well, don’t bother. It’s not helping.”

The doors open and Quin can’t exit fast enough. He hooks left and the sentry standing guard to Smith’s private bar on the second floor is quick to detach the black velvet rope to let him enter.

I follow and take a seat next to him at Smith’s usual table overlooking the Black Room down below. I snap my fingers for the bartender and say, “Something good, please. Quickly.”

He brings a bottle of Hors d'Age Dupeyron and two snifters, no ice. I pour the drinks myself and then push a glass towards Quin with one finger.

He’s not even paying attention to me. He’s looking down at the party, lost in thought. Questions. He has to have so many questions.

I have questions too, but I’m not very interested in the answers.

So she left? Who cares. I think Smith had a point. It was getting boring. It was getting old. We’ve never had a game going for three years before. It was probably just time to call it quits. It’s not like we even played by the rules anymore. We kept our days sacred, but nothing else. I’m with Smith, I decide. I’m glad she’s gone.

But I can’t say any of this to Quin.

“We talked about it the last time we met.”

“Talked about what?” I ask, then take a sip of my drink.

“Leaving.”

“Her?” I ask. “Or you? Or the both of you?”

“Both of us.”

“What the f*ck, Quin?” It pisses me off. “You were gonna skip out on us? And you didn’t think to mention it?”

He looks at me and frowns. “It was just talk, you know? I like her. I like her a lot, actually.” Love her is more like it. I’ve known him long enough to tell. “But it’s a big decision to walk out on what we have.”

“It is,” I say, setting my glass down and letting out a long breath. I look down at the party too. Lucinda is flanked by her husband on one side and Jordan Wells on the other. He’s new and eager. And young. Not even thirty yet.

But… they will end up downstairs together tonight. I can tell. Reading people is a skill I’ve honed over the years. The club is closed tonight for Lucinda’s private party, but it is her party and she can f*ck whoever she wants. She gets to do that downstairs. Just her, and her guests, and her choices—as long as her husband is there. Because she’s a guest here as well. Her husband, Clark, is the member.

But Lucinda isn’t the type to step out on him, so I don’t even bother worrying about it. There are more important things right now. Like Quin.

“Look,” I say. “I don’t think you should take this the wrong way.”

“How should I take it?” Quin lifts his snifter and drinks. A long sip. Not how you drink a good brandy.

“Maybe… I don’t know. It’s not personal, Quin. That’s the whole point, right? It’s not personal. It’s a game, it’s pleasure, it’s arranged, and safe, and satisfying. She didn’t join us for you and she didn’t leave us for you.”

Quin is silent again. People are laughing down below. Good times. Fun times. Some of the guests have cleared out, gone downstairs to find a space to watch the show. But plenty of them still remain.

I wonder if Smith will go down there later? I’ll go if he does, but Lucinda is a little tame for my tastes. I’m not sure she’s worth staying up all night to watch, to be honest.

The elevator door dings. Quin and I both redirect our gaze to find Smith and the new girl stepping out onto the landing.

The first thing I notice are her eyes. They dart back and forth, giving off a nervous vibe. Her hand is clutching Smith’s arm, and even though Smith is walking forward, she freezes, makes him stop. Pulls him back.

Smith leans down into her neck and whispers something. Her eyes dart up to his. Caught in his trap.

“Do you f*cking see that?” Quin asks.

“It’s pretty hard to miss.” I scan the party to see if anyone has noticed Smith’s appearance yet, but they are all still busy fluttering around Lucinda, looking for attention.

“She’s wearing Rochelle’s coat,” Quin says.