Bon Appetit's
interior pulses under a dark crimson light edged with metallic purple. The walls are plated in seamlessly interlocking monitors displaying a sonograph of the club's current song, exploding into an epileptic nightmare on every downbeat.
Nightclubs like this aren't Aika's style, but she manages to fit in. Being young and pretty certainly helps. She's picked out something from her older sister's wardrobe: a sleek cowl-neck mini-dress stained a deep, rich sangria. The sleeveless little number features a neckline that plunges from from her henna-gold cleavage down nearly to her navel. It stops just above her mid-thigh, exposing sheer stockings that darken her long, coltish legs to a burnt mocha.
It's the first time she's worn anything like this. Every step is exciting and unfamiliar; new textures whisper across her skin. Strange eyes linger on her with every step she takes -- following the tangle of her dark cinnamon hair and tracing the curve of her hips. She's never felt so seen before. So wanted, so
desired
. Like a priceless bauble at the feet of a sultan. The effect is a hundredfold more intoxicating than any booze she might buy at the bar.
She shouldn't be here. But maybe that's what makes this so exciting. Ayesha --
she's
the sort of girl who would slip into a gorgeous form-fitting gown and strut her way past countless strangers in some kinky fetish night-club, flashing them with that smoldering 'come-hither' look. But Aika? She's the quiet little bookworm; the mousey college girl who stays in her corner with her nose buried in her phone.
Until tonight.
As kids, Ayesha and Aika were indistinguishable. Now all it took was Aika ditching her glasses and letting her hair down. There's still a few subtle differences, sure; Ayesha's breasts are a smidge bigger and her legs are a little longer. But Aika doesn't expects anyone at
Bon Appetit
to notice.
And so far, she's right. The bouncer didn't give her a second glance; just smiled and waved her in. The bartender (a young man with an easy smile and a latex collar wrapped around his throat) even asked her if she wanted her usual. Aika does her best to hold it together, but inside? Her heart is pounding faster than the frenetic beat of the music.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
Someone's sat down beside her. A man in his 40s or 50s. Swarthy, with a meticulously well-groomed beard and mustache peppered with salt. Built like a brick -- his shoulders are as broad as a steel girder. A thin-yet-dense layer of chest-hair is visible just along the neckline of his loosely-buttoned turquoise shirt.
Aika suppresses a nervous titter. Her older sister's night-life has always been a mystery to her. Now she's experiencing it firsthand -- rather than between the pages of some lurid novel. But she's got to be careful.
Still... maybe this guy knows her...?
"Sure. I'll take a rum and coke."
He nods and gestures. As the bartender mixes her drink, Aika lets her eyes linger on her current 'suitor'.
He's big. Bigger than she initially realized. There's weight to him, a presence -- a certain physicality that she can't quite put a finger on. Like he could pluck her up in one arm and toss her over his shoulder, her posterior arched into the air for anyone to see. The image lingers in her mind for longer than appropriate. She suppresses another titter and focuses on the bartender as he returns with a full glass.
"I'm a little young for you, don't you think?" The words escape her mouth before she's had time to think them through. It's the sort of playful thing Ayesha might say. Or so Aika hopes, anyway.
"Oh, definitely." His face splits into a smile. "I was actually wondering if you're old enough to drive."
Aika rides the giddy high that accompanies having accomplished her first successful 'flirt' with a stranger. She shoots a look she hopes comes off as coy before lifting the glass up to her cherry-pink lips: "You wanna card me?" Aika has Ayesha's ID; it puts her at 28. It also says she's 5'7" despite being 5'6".
"I'll just take your word for it." His own drink arrives: scotch and soda. The ice clinks delicately as he lifts it to his mouth. "Besides, a place like this doesn't let you in unless you know what you're getting into."
"Oh?" Aika sets her glass down and resists the urge to press her lips into a soft little pout. She's on a roll, here; best not to overdo it. "And just what is it that I've gotten myself into...?"
He locks those dark penetrating eyes right on her and just smiles.
She's not completely inexperienced, but... this is still very new. It's the first time she's engaged with a complete stranger like this -- been in a position to feel that stranger's interest so acutely. At least in a way where she was prepared to reciprocate. Not that she's out to do anything; she's just here for a little excitement. But still... it's
exciting
, she realizes. Really exciting. Feeling chased. Pursued. A rabbit struggling to avoid the hunter's snare.
His eyes are still on her. Still smiling. She can see the edge of his teeth -- like the fangs of a wolf.
The sound of her accelerating heartbeat drowns out the music. She takes another gulp of her drink and licks her lips, trying to think of something clever to say.
"Let's dance."
It takes a moment for her to process the words that just came out of his mouth. She looks up at him with those big, dark demitasse eyes: "...I -- beg pardon...?"
His enormous hand has already swallowed her wrist. Gingerly, as if handling a delicate bird, he draws her away from the bar and toward the dance floor. "Come on."
When she slides off the stool, she stumbles. Aika practiced walking in heels for a week straight in preparation for this night -- and now? Her legs feel like gelatin.
That thick, broad arm catches her, curling around her waist. She's plucked up before she has a chance to fall -- then set down like a terrified little sparrow. Aika's heart slams against the walls of her ribcage. The music is drowned out by the sound of blood rushing past her ears. This time, she can't suppress her titter. She feels dizzy; the whole world spins around the point where his hand squeezes her hip. His hold on her has become the axis upon which that world spins.
He leads her out. She's not sure what to do -- she doesn't know how to dance. Should she start gyrating? Then he
spins
her -- twirls her like a top, spiraling out across the pulsating lights of the dance floor.
Aika's heart lurches up into her throat. She doesn't even get a chance to swallow it back down before his arm is behind her shoulders and he's dipping her back, forcing her axis to shift again. Now her world spins at a point roughly below his mouth. Warm breath rolls out from it and into her plunging neckline, forming waves that splash across the space between her breasts. His scent carries a hint of liquor, cologne, and something else. Darker, deeper. More primal.
Aika's mind snaps to a nature documentary that described ferrets dancing to confuse their quarry. The image of this man leaping around her while squeaking is enough to nearly break the spell. Then it hits her: if that's what this is, that would make her his
prey
.
She shivers.
He takes her other hand and pulls her back up, guiding her into another spin. She parts her lips to speak; something resembling the word 'wait' forms. Again, it's too late. Her world dips down once more, submerging her in a warm ocean. When he pulls her up for air, he spins her a third time. Both her hands are taken into his own as her back turns to him. He presses her wrists to the small of her spine. She arches forward, heart pounding against her sister's dress.
The next spin twirls Aika back around to face him. They've left their drinks far behind, now. He's danced her to the far side of the club, with her back nearly pressed to the wall. His massive chest obstructs her view.
Something feels off. Aika's hands are still behind her back. She tries to move them, but... she can't. They're locked together.
No -- they're
cuffed
together.
Before she can speak, the older man takes her neck into his palm. His thumb presses to her chin. That clean, trimmed nail pins the glossy coral-pink surface of her plush bottom lip.
Aika stammers, gulping for air -- chest heaving. This stranger has danced her into a corner, bound her, and now has her by the throat. Her body
quakes
with fear. "...hah... a-ha... um...?"
He tilts her head back and kisses her. It's soft and light; nothing more than rough lips brushing across her mouth. Somehow, its relative chastity only makes it feel all the more intimate and risqué.
"...I've got you, Ayesha," he whispers.
"...hhhhhh..."
It takes her a moment to recognize that sound: all the air in her rushing out at once. She feels as if she's deflating; as if every thought, every idea, every piece of her is escaping beneath the squeeze of that leathery grip at her throat. She can feel her pulse fluttering against that palm. She's certain he can feel it, too. Her dark eyes stare up at him, luminous and wide.
His grip tightens. Not enough to choke. But enough to tell her that he's now in control.
"...I, I... I'm not..."
Breathless, she tries to rush the words out. She wants to tell him everything. That she's Aika, not Ayesha. That she's 27, not 28. That she snuck into her sister's apartment and stole her dress and photo ID out of some desperate need to feel like the center of the universe just for once. That no one even knows she's here. She wants to tell him all of this not out of some hope that it will dissuade him, not out of fear of what's coming -- but because right now, in this moment, the thought of lying to this man is somehow unconscionable.
He silences all her thoughts with another kiss. This one is more probing, as if his tongue were searching for something within the confines of her mouth. It investigates every niche, every crevice, every surface it can find. Before it finishes, she's almost
drinking
him -- her head tilted back as her throat relaxes and constricts. When he breaks the kiss, her cherry-glazed lips are parted wide. Whorls of heat rise up from the gap between them. She stares, dazed and slack-jawed.
"It doesn't matter anymore," he whispers. "I'm here to make sure you never trouble the Syndicate again."
He presses something into her mouth.
