divorce, she’d look around for Barry, feeling as if she’d forgotten something—much like when she didn’t have a purse.
She laughed under her breath. Much like her purse, a husband was a weight she could do without.
After watching a stunning scene where the Top used a variety of knives without ever drawing blood, she headed for the restroom. A familiar-looking man caught her eye.
Tall and handsome with thinning, sandy-blond hair. Big-boned—and with a gut. Scott Hicks?
The patchy beard—which she’d figured he’d grown to hide the lack of a chin—confirmed his identity. Yes, it was Scott. Barry was good buddies with the realtor, although she never understood why. The guy was a creep. However, it explained why Barry was here. Scott had boasted about being into BDSM and been disappointed when Barry hadn’t wanted to join an expensive club.
Shaking her head, she opened the door to the restroom. Nice.
Spacious. Opulent. In cream and gold colors, the floor and counters were marble. Sinks were on the near wall, showers and toilets on the far wall. To the right, a second exit door probably led to the reception area. On the left, a dividing wall sectioned off a dressing area with built-in lockers and a cushioned bench.
After doing her business, she walked into the dressing area to unfasten her bustier, give her ribs a scratch, and let her skin breathe.
Oh yes, much better.
A few deep breaths later, she re-did the tiny hooks—what idiot invented this contraption anyway?—and adjusted her breasts.
Checking herself out in the wall mirror, she had to laugh. Cleavage, I have it.
On the other side of the divider, the music from the club grew louder for a moment as a door opened and closed.
“Fuck. Just fuck,” a young voice whispered loudly. “This place is fucking scary. Did you hear the woman screaming?”
“I know.” This voice was also young with a southern accent. “Should we sneak out? Maybe he wouldn’t notice?”
“Dream on. His friend is waiting for us. And how would we get home anyway? Fuck, what if they want to—you know. Did you see the way his friend, like, drooled, when he saw us?”
“We shouldn’t’ve done this, Alexis. I’m so stupid! I thought it’d be the ult, getting into a place like this. Like we’d be the stars of the class. I’m sorry.”
An ugly feeling tightened Valerie’s stomach. The class? College students didn’t show off to their class—maybe to their sorority or dorm buddies.
High schoolers did. But high schoolers couldn’t get into a BDSM club…could they?
“I’m scared, Chloe. I don’t want to be here.”
Valerie started around the divider—slowly—not wanting to frighten them away.
The choice was taken away.
The door to the restroom whooshed as it opened, and someone called, “Hey, Valerie. Are you in here?”
“I’m here.” Valerie stepped out.
Two young women stood by the sinks. A quick glance told her they certainly weren’t twenty-one. More like seventeen or eighteen.
Seeing her, they edged toward the door, then stopped. Afraid to leave.
“Hold on a minute, please, ladies,” Valerie said.
Natalia waited just inside. “Hey, Valerie. Linda said—”
“Can you bring Ghost here, please. Quickly,” Valerie interrupted.
Wait, if the men waiting for the girls were outside this door, then having Ghost—a man—waltzing into the women’s room would be too obvious. “Bring him through the entry door, not this one.”
“Oh.” Natalia obviously heard the grim note in Valerie’s tone. “I’ll get him right away.”
Now what?
Valerie smiled at the girls. “Hey, I’m Valerie, and I’m a professor at the university. Sounds like you have a problem. Maybe I can help?”
As the lanky redhead stood petrified, the short blonde burst into tears. Pulling the crying one close, Valerie took the redhead’s hand and guided them around to the dressing area. She sat down with them on the long bench.
“There, now, it’ll be all right. We’ll get this straightened out.” How many years had she spent offering the same reassurances to her two children?
“Are we going to get in trouble?” the blonde asked.
“Weeeell, I might have to lecture you a smidgen—I am a professor, after all.”
The crying one gurgled a slightly hysterical laugh, and the redhead leaned in, letting Valerie wrap her free arm around her.
The way the girls were trembling sent fury through Valerie’s veins. If the bastard who’d brought them here had been in reach, she’d kick him so hard, he’d curl up like a worm around his ruptured testicles.
With a bit of persuasion, she established the girls’ names.
Alexis was the slender, f-word-loving redhead.
The crying blonde was Chloe, originally from Georgia.
The sound of the door opening made them all freeze.