“This is the driveway, right?” Jan asked from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, go through to the parking lot out back.” They slowly glided past the large building with impeccably clean windows giving a look into the interior of Taste of Sin. Beside the door to the restaurant was the darkened entry to Shot of Sin. It was currently abandoned. The dance club wasn’t open on Thursday nights.

“Are you ready?”

Nope. “Yes.” Cassie’s voice was filled with panic, her heart a rampant beat in her chest.

The twenty-minute journey to T.J.’s business had been done in nerve-filled silence. She had no clue what would happen once she arrived. She didn’t even know if she’d get inside. After submitting her application, she was sure a rejection would soon follow. She’d even stalked her email, unsure if it would be better emotionally to gain approval to see her husband, or take it as a sign if her request was denied.

Days had gone by and she still didn’t know if this was the right idea.

Jan pulled into one of the parking spaces at the back of Shot of Sin and cut the ignition. “Now, remember, call me at any time to come pick you up. I’ll be waiting.”

Oh, Christ. This was really happening.

“Stop fretting.” Jan placed a hand on Cassie’s shoulder and squeezed. “No man is going to want to moosh your titties when you look like you’re about to vomit.”

“I’m not going to vomit.” Her conviction was a lie. She was light-headed. Scared. And she wasn’t sure what worried her most—entering a sex club she wasn’t familiar with or the possibility of finding another woman in her husband’s arms.

“I’m just not sure if I can do this.” The admission was painful. As if she were giving up. Admitting defeat.

“No problem. I’ll drive us home.” Jan started the ignition.

“Wait.” Damn it. “You and your bloody reverse psychology.”

Jan smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Cassie growled and fought the need to scratch under the wig itching her scalp. “You’re so mean to me.” She grasped for her handbag and unclicked her seat belt. “I need a few minutes to prepare.”

Jan rolled her eyes. “You already said that when I wanted to get started on your hair. Then again when I attempted to do your makeup. And when I tried to get you in the car. Not to mention the three laps around the block you made me do.”

“I’m walking into a sex club, not a Seven-Eleven.”

“Your husband is down there. You’ll be fine.”

“I think my husband is down there.” Cassie shoved the car door open with force. “I have no confirmation of that.”

“Then think of it as an adventure. Even if you don’t participate, you’re about to see more action than I have in years.”

Cassie grabbed her clutch and shoved from the car. “Still not comforting.”

“Don’t forget about your mask,” Jan cooed. “I love you, you naughty little minx.”

Still hidden behind the car, Cassie pulled her mask into place. “Thanks,” she drawled and closed the door on her friend’s laughter.

As Jan’s car drove from the parking lot, Cassie began to shake. She was on her own. Vulnerable. Looking like a whore and feeling like a clown in all her fake attire. The dark blue dress sculpting her curves was unlike anything she’d usually wear. It was tight. Too tight. And it was only there to save her thinly veiled modesty during the short walk to the back entrance of the sex club. Once inside, she would need to remove it and reveal the skimpy slip she wore underneath to fit the clubs scantily clad dress code.

Everything adorning her body was new, and the exact opposite of what she would normally wear. Her shiny heels were stiletto thin, the color perfectly matching the dark purple of her nails and the lace outlining her mask. There was no turning back. Not unless she wanted to strut her hooker-heels to the curb and call Jan to pick her up.

She glanced toward the back entrance of the club, to the couple standing at the door getting their ID checked by two men. They were tall, broad, burly males who seemed ominous under the dim glow of the outside light meters above their heads.

Their faces came into focus as she approached, her footsteps crunching against the asphalt. One guard was dressed in navy slacks and a white-collared shirt. His expression was friendly, comforting. The man beside him was not. His stare was lethal, his features tight as he scrutinized the people before him. Typical Brute. She’d never forget his critical stare, the one that hid the caring man underneath. Deep, deep underneath. His gaze wasn’t even upon her, yet she already felt the weight of it. Grueling, criticizing. Shit. She shouldn’t be doing this.

He was going to recognize her no matter how she’d tried to hide her identity. Her long blonde hair was now short and black, thanks to the excessively itchy wig. Her light blue eyes were dark brown from the contacts she’d purchased from her optometrist. And her lips, usually adorned with gentle colors, were bright red and glossy, standing out like a beacon in the dead of night. The only solace she gained was from the mask that covered most of her forehead, the area around her eyes and down to her cheek bones, giving her a sense of anonymity.

What if she had to take it off to prove her identity?

Hell. Heart in her throat, she came to stand at the end of the line and smiled at the woman who turned to greet her with a flash of perfect teeth. The bright pink mask she wore was covered in glitter with some of the shimmering glow resting on her cheeks.

“This your first time?” The woman’s gaze fell to the red band around Cassie’s wrist.

“Yes.” Her voice faltered, not only from nerves. She couldn’t fail at this. Brute couldn’t turn her away. She wouldn’t know what to do if he did.

“You’ll have fun, I promise.” The woman turned to her companion and stepped forward, offering Brute their identification.

Cassie’s throat tightened. Blood rushed through her ears in a painful thrum she was sure the whole world could hear. Then the couple disappeared, moving forward, out of sight, leaving her to stand face-to-face with Brute, his hand outstretched as she convinced herself not to run.

“ID,” he grunted.

She placed her fake driver’s license in his hand and hoped he didn’t notice the tremor in her fingers. She was sweating. The back of her neck tingled. Her scalp itched.

“Name?” he muttered.

Oh, no. He already had her identification. Her name was clearly written on it. He was testing her.

“Tanya Johnson.” Her voice broke. This wouldn’t work. Not in her meek, frightened state of mind. She had to place this in perspective. Her marriage was on the line. Her happiness. Everything that had ever mattered to her was dependent on reconnecting with T.J.

She raised her chin, cleared her throat and met Brute’s stare as he palmed a small electronic tablet in his hand.

“First-timer.” His gaze lowered over her chest, her stomach, then came to rest on her arm. “Make sure you don’t remove the wristband.”

“I won’t.”

He grunted, making her increasingly aware he hadn’t outgrown his arrogant attitude in the months since she’d seen him last.

“We have strict rules here, Tanya.”

“I know.”

Brute’s position at the entry was deliberate. Not only to check identification, but to give an unspoken warning to everyone who passed through the doors. If word got out about Vault of Sin, he would deal with it. Harshly. He was the brutality protecting the carnal pleasure beneath the Shot of Sin dance floor.

“Be sure to adhere to them and you’ll have a great time.” His lethal tone implied otherwise. “If you have any problems or concerns, there’s staff members dressed in full attire to help you—Leo, T.J. and Travis.”

The sound of her husband’s name sent a barb of fire through her chest. He was here. In a sex club. No longer needing to remain a voyeur as he would soon be single.