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Pleasure Chest with some guy named Torque. She never showed me a picture of him, but she described him as a hotter version of Chris Hemsworth.
    Here I am, looking for a Thor look-a-like minus the mighty hammer. I should’ve called the police, but other than her vague description and a first name, I don’t have much to go on. Besides, at this point, they wouldn’t be looking for her. The building in front of me looks like a rundown packing factory. I hope to God this isn’t the part where I get chopped up into little tiny pieces by leather face.
    I approach the front entrance of the club and immediately feel somewhat relieved to see a normal looking man dressed in a suit standing in front of the door. He barely looks up at me before muttering at me.
    “Membership ID?”
    “ID?”
    Shit. Ceci never mentioned anything about a membership ID. My eyes scan past him toward the entrance of the club. I have to get inside.
    “I’m a guest of Torque’s.”
    He scans his phone, which I can only assume holds the guest list to the club.
    “Torque’s a member here, but my list isn’t showing any guest attached to him tonight.”
    If Ceci isn’t Torque’s, then where the hell is she? I really need to talk to this asshole. What if he hurt her? God, I hope her body isn’t floating in the Hudson. Get a hold of yourself, Emily. You’ve watched way too many Law & Order: SVU episodes.
    “Torque’s expecting me. I’m surprised I’m not on the list,” I lie. “I’m sure he’ll be upset to find out you have me standing out here in the cold.”
    The man in all black finally looks up at me. His piercing eyes graze over me with a haughty disdain. I’m sure this isn’t the first time he’s heard something like this. I’d feel sorry for him, but I don’t have time for it. I need to find my best friend.
    “Enjoy your night,” he mutters, sliding the black metal door open.
    My heart skips a beat as a strange smirk creeps up his face. What am I getting myself into?
    The inside of the Pleasure Chest is rich with color as I step inside. Portraits paint the walls of the industrial hallway leading up to what looks like a coat check in. I spot a tall redhead in a pink PVC dress and crystal clear platforms standing behind the front desk. Bright hot pink lipstick covers her lips giving her pale skin a luminous appearance. She smiles and calls me over with her index finger.
     “Welcome to the Pleasure Chest.”
    “Thank you,” I smile nervously.
    Her eyes rake over my body with interest. I’ve never had a woman look at me the way she does. She smiles at the sight of my black mini skirt and teal lace top. The outfit is something I borrowed from Ceci’s overnight bag. I distinctly remember my best friend going on and on about latex and skin-tight clothing. This will probably be the one and only time I ever come to a BDSM club, so why not go all out?
    She slides over clipboard with a non-disclosure agreement and a consent form. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as I take my time reading the documents. Having a CEO as a father has taught me always to be wary of things I sign. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a non-disclosure agreement, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a consent form. I sign the document and slide the clipboard back over to the redhead.
    I’m struck with surprise as she hands me a white mask and instructs me to put it on. I look up at her with a wary expression. Is this just for decor? Her eyes watch me with curiosity as I place the mask on.
    “It must be your first time here,” she giggles.
    “Yes.”
    I bite back a smile at the double entendre. I’m sure if Ceci could see me now she would be laughing at me. Damn, her. I hope she’s okay.
    “Most of our members prefer to wear masks to conceal their identity. The mask is optional so feel free to take it off inside if you need or want to,” she says with a polite smile.
    Despite the unknown ahead of me, the redhead’s warmth toward me puts my nerves at