Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

The 15-minute helicopter ride back was amazing. The gaudy neons of Macau disappeared as we soared out over the water and were enveloped in darkness, and the lights of Hong Kong twinkled in the distance.

The closer we got to Hong Kong, the more neon I saw amongst the white city lights – but the subtler reds and blues were quite pretty compared with Macau’s tacky golds, greens, and oranges.

We landed atop the Syndicate skyscraper, then went down to the limo still parked underground. As the car drove through the brightly lit streets of Hong Kong, Han laughed drunkenly and told me raunchy tales of his exploits in the city.

Lan Kwai Fong was the nightclub district, and I could see why. While the road we traveled was still navigable by cars, the side streets were filled to overflowing with thousands of people in clubbing attire: men in slacks and short-sleeve collared shirts and women in tiny black dresses.

“The place we’re going isn’t as crowded as that, is it?” I asked with dread as I stared at the masses of people.

“No, no, it’s classy,” Han reassured me. “You’ll see.”

We reached a building resembling a miniature version of the Syndicate’s skyscraper, with only 10 floors instead of 70. The limo stopped at the curb.

“Come on,” Han said as he spilled out onto the sidewalk.

I followed him into the building’s lobby, which was decorated in black marble. The place was empty except for two men in suits standing at attention – obviously security.

They nodded at Han as he led me into an elevator.

“They know you?” I asked.

“Everybody knows me,” he said smugly.

“You come here often?”

He laughed. “I don’t come for me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I didn’t press the matter any further.

We reached the top floor, and the doors opened onto a lobby of more black marble.

The only object in the room was a single door upholstered in red leather.

There was no one else in the lobby. No sign, no guards, no nothing.

“Come on,” Han said as he draped his arm around my shoulders and led me to the door.

He looked up at a small black security camera on the ceiling, which I hadn’t noticed because it blended in with the marble.

“Let us in!” he yelled.

There was an audible CLICK as a lock released, and Han pushed open the door.

Once we crossed the threshold, everything changed.

The hallway on the other side of the door was still done up in black, but there were tasteful arrangements of orchids and lilies set into recessed spaces in the walls.

Dim lighting cast pools of warmth on the floor.

Classical music played quietly over the sound system, almost too low to be heard.

A couple of men in expensive suits stood farther down the hallway. They were talking to two women, both wearing lingerie and high heels.

A young Asian woman in a leather dress studded with metal spikes stood by the doorway. She smiled at us.

“Welcome to De Sade, Mr. Han,” she said in perfect English. “And who might your guest be?”

“We’re good,” he said rudely without looking at her, then pulled me down the hallway with his arm still draped around my shoulders. “C’mon, let’s hit the bar.”

We passed several doors upholstered in black leather, all of them shut. One of them opened briefly, and out stepped a woman wearing form-fitting black leather.

In the room behind her, white satin curtains covered every wall –

And a naked man knelt on the floor, his hands and feet bound with rope behind him. Bright red welts covered his back and bare ass.

The woman caught my eye and smiled, then gave me a look like Naughty boy, you shouldn’t be seeing this as she closed the door behind her.

“Freaky shit,” Han muttered as he pulled me along with him.

We reached an open doorway where marble stairs descended to a vast and shadowy lounge area. Modern chandeliers made of rods of crystalline glass hung 25 feet overhead.

Apparently the club took up both the 9th and 10th floors of the building; that was the only way there could be so much space.

We descended the stairs to the lounge. Directly ahead of us was a beautifully decorated bar, its shelves of bottles backlit with a dim red light.

A woman in a tuxedo was pouring drinks. Her head was shaved, she wore no makeup, and her features weren’t overly feminine; I only knew she was a woman by the swell of her chest under the tuxedo.

All around us were small tables with interesting pairings of people.

A woman wearing a conservative dress talked shyly to a handsome man in a black suit.

Businessmen of various ages chatted up women wearing only lingerie and heels.

A middle-aged couple – he in a suit and she in a red dress – whispered to a woman in a strappy dominatrix ensemble.

And at another table, a naked woman sat drinking a martini as a man in a black body suit crouched beside her like a dog. In addition to the latex body suit, he wore a leash and a leather mask with no eye holes, just a zipper over the mouth.

“Freaky shit,” Han repeated in disgust as he turned away from the man on the leash and headed for the bar.

Most of the people in the room were Asian, but there were some Westerners here and there.

God only knows where the man in the zippered mask hailed from.

Along the far wall of the lounge were recessed booths with black curtains that could be closed for privacy.

Most of the curtains were shut, although one was open at the far end of the room.

Inside the booth, a couple was having sex. Both were fully clothed, but the woman wore a short skirt pulled up around her waist, and she sat on the man’s lap as she vigorously bobbed up and down.

Her eyes met mine, and she held my gaze like her life depended on it. From the way her mouth opened into an ‘O’ and her features contorted, I realized that our eye contact had tipped her over into an orgasm.

“What do you want to drink?” Han asked behind me.

I turned around in a daze, a bit shocked at the display of exhibitionism, and saw Han already had a glass in hand.

“I thought you said prostitution was illegal in Hong Kong,” I whispered.

“I said brothels are illegal. There’s this law called ‘one woman, one room’ – you can bang a whore as long as she’s got her own place.”

I didn’t like the way he sneered ‘whore,’ but I let it go.

“What about them?” I asked, gesturing towards the booth.

Han looked over at the couple. “It’d be illegal if one of them worked here.”

“How do you know one of them doesn’t work here?”

“Because they’re both laowai.”

The word rhymed with ‘how why.’ The way Han said it, it didn’t sound complimentary.

“‘Laowai’?” I repeated.

Han smirked. “Westerners. No laowai work at De Sade.”

Han was correct: neither the man nor the woman were Asian.

“Aren’t the things that go on in this club illegal?” I asked.

“Not if you don’t have sex. What do you want?” he asked again as he held up his drink.

“Nothing, thank you.”

“Fuck that,” Han said, and turned back to the bartender. “Get him a whiskey.”

“No – ”

“Then choose your drink, but get something.”

“Fine. Scotch, neat – your oldest Macallan, if you have it.”

“We do,” the bartender answered with a British accent. “25 alright?”

She meant 25 years old.

It was going to be a pricey glass of liquor – probably a thousand dollars per shot.

Fuck it.

If Mr. Lau didn’t cover it, I would use my winnings at the casino. Han had already transferred plenty of his boss’s money into my pockets via poker.

“That will be fine,” I said.

“Alriiiiiight, the good stuff,” Han said approvingly. While the bartender poured my drink, he asked, “So – you into this weird shit?”

I’m into a few things you’d probably consider strange, Mr. Han.

“No, just curious,” I said.

And it was true. I didn’t go in for the more ‘exotic’ sights on display.

My tastes were far simpler…

Though I was sure they would be looked down upon by Mr. Han.

And quite probably my brothers…

Which is why I kept them secret.

The bartender nudged a glass of Scotch over to me.

“Thank you,” I said as I reached for my wallet –NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

“Your money’s no good here,” Han said.

“Thank you.”

“Sure. If you see something else you like,” Han said, gesturing towards the lingerie-clad women in the lounge, “get whatever you want.”

I looked around the room, mildly curious but mostly disinterested –

Until I saw an Asian woman walking across the floor.

She was stunning.

Waves of curly dark hair framed her round face.

Her smoky eye shadow set off the most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen.

Her cheekbones were amazing, and her sensual lips were painted a dark crimson.

She wore a black cheongsam – the traditional tight-fitting Chinese dress with a high neck, short sleeves, and a slit all the way up her thigh.

Thanks to that slit, I caught a glimpse of her magnificent legs as she strolled between tables.

She exuded poise, grace, confidence, and a sultry femininity that left me slack-jawed.

“I just found what I want,” I said to Han, then broke away from him and headed towards the woman.