Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
BRAT.
Because it deserved to be shouted from the rooftops.
Releasing an unsteady breath, I made another turn and saw the ticker go down to three minutes.
James better get me four cookies after this!
Just when I thought I couldn’t get more nervous, I was suddenly facing my last turn, and it was down a dirt road lined with trees and shrubs. I swallowed hard. This was it. At the end of the road, I’d see House Mclean. The big, three-story, black-painted Victorian building I’d seen online.
Here goes.
Actually, six cookies. I was going to require six cookies.
The gravel crunched under my tires, and I patted the dash in a silent apology. My little Audi Roadster wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. Since it was only a two-seater, James and I always used his truck when we were going someplace together. My car was how I got to work, and that was all.
My uncle had given it to me. He imported and exported cars for a living, and he’d hoped this one would get me interested in cars.
It hadn’t. But I still loved it. As long as I never retracted the roof, because that was how it got stuck.
Nothing would make me happier right now than if I spotted Noa walking along the dirt road. It had to be quite a trek from the nearest bus station to here. Which meant I had no idea how long he was gonna take. Was he here already?
Why did nobody answer their fucking messages?!
It was almost four PM, for the love of monkey bread.
A beat later, the grand estate came into view in the distance.
Eight cookies!
I sped up a little because I couldn’t handle the suffering anymore, and I ended up in a circular driveway of some sort with a giant carport to the left side. Many cars could fit in there, though I only counted five of them now, and two of them were parked to the side. Were the spots reserved? Maybe I should park outside too. Yeah. Okay, so that was what I did, all while trying not to shit my pants.
I was here. I was officially here.
The house was still a bit away. The front lawn was huge.
Still nothing on my phone, so I slid on my Ray-Bans and climbed out of my car. I had to get this over with. No turning back. No chaperone. All by my lonesome.
Be cool and then you can get your ten cookies.
I strode toward the house, checking my phone every two or three seconds.
I noticed I could walk alongside the house to get to the back, where I knew members hung out most of the time. And my priority now was to find Kit. Say hi to him and explain that Noa was probably going to confront the troll from last night. I’d looked at the idiot’s profile, and he was semi-active in the orgy community. Because that was a thing here. They had a group of members who were mostly here to host orgies.
Were those the so-called Founders’ cabins? I’d seen pictures of them too. Six of them along the left side of the property in the back—oh shit. I came to an abrupt stop when I spotted someone scurrying from one of those A-frame cabins. Was that Kit? It sort of reminded me of him from his profile photo.
“Daddy, I need your help,” I heard him say.
Fuck, fuck. Okay, I chickened out. The main door was wide open, so I went that way instead.
Up the porch steps and inside. Phew. It was actually cooler in here than outside right now.
The lobby was empty. Definitely grand. Countless photos on the walls. Everything was painted dark, even the wide stairs leading up. No one was at the little front desk either, not that I expected staff around here. I’d read enough posts to get an idea that the house sort of ran itself outside events. They had protocols in place for renting rooms and reserving playtime areas.
I removed my shades and tucked them into the neckline of my tee.
Up next had to be the club area. I walked closer, and it was so big and wide open.
Plus, the circular bar was kind of telling.
I aimed for the patio doors, the one that was slid open a couple of feet. No sign of Noa. No sign of anyone in here.
A big curtain was blocking the sliding doors that were closed, so I felt safe there.
“You could also admit you’re wrong, li’l darlin’,” someone was saying. Given the accent, it had to be Mister Colt, one of Kit’s Daddies.
“If I am wrong, I will,” Kit huffed. It had to be Kit. “But look, read here. It starts with this comment—then scroll down.”
Were they discussing the troll? But the comment had been deleted.
“Wait, you’re usin’ my phone to fight Navy fanboys online?”