My hands move swiftly as I slap the oxygen mask over his pale face, twisting the valve until a whisper of air hisses out – his eyelids flicker open, a fragile spark of life that makes my heart skip a beat. He needs a full workup, probably some time under observation. Hopefully, there's no lasting damage from the oxygen deprivation.
"Did he drink or use anything tonight that you know of?" Maddy asks, kneeling beside me.
The woman hovering nearby shakes her head, then hesitates. "We had a couple of drinks earlier. He only had two whiskeys, I think. No drugs… at least not with me. But he could've taken something before we met. I don't know."
I flick on my penlight and tilt his head slightly, checking for pupil response. Still reactive—another good sign. He might be okay. Still, I won't feel good until we've handed him off to the ER team.
"They don't allow that here," she murmurs, almost like she's trying to convince herself. "Choking. They told us. But he said he'd done it before, that he knew how far he could push it…"
"We're going to take care of him," I tell her, as I move to set up the stretcher. I brace his legs. "On three. One, two, three."
We lift him slowly and get him onto the stretcher, wrap him in one of our wool blankets, and strap him down. His breathing's steadier now, but still shallow.
"Do you want to ride along?" Maddy asks the woman.
She steps back like she's already out the door. "I just met him. I don't even know his real name…"
That one lands hard in my gut. You play a part in breaking someone; the least you can do is not run when the pieces are still on the floor. But I bite my tongue. Judging her won't help him right now.
We wheel him out, guided by the club's hostess down a service elevator, then through Club Delco's dim hallways—walls lined with gear and shadows. The bass of the music still thumps low and steady, like a heartbeat you can feel in your teeth.
I drive the ambulance while Addison rides in the back, monitoring vitals. We've had worse calls. Could've lost him. But what sticks with me, what won't leave me alone, isn't just the emergency.
It's the place.
The walls. The gear. The heavy air was charged with anticipation and sex and something darker. The way my skin prickled the minute I stepped inside.
You'd think the first time I heard of Club Delco would've made me swear it off forever. But instead? The fact that the guy who passed out had broken the club's rules—and that the staff still rushed to make sure he was safe—somehow eased the knot in my chest. Like maybe this place wasn't what I was afraid it'd be.
By Tuesday afternoon, I barely make it to my lunch break before I'm googling Club Delco Beverly Hills. I stare at the screen like it might vanish if I blink too slowly.
The top link looks promising. I click through to a simple splash page.
Are you 18+?
Yes. Very much so.
The main site loads: black background, clean gold and white text, and the image of a woman's eyes in a black lace mask. Right there in elegant script:
Club Delco – Beverly Hill's Most Exclusive BDSM Dungeon & Lounge
My pulse kicks up.
I'd already assumed it was a sex club, given the naked bodies we had to maneuver around and the man choking on a high gone wrong. But seeing it spelled out, right there, makes it feel real.
And I can't lie—it got under my skin, in the kind of way I haven't felt in years.
I haven't set foot in a place like that since... well, since before I cleaned up. Back then, booze, drugs, and men were a revolving door. I felt invincible. Desired. Dangerous. The way their eyes lit up when they thought I was the submissive type, then the way they melted the second I took control.
That rush. That power.
I miss it more than I like to admit.
I scroll through the site like I'm chasing a high. About Us. FAQ. Gallery. There's a section explaining the club's philosophy—consent, safety, inclusivity—and a note that they offer private sessions with house doms and subs. Members-only, of course.
The gallery stops me cold. Rooms of every variety: a medieval dungeon, a classroom, a clinical-looking doctor's office. And then some more standard, cozy setups. One of them looks exactly like the room we'd been in the other night.
Then I find the Contact page.
Normal stuff—address, hours, socials. Rainbow flags and "Safe Space for All" banners. But what pulls my focus is the blank message box at the bottom.
Drop us a line.
I don't think twice.
I type out a quick message and hit send.
Hi,
I'm interested in becoming a member. Can you send more info, please?
Thanks,
Gabriel R.