Wicked Love

hear the snap of the handle clang against the frame as Krew lets go of it, no doubt in shock at my lurid request.
“Come again?” he rasps, and then gets an ornery look on his face. “Oh, and pardon the pun there.”
I bite my lower lip, trying not to laugh. What he must think of me! “That wasn’t how I meant for it to come out,” I say, “I totally freaked you out, I’m sorry. What I meant is that I need somebody to go with me to this private sex club so I can find out what happened to my friend Shelby.”
He exhales a hard breath, grabbing his towel and wiping off his face. “Uh . . . you actually are a member at one of these places?”
“Oh no, I mean I don’t think so anyway. But I do know that I went there as a guest at least once. You know my memory issues prevent me from having the full picture . . . because of my accident.”
“I don’t understand what exactly it is you want me to do. Can you be a bit more definitive, Princess?”
I sigh. “Okay, bits and pieces of my past from last semester, are slowly surfacing in what my therapist refers to as ‘recollection memories.’ They occur in occasional dreams. But they're not totally inclusive of all of the specifics. Just enough of the deets have come out that I started looking for one of the members of this club called ‘Sanctuary.’ She was in one of my classes last semester, and she knew about this club. I think she might’ve belonged to it or something. I guess I was curious and I went there with her one time, I’m pretty sure.”
“You’re pretty sure?”
“Yeah, well as sure as my dream seems valid. Anyway, I tried to look her up, but apparently she’s withdrawn from the university. I figure if she’s still in the city, I can stake out the club one night at closing, and see if she emerges.”
“Okay,” Krew replies, arching an eyebrow. “And then what?”
“Well, then maybe I can find out more about that . . . night.”
“The night of your accident?” he asks softly.
“Exactly. It’s just that I don’t want to go there and stake it out by myself, because well, what if somebody recognizes me, and I don’t recognize them? And that person was part of . . .”
He interrupts me, placing the palm of his hand against my cheek gently. “I’ll go, Carson. There’s no way I’d even let you go by yourself. We’ll take my car just in case you were more than a one-time guest there. What time do they close?”
“We’d have to take you car,” I reply with a laugh. “Mine is back in D.C.”
Another concession I made.
“Oh, and they close at midnight on weeknights," I explain. "On weekends they have special themes and it’s by invitation only. Those have a per-couple cost, so I'm not sure about the hours. I think Shelby mostly went on weeknights, because it wasn’t too expensive.”
He quirks a quizzical brow at me.
“Yeah, I know. I remember certain things. I can’t explain it. I just know that I have to trust it.”
“When do you want to go?” he asks.
“Tomorrow night? From about eight until midnight?”
He nods, and I feel relief that he doesn’t bitch about the time. “You bring the snacks,” he orders, giving me a smile.
“You got it.”

11


The Stakeout
As soon as Krew pulls up to the block in Washington Heights where Sanctuary is located, a flood of recognition and fearful emotions flood my mind. My body quivers as he drives by the non-descript front of the building. There’s nothing that screams ‘sex club’ or House of Depravity, as one might expect.
It’s a brick building, with barred windows, and I already know what the interior looks like. It all comes back. The parking lot is at the side of the building, and for a Wednesday night, there aren’t a whole lot of members with cars here. An occasional cab or Uber drops members off at the front.
Krew has parked across the street and down a bit from the entrance. It’s only a quarter to eight, we beat a lot of traffic, and darkness is starting to set in. Once the street lamps come on, I’m sure they’ll allow for ample lighting. I bought a pair of tiny binoculars to assist in the stake-out.
“Seriously?” he teases as I pull them out of my handbag, and adjust the focus. “Good thing my windows are tinted otherwise we could blow our cover. Who are we here, Bones and Booth?”
I lower the binoculars from my eyes and give him an eye roll. “Very funny. I just want to be prepared. This is important.”
“Hey,” he says softly, “I know it is Princess. And I didn’t mean to make light of it. I’m just a little surprised, I guess. You sure as hell didn’t want to talk about your injuries after it happened. And I can’t say I blamed you. You had a lot of healing to do.”
His words, full of compassion and empathy give me a warm feeling inside for some reason. As much as Krew and I had sparred during my stint with him during physical therapy, there had always been something there. He hadn’t drilled me with questions. But he hadn’t coddled me either, he was like a Marine drill sergeant during our sessions, but afterwards, he’d bring me a juice or a smoothie, and just kick back with me and we’d talk about normal stuff.
Like his family, and Buffalo, where he was born and raised. Not from privilege for sure, but he’d worked his ass off to get where he is and I totally respect that.
“So,” he breaks the silence, “What kind of snacks did you bring?”
I reach into the backseat and unzip my backpack. “An assortment you’re sure to love,” I reply. “We’ve got pretzels, Cheetos, and M & M’s, and bottled water. What’s your pleasure?”
“Cheetos,” he replies, “And