“Funny man, my father. Tells me birthdays are just another day, and celebrations are for girls. But he taped a fucking balloon on the table, and I think there might be cake later.”

“As long as there’s a naked chick jumping out of said cake.”

Knox looked at Deacon. “What is wrong with you?”

“What? It’s a fetish club. That ain’t outta the realm of possibilities. I could develop a fetish for licking frosting off pound cake, if you know what I mean.”

Ivan said, “I’ve gotta do one thing before I can join you guys.”

Music blasted inside the warehouse. A multilevel dance floor started in the center of the room. Four bars were spread out, one on each side. A lighted staircase led to the second floor. He looked around as they made their way into the main room. Lots of leather. Lots of chains. Lots of piercings and tats on the partiers. So far he hadn’t seen anyone on a leash like at Twisted.

Blue pointed to the staircase. “Fetish clothing and demonstrations are up here.”

“Where’s the VIP section?” Fisher asked.

“Upstairs, on the other end. If we walk through the fetish area, we’ll hit it.”

Fisher, Blue, and Knox started toward the stairs. Deacon hung back.

“You staying down here on the dance floor to get your groove thang on?”

“Jesus. You’re an old fucker. Who even says ‘groove thang’ anymore? I thought I saw someone I know. I’ll catch up with you guys.”

At the top of the stairs were warning signs that the demonstrations were given by trained professionals and no one should attempt to duplicate the scenes without guidance from an experienced professional.

Yeah, like that’d keep people like these, who live on the fringe, from experimenting.

Booths that sold fetish items were lined against the wall. A long display table had cuffs and spiked collars, jewelry, but no nipple clamps. His first thought was that he’d love to see Shiori wearing those, a golden chain between her tits weighted with jewels.

Fisher tapped him on the arm. “Check that out.”

In the next booth was a display of latex and rubber clothes. They carried more colors than just the standard black. A woman in a catsuit was demonstrating how to put on a latex mask that only had one small mouth opening. The second she put it over her face, Knox had to look away. Just thinking about being so covered up and only able to suck air through a tiny hole made his lungs seize up. At Twisted he’d always declined to monitor the rooms where breath play was involved. He heard that rasping wheeze for breath and found himself clawing at his own throat.

He wandered to the next booth, which had rows of floggers, whips, paddles.

“Anything you’d like to try out?” asked a young woman who looked far too adolescent to be shilling punishment items.

“Just looking.”

Then Knox saw her exchange an eye roll with the scruffy punk beside her that plainly said, “This guy is old.”

His pride surfaced. “You know, why don’t you hand me that nine-inch single tail.”

She looked confused. “All of our whips are longer than nine inches—”

“The handle size is nine inches.” He leaned over and pulled it off the pegboard. Then he ran his hand down the whip, trying to find the balance. “I’d like this more if the handle weren’t braided. Chances are high in a long session I’d end up with blisters.” He flashed his teeth. “And if wanted pain, I’d be on the receiving end of the whip instead of the giving end.” He replaced it on the board and moved on, unable to hide his smirk.

“Great bluff,” Fisher said. “I almost believed you were some kind of S and M guy.”

Jesus. He’d forgotten that Blue and Fisher weren’t aware of that part of his life.

The last two booths on this side didn’t interest him—foot-fetish stuff and role-playing costumes. He turned to ask Blue and Fisher if they were ready to hit the VIP section, when he saw a flash of black.

Weird. That looked the way Shiori’s hair moved when she was doing katas with her hair down. Then he saw it again.

He cut through the crowd until he could see what was going on.

Goddammit. It was her. She had some guy bent over a spanking bench and was whacking his ass with a long paddle. The guy had pulled his jeans down, keeping his butt covered in plaid boxers.

He heard the chant, “Ten more, ten more,” and saw Katie, Molly, and Fee as the instigators surrounding her. They were laughing and hanging on one another like they were really drunk.