The Revelation (8 page)

“You three need to be ready to transfer the money as
early as one thirty Washington time,” Jonas warned during our call.
“I doubt we’ll be asked to do it that quickly—I’m guessing the
meeting with the feds will take hours—but you have to be at the
ready, just in case.”

“Sure thing, bro,” Josh said. “No
problemo
.”

After we hung up from our call with Jonas, I
suddenly felt like I was gonna melt onto the floor with exhaustion.
“I’m gonna get into my jammies, get nice and cozy in my bed, and do
some
reading
before I drift off to sleep,” I told Josh and
Henn. “Nighty-night, boys.”

“Okay, Kitty Kat,” Henn said. “I’ve got everything I
need now. See you in the morning.” And off he went.

“How ’bout I come to your room with you?” Josh
offered, pulling me into him.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m going in alone. It’s finally
time for me to find out what kind of
perverted-sick-fuck-goat-fucker you really are, Joshua William
Faraday. No distractions.”

Josh pressed himself into me. “Aw, come on, PG. I’ll
lie next to you in bed while you read. That way I can answer any
questions you might have.”

“No way, Playboy,” I replied.

“I’ll massage your feet while you read.”

I paused, considering. I really love a good foot
massage. “No,” I finally said. “No more distractions.
Nighty-night.”

And now, here I am. Finally. Sitting in bed in my
tank top and undies with my computer on my lap, a huge smile on my
face and an Avicii song blaring through my speakers (“Addicted to
You,” featuring vocals by my new obsession, Audra Mae).

I quickly check my phone. I’ve been horrible about
replying to texts and emails since coming to Sin City. This whole
trip has been like entering some sort of
Twilight-Zone-alternate-dimension. I scroll through my texts. I’ve
got a text from my mom, asking me to call her so she can “hear my
voice.” No rush there. And a text from my oldest brother, Colby,
(addressing me as Kumquat), asking me if I’ve gambled away next
month’s rent yet and telling me to call Mom so she can “hear my
voice.”

There’s a text from my baby brother, Dax,
(addressing me as Jizz), informing me he used the extra key to my
apartment to “hang out” in my place for a few days and, oh yeah, by
the way, oops, he ate all my food.

I’ve got a text from Hannah at work, telling me she
misses her lunch buddy and asking me to call her whenever. I wince.
Hannah’s really picked up my slack at work while I’ve been gone. I
owe her big-time.

I’ve got a text from Sarah from an hour ago, telling
me she and Jonas landed in Washington D.C. and are set to meet at
FBI headquarters later this afternoon. “Oh muh guh,” Sarah wrote.
“I’m crapping my pants. But Jonas is cool as a cucumber about the
whole thing so he’s keeping me sane.”

I smile at that last sentence. Jonas is keeping
Sarah
sane? Gotta love those two.

“Go get ’em, girl,” I reply to Sarah’s text. “You’re
gonna blow all those fancy G-men away. The Vegas branch of our crew
is standing by.”

And, finally, there’s a text from Josh from five
minutes ago: “Hey, PG. Do me a favor and text me the minute you’re
done reading my application,” he writes. “You don’t have to tell me
what you think about it. Just tell me when you’ve read it or else I
won’t be able to fall asleep.”

“Will do,” I reply. “I’m about to start reading
now.”

His reply is instantaneous. “Just keep an open
mind,” he writes. “Just remember when I wrote that thing, I was
really upset.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t sweat it, PB. How bad can
it be?”

“Um... ” he writes.

I’ve got a pit in my stomach. “I’ll text you when
I’m done,” I write.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I grab my laptop, find the email with Josh’s
application attached, snuggle into my soft, white pillows, happily
listening to Avicii and Audra Mae serenade me, and begin
reading:

Name?

“Joshua William Faraday,” he writes. And, yet again,
the sight of his full name sends a shiver down my spine. “Sexy
man,” I say out loud in my empty hotel room.

With this application, you will be required to
submit three separate forms of identification. The Club maintains a
strict “No Aliases Policy” for admission. You may, however, use
aliases during interactions with other Club members, at your
discretion.

“OK,” he writes.

Age?

“29,” he writes.

Provide a brief physical description of
yourself.

I scan his full response to this question again. But
this time reading Josh’s words, my heart races and leaps: “I prefer
not to talk about the meanings of my tattoos at length, so please
tell whoever gets assigned to me not to ask about them.”

A wave of excitement washes through me. If that’s
how Josh felt when he wrote those words, he certainly doesn’t seem
to feel that way now—or, at least, not when it comes to me.

With this application, you will be required to
submit three recent photographs of yourself to your intake agent.
Please include the following: one headshot, one full-body shot
revealing your physique, and one shot wearing something you’d
typically wear out in a public location. These photographs shall be
maintained under the strictest confidentiality.

Just for the heck of it, I click onto Josh’s
naked-bad-boy-photo and stare at it for a moment. This man sends my
pulse racing and my blood boiling in a way I’ve never felt before.
Damn, boy—just like Audra Mae is singing in my ear right now—I’m
absolutely addicted to him.

Please sign the enclosed waiver describing the
requisite background check, medical physical, and blood test, which
you must complete as a condition of membership.

“Done,” he writes.

Sexual orientation? Please choose from the following
options: Straight, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, other?

“Straight,” he writes.

Do any of your sexual fantasies include violence of
any nature?

“Yes,” he writes.

Whoa. Holy shitballs. Not what I expected. I move
quickly to the next section.

If so, please describe in detail. Please note that
your inclination toward or fantasies about sexual violence, if any,
will not, standing alone, preclude membership. Indeed, we provide
highly particularized services for members with a wide variety of
proclivities. In the interest of serving your needs to the fullest
extent possible, please describe any and all sexual fantasies
involving violence of any nature whatsoever.

“I have a sexual fantasy in which I come to the
rescue of a woman who’s been bound and raped.”

Whoa again.

Are you a current practitioner of BDSM and/or does
BDSM interest you? If so, describe in explicit detail.

“BDSM interests me insofar as it relates to
fulfilling the fantasy described above.”

Payment and Membership Terms. Please choose from the
following options: One Year Membership, $250,000 USD; Monthly
Membership, $30,000 USD. All payments are non-refundable. No
exceptions. Once you’ve made your selection regarding your
membership plan, information for wiring the funds into an escrow
account will be immediately forthcoming under separate cover.
Membership fees shall be transferred automatically out of escrow to
The Club upon approval of your membership.

“I’m interested in a one-month membership,
administered according to my exact specifications, described below.
If additional payment beyond your usual monthly fee is required for
you to deliver exactly what I’ve asked for (below), I’m open to
further negotiation of your fee. Please advise.”

Oh my effing God. My heart is pounding forcefully in
my ears. I can’t read Josh’s words fast enough.

Please provide a detailed explanation about what
compelled you to seek membership in The Club.

“It’s pretty simple, actually: I’m joining The Club
because I’m a sick fuck. Or so I’ve been recently told by someone I
loved and trusted with all my fucking heart. Well, I might be a
sick fuck, but at least I’m not a heartless liar. I’m not the one
who begged me to open up, pleaded with me to tell her the truth
about my deepest desires and told me it was safe and she wouldn’t
judge me, and then when I finally broke down and told her
everything, called me a ‘sick fuck’ and said there’s something
‘deeply wrong with me’ and then cheated on me with a douchebag who
wears a fucking ascot and says ‘bloody hell’ and rides polo ponies
for fuck’s sake. Motherfucking bastard asshole. After three years
she couldn’t give me the courtesy of breaking up with me? I had to
hear she’d run off with that douche from a friend? Ha! And this was
all because of shit I merely
fantasized
about doing—I hadn’t
even done any of it yet—and she ran away screaming (and right into
that fucktard’s arms)?

“For three years, I tried my damnedest to
fix
her and love her and protect her as best I could. But it turns out
she was too broken to be fixed and loved and protected—or at least
too broken to be fixed by a ‘sick fuck’ like me. Well, if I’m gonna
lose the only girl I’ve ever loved for simply
fantasizing
about doing some crazy shit, then I might as well fucking do all of
it, huh? Especially now that she’s gone for good, riding off into
the sunset on a fucking polo pony. Why should I suffer all the
consequences of being a sick fuck without reaping all the rewards,
too? So let’s do this shit, motherfuckers. I’m ready, baby—as ready
as a sick fuck can possibly be.”

I look up from my screen, overwhelmed. Holy effing
shit. My heart is beating so hard, I feel like it’s going to crack
me wide open from the inside-out. I take a deep breath, look back
down at the screen, and continue reading.

Please provide a detailed statement regarding your
sexual preferences. To maximize your experience in The Club, please
be as explicit, detailed, and honest as possible. Please do not
self-censor, in any fashion.

“If you were a woman telling me to be as explicit,
detailed, and honest as possible and not self-censor myself in any
fashion, I’d laugh in your face. But since you’re some mysterious
‘intake agent’ at an underground sex club, and since I’ve got
literally nothing to lose at this point, I’ll do it. But here’s the
deal: I want absolute assurance you’re gonna give me precisely what
I ask for, to the letter. If after reading this you determine you
can’t give me exactly what I want, every fucking time, then don’t
approve my membership. Because, just to be clear, I don’t need this
club to get laid—I can do that just fine on my own with some of the
world’s most beautiful women. The only reason I’m applying to this
club is to fulfill my ‘sick fuck’ fantasies,
exactly as
described
. Because I don’t want this shit to taint my real
life.

“Before I describe what I want you to give me, let’s
first talk logistics—because I don’t have the time or attention
span to do things your usual way. The way this club was described
to me by a buddy, it’s my understanding you typically assign each
new member a color-coded bracelet so he can hook up with
like-minded women with similarly coded bracelets at bars or
wherever. Well, that’s not gonna work for me. I’m too busy and what
I want is too specific. So what I want is for you to read this
application, go through your database, and then curate compatible
women for me, no color-coded bracelets or check-ins required.

“I’ve recently learned I’ll be traveling around the
country for about a month in the near future, appraising certain
investment opportunities for my company. (I anticipate visiting
about twelve cities over the course of one month—my exact itinerary
to be finalized.) In each city of my month-long ‘tour,’ on each
designated date (by four o’ clock in the afternoon), I’ll leave a
room key under the name ‘Emma’ at the front desk of a designated
five-star hotel. At precisely eight o’clock, I’ll enter the
reserved room to find one of two scenarios awaiting me, exactly as
described below:

“Scenario One. Two willing women curated by you will
be in the room, awaiting my arrival, preferably already naked. The
women should expect to have sex with me and/or each other,
depending on my mood and the level of my attraction to each woman.
At the very least, they’ll definitely perform sexual acts with each
other while I watch.

“Scenario Two. When I enter the room, a blindfolded
and naked woman, tied to the bed, will already be there. I will not
be the one who tied the woman up—she’ll already be in the required
state when I arrive—which means someone besides the woman will
initially need to accompany her to the room to help her get into
position. By the time I arrive, that third party participant
absolutely must be gone. Please note I will arrive at the room
promptly at eight o’clock sharp, no earlier or later, to allow the
woman and whoever’s assisting her to plan the set-up
accordingly.

“After I’ve entered the room, the woman should
expect to engage in some form of sexual activity with me while she
remains bound and blindfolded. The sex will be pleasurable and
nonviolent. But please note we will be enacting a role-play in
which the sex is nonconsensual.

“At the end of the blindfolded portion of our
activities (which shall last no more than one hour at the outside),
I will remove the woman’s blindfold. When I do so, this will signal
for purposes of our mutual role-play that I am someone entirely
new, specifically someone who has newly entered the room to rescue
her from the “attack” she’s just endured (which, I repeat, will be
pleasurable and nonviolent). I’ll proceed to untie the woman and
further sexual contact will likely occur at that time, at my
discretion.

“A few important caveats and requirements: First,
condoms will be used at all times, no exceptions. Second, there
will be absolutely no violence of any nature, no exceptions. Any
suggestion of violence during the rape-bondage role-play scenario
will be purely theatrical and intended to enhance the role-play.
Please note that words like “no” and “stop,” etc. during the
bondage scenario will not be heeded. If the woman feels
uncomfortable or scared in any way, she must use the safe word
“Sick Fuck.” If she uses that phrase, I will immediately stop
whatever I’m doing and take explicit instruction from her, whatever
that is, including stopping, slowing down, and/or untying and
releasing her.