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    The Red Club
    The Red Club
    The Red Club
    Ebook68 pages58 minutes

    The Red Club

    By Cynthia Plume

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    In the back alleys of an empty city where intimacy is illegal, there is a hidden oasis for the skin-starved. The Red Club is a clandestine intimate club looking to help topple society’s sexless house of cards. As with every underground movement, exposure is a constant threat. But if you can find it while dodging the government and other dangers along the way, it can be your gateway to a profound experience.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBryant Street Shorts
    Release dateJun 11, 2020
    ISBN9781094410449

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    Reviews for The Red Club

    4/5

    25 ratings2 reviews

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    • 5/5
      This is excellent erotica. I say that because not only does it contain some smouldering sex scenes with plenty of kinks, it has a great storyline with sinister echoes of The Handmaid’s Tale. I liked the conflict and tension and the fear of discovery. The eventual resolution of a very hairy situation is most satisfying. The characters are well developed for such a short story and it is easy to connect with them all. A hot, short story that fully deserves my five-star rating.
    • 5/5
      The Red Club. January 2021. Very creative. Unfortunately, with the way Society is heading, this just might happen in the future.

    Book preview

    The Red Club - Cynthia Plume

    Part One: Coral

    Working for the government was unmatched in terms of compensation and job security, but it always felt like everyone, even the walls, were watching. Whispering. Working in law enforcement had a way of making you paranoid about your own actions. Even more so when you were about to break the law.

    Cody swiped her thumb across the fingerprint reader, opening the dormitory door with a pneumatic whoosh. Though she knew her colleagues’ routines and that she would encounter no one, her palms were warm and moist with sweat and her chest seemed tighter with each step. What if the rumors about the Red Club were false? What if it was a trap? Or, worse, a sting operation? Cody had done her homework and researched her department’s operations, but what if she had missed something? There were certainly projects above her security clearance.

    Outside the monument to brutalism where she ate, slept, worked, and lived, Cody pulled the collar of her uniform up. It was already inside out to stop the logo emblazoned on the sturdy black fabric from foiling her plans.

    Though she rarely left the office, her eyes remained glued to the path her feet greedily ate through, following instructions she’d memorized like a religious incantation. She passed other people, but nobody gazed up in awe at the neon heavens buzzing above. Nobody made eye contact. Nobody risked interaction.

    Many also rushed from place to place in fear of ground-level atmospheric radiation, but Cody had a high enough security clearance to know there was no radiation. That was just an artificial curfew for the science illiterate.

    She was grateful to get away from the main thoroughfares and into the abandoned back alleys. The city was patrolled by street sweepers, robots that didn’t care if the litter was still alive or not, but few people roamed about. The alleys were even quieter, and her muscles relaxed, chest falling. The feeling of being squeezed by a uniform not designed for her, one that couldn’t contain her, disappeared. Many women opted for mastectomies these days, especially within the government, but she had resisted. It seemed as unnecessary as others felt breasts were.

    Gloved fingers dragged across old, worn concrete before landing on a patch of exposed brick. Small puffs of condensation marked the counted bricks as she muttered under her breath, looking for the right one and praying she hadn’t misremembered. She was dying, navigating an endless desert, and counting correctly was the secret to the oasis.

    Cody knew she had found the right one when she tapped it and it shifted ever so slightly. Breath catching in her throat, chest tightening in a rush of adrenaline, she fished the panel removers from her pockets without ever taking her wide eyes off the brick, as if it might vanish forever if she so much as blinked. Feverishly, constantly checking over her shoulder, she pried the brick out of its slot, revealing a keypad.

    Holding the brick in one trembling hand, she carefully punched in the code. It was the date of the last election, now celebrated as a day of liberation by most. But not all. Not her.

    Cody pressed enter, holding her breath and waiting to see if the red light came on. One second. Two. A thousand lifetimes passed, and then the light glowed red, tossing Cody a lifeline. A breathy laugh escaping her full lips, she looked around. It was a call button. She was meant to replace the brick and wait for someone to fetch her.

    Anxiety dwindling, she put the brick back and turned to lean against the wall, hands in her pockets, waiting. This was it. She felt strangely at ease. Ready.

    But as the minutes passed, they eroded her calm. What if the keypad was a government trap? What if a unit was converging on her position? It was taking ages. Her small smile faded, brow furrowing.

    Huffing, Cody started repeating in her head that they were coming. Not the government, but the others. The rebellion. She didn’t know how far they had to come. The next thought was somber, held at bay as long as she could: If they come. Who knew how old the intel was, how long the rumors had circulated? A thousand ways this could end in disaster, one way it couldn’t. She wasn’t much of a gambling person, and she hated the odds.

    Hope and paranoia warred in her mind as she shifted her weight a few times, trying to get comfortable and shake the pins and needles in her toes. Good or bad, someone would come for her. Either they would come and she would taste freedom through rebellion, or the government would come and she would taste freedom through death.

    A sound broke through her whirling thoughts. She snapped to, hands withdrawing and body coiled: footsteps. They didn’t sound like the heavy boots of the task forces. The pace was casual, echoing through the

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