Hellfire Club Novels & Stories

“Sorry, I’m Emmilia Marino.” The bouncer shook his head. “Sweetheart, half of the city is owned by the Luna family. I don’t know who you pissed off, but both Emmilia Vitore and Emmilia Marino have been blacklisted from half of the clubs in the city.” He took out his cell phone and flashed a picture of me that was from last years college yearbook. “Who told you to blacklist me?” I demanded. The bouncer sighed. “If you’re pissed, you probably already know. Now, run along home.”

I looked down at Dalton’s business card lying between us on the table, my stomach tightening, “I’ll play his game.” Ryan followed my gaze and saw the card. Inferno. I swallowed hard. Just the name made something cold settle in my chest. Inferno is the most exclusive and dangrous clubhouse in Skyline City. Its a place where the elite sealed deals in shadows, where people wore masks not just on their faces but in their intentions. I’d heard scary stories. About how people carry out their twisted desires there too. But tonight, I’d be walking into it. Alone. Ryan leaned forward, voice low and tense. “If he touches you—”

Fear gripped me because Tomas was always straight to the point and if he said something terrible had happened, then it was really terrible indeed. “Tell me,” I said as I walked back to the bed and sat down. I had a feeling I needed something to support me when I heard what he had to say. He sighed over the phone and then, he said, “The club is on fire.” I laughed. “Come on Tomas, quit joking around. Is that a metaphor or something?” “I'm serious, Don. Someone set Ecstasy on fire. It was a gas leak. I'm at the club right now and although the firefighters are trying their best, there would be nothing to salvage by the time they put the fire out.”

~RYDER~ The glass caught the light as I lifted it, tiny bubbles rising to the surface like fireflies trapped in gold. “Cheers,” said the guy beside me — Brick from Iron Wraiths MC — raising his own drink. “Hellfire still top dog, huh?” I gave a half smile. “We try.” The noise in the hall was deafening — laughter, metal music, the smell of leather, smoke, and spilled beer. All around us, different patches filled the room... Reapers, Wolves, Vipers. Rival clubs gathered under one roof for one night of fake peace.

There is a re-run of a baseball game on the television and I manage to concetrate on that for a while. "I heard he's a judge or something," Finally I give in and look at the guy they are talking about. "Doesn't look like one," the friend says in disapproval. He catches me looking at him. He doesn't look away. I find comfort in his state of being, maybe it is because I find it familiar. "What's this place called?" I ask out loud. "Midnight Bar," the guy next to me says. "Not the club, the place," he looks confused. "Greencity," his friend answers.

Zevara's POV “The private club—Howls & Fangs—where the fresher's welcome party is being held, is everything I hate and so much worse.“ Neon red lights glowed through the room. The loud music blaring from the speakers shaking the walls with every beat and almost ripping my ear drums apart. The thick stench of cigarettes and cannabis hung heavily in the air making it difficult for me to breathe. She-wolves dressed in provocative dresses—far worse than what Nina and I are wearing—straddling he-wolves.

Club Gold. The name alone feels like a taunt, a reminder of the gilded cage I find myself in. The gold glitters, the champagne flows, and the beautiful people dance to a thumping beat. But behind the façade of luxury, I can sense the darkness, the secrets, the unspoken threats. Keith dropped me off hours ago, his face etched with a tension he couldn’t quite conceal. He mumbled something about needing to handle business and promised to make it up to me later. But I could see the guilt in his eyes, the flicker of something he wasn’t willing to share. He hasn’t called or texted since. Evelyn has been my constant companion, a shadow guiding me through the labyrinthine corridors of Club Gold.

Liz couldn’t make a sound although her mouth seemed to be trying to ask, “What kind of party is this?!?” Barl, seeing her reaction soothed, “Liz, this is a meeting of the “Walking Stick Club”, the only requirement for membership is that you have at least an eight inch cock when erect, we meet once a month here because it’s so secluded, and also because it has enough room for the thirty people who usually show up.” Finally able to speak, Liz asked, “Do you have to, you know….,”

“The messages are stored in my client account.” Rafael retrieved the device and opened the private concierge thread. The account carried no employee name. Only a black Obsidian seal and a routing number. The messages appeared one after another. Coordinator will match the requested presentation. Sheltered background confirmed. Minimal private-level experience. Receptive to structured guidance when approached patiently. No line explicitly promised consent, or offered sexual access. The language sold something more dangerous. Possibility. I read the final message twice. Guided participation may develop naturally if the atmosphere remains controlled.