House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4)

by Keary Taylor

  I process all of this in two seconds. And then they go crazy. Cheering. Hollering. Cat-calls. They go ballistic over my crown. Over the little amount of clothing I wear, and the harsh lights that expose all of me.

  A deep beat starts and the tempo of the music picks up. I allow myself to stand there, gaping, for just one second, before a voice hisses from behind me. “Do it, or I’ll have to kill you.” Madame.

  So, my eyes still focused on the crowd, I grab the pole with one hand. And I’ve never been stripped down, so exposed, literally and figuratively. I swing my body around the pole, sliding down, keeping it tight between my thighs.

  I was a queen just weeks ago.

  I was a ruler.

  I led a house of over twenty.

  And now, I’ve fallen.

  I’ve been reduced to a plaything, using my body for the entertainment of others.

  My pride got the best of me. It was my downfall. Thinking I could run with the oldest of them.

  I may be a House leader, but I still know so little.

  I must remember that.

  The music thumps, loud and sexual. I twirl. I grind. I bend.

  Money flies in my direction. The hollers do not cease. Words are shouted at me, thankfully in German, so I do not understand the disgusting things they are surely yelling at me.

  I zone them all out. I pretend they are not here. I let my body take over, setting myself on autopilot.

  But this song feels endless.

  Never ceasing.

  My vampire brain keeps track of the seconds that lead into minutes. Five go by. Surely, the song must end. But then it stretches on to ten minutes. And finally at fifteen, the music begins to wind down.

  The announcer comes back on, again speaking words I do not understand. And as the song ends, Madame suddenly steps from the curtain. She takes my hand in hers, holding it high in the air. She says something I do not understand, and even more money is thrown towards us.

  I put on a fake smile because as they said, the King has cameras all over this place. I need to be a good little prisoner.

  One last statement from Madame and then she turns us, and back into the hallway we go.

  “You did well,” she says. “Not the happiest-looking dancer, a little terrified, but the dancing was good enough.”

  “Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “I always hoped I’d make a good exotic dancer someday.”

  To my surprise, she gives me a little smile.

  “PHASE TWO IS GOING TO be a little more…difficult for you,” Madame says as we stop back in the dressing room. She crosses to the dressing rack and starts rifling through outfits. “Though, I doubt you’ll mind. At least you’ll get to feed.”

  She stops on a hanger and pulls it out for further evaluation. Seeming to decide on it, the walks toward me.

  “I don’t understand,” I say honestly as I accept the hanger from her.

  “Don’t worry about the details for now, just change.” She doesn’t wait for an argument from me. She turns to take care of the girls and boys that occupy the room.

  Nerves eating me up all over again, I retreat to my corner and strip off the exposing clothing. I slip into the new outfit. This one is a black leather number. A halter style bra exposes all of my cleavage. A tiny skirt slips over a black thong, leaving most of my butt exposed.

  I look at myself in the mirror. And I have to tell myself not to feel anything. That’s the only way I’m going to survive these two days.

  Madame yells over her shoulder in German at two men as she walks back over to me. The look she gives me is approving.

  “That works quite nicely on you,” she says, giving another false, tiny smile. “What you need to know about this next phase is that is the most expensive entertainment we offer at the Club, besides actual sex. Again, they are not allowed to touch you, but the paying clients will be sitting rather close so that they do not miss anything.”

  My heart hammers in my chest, and the palms of my hands prickle in anticipation.

  “Don’t worry,” Madame says with that smile again. “The girls who get to do the biting rarely even notice the audience. Now,” she says, stepping away. “Let me just go make sure your clients are ready and we’ll begin.”

  She walks off, sweeping back yet another curtain. I wonder how many rooms and hallways break off of this changing room. She’s gone only for a minute before returning. She returns with a beautiful redhead in tow. A human.

  “I’d introduce the two of you, but it doesn’t really matter, since you’ll be leaving us soon,” Madame says. “If you cooperate and survive. But this phase and task is quite simple. The two of you will go into the room together. You’ll find a bed and an audience.”

  My throat leaps into my throat. My breathing speeds up. If they want me to have sex with this woman, I just don’t think I can do it. I’ll probably have my heart detonated.

  A smile curls on Madame’s lips. “No, you won’t be having sex with her.” As if she can read my mind. “You’re only going to feed on her. I suggest you pace yourself. I really don’t like having to replace the humans. So, take your time. These clients have paid dearly for this form of entertainment. They won’t be happy if it’s over in one minute. So, don’t kill or turn her, and take your time.”

  The human woman offers me a little smile and reaches out for my hand. I feel sick as I offer it to her. This is wrong. So wrong. So dirty and twisted and carnal. I want to throw up.

  But the woman walks down a hall with me, no hesitation at all. As if she’s done this a thousand times before. As if she doesn’t mind one bit what I’m about to do to her.

  I remind myself what Madame said. This is the second most expensive service they offer here at the club. She might be getting bit every time, might have to take a few days off after each feeding, but she’s probably making quite a bit of money doing it.

  The whole thing is disgusting.

  A black door waits at the end of the hall, and the woman rests her hand on it before she pushes it open.

  Inside looks much like the rest of the club I have seen so far. Black walls, blue and purple lighting. But unlike the other spaces I’ve seen, a double-sized bed dominates the center of the room. And seated around it, are five men and one woman.

  I try not to look at their faces as the redhead leads me to the bed, but I can’t help it. Their eyes are hungry as they look at us. They barely seem human, the deeper I stare. They search my body, stare, smile over my crown.

  They may be Royals. They may be Court members. But almost certainly, none of them are leaders. None of them hold real positions.

  So they will get off, watching a Royal House leader being a whore.

  The woman kneels on the bed and pulls me toward her. She smiles at me as I awkwardly crawl toward her. She rests a hand on my cheek, biting her lower lip.

  The breath catches in my throat.

  I just want to run.

  I want to rip the hearts out of every single chest here and find an exit. I want to get as far away from the vampire world as humanly possible.

  Because this…

  This…

  I was headed for this.

  I did things.

  Punished people in unfair ways.

  Look at what I did to Samuel once.

  What I did to poor, innocent Danielle.

  I was only months away from falling completely off the dark cliff of losing my humanity.

  But now I’m here. The King’s prisoner. Now, I must bend to his will.

  Just do this. Survive. Tell your story. And get out of here, I chant to myself as the woman pulls me even closer. As she guides my lips to her neck. As our audience leans in closer. As the hunger in their eyes goes wild. As my fangs extend and my toxins pool in my mouth.

  As I let my teeth sink into her flesh.

  Just survive this. And make it out of Roter Himmel alive.

  IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG TO discover the Club never sleeps. Over the next twenty-four hours, I move
from one room to the next. Dancing. Drinking from other women, men. Some of the faces in the crowd become familiar. And soon it seems I have a fan club. They just move from one form of my punishment to the next.

  The crowd shifts throughout the club. People come and go. But it never seems to empty out. Even when surely daylight has broken outside once again.

  There is an entrance to the outside. When I go back out on stage again, I see a door, way in the back, that opens to the dark, letting in fresh, pure air. I could run. I could make it. I’m sure of that.

  But that remote detonator would go off, and then I’d collapse to the ground. Dead.

  So, I dance. I drink.

  The door opens just as I’m about to finish the seventh dance of my imprisonment, and my eyes flick toward it just as I twirl around the pole.

  And I do a double look.

  Because I know that face.

  And it takes me a pole grind and my second attempt at a flip to place the time and place.

  Five years ago, thousands of miles from here.

  He walks in the Club, that same light smile on his lips that captivated me back then. That same amazing jawline. The same toned body.

  It’s only been five years, but my enhanced eyes can tell: he hasn’t aged a day.

  Fear pounds in my chest and my grip slips on the pole. I catch myself in time, and the music winds down. I make sure to keep my face down, turned away from the crowd. Anything to keep him from seeing my face.

  Because if he does, if he recognizes me, it will be the end of so much.

  I glance at him from the corner of my eye and see him make his way to the bar, his back turned to me.

  The song ends, and I dart off stage as quickly as I can.

  Tears prick at my eyes, coming hot and welling fast as I race down the hall. The breath rips in and out of my chest with determined speed. I break into the dressing room and immediately go to a dark corner.

  In and out, I force my breath to go, otherwise I’m pretty sure I will stop breathing completely.

  There are so many implications of this. So much that this means.

  Natalia walks by, and I’m instantly on my feet, a hand on her arm, stopping her.

  “All the clients at the Club are Born, right?” I ask, the words thick in my throat.

  “Of course,” she says, furrowing her brows at me. “Like I told you, they’re all Royals. The employees of this club are the only non-Royal Born allowed in the city.”

  My stomach rolls. Heaves. I have to turn away. I race for the only bathroom and barely get to the toilet in time. A massive amount of blood heaves from my stomach and into the bowl.

  “Pull yourself together,” Madame says from behind me, in the open doorway. “You need to get ready for your last show. Then it’s back to your trial.”

  I try to find the willpower to get up off the floor. I try to put it all aside and numb myself like I’ve become so good at doing. But instead the tears take me over. My shoulders quake, a sob rips its way from my chest.

  Madame curses, turning her back on me. “You’ve got ten minutes. Deal with your shit and get back out here.”

  Sob after sob rips from my chest as she shuts the door behind her. Fat tears roll down my face, and I wrap my arms around my middle, doubling over in emotional pain.

  I closed that part of my life off. I haven’t allowed myself to think about it in years. I made the only choice I could at the time and I moved on. I forgave myself and didn’t look back.

  But suddenly, the past has walked back up.

  With shaking hands, I reach up and flush the toilet, sending half a dozen human’s blood washing down into the sewers. I drag myself off of the ground. I stare at myself in the mirror.

  I’ve ruined Natalia’s beautiful work. Black streaks race down my face. My lipstick is smeared. My hair is a tussled mess from my hands running through it.

  I’m a beautiful wreck.

  A knock sounds on the door. “I can’t wait any longer, Lady Conrath.”

  I take a deep breath in through my nose and let it slowly out through my lips. I roll my shoulders back.

  I only have to pull it together for one more dance, and then they’ll release me from this prison and send me to another where I can fall apart for good.

  My shaking hand grabs the doorknob, and I pull it open.

  “Holy hell,” Madame breathes at me. “You’re a mess.” She takes a deep breath, studying me with her hands on her hips. “I guess it doesn’t matter for this last phase. Maybe you looking like this makes the effect even better.”

  She hands me another outfit, this one the most exposing of them all. I change without fuss. Without a fight.

  Just make it through this last dance.

  I grab my necklace from the pile of my clothes, and tuck it into the bra, unsure if I’ll get the chance to return after. The thought of losing it now…

  When I’m finished, I follow Madame through one last hall. The door at the end opens into a small room. Of course, at the center is a pole. A single chair sits in one corner. And dominating one wall is a massive mirror.

  But not a single client waits inside. I look around, confused.

  “You’ll dance,” Madame says. “For half an hour. Don’t stop until the music does. Your clients wish to remain anonymous; they sit on the other side of that mirror. They can see you, but obviously, you cannot see them. When this dance is over, you’ll be returned to await your trial.”

  I nod that I understand. She walks to the door and closes it behind her.

  Thankfully, that numb feeling once more creeps up my legs, seeps into my chest, reaches for my fingers. I’ve been getting so good at it over the past eight months. Maybe it’s because I’ve slowly been ridding myself of my humanity without meaning to. Maybe it’s just who I was always meant to be.

  I walk in front of the mirror, staring at myself. Imagining the sick perverts who sit behind it. Getting off on watching me. The types who comes to the Club often, watching men and women degrade themselves. Spending money on flesh they aren’t allowed to touch.

  The look in my eyes darkens as I stare at them, unable to see them.

  Music suddenly sounds from the speakers, harsh and fast. One last glare at the window, and I turn to the pole.

  I put all of my anger into this dance. All of the hatred I’ve felt for so long now. My insecurities and my fear. The manipulation I’ve suffered and the manipulation I’ve doled out. I let it all rip from my soul as I twist around that pole, bend over that chair, as I run my hands over my body.

  Every single emotion runs out of me, channeled into numb sexuality. My brain shuts the people behind the mirror out, just focusing on me as I spill myself out into the curtained room.

  The flashing lights dance over my exposed flesh. Blinking and racing around the room. I shut my eyes, just moving in rhythm to the music.

  The song ends and another begins. I move. I don’t think.

  I bleed.

  Three songs. Four. Seven.

  On the eighth, the music slows, and I’m so engrossed in this dance of letting it all out that I hardly notice when the music has stopped.

  I stand in the middle of the room, between the pole and the mirror. Slowly, as I let my breath out, I raise my head back up. My hair parts around my face. And I open my eyes.

  A light behind the mirror has been turned on, and suddenly, I can see through it.

  King Cyrus stands right before me, a demented smile upon his face as he claps. Slowly. Deliberate.

  And my heart drops into my knees when I see, seated on either side of him, is Ian and Raheem.

  “Now that was a show,” Cyrus breathes. The look in his eyes is gleeful. Wild. Vengeful. “I think we can all agree that was a wonderfully artistic display of the whore you are on the inside.”

  Ian lurches to his feet, his fists ready, but Raheem catches him before Ian can do any damage and throws him back into his seat. “Don’t,” Raheem warns Ian.

  Cyrus chuckles,
glancing back at them. “I thoroughly enjoyed the show, Alivia,” he says. “But I don’t think either of them appreciated it in the same way.”

  Something buzzes, and suddenly the mirror dividing us rises, and the rooms become one.

  I back away a step.

  I can’t.

  What I just did…

  Everything I just laid out for the two men who matter to me most to see…

  Something bites at the back of my eyes. Moisture pools in them instantly.

  “Liv,” Ian says as he rushes forward. He reaches out for me. But I take a quick step away. The look on his face is pained, but understanding. “Liv, I know that wasn’t you. I know he made you do it.”

  I shake my head, one tear breaking free. I look over his shoulder at Raheem. And I see it there, in his eyes. He knows what’s going through my head.

  In so many ways, that was me.

  I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes closed for a moment.

  I don’t want to be me anymore. I don’t want to do any of this anymore.

  “Come now,” Cyrus says. I hear him take a step forward and open my eyes once again. “Don’t try to act ashamed of your actions, Alivia. We all know how much you enjoy the attention. You certainly reacted to the way you and I danced, to my lips between your breasts. To Raheem pinning you against the bookshelf in your library. To Ian pressing himself into you on your kitchen counter.”

  The smile on his lips grows even more sick as the horror in me builds to an explosive level. “So why are you suddenly feeling so modest and prudish?”

  “Stop!” I scream. The tears now freely flow down my face. “Please, just stop! I’m sorry, okay! I’m sorry I made you think I was Sevan. I’m sorry I needed you, Raheem. I’m sorry I fell in love with you when I shouldn’t have, Ian! I’m just sorry!”

  A sob takes me over, and I sink into a little ball in the corner of the room. My knees curl up to my chest, and I wrap my arms around my head, attempting to block it all out as I sob, great big pulls of air and tears freefalling down my face.

  “Enough!” Ian bellows as he crosses the space to stand by me. He crouches at my side, though he does not immediately touch me. “You may be our damn King, but do you have to be a monster? You’ve put her through enough!”