Release In The Dark (DARK erotic romance series)

by Natalie Kristen

  I can feel my body spasm painfully, as I keep gasping and gulping more and more water. Nobody is forcing me to take in the water. My body is doing it all on its own. The urge and need to breathe, the desperate hunger and instinct to survive—this very instinct is ironically, the very thing hastening my death.

  I am sinking lower and lower, helpless to save myself. I am only vaguely aware that something hard and cold is gripping my body. Blindly, I try to twist free. I scream, and this time the searing pain and darkness envelops me completely. I can't stop screaming soundlessly, knowing that I am drowning myself with my screams.

  The crushing, agonizing darkness is shattered by a sudden light. Icy chill invades my body, and the silence is replaced by muted rasping and splashing.

  I can feel my body shaking and convulsing violently. Through a crack in my eyelid, I see metal clamps gripping my body, as I am fished out of the column. The wire reels furiously and I can feel myself being lowered onto the stage. Hands start rolling me onto my side, and water spurts from every orifice in my body as I heave violently. Someone is hammering me on the back, while yelling, “Breathe, Ana, breathe!”

  Spluttering and coughing, I gulp in greedy lungfuls of air. My head starts to clear and my senses return in a rush. I push myself up, choking and breathing hard. The sounds of my own thundering heartbeat and frantic breathing are like music to my ears. I am alive. I am bloody alive!

  I raise my head and glimpse the metal claw swaying slightly from the ceiling. That glinting metal claw had dipped down and retrieved me from that cold, watery hell.

  When I am finally able to catch my breath and focus, I turn to see the Warden ordering a handful of girls off the stage. The front of their tank tops are wet. So are their arms and hands. These are the girls who have helped turn me on my side and thumped me vigorously on my back to get me to cough out the water.

  Pam's wet hands are covering her mouth. She lowers her hands to flash me a quivering smile.

  “Not bad.” The Warden's voice floats down to me. I force myself to stand up so I can look her in the eye. I expect to see some sadistic pleasure or cruel derision in her eyes. But she simply regards me dispassionately. She claps a hand on my shoulder and nods. “You'll have to do a little better tonight. Your costume will take a minute longer than this to dissolve completely. Only then will you be fished out. Got it?”

  “Y-yes.”

  She hands me my clothes and dismisses me. My head spinning and my body still shivering, I somehow manage to stab my shaking limbs into my clothes and fumble off the stage.

  “Next.” The Warden looks around and picks a girl at random. “You. Up here.”

  I hug myself tightly to try to stop my shivering. There are some whispered words of encouragement from the girls around me, but my teeth are chattering too much for me to answer. I just nod and try to smile but I think it comes out as a grimace.

  As I watch the Warden fasten the harness around the girl on stage, I see her checking the wire to make sure it is secure. Once the girl is completely submerged in the water, the Warden holds up her watch and starts timing her. The Warden's eyes dart between the girl and her watch, her brows furrowed in concentration. I suddenly realize that the Warden is simply doing her job. It is not her aim to torture or kill us. She is just here to oversee us and train us for our routine. She is just a soldier on rotation to the Red Lantern, doing her duty, carrying out her orders.

  The Lantern chain of novelty brothels is run by the State, not the Army. I should think the Emperor, or more likely, the Empress, has a hand in designing these sadistic themes and routines. The Warden is just one of their soldiers.

  In the Palace, the Empress had made me watch, using metal clamps to force my eyes open, while a Slave serviced her. The Slave had become hard enough to service her only by using my body, forcing his mouth and tongue between my legs, while I was hung up by my wrists in the Empress's dark chamber. I close my eyes, rocking on my feet as the image of that Slave comes crashing unbidden into my mind. The Slave with the white hair, predatory green eyes and scarred, powerful body. Owen Vesparr. Owen had wanted me. He had used me, abused me and tried to take me.

  I shudder at the memory of Owen's bestial hunger. But maybe he had no choice. As a Slave, he had been forced to fight a fellow Slave to the death for the Emperor and Empress's entertainment. The Empress had chosen him, the victor, to service her in her chambers. And he had chosen me—for his pleasure and torment.

  “Ana. Ana!”

  I snap my eyes open. “Wha-?”

  Pam is holding me firmly by the arm. “Are you okay? You've gone all pale!”

  “I'm fine.”

  I gaze at her anxious face and see the faint lines and shadows around her eyes. Pam, so kind and caring, despite all the hardship and suffering that she has gone through. She has endured indescribable pain and torment, both mental and physical. It shows in the lines on her face and the scar on her shoulder.

  “When you have teetered on the brink of death, memories sometimes rise from the abyss to haunt and taunt you. The horror of your recent ordeal brings back memories of past hurt and suffering. You have to be stronger than your mind. Be strong, Ana,” she says softly, without looking at me.

  I turn to her. She has gone through this before. Teetered on the brink of death and faced her nightmarish memories over and over again.

  I reach out and touch her lightly on the arm. Her skin feels cold, so very cold. “Thank you,” I whisper. “You...you're right.”

  She closes her eyes briefly and nod. There is a sudden movement from the stage and I jerk my head up to see the Warden rushing to the control panel at the side to type furiously.

  The girl is twisting in the water, her face contorted in pain. The Warden stabs at a button and the glass lid slides back from the top of the column to allow the metal claw to plunge in.

  The sputtering, screaming girl is fished out and laid on the stage. The Warden orders the four girls standing nearest the stage to attend to her. Once the girl had sat up and has stopped coughing, the Warden shakes her head and tells her solemnly, “You won't make it tonight if you don't hold on longer. You have to last another two and a half minutes. Do you understand?”

  The girl nods miserably, swiping at her eyes. Gathering herself and her clothes up, she limps off the stage and bursts into tears as another girl is called up to take her place. One by one, the girls are dunked in and fished out. There are some who do worse than me. They are crying and shrieking hysterically even before their toes have hit the water surface. Others are calm, resigned, showing not a trace of fear as they are lowered into the glass column.

  When it is Pam's turn, I inch to the front of the stage. My eyes never leave her as she is slowly lowered into the water. I find myself holding my breath together with her, my whole body thrumming with anxiety.

  You can do it, Pam! Be strong.

  The harness detaches from her naked body, leaving her suspended in the middle of the tall column, her brown hair fanning out in a halo around her head. She stops herself from floating up by pressing against the curved glass surface with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes are wide open, her expression calm. She looks straight ahead, staring placidly at something only she can see. There is a slight smile on her face, a smile tinged with pain and longing.

  The seconds and minutes tick by. Not a bubble escapes her nose and lips. Her lips quiver but still there is that eerily serene smile on her face. I am gripping the edge of the stage, unable to breathe, unable to look away. Gulping, I blink up at the Warden. “Is it time...why is she not moving...why...?” I rasp.

  Why is she still in there? Isn't it time to get her out? Goddamn it! Do something! Something is not right. Get her out of that water now!

  The Warden looks at her watch, her fingers drumming against her leg. She is watching Pam closely as well. Finally, the glass lid slides back from the top of the column and the metal claw descends to pluck Pam from the watery depths. Pam doesn't blink even when the claw clo
ses around her body and starts to pull her out of the water. But once she emerges from the water, she let out a strangled sound and slumps like a rag doll in the gigantic claw. Crying out in fear, I clamber up the stage and reach up to support her dripping body as the claw lowers her onto the stage.

  I help her sit up and thump her hard on the back. “Pam! Breathe, Pam! Breathe!”

  There is a sharp inhale and Pam jolts upright in my arms. She doesn't even choke or spit out any water. She just blinks a couple of times and pushes herself up stiffly.

  I stagger back. “Pam!”

  She turns and looks at me strangely. She doesn't seem to recognize me. Then she looks up at the Warden with eyes that are blank and unseeing.

  The Warden's eyes widen a fraction, before she nods to dismiss her.

  As I help Pam down the stage, I glance over my shoulder to see the Warden look away with a small, sad shake of her head.

  I hold Pam tighter. It is obvious even to the Warden that Pam must have endured this grueling routine many, many times, and come face to face with death so many times that she is now numb to the prospect. Maybe she even welcomes it.

  Pam is as still and silent as a statue, her eyes glazed as she stares at that glittering column of water. Tentatively, protectively, I wrap my arms around her, hoping to comfort her and assure her.

  As I watch the rest of the girls move up the stage to be dunked into the water column, I have to turn to counting the bubbles to distract myself from their terrified faces and struggling, thrashing bodies.

  For now, there is that metal claw to save us from our near deaths. But tonight, if our breaths run out before our costumes have fully dissolved from our bodies, there will be no claw to save us.

  We will be left to drown in the harsh spotlight, under the glare of all these glowing red lanterns and the stares of soulless, sadistic eyes.

  From the whispers and murmurs around me, I know that bets will be placed on who will make it out of the column and who will drown.

  All part of the entertainment.

  If we drown, no one will feel anything. Oh, wait. The patrons who've just lost exorbitant amounts of money betting on us may feel something. But after our wet, limp bodies are dragged from the stage, the show goes on. The entertainment continues.

  Now I know why Irin said that my experience as a Siren in the Palace would either steel me or break me in the Red Lantern.

  Watching us drown is just part of the sadistic, exotic entertainment provided at the Red Lantern. But that surely is not the worst of it.

  There will be more savage and deadly games to play in the night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After a late lunch of stale bread and water, we are herded off to shower and shave. We are to head back directly to the Pit. All of us are completely naked, but no one seems to bat an eyelid or raise a hand to cover themselves. The girls simply follow the Warden in a straight line down the corridors and through a small door at the back of the Pit. Everyone and everything moves like clockwork, obviously accustomed to this pre-show routine.

  The room is much larger than I expected. Larger, and darker. There are circular grooves on the floor, and the girls automatically step into the circles and stand still, with their arms held straight, slightly away from their bodies. I follow suit, picking a circle in the middle of the room and mimicking their stance. The Warden walks round the room, checking that all of us are standing within our circles and maintaining the correct stance. I don't blink when she looks me up and down, and kicks my legs further apart. What kind of rehearsal is this? And if this is a rehearsal, then where are our costumes? The Warden did mention that we would be wearing some sort of soluble costume.

  The Warden makes her round slowly, her thick brows furrowed in concentration. Finally, she steps back against the wall, and pulls a lever. With a boom, a light comes on above every circle, shining a narrow beam of white light down on each girl. I gasp as a glass tube descends swiftly and locks down onto the groove in the floor. I am entirely encased in a tall, narrow glass tube. So are the rest of the girls.

  The girls maintain their positions in their glass prisons, showing no trace of alarm on their faces. I force my fists to unfurl and my limbs to remain frozen. Stay clam. This is just part of the routine.

  There is a loud hissing sound above me, but before I can look up, the entire glass chamber is filled with smoke. I blink furiously and see that the other glass tubes are similarly swirling with smoke of various colors and textures. I cough slightly, and inhale against my will. The smoke is odorless and feels almost thick and wet. The hissing sound continues as different colored smoke pours down on me, drenching me in glowing neon colors. I can feel beads of moisture clinging to my skin and I shiver at the chilly sensation. With a final spurt of viscous smoke, the hissing stops abruptly.

  As the smoke gradually clears, I look down at my body and start. My body is covered with glittering body paint. My entire body is a riot of colors, which sparkles and ripples with my movements. I turn my arms over and watch the colors slowly merge and change, creating different patterns all across my skin. I'm like a walking kaleidoscope.

  Amazed, I look up to see the glass tubes rise and release the girls from their smoke chambers. Each girl sports a different pattern and mix of colors on her body. Some have been spray painted a uniform midnight blue with shimmering diamonds dotting their bodies, so that they look like a human shaped piece of night sky. Others have gold and silver scales over their skin, or animal prints decorating their bodies.

  So these are our costumes. Dramatic, showy body paint which will dissolve in water.

  I step out of my circle, resisting the urge to rub my arms. I feel terribly cold all of a sudden. Unlike in the Palace, there are no Matrons here to groom us and help us with our costumes. Everything here is mechanized, carefully programed and centrally controlled.

  The girls stand just outside their circles while the Warden carries out her inspection. When she is satisfied, she stands at the front, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room and says, “The patrons have been seated. You will walk out into the Pit and stand in a straight line at the steps to the stage. Listen for your cue from the host, Mr Toni. Go.”

  Automatically, the girls form a single line and start to file out of the room in silence. I stare at the row of glowing, glimmering girls, my mind and body suddenly frozen. This is it.

  The Pit.

  The Water Treatment.

  A sudden surge of panic makes me stagger back as the image of that towering column of water slams into my mind. One by one, we will be sealed in and left to our own devices.

  If we can't hold our breaths long enough, if our costumes take too long to fully dissolve, there will be no escape for us. I stare at the silent line of girls, acutely aware that some of them will die tonight.

  These are their last few steps, their last few breaths, their last few moments. Still they walk steadily forward, without fighting their fate. Only their eyes betray their fear.

  “Ana!” Pam whispers urgently. “Let's go!”

  I let her tug me into line behind the dwindling row of girls. I am at the very end of the line. Kylee is just one girl ahead of me, and Pam squeezes herself in somewhere in the middle of the line. I am lined up behind that tall brunette, Jennifer Young. With a start, I realize that we are lined up in alphabetical order according to our last names. The roll call each morning at breakfast—that was to let us know our places during the night performance.

  Ducking through the small door, we emerge into the shadowy, flickering, deafening depths of the Pit.

  Loud, booming music, pungent cigar and cigarette smoke and red strobe lights assail my senses.

  As I move along the edge of the stage to stand in a silent, nervous line at the steps, I blink against the blinding lights on the stage to see a small, rotund man dressed in a white tuxedo and pink top hat strutting across the stage. His face is thickly powdered and blue and red eyeshadow shades his hooded eyelids.

  “
...it is going to be a mind-blowing, breathtaking experience for all. I am your host this evening, Mr Toni.” His high-pitched voice pierces through the booming music and echoes round the Pit. “The beautiful beauties of the Red Lantern have arrived for your exquisite entertainment. Please give a round of applause for these luscious ladies of the Red Lantern!”

  Mr Toni raises his arms and claps loudly, but only a few slow, scattered claps are heard round the Pit. I turn my head and squint at the booths. All of them are occupied. The Pit is drenched in the stench of expensive cigars and liquors, and I can see the red glow from their cigars and cigarettes, and hear some low, gruff voices. The patrons of the Red Lantern are all men of influence and power, military and business leaders. I can see their shadowy figures and hear some low murmurs, but I can't make out their faces or their words.

  Undaunted, Mr Toni soldiers on, laughing at his own jokes and performing a funny, awkward dance on stage. He even does a couple of magic tricks with smoke and mirrors.

  As Mr Toni pushes the show towards the inevitable climax, I stare up at the glowing red lanterns overhead. The shadowy booths in the Pit, visible only through the dim red lights strobing across the entire floor, are in stark contrast to the brightly illuminated stage. The stage is an explosion of light, sound and spectacle with pulsing neon lights and swirling multicolored smoke. I can't hear my own heartbeat above the deafening music, let alone any conversation in the darkened room.

  I rub my arms absently, feeling the rough patterns of my painted costume. Even in the dim lighting, all our costumes seems to glow and change colors, creating a surreal, hypnotic effect.

  “And now, I present to you—the Pillar of Passion!” Mr Toni declares with a flourish.

  All the lights dim at once. The column start to rise from the middle of the stage, the water swirling ferociously within it to create a spinning whirlpool. Zigzagged lines of light strike the pillar, and the sound of thunder accompany the rising of the column. Lights change the color of the water from green to blue, then orange and red, as the whirlpool churns with greater intensity. Water splashes from the top and flows down the glass wall like a waterfall.