by Kim Falconer
The lights went from white to deep-green as the elevator descended. A moment later, it stopped. The bell dinged and the doors slid open. Noise hit like a tidal wave. The visuals were a blur, my senses bombarded. I stood, stock-still, as the undeniable smell of blood, laced with fear and aggression, rushed up my nose. A gasp forced its way out of my throat and I slammed my hand over the UP button, hard enough to crack the console.
The doors remained open. I flattened myself against the side of the wall, unable to blink, or tear my eyes away. It was a ghoul’s carnival, a page right out of Hieronymus Bosch. Run! The command coursed through my body, but there was nowhere to go. I jabbed the UP button. Nothing.
The music bounced off the walls. Amid blue lights and flashing strobes, naked bodies danced, gyrating to the rhythmic beats, but that’s where any similarity with upstairs ended. People’s faces were streaked, dark liquid dripping down their chins, and throats. Around the walls, victims hung from chains. People? Mannequins? I saw some move, struggling against the restraint. The far wall was taken up entirely with the floor to ceiling aquarium. It must run right up to the club level, but … this was different. The unearthly waters teemed with sharks, in a wild frenzy as they fed on chunks of flesh and bone. What were they feeding them? The bodies on the wall? Some of the chained victims looked dead, some not; all dripped blood. It flowed down their limbs into crystal goblets. My heart pounded, a sledgehammer in my chest. As the doors slowly closed enough to block most of my view, I thought I would escape unnoticed. Then a man’s head turned, eyes looking straight at mine.
The security guard’s name was Raphael. I’d met him earlier, in Jason’s office, when they’d been counting out the dough. He’d seemed nice enough … until now. Nothing was very pleasant in this moment. He tapped his earpiece and started toward me. My thumb nearly broke as I rammed it into the UP button. Run! Run! Run! I thought my heart would explode. The doors had a fraction to go when his hand thrust between them. A second later he wrenched the elevator open with alarming strength. I reached for my Ruger, but stopped short. Calm down! Bile rushed up the back of my throat as he stepped in. I wasn’t crazy enough to fire my weapon in an elevator, especially not the first night on the job. The doors closed behind him, trapping us both.
‘Ava Sykes, is it?’ he asked, sounding more amused than anything.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
‘Press the wrong button?’ His brows went up. ‘Billy didn’t say to check down here.’ He laughed and hit the UP button once, while frowning at the cracked console.
‘My mistake,’ I choked out, trying to steady my breathing.
He looked straight ahead and took the at-ease stance in front of the door, facing me. ‘How’s it up top?’
Was he going to chit-chat before he … before he what? ‘All fine.’ I tried not to squeak. ‘I’d better get back.’
‘We’ll talk to Jason first.’
I started hyperventilating.
Raphael touched his earphone, glancing at me before speaking into the mic. ‘I found Ava in the basement.’ He laughed, like tumbling lava rocks. Big guy; deep voice.
I could hear Jason’s response easy enough in my own headset. Open channel.
Take over upstairs. I’ll deal with it.
‘Right, boss.’ He tapped the earpiece again, listened, then said, ‘Be there in a sec.’
Jason wasn’t sounding in my headset any more, so either they were on a different frequency, or I’d been shut out. Fast work. The elevator was nearing the club floor, the lights going from green back to white. The glare stung my eyes. Raphael pulled out his shades and put them on. I sucked in my breath and went to plan B. I always had a plan B. ‘So, Raph …’ I stepped closer. Damn, the guy was built like a brick shithouse. ‘When do I start work down there?’ My hand went to his chest. He was four times wider than me at the shoulder, but not more than a few inches taller. ‘Looks like that’s where the fun is, and the money.’
I must have sounded believable because he leaned in, taking the bait. I would have made a crack about men being easy, if I hadn’t been scared shitless.
‘I could put in a word for you, but first, tell me your secret, Ava.’
That stumped me. ‘What secret?’
‘The guys have a poll going.’
I had no idea what he was talking about, but by now I was whispering in his ear. ‘Let’s go and I’ll show you.’ My hand slid from his chest up to the back of his neck. I hoped he took the trembling in my fingers for excitement, not abject fear. My plan was to knee him in the face the minute the elevator stopped, and then run like hell.
‘I wish.’ He pulled my arms down, pinning them to my sides. The bell dinged and doors opened. Advantage lost. He clamped my elbow and guided me to Jason’s office. ‘Maybe later,’ he whispered.
Great. If I survived Jason, I’d have Raphael to deal with. ‘Never mind. Moment’s passed.’
‘We’ll see.’ He knocked on the door and Jason opened it.
‘Sykes.’ He exhaled like this was the last thing he wanted to deal with. ‘You trying to make things difficult?’
I stumbled into the room, nudged from behind by Raph. I had sweaty palms, shaky hands. Pretty sure my nostrils were flared, still catching those floating molecules of blood.
‘Sit.’
I sat on the edge of the chair, trying not to make it obvious I was scanning for escape routes. As far as I could see, the only way out was the door behind me.
Jason took off his baseball cap and sat on the other side of the desk. He was in his early forties, medium height, buzz cut, and built like a weightlifter. A big one. He steepled his fingers. ‘What’d ya see, Sykes?’
Death, murder, torture, mayhem. A lot of blood dripping down limbs. ‘Nothing. The doors opened, and I knew I’d made a wrong turn.’ Horror film wrong. ‘I was focussed on the UP button. Sorry, but I might have cracked the casing.’
‘Don’t care about that. Do care about the “torture, murder, mayhem” part.’
I swallowed hard as bile rose. ‘Pardon?’ I knew I hadn’t said that aloud.
He ignored me and picked up the phone. ‘Mr Bane. Our new girl had a little peek at VIP.’
I didn’t miss the apologetic tone Jason took. Yeah, the big boss wasn’t going to be happy, dealing with this. Jason hung up and turned back to me. ‘He’s coming. Won’t be a moment.’
CHAPTER FOUR
This would be a record hire and fire. I’d been working here less than five hours. But would they just fire me, and let me go … or?
Jason looked smug. Whatever was going to happen next, he seemed pleased about it. Shit! It had been too good to be true. I should’ve done more research before signing on to guard a freaking orgy-soaked bloodbath in the basement. What. The. Fucking. Fuck? I didn’t give a damn about the sex part. A person could get off however they pleased, provided it was consensual, safety words in place. But shackling bodies to the rafters and bleeding them like some prized buck — nuh-uh. Oh, hell no. I wasn’t up for that, whether it was some perved-out foreplay or not. I was sweating buckets by the time Daniel arrived.
He swept into the room, total grace and poise. ‘Thanks, Jason.’ He waved him away.
If Jason was miffed about the dismissal, he didn’t let it show. Cap back on his head, he walked out the door, closing it behind him.
The room went dead silent. Daniel took his place in the chair behind the desk. Somehow, he managed to look like he was sitting on a throne. ‘Tell me what happened.’ He showed almost no sign of concern. His blasé approach was terrifying, because I knew he would be very concerned. Wouldn’t he?
My head was swimming. And I thought the most dangerous thing about the job would be cinema overflow …
Daniel chuckled. ‘Did you see the floorshow?’
Huh?
‘VIP, what we call “the basement”. It’s host to our most elaborate entertainment.’
‘You call that entertainment?’
‘Ava, my
dear, we mustn’t judge.’
To the contrary, Virgo here. We must. ‘People are being slaughtered.’
He looked at me as if trying to work something out. Finally, he said, ‘It’s not real.’
No way. ‘I smelled it.’
‘Pheromones.’
‘What about them?’
‘They’re used to excite clients on an unconscious level. To you, they would smell like blood.’
I didn’t remember telling him about my supreme sense of smell, but I didn’t start there. ‘What do you mean, clients?’
‘Our VIP clientele are exclusive, most paying ten thousand an hour for the illusions that … match their desires — bondage, S&M, BDSM.’
‘Stop.’ There’s a safety word for you. ‘You’re telling me people pay that kind of dough to be chained to a wall and …’ My throat had gone dry.
Daniel Bane rose and went to the water cooler. He filled a cup and brought it to me. ‘If things work out, you could find yourself handling VIP security. It would be quite a step up.’
Try a step down. I chugged the water and licked my lips. Was he bribing me? I tasted salt.
‘Ava, I assure you, what goes on in VIP, it’s perfectly safe. No one’s held against their will. We have a medical team in the back, if something goes too far.’ He beamed me a smile, proud of himself. ‘We haven’t lost anyone yet.’ He took off his shades. Intense hazel-blue eyes pinned me to my seat. ‘I’m sorry you had a shock, but we do cater for an extreme demographic.’
I wondered where he was on that map.
Daniel kept up the gaze, waiting for me to respond. I was too numb. Finally, he stood. ‘Myself, I am more, shall we say, traditional. I take it you are, too?’
Were we talking about sexual preferences? No way. The sweat went clammy on my skin.
‘You’re upset, Ava.’ He spoke as if I were a child. ‘I want you to take the rest of the night off. You can collect your pay.’
‘I’m fired?’ Relief and anxiety competed for space in my brain.
‘Of course not. You’re just starting out with us.’ He came around the side of the desk and put his arm over my shoulders. I stiffened and he calmly let go. ‘You’ve seen these, haven’t you?’ He pulled a flyer from a folder on the desk and handed it to me. It was slick, eye-catching and would have cost a mint to produce. ‘It’s all part of the experience.’
Boy was it ever. There in glossy black and white, with a splash of green that no doubt was bright blood red to most people’s eyes, were the victims chained to the wall and the dominants engaged in various acts of … whoa, they really do that shit? I handed the flyer back, unable to meet his gaze.
‘Keep it.’ Daniel brushed lint off his sleeve. ‘I’ll send Jason in to organise your pay. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
Before I replied, the shades were back on and he was out the door.
* * *
I didn’t sit by myself for long. Jason appeared a minute later, looking a little less smug. Following him were two other security men, each carrying large moneybags. Yeah, it was the post-digital age. Many clubs were cash only now, with the new IDT protection in place. It was a complex law, but it kept identity theft down to a rumble. I didn’t pretend to understand all the ins and outs, but the upshot was that if an establishment took funds via an appropriated ID, they were as liable as the crooks. The big backfire was that most clubs only dealt in cash now, unless the customer submitted to an elaborate background check and DNA scan. I wondered how well they screened the clientele in VIP. My brain stuck on the haunting images. I needed to clear my head.
‘We’re about to start the sort.’ Jason assumed I knew what that meant, and I did. Lucky’s did one every night, though Poseidon had a much bigger table for the process. My eyes bugged out as they dumped piles of cash and started counting. They stacked the bills faster than any bank teller I’d ever seen. These guys knew their job. While I stood there, still numbed from my little wrong turn, Jason counted out c-notes, five one hundred dollar bills. He tapped the money on the table, and handed it over, crisp and clean, though clean had a multitude of meanings. I wasn’t sure which one applied.
‘Thanks.’ The jitters hadn’t stopped. I retrieved my pack and zipped the money into the side pocket. My shirt went into the dirty laundry chute, headset in the tray. My tank top back on, I nodded to the guys. They didn’t look up, which was a good thing. My body seemed to be on the verge of falling apart.
‘Nine o’clock start on Friday night,’ Jason said, while picking up the phone.
‘I’ll be here.’ The words sounded without my consent. My legs felt like they would buckle on the way to the elevator and it took me a moment before I could press UP. The console was badly cracked. I wondered if that would come out of my pay.
Billy was on the front door, no sign of Raph. What a relief … I wouldn’t have to deal with him.
‘I’m off, Billy.’
He tilted his head up the street. ‘No bus for half an hour.’
I could be halfway home by then. ‘Walking. See you Friday.’ I set out, south on Grand, my mind a whirl. Everyone responds differently to fear. Some freeze. Some jabber like monkeys. Some lash out. Me? Throw fear my way, and I’d reach for my Ruger, flip off the safety, eyes alert, senses heightened. Steady. Ready. No panic. But not tonight. The floorshow had changed my usual MO. What can I say? The fight or flight response is a complex and delicate systemic reaction, and right now, it had me power walking down the street, as fast as my legs could take me.
A few blocks later, the inner city buzz quieted down. Traffic thinned and streetlights grew further apart. The air felt oppressive, smog taint burning my throat. Everyone prayed for rain, like that was likely. The coast hadn’t seen El Niño since before I was born. It was a desert city, dry as old bones. Even water access was still a problem since the Aftermath took out half the mains. I kept walking. Tall buildings morphed into looming shadows. Neon signs buzzed overhead, casting incandescent light, making my hands ghost blue. Pedestrians were few and far between.
My phone buzzed, and I jumped out of my skin. ‘Pull it together, Sykes,’ I said to myself. It would be Cate on her break, wondering where the frigging hell I was. Before I could reach into my pack and answer, three drunk kids staggered out of the alley. One boy wolf whistled. I kept moving, and gave him a look that said piss off. They didn’t follow.
The flyer for VIP Lounge was still in my hand. VIP: Poseidon’s deepest realm … where every fantasy comes to life. Life? It looked more like death to me. I rubbed my thumb over the glossy finish, tilting it under the flickering streetlight, ignoring the buzz of faulty electronics. I could barely make out the fine print, but there was a number to call for interviews. Not just anybody could buy a ticket to VIP, even if they had the cash.
The next thing I knew, my knees hit the ground. Someone slammed me into the pavement. Flat on my side, I saw boots winding up for a kick. As I tried to roll away, a man grabbed my shoulder. He jerked me to my feet and hit me with three quick right hooks. White light flared behind my eyes and I fell to the ground again. Pain cut through me as something cinched around my wrist. My hand tingled like it was shoved into a bucket of ice water. The musk of aggression and lust rushed up my nose as I sucked in a breath. It turned into a gasp as the guy laid into me with his boots. After the third kick, my head cleared enough for a desperate move. I was in fetal position, my forearms taking the brunt of the blows. Before his next strike landed, I bridged to my palms and flipped straight to my feet. Flight over fight in full control, I ran for it, the perp dead on my heels.
A block later I was still in the lead. Would it last? I ran a fast sprint, but couldn’t keep it up all the way home. Besides, that would bring the maniac straight to my doorstep. Too bad I couldn’t have Rourke there waiting, cuffs in hand. No time to reach for my phone. I scanned the alleyways and took the first one that wasn’t dead-ending any time soon. Halfway down it, I risked another look behind. Nothing. I ducked into the shadow of a doorwa
y, checking to see if he would keep going down the main street. No such luck. Without hesitation, the guy turned into the alley. I tried to get a look at his features when a shot went over my head. He wasn’t messing around.
I unclipped my Ruger and somersaulted to land behind a dumpster. It put me in a siege position, but he kept firing, so not much else I could do. I looked up, scanning my options. Yeah, an airlift rescue probably wasn’t on the cards. I pulled out my phone and called Rourke.
‘I’m sorry. The phone you are trying to reach is switched off or out of service. Wait for the signal to leave a message.’
Perfect …
‘Oh, sweetheart?’ my attacker’s voice called out, taunting. ‘What’re you running from?’
I’m running from the psycho-stalker, what do you think?
‘Sweet …’ Bang-bang. ‘Heart …’ He punctuated his words with rounds from his handgun. What an idiot. Did he want to attract the cops? ‘Come out and play.’ He elongated the word play in a singsong voice. Creepy, much?
I crouched behind another dumpster, covered in sweat, sucking in deep breaths. He kept up the taunts, giving away his position. Could he be more confident? Gunfire ricocheted off the metal garbage bin. I counted to three, leaned around the edge for a quick check. No one was there, but shots rained in and I slammed back. Peeking through a crack between the lid and the rim, I saw him heading toward me, kicking huge garbage cans out of his way as if they were styrofoam cups. He was ridiculously strong, and crazy. He picked up a full-size industrial bin, lifted it over his head and heaved. No frigging way! The sound of screeching metal as it skidded down the lane made me cringe. What I saw … it was impossible.
‘Sweet … heart.’ Again, the singsong voice. ‘Why’re you hiding? It’s only going to make things worse.’
The threats weren’t doing anything for my nerves. Like a switch flipping in my mind, I spun to fire. The stalker fired back. He was across the alley from me now. For the next fifty feet, it was roll, duck, fire. He kept it up, hiding behind junk, trash and a few parked cars, raining lead. Then my Ruger clicked dry. Out of shots. Shit. I slid it neatly behind my back, between my belt and panties. The stalker charged. His face looked decorated. A mask? I clocked him in the head with a roundhouse kick, my steel-toed boots hitting home. He staggered, weaving from side to side before he toppled over backward, crashing onto the ground.
