by Cynthia Dane
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Vincent reached out and pushed a small button, eliciting a terse buzzing sound. Heavy footsteps approached from the other side. A peep slot opened, revealing two icy blue eyes.
“I am here to see Mr. Crow. I have an appointment.”
“Password.” That voice sounded like it had killed a couple of fools and dumped them in the Willamette River a time or two.
Vincent remained cool, his shoulders squared as if he had every right to be there. “Woodpecker,” he said.
The peep slot slid shut with finality. Soon enough, the door opened, revealing another dark room. The sounds of music and happy voices intensified, and Nala inhaled the strong scent of perfumed air.
“Right this way sir, ma’am.” A tall, wiry man in a butler’s tails stood aside and bowed graciously to the couple. His white-gloved hand passed before him, gesturing to the small gathering inside. “Mr. Crow should be able to see you right away.”
Vincent stepped forward with his thanks. He had to pull Nala beside him, because her knees locked up and her throat returned to her stomach. Mr. Crow. Here. Right away. Oh God. It was happening. It was finally happening.
She was going to look her sister’s killer in the eye and know the true face of evil.
***
They entered a small circle of people sitting on low, comfortable benches. Pairs of men and women, each wearing masks as delicate as they were formidable, turned their heads in curiosity. Vincent nodded politely, but did not act as if he knew any of them. Nala kept her mouth shut and looked around for Xavier Crow.
He was not hard to find.
The man she had seen in a million publicity photos sat on a raised dais, as if perched on a throne made from the bones of his business enemies. There was nothing particularly special about his appearance. Older. Silver hair. Slight fuzz on his face. He wore a gray suit and black shined shoes that reflected the harsh spotlight shining above him. As if he were a god. By looking at the lingerie-clad vixens standing on either side of him? He did think himself a god.
Which was utterly delightful, because no man looked like he had a bigger god complex than Xavier Crow, patron saint and maybe deity of the Pacific Northwest’s capitalistic hive mind. Nala’s grip tightened on Vincent’s arm, channeling her apprehension, anger, and hatred into a strange man’s biceps.
“Mr. Crow,” Vincent said in his quiet yet formal voice. “I hope you were expecting me.”
That was a sinister smile if Nala ever saw one. It sent chills down her spine. Chills laced in arsenic.
“We most certainly were expecting you, Mr. Lane.” Xavier’s voice sounded gentle, but beneath that grandfatherly façade was a cold-hearted killer. The more Nala heard it, the more she believed it. That’s him. That man is the reason Tasha is dead. She shook. Not in her skin, but in her heart. No, her body would remain firm and unwavering. Inside? Fair game to the wind. “I was just telling my friends here that we would have fresh blood starting tonight.”
Vincent glimpsed at the masked faces around him. Most of them smiled, some of them in genuine friendliness. Who were these people? Cronies? Lackies? Hapless bystanders? Guilty by association, anyway.
“Pleasure to make everyone’s acquaintance.”
Nala didn’t know what to do or so. She was frozen, hoping to blend into the shadows and take in what she could. If she were asked anything, she didn’t know what she would do or say when bravado took over.
“Who is this gorgeous treasure?” Xavier Crow looked right at Nala. Leered at her. At least he didn’t look at her as if she were a person. Then he may have seen the hatred she harbored in her heart. Instead, he merely saw a young female body prime for plucking. “I thought you would be coming alone for your first few meetings.”
“Change of plans,” Vincent said with masculine flair. Curiosity piqued all around them. More men leered at her. Women, too. They all struggled to catch a glimpse of Nala, some of them even straining in their seats as if she were some great celebrity come to grace their presence. She felt like meat, and suddenly wished she hadn’t worn a barely-there black dress. Somehow I don’t think jeans and flannel would make me feel much better. She was exposed no matter how she dressed. “I decided to bring someone I hope can get to know you all as well.”
“Oh?” Xavier accepted a glass of Chardonnay from one of the women in lingerie. She smiled pleasantly, but from the look in her eyes, Nala could tell that this was a job to her. A prestigious one, probably, but a paycheck nonetheless. “Go on.”
With every eye still on Nala, Vincent turned to her with a look of… adoration?... on his visage. It unnerved Nala to her unprepared core.
“This is my lovely sub, the Nightingale.”
Chapter 3
His lovely… what?
The nightin… what?
Nala fought to retain her composure. Don’t react. Look as if nothing he said surprises you. Was that lying? Or acting? Was she good at it after all? Could she really fool these people, including Xavier Crow?
“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Nightingale.” Xavier sat up in his seat, both eyes firmly on Nala. Don’t react. Don’t react. Oh, did she want to. She wanted to… to…
She didn’t know what she wanted to do. Probably something illegal. Nala never thought ahead, only reacted. Her mother would call her stupid. Her sister would call her “refreshingly brash.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the great Mr. Crow,” she said through gritted teeth. Vincent squeezed her arm in warning. Nala pursed her lips together with a grimace. Be cool. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I’m sure you have!” Xavier laughed wholeheartedly, his self-indulgence spreading to his guests and making them chuckle alongside him. “I assure you, young miss, I would like to hear much about you as well. Anyone who enters my Aviary is worth speaking to.”
Nala bowed her head. She hoped it looked honorary. Really, she did it in order to contain the sheer look of exasperation on her face.
“Please, have a seat and enjoy the festivities. Don’t feel shy to ask the girls for any refreshments. We have even better stuff back here than up front. Oh, and you’re in time. I have it on excellent authority that Sebastian and Quail are about to put on a delightful show for us. Don’t worry,” he continued, faking a haughty gloat. “We don’t ask the newbies to perform the first few nights. Settle in and get to know the feel of The Aviary for a while. We only want members who will be absolutely comfortable here.”
His smile disappeared into a firm, foreboding countenance. What did it mean? What was he talking about? As Vincent turned and pulled on Nala’s arm, she found it impossible to look away from the man of the hour. The king of the castle. The god of the mountain.
The killer of sisters.
They sat on an empty bench at the back of the pack, behind a man in a gold shirt and black trousers and his partner, a woman in a barely there white… negligee. Nala tried not to stare. This woman was in her damned sleepwear. Sex wear. Something wear that was not appropriate for public consumption. The longer she stared, the more she realized she could see every luscious curve of this young woman’s body. Her sides. Her hips. Her ass. Nothing was left to the imagination, except perhaps her pussy. If she stood, though…
The woman turned in her seat and flashed the newcomers a gracious grin. “Hi,” she whispered. “I’m Robin.” When her partner turned as well, she said, “This is my Master, Lucian.”
Nala furrowed her brows. These women all have bird names. Quail. Robin. Starling, who appeared upstairs in her mask and red dress. And Vincent had introduced her as Nightingale…
“Pleased,” Lucian said in a silky voice. “You really are just in time. Sebastian and Quail put on the best shows. Little Quail used to be a professional, if you know what I mean.” He winked. Nala had no idea what the fuck he meant.
Vincent, however, seemed to understand. Yet before he could respond to the greetings, another nondescript woman in lingerie approached and asked if t
hey wanted any refreshments. He ordered the two of them cocktails without asking Nala for her preference. Just as well. She had no idea what she would say. She was still the tiniest bit tipsy from the rum and Coke.
“What did you call me up there?” Nala asked after the lady left. “Your… sub? What does that mean?”
Vincent gestured to the front of the room. “Wait. You will see.”
“No. Tell me now. Please.”
Nala didn’t mean to sound so pleading. Certainly not in front of a man she had just met and went with to see the man who… Nala looked into her lap. Demure. This was not like her. She was not a woman who stood to the side quietly. She did not stare into her lap and bite her lip while men did things around her, ignoring her. But she had to be ”good” for now. She couldn’t upset the balance she and Vincent already established. Nala didn’t know what “sub” meant, but she would keep lying.
Vincent put a gentle hand on hers, in her lap. It made Nala look up, regarding him with unease. “I’ll explain everything later,” he said softly. “Please, let’s get through tonight first.” As two people got up in the front of the room and exchanged words with Xavier Crow, Vincent whispered, “We’ll get coffee after this. It’s the least I can do.”
Coffee. They would get coffee. Okay. Nala could do coffee.
She focused on that as Xavier rose from his throne and sat on one of the front benches, gesturing to his seat. The women in lingerie dispersed, sitting next to their boss, petting his arms and whispering into his ears. Nala wanted to hurl. She did not come here to see this.
No, what she apparently came to see was something else entirely.
The couple, whom she surmised to be Sebastian and Quail, stepped onto the dais and bowed their heads to the several people in the audience. Nala remained frozen in her seat, not because she was shy, but because even if she knew the protocol for this situation, she would not have been able to react.
Vincent squeezed her hand before taking his away.
“Please enjoy our demonstration,” Quail said. She was a petite woman, perhaps no bigger than Nala, although the woman with a feather in her pearl headband carried herself with greater gravity. She looked to her partner, a man twice as big as her and commanding. Nala did not ignore the way this man looked at her: as if Quail were the little prize he won sport shooting.
Quail, a woman with a sparkly gold dress that dazzled and jingled above the knees. With her curled, bobbed hair and bright makeup, she looked like a gorgeous silent movie come to life. Nala would be impressed, but women who dressed historically were a dime a dozen in Portland.
Besides, she didn’t have the mental fortitude to be impressed right now.
“Position B, my sweet,” Sebastian said, running his fingers down the bare back of his partner. His girlfriend? Fiancée? Now Nala was getting too technical for the situation.
“Yes, sir.”
Gag.
Quail approached the throne, unfazed by the fact that the great Xavier Crow had perched upon it. Perhaps that was the point. Guessing from the way Mr. Crow looked up at the scene with the smuggest look in the universe, he was getting off on it. Nala had to focus on the stage before she flew into an impulsive rage that saw her hands wrapped around that turkey neck.
The golden woman knelt one knee on the seat of the throne, her fingers daintily curling around a sturdy, diamond encrusted arm. Her glittery stiletto pierced the air behind her as she drew up her other leg and knelt both knees, her arms supporting her torso in the seat of the throne. She looked like she was posing for a pin-up photo.
Quail gave her partner a coy look. “Am I presentable, sir?”
“You are presentable. I daresay you make quite the display for all of our friends here, including Mr. Crow.”
Quail shot another coy look in Xavier’s direction. “Am I presentable, Master Crow?”
The man held up an iced drink. “You’re beautiful.”
Nala couldn’t tell if the smile on Quail’s face was genuine or not. She was a poker queen.
“Now, my feathery little quail, go on and tell us your indiscretions from the past week.” Sebastian stood to the side, giving the audience a full view of his partner. “Mr. Crow especially needs to know.”
Something curdled in Nala’s stomach. Is this going where…
Quail pouted, her fingers curling tight around the arm of the throne. Her ass wiggled in the air, enticingly, the light reflecting off the gold sparkles of her dress. “I didn’t obey you two days ago. When you told me to wait for you at the coffee shop. I saw a jewelry store across the street and wanted to window shop. When you came back, you were cross.”
“Yes, Quail, because I thought something terrible had happened to you. You know how downtown can get sometimes. All sorts of nasty people this time of year. A beautiful toy like you could easily be picked up by somebody else. I wouldn’t be able to bear the thought. You gave me such a fright…”
“I’m sorry, sir!”
Nala’s mouth twisted when Sebastian pulled up the bottom of Quail’s dress, exposing two white cheeks with a black thong running between them. “I don’t believe you. Even if I did, I would have to punish you anyway. You must learn to obey me, especially when your safety is on the line.”
A gasp tore through Nala’s chest. In shock, in anger, and in a little awe, she watched as Sebastian’s large hand came down on the nearest side of Quail’s ass.
It was a smack that could sound across the world. Or at least through the bowels of Portland. Or definitely in that tiny, intimate room where strangers sat and watched a woman get spanked by a big businessman in a suit.
Nala looked around the room. Everyone was fixated on the stage, even Vincent, who sat coolly with his legs together and his spine straight. If Quail were the queen of poker, then Vincent was the undisputed champion. No way I can read that face right now! To be fair, she was highly distracted by the rough, pinking spanking going on in front of her.
Quail cried out in pain. Or at least it sure sounded like pain. Nala knew that sound when she heard it. It almost evoked a maternal instinct in her – or maybe a super feminist one. Her rage returned, imploring her to run up and stop that monster from hitting this poor, defenseless woman who… who willingly got up on that throne and… exposed herself… for…
What the fuck is going on?
“I’m sorry!” Quail cried out, her ass turning a hot, burning pink with every spank her partner bestowed upon her. “I swear I’ll never wander off again without permission, sir! I swear it! Please forgive me!”
The words sounded frightened. Everything sounded off warning bells that should have made Nala call the police and cite a domestic disturbance. And yet, through the red veneer of anger clouding her vision, Nala saw something that she never expected.
Quail’s body language did not say that she was scared, let alone in need of assistance. In fact, she looked damn comfortable up there on that throne, her mouth hanging open, her eyes squinting, and her body shuddering in…
In…
Pleasure.
This was insane. This world Nala had stumbled into was not what she expected. Oh, she anticipated some bullshit like the women in lingerie serving alcohol and pleasantries alike… but she did not expect to see a display of whatever the fuck this was. Wait. Wait.
Is this some fucking BDSM shit?
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Nala wanted to scramble over her bench and run for her life!
“Please, sir…” Quail moaned, her body finally relaxing as her ass turned a solid red. “I’m really sorry.”
Sebastian stood up straight, pushing sweaty hair off his forehead. When he turned around, nobody was shocked to find a firm bulge in his trousers. Oh my God. Get me out of here! Nala couldn’t. She couldn’t do this. Not this kind of environment. Not…
Crack!
Nala leaped in her seat as a final spank hit Quail’s ass. She shrieked, shaking, eyes rolling in the bac
k of her head as she… came? Dear Lord, was this woman orgasming from a spank?
These people were insane!
It was only when the atmosphere in the room changed that people sighed and Nala realized she was halfway in Vincent’s lap, clinging to his shoulder like a kid watching a scary movie. People clapped. Vincent eased Nala off and clapped as well, glaring at her to do the same.
Sebastian was gingerly helping his partner off the throne while Nala forced herself to put her hands together. Am I really supposed to applaud this shit? Quail was smiling, the mirth on her blushing cheeks nothing compared to the way she wobbled off the stage with a sore ass. One of the women in lingerie approached with a silk pillow to put on their bench. Quail thanked her, sat down, and let out a small puff of pain. Robin reached forward and patted the other woman’s shoulder, congratulating her on a “stimulating show.”
These people were certifiably insane. Insane. Nobody volunteered to be spanked and then got off on it!
Worst of all, Xavier Crow was still there, and he was very much enjoying the show.
It was the worst of all worlds for poor Nala, who could only sit and contort her face into a neutral demeanor so she could keep lying.
“Are you all right?” Vincent whispered, startling her. “I thought you had an idea of what kind of place this is. Don’t you know anything about Xavier Crow?”
Oh, Nala knew a lot about the man. Like how he was a murderer. The whole BDSM thing? Went right over her head. If it came anywhere near her at all.
“No… I really did not have any idea.”
“Oh. Well.”
Oh, well, he said! Nala was about to start wringing his neck next.
She froze in her seat. The bench had no chance of releasing the woman stuck upon it, for even if Nala wanted to get up, or even if an earthquake shook the ground beneath her feet, there was no way in hell she would move at all. Too much information swarmed her brain. How could she possibly process it all? Xavier Crow. A strange man already pretending to be her boyfriend. BDSM! Nala felt like a stranger on the other side of a horror show window. She didn’t even pay admission. She stumbled down the wrong corridor, where nightmares lurked and she was trapped in a constant cycle of despair and all its trappings. I want my sister to get justice… I want to know the truth.
