Chapter 32 Amber #2
Katrina's eyes sweep the sterile space, cold and clean but lacking any coziness... in fixtures and in people. Everyone and everything here is sharp angles, beautiful but not welcoming.
“Not at all.” She laughs. “Give me a dance floor and a bottle of tequila over champagne and... whatever the fuck that is.”
I follow her gaze to what looks like a lounge area set in the corner of the floor, nearest the window that looks out on the city.
We make our way to the bar anyway and get Katrina her tequila on the rocks because they wouldn't give her just a shot of it. I get a mixed drink that the bartender assured me was the strongest thing he could legally make, and we decide to meander.
“So…” She ventures, wincing when she takes a sip of her drink. “How did you meet Cal?”
I laugh because that's a subject that feels like it needs a few more drinks and a more private location.
“He... paid for me.” I say quietly, though we're already out of earshot of everyone still at the bar.
“Like... how they paid for me?”
Paying off her handler to forget she ever existed isn’t quite buying her, though I suppose I don’t know what their relationship entails. As far as I can tell, Katrina is with Dex willingly.
“A little different.” I shrug, my eyes latching onto a neon sign, the one bit of color in the otherwise bleached place. I tip my head toward it, and she nods, following my lead. “He found me on the internet.” I confess.
Her eyes rove over me, looking for more details to the story. “And it was... love at first sight?”
I snort and take a healthy gulp of my drink, feeling my cheeks warm with the liquid courage. “Not for me. I don't know about him. But I showed up in a box, and he decided to keep me. I'd already been with him for a few months before I was conscious enough to know about it.”
“Jesus.” She mutters. “I think you're marrying a psychopath.”
“A sociopath, at minimum.” I laugh. “It's weird, I know, but…”
“But you care about him.” She nods. “Yeah, same.”
Her eyes widen at my frown. “No, not Cal!” She clarifies.
“Dex. I mean, he may not have tried to kill me, but he was going to pay me off to stay quiet and then send me halfway across the world.
And when he showed up, he told me I'd just fallen, that I hit my head, that everything was totally fine.
I knew somewhere in the back of my head that it wasn't, but I ended up in his house, and he kept an eye on me all night to make sure I didn't stop breathing, and all of a sudden, I found myself not wanting to leave.” She sighs.
“Look at us,” I tease, drawing up to an air hockey table. “A couple of poster children for romance… or Stockholm syndrome.”
She snorts at that, crossing to the other side of the table and picking up one of the pucks.
She holds it between us as we ready ourselves and then places it directly in the center of the board.
It drifts toward her immediately once I turn the power on, and she manages to bank it off of her mallet, sending it directly into my goal.
I tense when a man ambles behind her, his eyes on her ass as she leans forward to hammer the puck into my side of the board again, but he passes without incident, and she jumps excitedly at the goal.
Katrina makes three more in quick succession, and I'm coming to the realization that I'm going to either lose a finger or else my dignity when she straightens.
I follow her gaze out the window to where Dex and Cal stand with another man sandwiched between them. He’s tall with graying hair and glasses, but even from over here, he’s radiating with smugness, cocky and proud.
“What's wrong?” I ask when I see how wide her eyes are. “Do you know him?”
She swallows, and I notice her hand shaking as she lifts her glass to her lips and drains the last of the tequila.
“He's a real dick.” She says, failing to suppress a shudder. “He was a client of mine. A fucking sadist if I ever saw one. The last time I saw him…”
I notice the tears in her eyes and wrap an arm around her, pulling her against me so that if anyone looks our way, they won't be able to identify her.
Cal identifies me, though. His eyes catch mine through the glass as Dex and the man discuss something, and I nod my head at Dex, hoping Cal understands what I'm getting at.
“He's not going to hurt you.” I promise her as Cal nods, surreptitiously, for Dex's gaze to follow. I see him nod in farewell to the stranger, and Cal shepherds him toward the bar, deep in conversation.
“What's wrong?” Dex breathes, panic evident in his tone as he strides across the arcade like there's a fire to be put out.
“That guy you were with.” I say. “She knows him.”
That's all I have to say for Dex's face to sour, and then he pulls her against his chest, and she lets him. “Let's get out of here, hmm?”
I see her nod, and Dex turns his gaze toward me.
“Thank you.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, trying not to let myself think of what could have her so upset that seeing him would cause a physical reaction. I decide I'm not going to go out of my way to find out.
If Katrina says he's a sadist, then he's worth avoiding. It's why I escort them to the elevator and then go to the bar for a refill of my drink. I don't go near Cal, simply nodding to acknowledge him before I step onto the elevator, too.
There's a lot to explore. When they'd explained their place to me, they'd said it wasn't just a theater. And they were right.
To my surprise, each floor is different from the others.
While floor seven had a bar and an arcade, floor eight has a koi pond and garden, floor nine has a VR theater and a restaurant that smells sinfully delicious, and floor ten has a bunch of individual rooms like suites, all of them marked on the outside with a numeral carved on a silver plate.
To my surprise, tonight hasn’t been as bad as I anticipated.
I stand at the glass rail that wraps around the floor, watching the sea of people moving on the ground floor below.
Most of them seem content to stay down there snatching up hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne, and it’s been helpful to acclimate slowly.
I don’t feel caged in Cal’s apartment, but being out here, in the real world?
It feels oddly liberating, like maybe I can learn to live again.
I allow myself to imagine a life as Cal’s wife, coming to these functions dressed like I’m one of them only to go home and let my husband fuck me like a proper whore.
The thought makes me smile as I finish off the rest of my drink.
With my drink freshly emptied, I decide to meander back toward Cal.
The tenth floor looks like one that isn't meant for wandering, anyway. And now that I’m faced with the empty halls, I feel strangely vulnerable up here, like I'm doing something wrong.
I'm heading back toward the elevator after a quick walk around the main circuit when a door opens up ahead of me.
I don't know why I do it, but something tells me to stay out of the way, so I tuck myself into the alcove of another suite, my heartbeat threatening to break out of my chest as I wait for them to leave.
“Garrett's in for a shock, then.” Someone laughs.
“He ought to know better.” Another man says.
A chill steals into my lungs, the uncomfortable sensation of recognition slipping down my spine. The voice is familiar, but I don't know where from. It’s like being doused in ice water, though, a cold that sinks straight to the bone.
And despite the cold, it makes my palms sweat and my chest feel like it's being squeezed in a vise.
“The bull's given him plenty of chances, and he's given us nothing.”
It's a new voice that speaks, another one that I recognize. But this time, it's not the voice itself that makes me feel like the world is closing in around me, the walls collapsing. It's the word... the word used as a name.
The bull.
I stumble away from the corner, pressing myself deeper into the recess of the door I'm standing in front of.
I don't want to make a break for it and draw attention to myself, so I try the handle for the door just in front of me. It doesn’t move, just rattles the slightest bit as it tries to turn only to find the lock is engaged.
Shit. I don’t know what these rooms are for or what I could have just walked in on if that door had opened, but now I feel trapped.
I pull my phone from my purse and scroll to one of the only three numbers in there... Cal.
“I got a little lost.” I say, when he answers, amazed that the words sound normal and not slurred around the panic squeezing my chest and weighing on my tongue. “Which room did you say to meet you in?”
“I didn't tell you to meet me anywhere.” Cal says slowly, like he’s trying to recall the conversation in question. “Where are you?”
“Suite 6, right?” I force the closest thing I can to a laugh, but out of my peripherals, I see them walk by.
Three men, dressed in black suits, just like every other man here.
There's nothing about them that sets them apart from the rest, from the outside. But I recognize their voices, and my body recognizes their proximity.
“Drunk bitch.” One of them sniggers as they pass, giving me a lingering look.
I don't think Cal heard it, but he doesn't have to. He's already realized something's not right.
“I'm on my way, baby. Don't hang up.”
“Just your type.” Another answers.
I can tell they're not walking anymore, and that damn near puts tears in my eyes. I blink to try and keep them at bay.
“Hurry.” I tell Cal. “I have to pee.”
“Can I help you, sweetheart?”
My spine goes straight as one of the men steps up to me.
When I don't face him, he puts a hand on my shoulder, and I'm forced to turn.
I remember those fucking eyes.
“Do you need some help?” The man asks, frowning a little as he takes me in. I don't know if it's recognition making him look at me like that or just my clearly frazzled state.
“Just waiting on my fiancé.” I say, failing to force a smile.
“You shouldn't be wandering alone.” One of the others says behind him. “It's not safe for a girl like you.”
A girl like me.
A girl like me?
What exactly is a girl like me?
I cut my gaze back to the man closest to me and manage a small smile this time, enough to be considered polite and demure.
They don't recognize me.
In squalor or in opulence, a girl like me is prey. Because a girl like me is just a girl. Period. Because to men like that, every woman is prey... theirs for the taking.
“Thank you for checking on me.” I manage a laugh. “I think I drank too much while my fiancé was working the guests.” The ding of an elevator announces the presence before the doors open, and Cal strides quickly toward us.
“No problem, miss.” He winks. “We gotta look out for each other after all. Have a good night.”
He rejoins his friend just a moment before Cal reaches me, and they nod coolly at him as they carry on to the elevator.
“What happened?” He demands, his eyes wide with fear. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head because words seem too much to manage right now and press myself into his chest, feeling the adrenaline dumping out of my veins, the sudden weakening of my limbs. I drop the phone I forgot I was even still holding.
“Answer me, fast, little doll. If they fucking touched you, I need to go kill them before they get away.”
But I can't answer him, and he takes that as his answer. Instead, he holds me tight until I find my voice again.
In Cal's arms, my fear dissolves. But it doesn't evaporate... it mixes in my veins and turns into something more.
Rage.
“You told me you'd do anything for me. Do you mean it?”
His eyes are brimming with concern, and beneath that, devotion.
“Name it.”