42. Thirty Nine #2
Once parked, I circle the hood to open Eden’s door. She twists her body to jump out, but I stop her with a palm on each of her knees.
“There are going to be things in here that you’ve never been exposed to before. Things that are very… debauched.”
Eden’s brow notches, the bridge of her nose crinkling.
“Try to keep your eyes down. And know that when I’m in there, I’m someone else. No matter what I say or do, I’m on your side. Yours.”
And I mean it. Somewhere along the way, we’ve become allies. Something stronger than that, even. Something I don’t have a name for.
“Me, too.” She looks at me earnestly, and there’s no use fighting the dimple that forms in my cheek, so I don’t. For the harbinger of death, she is sickeningly sweet.
I’m careful not to touch her as we trudge up to the steps, and my footsteps slow in an effort to prolong the inevitable.
I pray to whoever the fuck is listening that none of them try anything.
If they were smart, they’d be too scared to make eye contact.
However, if there’s one thing the Brothers all have in common, it’s their single brain cell.
The double doors swing open within a second that my knuckles make contact with the wood. A man who I vaguely recognize serves as a bouncer, clad in all black attire. There’s no clipboard, no list of names. Only a scrutinizing gaze that is quick to transform into one of shock.
Without a word, he steps aside and allows us entry. On the way past, I swear I hear mumbled prayers slipping past his lips. Good.
We work our way down a winding corridor, dimly lit by evenly spaced sconces along the walls.
The closer we get, the louder the music.
No lyrics or voices, just a rhythmic lull that buzzes throughout the body.
It sits somewhere between sultry and demonic, which about sums up the entirety of the shindig.
We reach another set of double doors, and I hesitate before swinging them open. To avoid any nearby eavesdroppers, I sign Eden a quick reminder.
“I’m with you.”
With a clench of her jaw and a square of her shoulders, she gives me a firm nod. The likelihood of us pulling this off is balancing on the 50/50 line. And if things go poorly, well, I might sully the party with a homicide or two.
Before we can pass the threshold, the attention of the crowd is ours. A hush falls over the room, jaws fall slack. So much for remaining inconspicuous.
We’re in the same room Eden was strung up in, but it’s been transformed for the occasion.
The platform’s blood stained concrete is concealed with lush black carpet and littered with female dancers.
The main lights are off, leaving candles and red LED’s to illuminate only what’s necessary.
It stinks, too, of incense and smoke. Between the drugs, alcohol, and bare tits, it’s as far from a God fearing event that you can get.
“Holy shit, I didn’t think he was serious,” says a voice in the crowd. Murmurs of agreement drown out Eden’s sharp breaths.
I want so badly to comfort her.
A rough smack lands on my shoulder from behind.
“There you are!” Curran boists, oblivious to the sheer panic that has taken over the room. His pupils are blown and sweat beads down his temple.
“An hour late, but you do love to make an entrance.” He motions to the onlookers. “And you’ve made a memorable one.” The bastard has the gall to wink. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to not throw Eden over my shoulder and walk back out the door.
With a clap of his hands, the music volume is lowered.
“Gentlemen! I told you we had a treat tonight!” He cocks his head for us to follow him and the crowd parts like the Red Sea.
Every footstep closer to the podium is more difficult than the last; I can’t help but remember the last time we were here.
That boy, Emory, neck at an impossible angle and eyes vacant.
Based on Eden’s sickly pallor, I’d surmise she’s reliving that same memory.
The women on the stage scatter, a few deliberately brushing their chests against me as they strut into the crowd.
They’re high, but they’re also eager to please.
Curran hires desperate women, promising a shot of redemption for their souls.
It’s a bunch of bullshit; they’ll be “saved” by the end of next week.
He never clarifies what redemption looks like until after he gets what he wants.
“Don’t be shy now, demon,” Curran spits.
Glancing back, I realize Eden’s hesitating at the bottom step. I put as much steel into my voice as I can when I say, “Come.”
There’s a flicker of shock, and her gaze snaps to mine. What I see breaks my heart. Not because it’s hurt, or anger, or resentment. It’s trust. And in this position, I can’t help but feel it’s undeserved.
Curran must recognize it as well.
“Interesting,” he mutters, studying her as she comes to stand at my side.
Everyone waits for Curran to speak with baited breath, and I’m no exception. He takes time fixing his tie, curating the perfect display of a leader. Plastering on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen, the shitshow begins.
“Welcome to our annual Night of Indulgence!” Applause ensues, bouncing off the walls and amplifying the already incredible volume. In my peripheral vision, Eden shifts even closer to me. I consider putting more distance between us, but the fear in her eyes won’t let me.
“Every year, we outdo ourselves. But this time…” His teeth glint with a dangerous smile. “We’ve surpassed even my own expectations.”
With a sweep of his arm, he motions us closer to the front of the stage and the prying eyes. I’m trying desperately to convince my brain that this is necessary. But still, when I grip her bicep, the tremble in her bones echoes in my own.
“Brother Bastien has been gifted by our Lord. A gift that even I doubted.” Raising his hand, he looks like he might touch Eden. The moment her gaze cuts to him, he freezes, and drops his arm back to his side.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” A whoop of agreement makes me contemplate burning the whole building to the ground.
Curran hums. “Temptation in its rawest form. This little girl is nothing but a heretic, sent by the Devil himself. Would you believe I watched her blind a man with nothing but her voice?”
There’s a collective gasp, followed by an eruption of outrage.
“Now, it is my belief that the Lord has led her to us for a purpose. What better tool to tame Darkness than with Darkness itself? With her, we will conquer the Damned once and for all. And then,” Like a leech, his eyes roam over Eden’s body. Greedy. Hungry. “We will conquer our conqueror.”
I’m faintly aware of cheering, but I’m completely honed in on Eden’s reaction—or lack thereof. Aside from the faint quiver of her lower lip, she’s a blank slate. It’s unnerving, but preferable.
“So as you enjoy your night, be sure to give your thanks to Bastien. He has truly blessed us all.”
Bless them with a death sentence, maybe.
With that, the party commences and Curran grabs a tall, dark skinned woman for his arm candy of the night, disappearing into the mass of bodies.
I release a breath I’d been holding, as well as Eden’s arm. Neither of us dare look at the other. Instead, she follows me obediently as we weave through the crowd, garnering stares of wonder and a few envious sneers.
Perspiration prickles at my hairline, and it’s not only from humidity and body heat. The environment is both sensory deprivation and overload. Music has been cranked until it’s deafening, the crowd swaying with the beat.
A guy around my age kisses the neck of a sex worker, his palms groping bare breasts. Eden stops in her tracks, eyes widening until they're the size of the full moon outside.
My palm presses to her lower back, ushering her ahead of me. Making our way to the bar, I pull out a stool.
“Sit,” I order. She does, but not without first craning her neck to look past me back at the display.
There’s a mixture of worry and confusion in the way she nibbles her lip.
Now isn’t quite the time for sexual curiosities, so I press my chest to her shoulder blades and force her attention forward. I lower my mouth an inch from her ear.
“Eyes to yourself.”
Desperate for something to keep my hands busy, I order myself whiskey. The moment the bartender sets my drink in front of me, I throw it back and return the glass. I have no intention of getting drunk, but if I don’t calm my nerves fast, I’ll give us away.
Time drags in a current of red lights and whirling smoke. All the while, I shield Eden from prying eyes to the best of my ability. There’s no rule that says we have to stay the whole time, but if I leave early, that will raise more brows than I would prefer.
The party grows in its intensity, cocaine dusting tabletops and the scent of sex in the air. Luckily, Eden does as she’s told and doesn’t turn around again. On top of that, most of the guests are too preoccupied with their vices to try and bother us.
That is until I hear my name being shouted.
Two men approach, disheveled and soaked with sweat, and I recognize them as Hunters I’ve worked with dozens of times. They’re fucking dickheads. I groan internally, but keep my face bored.
The taller one, AJ, reaches a hand out in greeting. I take a moment to look him head to toe. His platinum hair is stuck up in every direction, his dress shirt unbuttoned all the way down. And, of course, his pupils are as wide as saucers.
I ignore the handshake, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
I’m careful to keep Eden at my back.
“Are you gonna hog our little demon all night?” The shorter one pipes up. He’s the cockier of the two–little man syndrome and all that.
“She’s not really one for socializing, Richie,” I supply, uninterested.
He smiles at that, grazing his fingers over the sparse hairs of a very underwhelming beard.
“No? She looks pretty cozy with you.”
My muscles tense, but I force an eye roll. He’s a perceptive little shit, whilst also somehow being the definition of a moron.