51. Everett
51
EVERETT
T he guard leads me through the back entrance. We enter through a narrow reading room. He stops, stands in front of me, and demands, “Look at me.”
I do. He lifts a finger. “Follow this with your eyes only.”
He moves his finger slowly to the side. I follow the motion with my eyes, then with my head, and then my whole body follows. I find myself tilting and stumble to keep myself upright.
Shit . Whatever drugs they put in me are working fast. I don’t like not being in control of my body.
He seems satisfied with my reaction and drops his hand. He reaches for a device on his belt—a small, blocky thing with a handle. “This’ll pinch,” he warns me. I feel him line the device up with my earlobe. There’s an intense pressure and then a brief, throbbing pain, and then it’s done. When he pulls back, my ear feels heavy.
He moves behind me and starts to undo the rope around my arms. “So here’s the deal,” he says. “While the men have their fun with the Belleflower Queens, Mr. Dagney hires local boys to come entertain the wives and ladies in the library. Rules go like this. Don’t try to escape. Don’t hurt anyone. Obey the ladies and give them what they want. Follow those rules, and you might actually enjoy yourself.”
“And if I don’t?” I hear myself say, though my voice feels foggy and distant.
“Then we kill you and your friend.”
Ransom . The rope falls away from me, and I flex my hands. It’s just me and this guard. Even in my intoxicated state, I imagine I could take him. Easily.
But could I take them all before they take Ransom out?
That fear is enough to keep me in check. For now.
The guard comes back around. I ask him, “What am I walking into, exactly?”
His gaze levels with mine. “A feeding frenzy. Good luck.”
He reaches for a glass doorknob, twists it, and opens, gesturing me inside. I enter the room and immediately understand the warning.
What was, I assume, a once-elegant library has been transformed into a den of sin. The room is dark, lit only by flashes of blue and purple strobe lights. Grecian statues have sex toys hanging off them. The music is loud—this dull, roaring heartbeat. A sick, slow thumping. Women and men hang off each other. Clutching each other. Dancing. Moaning. Fucking.
I’m spinning. Every step I take feels like I’m pushing through wet sand. I stumble over a bottle of champagne left on the floor, kicking it, and fall forward, barely catching myself on the table.
A hand slides over my back. Female. I feel the nails. The sharpness tingles all through my body as she purrs in my ear, “Having trouble, honey?”
“Poor baby,” another voice chimes in beside me. Lips find my throat. “Let mama kiss it better. ”
Get off of me , I want to say, but my throat is tight. Dry.
And my body…it’s responding. Warming to their touches.
I hate myself for it.
The mix of uncontrollable arousal and intense revulsion makes me shake. The lionesses, encouraged, continue their onslaught of bold touches.
I need an out.
There’s a sudden flash of light. I glance up and see a door open and close, a man exiting it.
Bathroom .
I extract myself from the women. Untangling them is like stepping out of an octopus embrace, but I manage it. My body is so heavy it feels as though there is someone grabbing my ankles, dragging behind me as I force myself forward toward the bathroom.
I push inside. I’m met with bright, clean light, and when the door closes behind me, it muffles that horrible noise. There are other men in here—shirtless, their bodies glistening, chatting loudly together—but I ignore them and grab hold of a sink.
I turn on the water and splash myself. My face is numb. I barely feel it.
I don’t recognize the man in the mirror. Hair askance. Clothes stained with sweat. Color drained from my face.
There’s a tag on my ear. I touch it. Pierced through my earlobe is a plastic, yellow tag. On the tag, a QR code.
I’ve been tagged. Like cattle. Like fucking cattle.
“Amigo!” An arm is flung around me. I’m accosted by a spicy cologne and a crooked grin. “Look who joined the party!”
It’s Rafe. Ransom’s friend. From Maeby’s. He’s wearing no shirt, tight pants, too much glitter, too much cologne, and the same yellow tag in his ear with his own unique code.
“First time, eh?” he continues. His eyes are wide, but his irises are small, tiny dots. “First time’s always a shocker. Go with the flow, yes? Look at you. The ladies love you.” He catches my chin and gives me an affectionate shake. Like a dog. If my limbs weren’t rubber, I’d murder him.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vial. “If you want,” he offers. “Keeps you… up ’n at ’em , as they say.”
Cocaine. Party drugs. This is not my scene.
But…
I feel like I’m underwater. I need to get my heart rate up.
I need to find Claire. I need to find Ransom.
I need to wake up from this terrible fucking nightmare .
“Fuck it,” I hear myself say. I take his vial, pop off the top, and fit it under my nose. Uppers to counteract the downers.
The men give a whoop and cheer. My blood rushes. Pounding. My heart takes off, leaping against my rib cage. The roaring, underwater ocean noises in my ear…finally dissipate, like the tide pulled out to sea, never to return.
I take in a deep, gulping breath and look at myself in the mirror. I’m a wreck. But I can see. I can hear. Everything that was foggy and hazy is now painfully crystal clear.
Alive. I’m alive .
The wolf tattoo on my forearm snarls and growls at me. It’s ravenous and ready to sink its teeth into the throats of everyone in this building.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
“That’s the spirit!” Rafe smacks me on the back, and like a pack, the men exit, barking and howling.
When I re-enter the library, the assault on my senses almost knocks the breath out of me .
Before, it was a low, sinking sensation. Now, I see everything clearly. Too clearly.
I can walk, but now I need to run. The music is too loud, like toothpicks pricking my eardrums over and over. I need my headphones. The sound makes me want to rip my ears off, and I cover them with my hands, grinding my teeth against the noise.
Dragonfly doesn’t like this .
Rafe fits into the scene seamlessly. He climbs the table and starts dancing to the music. Immediately, he’s flocked with hands. Lips.
Take a breath. You can survive this .
Slowly, I lower my hands from my ears. I breathe into the pain.
I notice things I didn’t before. In the shadows, security men remain quiet and cold. They’d take me down before I managed to get out the door.
So I’m going to have to find another way out.
My answer comes in the form of a pair of eyes. They meet my gaze from across the room. I watch as the woman slides out of another man’s lap and walks through the sea of people to get to me.
Mary-Kate. Claire’s friend. She wears a thin, dark dress, the strap hanging off her shoulder.
“James,” she says. “Haven’t you strayed far from home. Does Claire know you’re here?”
Her hands slip over my shirt. Slowly, she begins undoing the buttons.
(Don’t touch me. Get your hands off me.)
I counter, “Mary-Kate. Does your husband know you’re here?”
That draws a smile from her. “What they don’t know won’t kill them. ”
She has her phone tucked into her bra. She pulls it out now, and her fingers fumble over the screen. She holds the phone up to my ear and scans the QR code. I watch as she punches in a couple more buttons, then tucks her phone away, satisfied.
Her body leans against mine. Into my ear, she says, “You’re mine for the next two hours.”
Then she links her fingers in mine and tugs me to the door. She flashes her phone to the guard—showing her receipt for me, I assume—and he nods before opening the door and leading us out.
My feet push me forward, my heart thrumming, and all I can think is:
She’s here. In this house.
Somewhere.
I’m one step closer to Claire.