Chapter Seven
I gotta get out of here.
The thought keeps repeating in my head as I scurry past bars, casinos, and brothels with my eyes fixed forward. The flashing neon lights blind me, and I have to concentrate so as not to lose my bearings. I want to walk faster, but my shoes won’t allow it. I briefly consider taking them off, but there’s broken glass and cigarette butts everywhere. Once, I even see a puddle of vomit. The sour smell makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I pass a group of young men. They’re standing in a circle, passing around a bottle of clear liquid, definitely not water.
“You want a sip?” one of them calls out when he notices me.
He waves the bottle in my direction, his body swaying and his gold-painted lips twist into a sleazy grin.
“No, thanks,” I say quietly enough that he probably can’t hear and cross my arms protectively in front of my chest.
I’m breaking out in a sweat. Why did I just leave like that? What was I thinking, coming out here without Caden? It was stupid of me. So stupid. Those guys aren’t going to leave me alone just because I ask nicely. This is the East End, after all.
“Hey, wait up!”
My steps quicken as the man breaks away from the group and walks toward me. My pulse races. I frantically look around for an escape route. I could go into the bar on my left. But if he follows me inside and no one in there comes to my aid, I’ll be trapped. It’s already too late to return to the Dirty Halo; by the time I get there, this guy will have caught up and done God knows what to me. I can only hope that Caden has noticed my absence by now and is looking for me.
I turn in the direction Caden and I came from. Could I make it to the place where the limo dropped us off? Is it even still waiting for us?
“Not so fast, honey. I just want to have a little bit of fun,” slurs the guy behind me.
He’s close. I can feel it. All he has to do is reach out to me.
Panic rushes through me, and I start to run. The lights of the bars and casinos blur before my eyes—red, orange, bright pink. Music blares loudly and then gets muffled as a heavy door slams shut somewhere. A woman with a tangled updo and overly dark made-up eyes points a finger at me. Her mouth contorts into a grotesque sneer as she laughs and laughs and laughs. Apparently, my panic is just another part of this night’s grand spectacle.
No one offers to help me. No one cares that I’m being chased by a drunken sin mage who just wants to have a little bit of fun.
Is he still behind me?
I cast an anxious glance over my shoulder, immediately regretting it because my heel catches in a groove in the cobblestones and I stumble. The ground hurtles toward me. At the last moment, I jerk my hands up to catch myself. The photo of my mother flutters out of my hand. Everything is happening insanely fast and yet seems to be happening in slow motion. And then I hit the cobblestones.
There’s a sharp pain and tears come to my eyes. At any moment, I expect to feel the hands of my stalker on me. But nothing happens.
When I look up, he’s gone.
My gasping breath calms a little. I want to sit up, but my legs are shaky, and when I try to pull the skirt down that’s ridden up back over my knees, I see blood. My hands and knees are scraped, and I pushed pebbles into the wounds when I landed.
“That looks bad. Do you need some help?”
My head snaps up.
It’s a girl. She’s maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, wearing a denim jacket, and her hair is pulled up into a blonde ponytail. She squats down next to me and reaches for the picture I dropped.
“Is this yours?”
I nod.
She briefly glances at the photograph before handing it back to me. I’m careful to only touch the edges so as not to stain it with blood. It’s my only memento of my mother. I want to cry tears of relief because the guy who was chasing me is gone. I want to cry tears of shame because of what I’ve done—and tears of fear because I’m in the middle of East Virtue and completely lost. But I pull myself together and clench my teeth so hard it hurts.
“Can you stand up?”
The girl straightens and offers me a hand. I hesitate to take it, but she seems harmless enough, and I’m afraid that if I send her away, the drunken sin mage will come back. So I grab her hand and let her pull me to my feet.
“It’s not so bad,” I mutter more to myself than to her.
“Here.” The girl digs a handkerchief out of a small pink purse and hands it to me. “For the blood.”
“Thank you.”
I wipe the blood off carefully. It looks worse than it is, and I actually only have a few abrasions. I suddenly remember the knife in my purse. How useless it was in a situation like this. Nothing could have made me stop and threaten the man with it. He probably would have laughed at me if I’d tried.
“I’m Amy.”
“Kaya,” I reply, still busy cleaning my hands.
“Who is the woman in the photo?” Amy asks curiously.
“My mother.” I wad up the bloody handkerchief. Since Amy’s been so nice to me and I don’t want to seem ungrateful, I add, “I’m here because I want to find out what happened to her.”
Amy’s eyes grow wide.
“Did someone hurt her?” she asks, and the shock in her voice sounds genuine.
I swallow. Maybe I shouldn’t tell Amy all this. I don’t know her, and it’s really none of her business. But I am here to find out more about my mother.
“She was murdered. By sin mages,” I whisper.
Amy nods in understanding.
“I’m sorry.” She plucks at her lower lip thoughtfully, then her face brightens. “I know someone who might be able to help you. He knows everyone here in the East End. Come on!”
Amy beckons me to follow her and heads for a side alley. Stunned, I stumble after her. She’s fast and I have a hard time keeping up with her. I only vaguely register that we’re moving deeper into the East End. There are hardly any people around. The alleys become darker, with only a few streetlights lighting the way. Instead of bars and nightclubs, we walk past a string of apartment buildings. The facades shine in dark red or green, entrances and windows are framed with stucco decorations.
“Amy!” I shout, hoping to get her to slow down.
I shouldn’t be here. I should try to get back to the limo.
“Come on.”
Amy walks up to a door with darkened glass panes and a wooden frame and pulls it open. Muffled sounds reach us. A worn black curtain blocks my view of what lies beyond. A flickering neon sign above the entrance reads Crime and Punishment .
“What is this place?” I ask, although I already have a hunch that this isn’t an establishment I want to enter.
Amy grins. “A strip club. But don’t worry, no one’s going to try to get in your pants here.”
Oh, great. What a perfect way to end this evening!
But it seems a little late to chicken out. I tug my dress into place and run a hand through my hair. I hope I don’t look as bedraggled as I feel.
“All right,” I say to Amy, who nods approvingly.
Together we step through the curtain. The hall is bathed in red light and looks nowhere near as rundown as the building’s exterior suggests. There are several enclaves that can be closed off from the rest of the room with purple, heavy curtains. Scantily dressed girls dance on stages surrounded by seating areas.
I try not to look and instead stare at the red carpet at our feet, but my eyes keep wandering to the dancers. To the fringed skirts that only barely cover their bare thighs. To the black lace bras that leave little to the imagination. To the feather boas the girls wave as they contort their bodies in snake-like ways.
Amy laughs.
“Don’t tell me this is the first time you’re seeing something like this?”
“Well, it is.”
She makes it sound like it’s nothing out of the ordinary that these half-naked bodies are writhing around on stage, or that they’re casting seductive glances at the men who sit with their legs spread wide and leer. It’s horrible. I want to turn on my heel and leave, but for some reason, I’m frozen.
One of the men beckons to a dark-haired dancer, pulls her onto his lap, and strokes her bare thigh with a bill. His other hand wanders to the front of her black lace bra and slides under the fabric. The girl throws her head back and laughs.
I swallow against the nausea rising inside me.
I wonder if the girl is here by choice. If she maybe even enjoys the touching. I find it hard to imagine. It could be that the man incited her lust. How much of a free will would she even have if that’s the case?
I force myself to look elsewhere. At the bar, where an older man is downing a glass of golden liquid. At a waitress who moves between the seats while balancing a full tray. Anywhere but to where the dancer is currently letting her hand wander over the man’s chest as she slowly undoes the buttons of his white shirt.
“Jared,” Amy calls out, heading for one of the booths in the back where a young man is sitting.
He has tousled black hair and a scruffy beard. He seems half asleep, and his black shirt is wrinkled. Everything about him seems to give the appearance that he just stumbled out of bed. Nevertheless, he exudes an attraction that I can hardly resist.
Amy pulls me over to his alcove, and he acknowledges us with a lazy nod in our direction.
“Do you have a new girlfriend?” he asks, reaching into a bowl of strawberries on the table in front of him.
With relish, he shoves one into his mouth. Without wanting to my eyes stray to his sensually curved lips.
“This is Kaya,” Amy says. “She’s trying to find out what happened to her mother.” Then, with a look in my direction, she adds, “Go on! Show him the picture!”
I hesitate to hand over the picture. Suddenly the whole thing seems strange to me. This girl just picks me up off the street, doesn’t even ask me why I’m crying on the ground with my knees blooded, and then brings me here. To a guy who supposedly knows everyone in the East End and can solve my mother’s murder, no problem. Pretty implausible.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, turning the photo indecisively in my hands, but Amy reaches over and takes it from me and tosses it on the table in front of Jared.
I nervously clasp my now empty hands together.
Something about Jared’s posture changes. I feel it more than I see it. It’s like his muscles suddenly tense. His fingers wander over the photo, tracing my mother’s features, a gesture which seems oddly personal and also a little invasive. He pulls something out of his pants pocket that looks like an old smartphone and snaps a picture. Then he looks up at me with his head tilted.
“Why don’t you sit down, princess.”
“I think I’d rather leave,” I say.
My instincts tell me to leave Jared and the Crime and Punishment as quickly as possible, but he’s still holding my mother’s photo and I don’t want to leave it behind.
“I know your mother,” Jared says calmly.
My breath catches. Is this a trap? He could be lying. But what would the sin mage gain by telling a strange girl that he knows her mother?
“How?” I ask warily.
One corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk.
“Sit down and eat something with me. Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“No, thank you.” My response is stiff. I wish I sounded—and seemed—more composed as I reach out for the photo of my mother. “I’d like my picture back now, please.”
Jared grabs me by the wrist in a flash and pulls me to him on the padded bench.
“Seems to me I didn’t make myself clear. ‘No, thank you’ is not an option, princess,” he hisses.
Suddenly, there’s nothing drowsy about him. His eyes flash dangerously; a warning not to resist him.
Laughing, Amy slides onto the bench next to us and reaches for a strawberry.
“Jared’s just kidding, Kaya. Don’t let him rattle you,” she says, looking completely unconcerned.
She waves a waitress over. “There’s no whipped cream. And do you have any chocolate sauce?”
I try to make eye contact with the waitress, silently begging for help, but she won’t look at me.
“Yeah, it’s all in good fun,” Jared agrees, moving even closer to me.
I can’t avoid him because Amy is blocking my way out. And the table in front of me prevents me from escaping that way. What should I do? Scream for help? But that would mean admitting that I’m in danger, that I’m defenseless against these two and at their mercy. I feel paralyzed.
The waitress disappears and comes back a short time later, placing a small bowl of chocolate sauce on the table along with a silver canister that I assume contains the whipped cream. Amy lifts it to her mouth and sprays some on her outstretched tongue.
“You can’t beat whipped cream,” she mumbles.
“Here, have a strawberry,” Jared says, holding the red fruit in front of my mouth.
His nails press into its flesh and a little red juice runs down his fingers. I press my lips together tightly, but he pushes his thumb into my mouth and forces me to open up.
The strawberry practically bursts on my tongue. Sweet and fruity and juicy. I swallow it down hastily. There’s no way I’m going to enjoy this and give Jared the opportunity to feed on my sin.
But it’s already too late. I can feel Jared’s presence in my mind, feel him heightening my sense of taste and desire for more.
“Want another one?” he breathes in a throaty voice.
Another strawberry appears in front of my face. Jared sweeps it across my lips. This time he doesn’t force it into my mouth; he doesn’t have to.
I don’t want this.
I don’t want to want this.
But my lips open on their own. A moan escapes me as the taste of strawberry fills my mouth.
“Here, have some whipped cream with it,” Amy suggests and sprays some on her index finger. She holds it out to me.
Earlier, when I watched the dancer, I wondered if there was such a thing as free will under the influence of a sin mage. Now I know there isn’t. Tears run down my cheeks as I lick the whipped cream from Amy’s finger. It’s sweet and kind of fluffy. I want more.
More, more, more.
Amy giggles like I’m a funny animal playing with its food.
“Do you like it?” she asks. “Then wait ’til you taste the chocolate sauce.”
She dips her finger into the small jug, but instead of offering it to me, she runs it lasciviously over her lips.
“Come get it.”
Never.
I will never do that.
But Amy leans forward a bit, and the beguiling scent of chocolate hits my nose.
“Come on, princess,” Jared murmurs. “I know you want it.”
No, I don’t want it. He’s making me want it. My whole body trembles with the effort of trying to resist my desire. Why doesn’t anyone help me? They must see I’m not here by choice. But the truth is, no one cares.
A sob rises in my throat as my lips draw closer to Amy’s. I’ve never kissed anyone before. It’s a sin. All of this is. If anyone catches me doing this, I’ll be punished. That is, only if I survive Amy and Jared’s cruel game.
Jared’s hand moves to my neck and finds the zipper of my dress, slowly pulling it down. I try to stop him, but my body no longer obeys me. He manages to peel me out of the top of my dress, leaving me sitting there in just my bra. I hear him chuckle maliciously. His hand creeps under my bra strap, making it snap against my skin.
“Holy fucking Jesus, what is this hideous thing?”
I’m not paying him any mind. All I want is to taste the chocolate on Amy’s lips. I can’t think about anything else. It’s like a rush, and I succumb to it. Let it carry me off like a wave.
“Jared!”
An icy voice reaches me as if from afar. It sounds familiar, but my mind is so sluggish that it can’t place it. I vaguely notice Jared stiffen beside me. My lips are millimeters away from Amy’s. I feel like I can already taste the chocolate, and I want to—so badly.
“What a surprise,” Jared says, but the voice cuts him off.
“Indeed it is. And now I must ask you to release her mind.”
“Why would I do that?”
Jared pretends to be at ease, but his hand comes away from my bare back. There’s a brief pause and Amy holds her breath as if she’s expecting trouble.
I lick my lips. I’m about to taste the chocolate. Any second now…
Someone clears their throat.
“You will release her because her mind is mine. She is mine. And if you don’t comply, I will kill you.”