Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The final note fades, and a palpable tension fills the theater, thick enough to cut with a blade.
Then the applause starts, subdued and polite, carrying through the theater without a single cheer.
The buyers come to their feet in unison, buttoning their expensive suit jackets.
Sourness coats the length of my tongue.
The performance is over, but the buyers seem more enthralled now than they did during the ballet.
One by one, the buyers pull on black masquerade wolf masks.
Matte black and carved with layers of sculpted fur with honed ridges and jagged lines.
Pointed ears jut upward while elongated snouts protrude from their faces, stripping away their thin veil of humanity and showing them for what they truly are.
Encased by heavy brows, the eye openings become black hollows.
Only their eyes remain visible. The wealthy businessmen are gone.
In their place is a pack of wolves circling prey too trapped to run.
Shock holds us motionless. I can feel Tyler’s nervous energy, mirroring my own and all we can do is stare at the scene unfolding before us.
Answering an unspoken call, the buyers emerge from their private boxes and descend the curved staircases leading to the stage below. They move with the confidence of men who know precisely how this night ends as they gather on the stage in front of the prima ballerina.
I’m wound so tight I feel moments away from exploding. A spark ignites low in my stomach, feeding the overwhelming urge to end this now.
The prima ballerina remains perfectly still underneath the spotlight, her smile never wavering.
Then a figure appears from the wings.
The doctor.
Dressed in black, he steps onto the stage and takes his place next to her.
A magnet for attention, he draws every eye in the room.
One look at the doctor’s eyes tells me that what is about to come next will engrave itself into my memory.
His presence awakens something primal inside me.
The doctor removes a scalpel from his pocket and moves directly behind her. In one swift motion, he drives it into the back of her neck.
There is no dramatic spray of blood, simply a precise, deep puncture.
Instantly, the ballerina’s body goes limp, her weight sinking into the cables holding her upright.
She tries to scream, but instead of a loud shout, only a faint, airy gasp escapes her lips.
The pressure of the doctor’s hand against her neck makes her tremble. When she tries to speak, her voice barely exists.
“Please… don’t…”
The words leave her in a fragile whisper before her chest condenses, forcing her to draw shallow, desperate breaths.
She’ll still be able to feel intense pain fully conscious but completely immobilized.
The doctor takes a seat in the front row. Not long after, the businessman and the auctioneer join him on either side.
My eyes dart around the stage, my mind reeling from what I just witnessed.
The buyers begin peeling off layers of expensive fabric.
Suit jackets are shrugged from broad shoulders and draped over empty seats. Ties follow, loosened and discarded without a second thought. Crisp white dress shirts are unbuttoned and stripped away, showing their gun holsters, they come off next.
Handguns are set aside and dropped onto the growing pile.
Within moments, they stand completely naked, the black wolf masks are the only things left separating them from recognition. All of their dicks are already hard.
One of the buyers breaks away from the group, stopping in front of the ballerina as he strips her roughly then easily seizes her bun forcing her head back, she’s held aloft in a contorted backbend that looks agonizing.
Then another buyer strides forward and yanks at the ribbons woven through her labia piercing, causing some of the small metal circles to hit the floor with a clink.
The droplets of scarlet red blood form instantly.
The last buyer moves to the side, stroking himself while moaning.
The two buyers closest to her rotate her body like a doll, positioning her legs apart at an impossible angle, and sickening pops echo through the theater. Two lengths of rope drop from the rafters, suspension rings swinging from their ends.
They maneuver her legs into the suspension rings, treating her body as if nothing more than a prop.
She is forced into a wide split, her holes held apart.
Electricity races through my veins as a manic fury takes over me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach the depravity that comes next.
A myriad of emotions flicker over Tyler’s face as we sit there, incapable to intervene.
All the buyers line their cocks up to their preferred hole, and one after the other sink themselves inside of her. The thrusts, moans and wet pulpy noises reverberate in the theater.
The one fucking her mouth is cautious not to kill her and keeps pulling himself all the way out to allow her to breathe, releasing her bun and threading his fingers through her hair.
But the other two have morphed into barbarians ripping through her with casual cruelty as blood seeps down from between her legs puddling on the floor.
They have fallen into rhythm with one another, plunging into her pussy and ass as her body sways.
One digs her nails into her thigh to ensure his dick bottoms out in her ass.
Both of their cocks are slicked with blood.
She’s powerless.
I grind my teeth as tears blur my vision.
The buyer at her mouth pulls out and moans as he finishes on her face.
As the other two finish separately, the one that was fucking her pussy frees his cock groaning and thick white ropes of cum land on her stomach and breasts.
The last one fucking her ass, clenches and grunts as he finishes inside of her.
Tyler’s gaze finds mine across the shadows.
The question is implied.
Are you ready?
For a second, all I see are the women, the ballerinas, their emotionless smiles, the blood, the way those men watched them as if they were merely trinkets.
My hands shudder with bloodcurdling rage.
The roar inside my skull cuts out. My hand drifts to the Glock at my hip, my fingers close around it with deliberate purpose. Guns have never been my weapon of choice but tonight I make an exception.
There are too many lives at risk, including my own and I know if I get close enough, I won’t stop.
There’s a metallic click as I rack the slide.
At the same moment Tyler withdraws his own weapon. His face is unreadable, but the fury burning behind his eyes could level cities.
“Reap,” he murmurs.
I don’t take my eyes off the stage.
“I’d say we’ve seen enough.”
The words leave my mouth like a death sentence.
And then all hell breaks loose.
The service door bangs open.
Every head swivels in our direction.
Confusion and shock flashes over the doctor’s, businessman’s and auctioneer’s face while they are still seated.
For one beautiful second, nobody understands what’s happening.
Then Tyler fires and the shot rings through the theater.
The businessman drops.
Chaos erupts.
Everyone yells.
The buyers scramble on the stage, tripping over themselves.
The auctioneer reaches for something beneath his jacket.
I pull the trigger before he can find it.
He crashes backward over the seat.
The doctor lunges toward the wings.
Fucking coward, always hiding behind someone else.
I track him through my sights and fire.
His body immediately folds.
The same hands that mutilated women go still.
The sight should feel like justice. Instead, it only reminds me how much was taken. It will never be enough.
The buyers are shouting now, stumbling over one another in blind panic, trying to find their guns in their mess of clothes.
Gone are the masks of power and smug expressions.
Now they’re the sitting fucking ducks.
Tyler and I advance together as a single unstoppable force.
The endless rage I’ve carried inside me since the night everything was stolen.
It all comes pouring out in a storm of bullets. Tyler and I deliver judgement, and when the final buyer hits the floor, silence crashes over the theater.
Smoke spirals lazily from the end of my suppressor.
Bodies litter the stage and front row. The architects of this horror will never hurt another soul.
My chest heaves as the room comes back into focus.
“Backstage!” Tyler shouts.
The word snaps me into motion.
We sprint across the stage, weaving between bodies and discarded masks. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out every other sound.
Tyler grabs a heavy velvet curtain and hauls it aside.
We burst through.
Dim corridors stretch beyond, twisting through the belly of the theater.
My pulse hammers in my ears as we move.
Tyler takes the first room and I take the second.
He throws the door open, weapon raised.
Empty.
I clear mine moments later.
Empty.
Nothing but abandoned equipment.
We keep moving faster now.
The corridor seems impossibly narrow as we sprint toward the last door.
Tyler turns the handle, locked.
Tyler doesn’t break stride; he kicks his boot into it.
The wood cracks and the frame splinters.
He slams his boot into it again and the door explodes inward and smashes against the wall.
My mouth goes dry as I see seven ballerinas bound to chairs; some are conscious while others are not.
The ones that are conscious stare back at us with glassy eyes, dulled by blood loss and exhaustion.
Tyler is already at the nearest woman, cutting through her restraints. He glances back at me from across the room, and the moment our eyes meet, understanding fills them.
“Go,” he tells me.
I don’t argue. I turn and sprint back to the stage. The suspended ballerina still hangs above the floor, motionless except for the slight sway of her body. Above her, the cables creak.
My gaze lands on a control panel tucked near the wings.
I bolt for it and drive my hands into the controls.
The rigging begins to descend.
“Come on,” I whisper urgently.
The cables unwind.
The ballerina lowers onto the stage.
The moment her body meets the floor, I rush to her and drop to my knees beside her.