Chapter Twenty-One
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Ily
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STEPPING INTO VICTOR’S PERSONAL SUITE on the top floor felt as if I’d stepped into the bedroom of the devil. Not because the walls melted with flames or the floor fell away into a bubbling volcano for wretched souls to burn in eternity but because of his sheer presence.
He slept here.
Showered here.
He was vulnerable here, and if we could somehow smuggle a bomb beneath his huge four-poster bed and blow it into rubble, we’d free a million spirits trapped within the walls. Jewels he’d hurt in here. Women and men he’d abused and tortured.
Twice the size of his gold-carpeted office, his bedroom was vast. A sitting area complete with a stripper pole stabbed out of the glass-topped coffee table to the right, a patio with a Jacuzzi waited beneath the moon, and giraffe skins littered the floor leading to another circular lounge.
On the walls hung yet more mythical monstrous artwork.
Cupids slaughtered on the spears of demons.
Men with forked tongues licking out virgins and a huge canvas where soldiers lay like a carpet of corpses, all while some vanquisher rode over them with his blood-splattered white horse.
Was that how Victor saw himself?
The mayor of his own country? The victor of his own battleground?
“Impressive,” Henri muttered, striding forward with long-legged steps.
To me, his voice sounded raspy and off. I’d caught him scrubbing his tongue with his toothbrush as I’d slipped into the bathroom to take a shower earlier this evening. He’d glanced away, but I knew.
I’d heard him throwing up before.
I’d learned what the black shadows beneath his eyes meant.
Nausea tormented him often.
Just like in that video Victor made us all watch the day he almost killed Henri—his tummy had been delicate then, and it seemed to punish him still.
I didn’t know why he suffered such a debilitating condition, but it’d gotten worse.
Is that why he’s lost weight?
Because he couldn’t keep anything down or because unsaid things kept eating him alive?
Victor didn’t seem to care or notice that Henri vibrated with a million different things.
Pouring crystal-clear liquid into three glass tumblers, he strode from the private bar by the doors leading to the patio with a grin.
Dressed in black silk pyjama bottoms, bare lean chest, and a long, slackly sashed red silk dressing gown, he either watched far too many pornos or fancied himself as some Mafia boss.
His hair gleamed from his shower, and his steps were loose and languid. Was Rachel the reason for that? He’d mentioned he wanted a massage from her.
My eyes shot to Rachel where she kneeled in another sitting area to the left. The long beige couch curled into a semi-circle, the white round carpet in the centre so perfect, so pure, it looked like a portal into heaven.
She gave me a flickering smile.
I returned it.
Dropping my eyes, I watched with my peripheral vision as Victor passed one of the glasses to Henri, then patted him encouragingly on the back.
“Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.” With a mocking bow, Victor took my hand and wrapped my fingers around the second glass.
“You too, Ilyana. Tonight is for all of us, so drink up. We can all indulge together. Apart from Rachel, of course. She can’t drink for obvious reasons.
” He blew her a kiss, his flippant joy almost infectious if it wasn’t for the aura of evil.
“While I was away, I came around to the idea of having a child. I’m rather excited now. ”
Henri didn’t reply, sipping a scant mouthful of whatever clear alcohol had been given.
Chuckling, Victor swallowed his own sip. “Actually, I never thought I’d see the day that I’d have a screaming baby in my home. However, it has opened my eyes to other business ventures.”
Henri went stiff beside me.
My heart stopped.
No...don’t say it...
Henri stayed deathly quiet, making Victor’s happy voice all the more obscene.
“You know, mon ami. I’ve dabbled in the skin trade for over three decades.
I’ve lost count of how many girls and boys I’ve trafficked, but...
I’ve always stayed clear of children because they’re messy and loud and not worth the trouble but...
” Kicking off his lambskin slippers, Victor padded barefoot toward Rachel and fell backward onto the couch.
“Come, come. Sit. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some dishes to be brought up, so there’s nothing more to do than to relax while we wait. ”
Swallowing another mouthful of his drink, Henri forced a smile and marched toward Victor. His black loafers, black slacks, and black shirt were far too dressy compared to Victor’s slinky bedwear. Sitting opposite Victor, Henri cocked his head in my direction, summoning me to his side.
I went without a word, keeping my chin tipped low and eyes on the carpet.
No one moved as I sank to my knees beside him. My skimpy black negligee with its gauzy lace and ribbony straps showed my pebbled nipples and matching black G-string.
Rachel still wore her white see-through teddy, marking both of us as something to be studied, mauled, and claimed.
“Ah, this is nice.” Victor toasted us from the other side of the couch, his fingers straying through Rachel’s dark hair. “What was I saying? Oh, yes.” Sipping his drink, he smacked his lips. “Do you remember me mentioning the dark web, Henri? Where you can buy all nationalities, ages, and creeds?”
“I remember.” Henri smiled, his outward appearance unruffled all while I sensed his energy as a jagged, jittery mess. “What about it?”
“Well, I had my eyes opened thanks to a friend in Vietnam. I was there checking on my sapphire mine, you see. I happened to mention the next time I visited, I might bring my heir with me. That got us onto the topic of babies.” His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward.
“Apparently, I’m a bit of a dinosaur with the dark web and covertly trading skin in very exclusive circles.
There’s a new breed of trafficker. So bold and uncaring, they openly trade on mainstream platforms.”
Snow dusted my shoulders.
Rachel hunched over her knees.
And Henri kept his tone insolently bored, all while his energy crackled with rapidly rising disgust. “Oh?”
“It’s all about emoji and code language.” Victor leaned back, gloating at his wisdom. “Triangles and spirals and a bunch of others. These codes are well-known, apparently. I need to study their meanings, but what really intrigued me was the use of popular selling sites.”
Henri coughed on a mouthful of liquor. My own untouched glass sagged, forgotten in my hand.
“What do you mean?” Henri spluttered. “They’re uploading people and taking online bids now?”
“Exactly!” Victor snickered and shook his head. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? In plain view, no less. Right there, beneath people’s noses!”
“How?” Henri scowled. “I don’t understand how they don’t get caught the moment they upload a fucking person. Surely, those sites are monitored. Police would be notified immediately if a missing person suddenly appeared with a price tag.”
“It’s because they don’t upload a person.” Victor tapped his nose. “They upload—”
“Sir?” A soft knock as the door to Victor’s bedroom opened. “Your dinner is here. Shall I have the staff bring it in?”
“Yes, thank you, Tim.” Victor nodded. With a twinkle in his eye, eager to spill such horrendous information, he waited patiently for a few servers to march in, each carrying large trays full of plates and dishes.
I recognised a few of them from being in the kitchens so much. One of the men had smiled at me last week as he dashed out with a trolley full of food.
Silence fell over our group as the staff unloaded the trays and lifted off the silver lids.
The glass coffee table went from empty to groaning beneath delicious-looking morsels.
Steam curled from platters of vegetable kebabs, saffron rice, perfectly filleted steak, pan-seared fish, chunky homemade fries, and so much more.
Once napkins, plates, and cutlery had been positioned, the staff swept out, and a butler stepped forward. He poured more liquor into Victor’s and Henri’s glasses. The huge crystal decanter trapped rainbows thanks to the chandelier dripping above.
Only once we were alone again and Victor had piled his plate with something from every dish did he sit back, cross his legs, and grin. “They upload clothing.”
“Clothing?” Henri’s forehead furrowed as he gathered some food and reclined. He didn’t take much, and I had a feeling what he did take he wouldn’t eat, and even if he did, it wouldn’t stay down.
My stomach rumbled a little, and I caught Rachel gazing at the food wistfully, but no one offered us the opportunity to join the feast.
Sighing heavily, I placed my untouched glass on the table and balled my hands on my lap.
This will be a long night.
“Yes.” Victor nodded, his words garbled with food. “I saw it with my own eyes. They list a pretty dress and use a header like ‘Stunning Gracie Birthday Dress,’ then in the drop-down box, they have ages instead of sizes. Age six, age eight.” He waved his fork. “Etcetera.”
“And your friend thinks those are links to purchase children?”
“Oh, he doesn’t think, he knows. He’s the one who uploads them. Or at least, one of them. That particular link was for a blonde, slim girl. He said the word Gracie depicts slim and small, whereas other names are different nationalities and shapes. Like I said...it’s all in code.”
Swallowing hard, Henri asked, “But how is a simple girl’s dress suddenly code to buying the actual girl who would wear it?”
“Simple.” Victor passed a chunky fry to Rachel.
She took it and ate it, her appetite not diminished by the abhorrent dinner conversation.
Henri copied Victor but went one step further. Gifting me his entire plate, he muttered, “Eat what you want. I’m not hungry.”
Victor sniffed. “Food not to your liking, Mercer?”