Contention (Contention #1)

Chapter 10

Kara feels her stomach drop as the elevator rises quickly. It’s quite the thing; who knew rising forty stories up could be so fast? Her gaze cuts over to Bianca, who appears to be exuding excitement, shifting on her feet. “I blame you for all this, just so you know.”

Bianca pulls out a compact mirror and checks her deep, plum-colored lipstick. “For all what?”

The elevator passes the thirtieth floor. Kara feels her heartbeat nearly in her throat now. “For whatever happens, naturally. Your fault.”

“I’ll gladly fall on the sword for you, love,” Bianca replies, snapping her compact mirror shut with a grin. “And hey, if it’s a kinky place like they say, you can punish me for it.”

“I’ll pass, but dually noted,” Kara drawls, watching the floor numbers tick by. “Besides. The fortieth floor is just a lounge, per what I understand. Only private, paying members can go to the forty-first floor, where the weird shit happens.”

“Ooooh, intriguing,” Bianca purrs as the elevator comes to a halt.

The doors open slowly, revealing a small elevator lobby, dimly lit by exotic lanterns on elegant side tables between each elevator. On the walls hang large portraits of what Kara assumes must be tasteful erotic photography. Naked women, contorted into odd positions, blindfolds, cherries, a woman with her head thrown back, painted lips open in an ‘O’.

Charming, Kara thinks sarcastically as she takes it all in.

As they exit their elevator, they go to the right, facing the lounge. Their eyes open wide in surprise. It isn’t what Kara had expected, not in the least.

The lighting is dim, atmospheric. The space isn’t crowded, not like a normal club, nor is there club music playing. The music is something dark, with undertones of sexuality. Raw and uncomfortable. Very Depeche Mode .

There are countless sections of lounge furniture, ornate and extremely expensive looking, black with deep gold trims. The feet of the chairs and couches appear to be carved, dark wood, in the shape of lions. Or wolves. Kara can’t tell from the distance.

Women in tasteful (is that possible) lingerie roam the space, providing alcohol and shots of liquor to occupants. All are masked, only their lips and jawlines visible. The far wall is all window, looking out into the dark, high over the skyline of the city. Lights flicker in the distance, like small stars beneath this sinfully secret floor.

Beyond those windows appears to be a large outdoor seating area, firepits heating the night air in the sky.

Everyone is dressed like it’s a gothic gala for the rich and privileged. Floor length obsidian gowns, dark three-piece suits, flashy watches, expensive shoes. A few people are dressed in understated fashion, but despite that, their postures scream elegance. Along with their glittering diamonds and Rolex watches. Those are pretty big giveaways, too.

There’s a large table to the middle of it all, piled high with sparkling glasses of champagne, fruits, meats, cheeses, pastries. In the center of it, lying on her back, is a naked woman. Just lying there, as people idly grab food to put on their plates. What the…? Have a side of vagina with that smoked gouda?

Kara feels her face twist, nose wrinkling. What has she gotten herself into?

“Wow,” Bianca breathes out beside Kara, clearly thrilled by the dark decadence of it all.

A hostess rushes over to them as they come further into the area. She’s wearing a deep midnight dress, floor length, the neckline nonexistent, plunging down beyond her navel. She wears a mask as well, though more slate grey than obsidian. Perhaps denoting that she works here and isn’t a customer.

“Ladies,” she greets them with a low, seductive voice that absolutely has to be practiced. “Please don your masks. I realize you are here on trial, but those are the rules.”

As Bianca quickly pulls on her mask, fitting it into place, Kara continues staring past the host podium, into the giant, dark space filled with elegant people clutching their alcoholic drinks. Pure anonymity. A few heads are turned in the direction of Kara and Bianca now, so Kara looks down and fumbles with her mask a bit before pulling it on. “Any other house rules?”

The smooth hostess smiles, her black lipstick ominous as she does so. Her practiced voice is like silk. “Drinks are free. You may go anywhere on this floor. You are not allowed upstairs, as that is a right reserved for our members. You will not be able to accompany any members upstairs until you commit to a membership.”

Sounds nice and normal, though Kara knows the reasoning behind it. Bianca only has heard things, naturally. Playing dumb, Kara plasters a stupid grin on her mouth, asking innocently, “What’s upstairs?”

Those pitch-black lips freeze in a false smile. “Well, that’s where the real fun is, of course. Discretion is paramount here. Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”

Aha. The ‘real’ fun. Likely the actual reason the club is considered an underground, expensive sex lounge. Kara wonders if ‘The Room’ is in this building…or if it’s somewhere else entirely. She eyes the occupants of this floor, wondering how many are high paying premium members, members who know how to get ‘whatever’ they want.

Regardless of the morality.

With their masks in place, Bianca and Kara stroll further into the lounge, taking in the sights while looking for a drink. A few women are perched on the laps of men, whose hands are hidden underneath their dresses suspiciously.

In some cases, it’s very clear that the woman is being publicly pleasured in front of whoever is sitting beside them.

Kara tries to hide her mortification as one woman stifles a loud moan as they pass by. It’s a sex club, Kara, keep it together. What did you expect? PG-13 kissing? Nobody pays money for that. At least, not this much money.

The erotically dimmed lighting gives some privacy to those engaging in such acts in their seats, but as Kara wanders around further, she notes more and more acts of indecency happening without a care for who is watching.

Bianca is like electric energy at her side, practically vibrating with her excitement to start engaging with the scenery. As always, this is Bianca’s scene; Kara is along for the ride to try and unwind, keeping her guard raised.

They pass a group of men dressed like they just walked off a photoshoot, suits tailored to perfection. Their masked faces turn towards them and one man holds out his drink to Bianca as she drifts closer to them.

“Nah ah,” Kara pulls her away from temptation. “That’s bait. Get a fresh drink. Less likely to get your ass drugged.”

“You are so paranoid!” Bianca whines, pouting her plum-colored lips at the men as they stroll past.

Kara remains unmoved. “With good reason.”

They find the bar on the far-left side of the large lounge, sprawling through a dark corner section of the floor, just around the corner. Deep purple and blue lights shine over the bar, the stools looking like handcrafted masterpieces with ornate steel backs. The mirror behind the bar is huge, with dark gold leaves and jewels encrusted into the frame. The assortment of extremely high-class liquor rises up and up towards the ceiling, dark mahogany shelves holding them in place.

In fact, there appears to be no bottom shelf booze here. Kara doesn’t even recognize some of the scotch and whiskey she sees. Some of the vodka looks far above her dollar, but she sees her typical Ketel One glowing towards the bottom.

Oh, look. More naked photography of people climaxing.

Kara orders her final drink for night, telling herself firmly that there will be no more. She steels her resolve in the matter, that no matter how badly she wants another, she needs to be as close to sober as she can be while not actually being sober.

Can’t lose control. Can’t won’t shouldn’t…

The woman behind the bar is wearing a lovely corset, red and black with old-world lace around the edges. She gives Kara a roll of her eyes as she pours the liquor into a shaker for Kara’s martini. “Naughty girl,” the bartender says silkily. “You ordered that on purpose.”

It only takes Kara a second to realize what she means; when she shakes the drink together, her chest moves in time with her quick movements. Kara flushes, looking away. “I didn’t think about it that way!” She notices the men at the bar watching with careful interest. “Sorry!”

The bartender laughs, handing Kara her martini before moving on to Bianca’s wine. “I’m just teasing you, sweets. Everyone likes a good show. You’re not the only martini sipper here, after all. Certainly won’t be the last.”

Bianca tosses back her wine in a very…unclassy fashion the moment it’s set down in front of her. The bartender’s mouth twists in surprise. Bianca asks for another with a big wine drunk smile. Oh, this isn’t going to be good.

“Slow down, B.” Kara says in her ear, disapproving. Is she going to be carrying her ass home? She can only hope she can keep track of her tonight; Kara’s anxiety is clawing at her spine. After that…stupid, ridiculous mistake of a night, Kara now feels more on edge, exposed. How simple it is for someone to just…well…

Not everyone is chivalrous, after all. One can’t control the actions of others when they’ve set their mind to devious ends. To that note, Kara is well aware that she got by relatively unscathed and unharmed that night in the limo.

So, she got a roughed-up jaw; she doesn’t really even remember much of it anyway. Only the knowledge that it occurred . That dark, twisted, slimy feeling that something happened to her body, something she didn’t control, something that barely scratched the surface of her strong mental shields, honed from years of mental and physical abuse.

There are worse things, there always are, Kara tells herself.

Bianca is loud and giggling when she says, “I’m fine! God, you’re like an old woman. Relax ! I’m going to go talk to those guys. I want to know about all the freaky things they get up to here.”

Kara opens her mouth to stop her, but realizes that would be an exercise in folly. Bianca is going to do what she wants to do; common sense be damned. Taking care of others be damned. Sigh. Kara sips through her martini with a scowl.

Naturally, Kara will be there to pick Bianca up off the floor, if necessary. She’s always known how to take care of others. Her father had been a fulltime job; she’d learned from that.

Somewhere in the lounge, a man groans loudly and there’s the sound of enthusiastic clapping. Kara doesn’t turn around because she doesn’t want to see. She imagines Bianca clapping gleefully along with a big grin.

The female server smiles down at Kara and leans over, reaching for Kara’s blouse. “May I, darling?”

Before Kara can say no, because she definitely is going to say no, the woman is pulling her tank top down further, the space between her breasts now clear as day through the opening in her blouse. Shocked, Kara looks downward at her body, now creeping into indecent territory.

Definitely not work appropriate! But, she’s not at work. Not really. Well. She could research the enemy…

“You dressed so modestly; it would be such a shame to not show off the body you’re hiding under that lovely blouse,” the bartender says. “If you’re here on trial, sometimes this is the best way to get someone else to pay your fees, if you get my meaning.” She winks at Kara from behind her mask.

That…sounds suspiciously…like whoring yourself out, Kara thinks to herself, mulling over the words she just heard. Who the fuck wants in this club that bad? Jeez. Can’t you all get laid like normal people?

Because, really . It isn’t like Kara has seen hordes of grotesque people in the lounge. Just filthy rich, bored people. Perhaps that’s all it really takes.

“What’s it like? Upstairs, I mean.” Kara wonders what sort of info she can get; perhaps it could be valuable for the case. Research is a good reason to be here, if nothing else. As long as she isn’t caught.

Bianca wants to hit on men; Kara isn’t in the mood.

The flirtatious bartender grins. “A bit more naked than this floor. This is the tame lounge; people are able to get a little naughty here, appreciate the atmosphere. People who are looking to screw go upstairs usually. There are some private rooms for…certain types of play.” She makes a slapping motion with her hand. “Basically, this floor on steroids.”

Kara mulls that info over. Nothing she hasn’t really already heard before, but they really consider this floor tame? “I’ve heard the upstairs requires people to sign…non-disclosure forms. Why is that?”

Now, the bartender’s eyes narrow a bit. “Because, our client’s privacy is very important. Why else?”

Sensing that she’s walking on eggshells now, Kara shrugs and says, “Just curious.” Then, she wanders off.

Kara looks around for Bianca, wandering the floor, hypersensitive of the faces now turning towards her, looking at the exposed flesh of her chest. Her blouse isn’t unbuttoned down to her navel or anything, but it’s giving enough of a show, that’s for sure.

Anxiously, feeling her flesh heat, Kara wonders if this is what it’s like to be considered meat. Eyes, hungry, crawling up and down her skin like spiders.

Finally, she sees Bianca chatting up a gentleman in a three-piece suit in the far corner, animated with her hand gestures. Her red hair makes her stand out like a beacon, a fiery color in the dim lounge. When the man’s hand cups Bianca’s rear, Kara rolls her eyes, downing her drink, wondering where the bathroom is. She’d like to hide from all of this for a few minutes, feeling overwhelmed. Feeling on display.

She doesn’t like feeling this way. It makes her feel weak and she isn’t . She’s always been good at picking up guys with no intent of ever learning their name. Sometimes just for some quick fooling around, nothing serious. Someone to use and throw away, just a moment to forget the awful emptiness that fills her ribcage.

Somehow, she realizes that makes her no better than Calais. Perhaps she had it coming. He was her karma for all the hurt and broken hearts she left behind.

After asking one of the roaming half-naked servers, Kara finds the bathroom, lit with an eerie green light. She feels like she’s stepped into a horror movie, like out of a gothic drama with black marble and extravagant furniture.

She quickly shuffles into one of the stalls and squats to do her business quick. When she leaves her stall to go to the sink for a wash, a man stumbles out of the stall next to her, still fumbling to get his dick back into his slacks. Kara blinks slowly, wondering if she’s gone into the wrong room. But no, there are no urinals.

The barbarian notices her staring at his junk as he drunkenly fumbles with it. “What? Never seen prime beef like this before, love?” He wiggles it at her in what he must consider a charming fashion, uncut cock and all.

Kara would face palm if she didn’t need to wash her hands. Slightly nervous to be alone in a dark bathroom with a strange man with his cock out, Kara washes her hands, saying idly, “You don’t look like a lady. My bad.”

She’s trying to not stare. Really.

He finally gets his fucking meat under control and back where it belongs, coming to stand directly next to Kara, leaning his hip against the counter top. There are plenty of other sinks, but he chooses to get in her space overbearingly. Very drunk, likely. She glares at him, tilting herself away from his space invasion. “It doesn’t matter which bathroom here,” he says with a slight slur. “The second bathroom was being used for other things at the moment.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake, people! Let a bitch piss in peace. Giving him a scowl from behind her mask, she orders him to wash his hands. With a dark chuckle, he reaches for her and she yelps, cursing him out colorfully before fleeing the dark bathroom, nearly bumping into another man who strolls in.

The new man grabs her around the waist, laughing. “Whoa, careful there! You almost knocked me over. Are you alright?”

Do all the men prefer the women’s bathroom in this place? Unbelievable !

Irritated, anxious, and completely fed up with this place that sexualizes everything, Kara yanks out of his grasp and escapes.

Feeling flustered and out of place, Kara goes outdoors. It feels like stepping into the night sky, walking out onto the outdoor terrace. It’s a huge stone deck overlooking the city, the lights twinkling all over the horizon. There are clear glass walls around the high edges of the deck, making it near impossible for anyone suicidal to fall. The night air is chilly, but there are fire pits and heated lamps spread out around the area. Small drafts of heat flow towards her as she looks for a place to collect herself.

She sits on an open lounge seat and uses her free hand to clutch her blouse somewhat closed. It would likely be odd of her to button everything up, when clearly the goal here is to be as sexualized as possible. It feels like all eyes are boring into her.

Luckily, the outdoor area is less populated than the indoor lounge.

There’re two couples, hovering against the dark corners, speaking in hushed voices, giggling occasionally. In addition to them, there’s a few intimate groups spread out amongst themselves, talking, drinking, smoking. The outdoor seems to be where the tame people reside. By the far stone benches and fire pits, a group of distinguished men stand chatting with animation, a light blonde in the center with a dark, slate grey mask on his face. He doesn’t seem to be a server, but he’s certainly not a member. Kara stares, wondering if he’s the second owner of the Dark Mirage . He stands with an air of pure confidence and those around him seeming to gravitate to him.

As she watches, he pulls a small little metal capsule out of his pocket, raising it to his nose, inhaling sharply. Cocaine, likely.

As Kara’s watching the group, someone sits down beside her, his warmth a beacon in the slightly chilly air. “Hello gorgeous,” the man says, his arm coming behind her on the seat.

Kara twists her lips at him. “You can’t even see my face; I could be a complete hag under this mask.”

His mouth moves in surprise at her response before closing quickly. His light eyes drift over her exposed cleavage, the cleavage Kara is trying to hide by clutching her blouse somewhat together. “I highly doubt you’re a hag. You have too sweet a smile.”

What a suck-ass! Kara is almost impressed.

A warm hand settles on her thigh; he has a few large rings on his hand, no wedding band in sight thankfully. His cologne smells fresh and it reminds Kara of how thirsty she is. She needs to wash the alcohol away with a nice cool glass of-

“What would you like to drink,” he asks charmingly, a soft smile on his lips. Leaning into her space, smelling of clean evergreen. “I’ll have them bring you something nice.”

Oh, he’s down for some fun, isn’t he? Too bad Kara isn’t in the mood for company tonight. He could have been fun, some other time. Easy to play with.

“I’d just like a water, actually,” she says drily.

He cocks his head to the side, grinning and scoffing in a derisive way that gives his age away. Young, likely Kara’s age. “Water? Don’t be so boring, I’ll order you-”

That familiar flash of red sparks behind Kara’s eyes. “Order me anything,” she says slowly, dangerously, “Other than what I want…and I’ll pour it on your dick, right through those lovely slacks of yours.”

His cheeks redden, as if shocked someone wouldn’t want him to order liquor against her will. He leans closer to her, sneering, “What did you say, you venomous bit-”

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder, fingers gripping tightly. The young man looks upward and the sneer drops off his face instantly. The group of men standing on the far end have all stopped talking, now watching Kara’s exchange with Angry Boy-Man. This newcomer has come over from the group, likely to break up the argument, which is sort of gallant. In his other hand is his drink, clear and bubbling. He drinks from it calmly before speaking to the asshole beside Kara. “Do tell me you aren’t actually trying to force this young lady to drink something she doesn’t want,” the man drawls lightly.

“Uh…um…she mouthed off at me…” the younger man stutters, his sails losing their wind fast.

Kara’s defender turns to glance over his shoulder at the group of men. Her aggressor does the same, mouth tightening in a manner that speaks to his sudden nervousness. The distinguished blonde is standing in the group with his arms crossed, looking unamused, lips twisted irritably. He gestures with one hand, a ‘get out of my sight’ motion.

“Did you get that?” Defender of Women says flatly to the man beside Kara.

Angry Boy-Man nods quickly, standing up and vacating the outdoor deck immediately without another glance at Kara. The tension in Kara’s spine dissipates slightly with his absence. She feels like she’s been dodging unwanted advances all night with extreme inelegance.

The man beside Kara looks down at her. “Are you alright? We don’t usually tolerate the uncultured types here.”

Kara snorts; she can’t help it. Uncultured? Is this place considered cultured? Ha! “Oh, I’m fine. He was just an annoyance. I could have thrashed him, if I really wanted to.”

His lips, nice lips, twitch into a slight grin as he looks down at her. “Most girls don’t drink alone here. Are you waiting for someone?”

Kara feels her lips curl somewhat unkindly at that. He has his free hand now in his pocket casually, sipping from his drink as he eyes her from behind his mask. Pretty eyes. She counters with, “Are you?”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat at that. A huff of laughter, perhaps. He gestures to the now vacant seat beside Kara. “May I?”

Oh, how painfully polite of him! Lord, she’s tired of men today. “No one is stopping you.”

When he sits, she can smell the gin and tonic he’s drinking. Her nose wrinkles; oh, how she loathes gin! Once more, he gives her a slight grin, amused by her reaction. “You must be new. Most women here are after something. You seem like you could care less.”

Sure, Kara can imagine all sorts of gold-diggers finding a freaking gold mine in this place. Not something she’s into, but she knows the type of women out there that would love to have some rich guy wrapped around their pinky finger. Damn the consequences of that, naturally. “I don’t see the attraction in selling your body just to have an old rich guy attached to you like a bad rash. I prefer my independence far too much.”

“Is that so? Why do you come here then?” Mr. Gin and Tonic leans closer and Kara can see the blue of his eyes, firelight reflecting there. “Simple curiosity? Perhaps no one is good enough for the likes of you, is that it?”

Kara inhales with a beatific grin, thinking on how to best answer that tangled question. Or rather, it’s a loaded question; her answer is the thing that’s dark and tangled. Instead, she plays on curiosity. And research. He seems to think she’s a serious member, not someone on trial. “Oh, you know. This place is all the rage in the news these days. It gives me a thrill to be here.” She gives him a harmless grin. “Do women often get in trouble here? Or is that hush hush?”

He regards her carefully, drinking his gin. He leans closer, saying, “Most girls that come here are looking for trouble. Much like yourself.”

“Have you been upstairs?” Kara presses. “Do people actually…pay others to beat them?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw and he artfully dodges her question with his own. Obnoxiously. “Haven’t you been upstairs, as a member?”

Oops. He’s sharp. He caught her misstep…she pressed too eagerly. Shit.

He shifts in his seat, taking another drink before leaning closer to her. He smells delicious-

It’s then that Bianca steps outside, looking for Kara amongst the seated areas, over the flames of the assorted gas fire pits. When the redhead sees her, Bianca smiles and starts over, saying loudly. “Kara, I’ve been looking for you. You won’t believe how freaking craz-”

Mr. Gin and Tonic is staring at Kara, his tropical blue eyes going hard behind his dark mask. His shoulders tense visibly. He repeats her name. “Kara?”

Kara isn’t sure she understands the reaction. Too slow, her thoughts are simply too slow at the moment. “That would be what I’m called, yes.”

Before the words even finish falling from her lips, his hand is on her face, pulling up her mask roughly, exposing her, the cool night air blasting her cheekbones in a wash. Kara blinks in surprise, because that was fucking rude, especially after talking about being uncultured, there has to be a rule against this-

“You tenacious little vixen,” he growls at her quite suddenly, teeth bared in a snarl. The vivid blue of his eyes is made all the more obvious by the shrinking of his pupils. “Of all the things you could have done, you came here. Get up.”

With her mouth wide open in shock, Kara is yanked to her feet roughly, staring at the man in horror. “What the f-?”

“I realize intelligence isn’t your strong suit,” he rasps, voice suddenly creeping into familiar territory. “But don’t play stupid with me. You used my name to get access to this floor, didn’t you? Smart enough for that, it seems.”

Oh. Oh . Kara feels like a fish out of water, staring at him in abject horror. Of all the terrible luck. “Havenwood-Calais,” she utters blankly before blinking up at him as he begins to drag her back inside. Kara comes back to herself, getting angry at his manhandling. He’s touching her . His touch feels like a fiery brand on her arm and she’s hyper aware of the sensation. Her throat feels like closing. “Okay, yes. I used your name. That doesn’t mean I actually wanted to run into you! How was I to know you would be here? Be realistic, you savage!”

The muscles in his neck are tense, his jaw clenched tightly. Kara can almost imagine him grinding his perfect teeth together. His hand on her upper arm is almost too much, actually hurts from the pressure. He shakes his head, growling under his breath. “I can’t believe I-” He cuts himself off, so Kara may never know what his thought process was with that.

Well, screw him. She can’t believe she even thought of him as the Defender of Women. Not in this life. Not in the next, asshole.

A few women cover their lips in shock as they pass by, likely displeased with his rough treatment of Kara. As if they actually care.

“I ought to file a complaint with Judge Canry,” he’s saying waspishly as he literally marches her back to the elevators, hand now on the back of her neck as he guides her.

Kara feels like a child. Her father used to march her around like this when she was a little girl, in crowded places. Externally, it may have looked like a father keeping close watch on his daughter, rather than a lord and his leashed dog.

Bianca catches up with them, sounding irritated on Kara’s behalf. “Hey! Stop treating her so rough, you neanderthal! I don’t know who you are-”

“Good,” he snaps back, not even glancing in Bianca’s direction.

Bianca hisses, “Bastard!”

Kara just concentrates on not stumbling; the pace he sets is fast and angry, not allowing for any care that she’s wearing heels and he’s clearly not.

He’s still verbally berating her and Kara feels mortified; it isn’t like she came here to cause problems! “How low is Derrick willing to go?” He asks nastily. “Sending a junior associate to snoop around for the advantage. I guess I’ll have to give him a reminder about why he doesn’t screw around where I’m concerned.”

This is going sideways so fast and Kara feels dread pooling in her belly, dead sober. The alcohol in her belly wants to claw its way up her esophagus in a blaze of glory, she can feel it.

Kara tries to turn around in his iron grasp, but it’s difficult to do while being pushed forward. “This isn’t Derrick’s fault-”

“She didn’t even want to come here!” Bianca adds in the background, following close on their heels. “I made her. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would be a big deal. Is it about that case?”

The hostess with the grey mask comes towards them as they get closer to the elevator lobby, her eyes looking panicked through the eyeholes. “Mr. Havenwood-Calais, is something the matter-”

He holds up a hand to silence her, waving her off rather sharply, mouth set firmly in displeasure. Like a mouse, the girl scurries away quickly. He pushes Kara forward, so hard that she stumbles forward and has to catch herself with her hand on the elevator doors, least her face get imprinted there.

Sucking up her pride, Kara turns around to face him with her back against the elevator, feeling mortified for many, many reasons. Firstly, because she’d chatted him up like a buddy outside, with him sitting beside her. Secondly, because he’s her arch nemesis. Thirdly, because he thinks she’s here trying to snoop like a rat.

His opinion of her has never been high. It’s probably garbage now, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by.

“I swear. I wasn’t here looking for any dirt. Not really, anyway. Just drinking. I don’t even know any of the people I spoke to.” She gestures to her mask, the one he shoved up to her forehead to expose her eyes. “Masks, yeah? Didn’t even recognize you.”

The lower half of his face is stony, unmoving aside from the curl in his lip. Kara has a momentary flashback, a blurry memory of those lips in a sneer as she knelt between strong thighs. Furious at herself, Kara blinks it away.

“The judge is going to hear about this; there will be repercussions for you,” he says darkly. “You botched your little spy mission up big. Derrick will be hearing from me.”

This is so bad. This is a career limiting mistake. Kara feels like vomiting, like her whole life is coming to an end. Her reputation as a professional will get shattered for this. “No! Don’t- I swear he doesn’t-”

Now, he leans forward and presses the down button, making the elevator doors open up behind Kara’s back, causing her to stumble backwards into the elevator, almost falling down. Kara manages to catch herself, but barely.

Embarrassing. He’d done it on purpose of course, to humiliate her further. Face red, Kara snaps, “What the hell, you loathsome beast? Wouldn’t it have been faster to throw me off the balcony?”

Calais remains unmoved by her sudden display of anger. In fact, he probably expects temper tantrums from her by now. Only, Kara has never really witnessed this cruel side of him and it makes her hold back from getting more aggressive with him.

His eyes are burning holes into her face unpleasantly and Kara feels her hands shake. He’s like a snake, just standing still, staring at his victim, waiting to strike if she makes a wrong move.

“Kara, you’re finished,” he says flatly as Bianca joins her in the elevator. “Don’t let me catch you here again.” The threat is blatant.

Face flushed with humiliation, feeling properly horrified, Kara hisses, “You’re overreacting, dad .” He’s acting like an overbearing father, she would know. “You don’t have to do this. Let me explain!”

A muscle in his strong jaw twitches as the elevator doors slowly close.

On the way down, Bianca purses her lips and gives Kara some serious side eye. She inhales to talk, but Kara cuts her off, staring at the opposite wall. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

Crap. It’s only her professional life on the line at the moment. He didn’t even let her explain.

Fuck.

That night, her dreams haunt her.

Her mother stares at her, pale, gaunt, and haunted. A broken shell of whatever she once had been. Her auburn hair flows in wild waves, framing the harsh expression on her face. Kara frowns, the dream appearing to be in her own condo. Clarity comes to her as a ghostly butterfly floats by her face, sparkles on its wings. “You’re dead, mom. You’ve never been here.”

It isn’t a memory. It’s an oddity.

The illusion of her mother cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowed, heavily lined with makeup. “Someone has to give you a strong talking to, little dove. You’ve finally found the perfect impression of him, is that what’s going on?”

Ugly words with even uglier undertones. Kara knows what this ghost in her mind is talking about, knows it’s something that bothers her in her waking hours. “It’s not…that’s not true…”

A cruel smile shapes those red lips. Her mother points one finger at Kara, hand shaking, fingernails broken and bitten. “But it is. I know you; I’ve always known you. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Because you’re a vindictive part of my imagination,” Kara snaps hotly. She swats at a purple dragonfly as it hums in her face. “This is a dream.”

Her mother is sitting on Kara’s light-colored couch, fingers running over the fabric, eyes now gazing out the window towards the cityscape. Sadness floods Kara in a wave; her mother would have loved this apartment. She’d always wanted to return to the city; Charlie didn’t.

And Charlie got what Charlie wanted. All. The. Time.

“Another unpleasant soul to treat you the way you feel you deserve to be treated?” Her mother laughs bitterly. “Does it help you to envision yourself as trash? Does that make everything alright in your mind? That it makes sense that someone can’t find anything worth loving in you?”

Kara feels her fingers dig into her palms. Discussing her fatal flaw is not high on her list of things to do. “You sound like that shrink I once saw. Have you been comparing notes with my subconscious mind? Just stop while you’re ahead. I don’t want to hear it.”

Subconscious illusion or not, her mother is the spitting image of her typical bitterness and misery. Those lips, bruised, curl cruelly. “He’s the right age too, isn’t he? Maybe a few years younger than Charlie?”

It’s sick and wrong and Kara feels the bile rising up from her stomach. Her mother was always keen on this; the idea that Kara’s been trying to emulate her father on every man that’s ever caught her eye. Like she’s trying to find the perfect replacement for a man that no one can ever replace. Except in her worst nightmares, of course.

Gritting her teeth, because it isn’t true, it’s not fucking true, Kara hisses lowly, “Shut up.”

The sitting room begins to darken, as though the sun has suddenly winked out. Ominous. Cold. Kara shivers. Her mother looks like a vampire, pale with pits for eyes as she stares across the room at Kara, still sitting on Kara’s couch.

“Well, little dove. You’ve found your villain. Now, all that’s left is for you to end up like me.” With those words, her mother holds out both of her arms, bare and pale. The skin slowly peels open, a deep red line running vertically up the length of both arms.

In slow motion, blood erupts from the deep wounds, draining away her mother’s life right before her eyes.

Kara feels her heart seize and the dream changes to what had been her mother’s townhome, the kitchen tiles, all red.

Everything is all red. Even the razorblades.