Chapter Twenty-one
I chose blue. I wasn’t insane. Everyone knew red meant danger, so I gave that door a wide berth.
Would Warren have chosen blue? I felt oddly certain he would have, that our thought processes would align.
Why, after getting kidnapped, my subconscious whispered, would he be free to wander around choosing doors?
It was a question that had bothered me ever since my first glimpse of him had led me to the nightclub. How was Warren moving around Wonderland without restraint?
Nothing about it made sense.
Then again, very little in Wonderland did.
The only way I was going to get answers was by finding him.
Maybe he’d escaped his captors. Maybe he was searching for a way out. Maybe he was trying to get back to me.
Clinging to that possibility, I pushed open the blue door. A corridor awaited me. At least the lights stayed on in this one. That didn’t make it any less maze-like, but it did make me feel marginally more in control.
Doors lined both sides of the hallway.
I tried several.
Every single one was locked.
Just as I considered turning back and trying the red door instead, the corridor finally ended at a set of imposing double doors.
They were made of glass, allowing me to see straight through them.
The view beyond was concerning. A handful of people conversed, but most lay on mattresses, staring blankly ahead, clearly in a drugged stupor.
Others weren’t alone on their mattresses and were engaged in the same enthusiastic activities Nico and I had indulged in the previous night.
It was immediately obvious that I’d stumbled upon Wonderland’s version of a drug den.
I pressed my face against the glass to get a better look, searching for Warren’s familiar blond head. Frustration mounted when I didn’t see him.
He had to be here. Tom Cheshire had said this was where he’d gone. Of course, Tom could have been lying. Or… I’d been wrong and Warren had chosen the red door instead.
Indecision gnawed at me.
There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to set foot in the room beyond the glass. Wonderland had proven time and time again that even the most innocent-looking places had a sting in their tail, and this place looked far from innocent. Its depravity was on full display.
But—and it was a significant but—it would be negligent not to at least check. Unless I investigated the red door first and hoped it led somewhere more wholesome.
Decision made, I turned to leave. Or at least I tried to.
I didn’t get far on account of an arm that slipped through my left one and another that hooked through my right.
The two people who had somehow crept up on me during my period of distraction caught me between them, leaving me little choice but to allow them to propel me forward.
It was like Percy and Lola all over again.
A second later, all three of us were through the double doors. The click as they closed sounded ominous. Which was a ridiculous thought. The exit was only a few feet away. All I had to do was walk back through it.
With that in mind, I pulled my arms free—first from the woman on my left, then from the man on my right.
The woman blinked at me owlishly. “No need to be so rough, darling.”
“No need at all,” the man agreed.
They even talked like Percy and Lola. This place was full of freaks.
I folded my arms, refusing to be intimidated. “First off, I’m not your darling. And second, why are you dragging me in here?”
“Dragging?” the man repeated, one eyebrow lifting. He was handsome in a strangely artificial way, as though he’d had a little too much Botox, cosmetic surgery, or both. Like a Ken doll.
The woman gave a haughty toss of her head. “You seemed shy. We were merely helping you muster some courage.”
“Merely helping,” the man echoed.
I might have believed them if they weren’t both eyeing me like I was something on a menu. The woman’s gaze settled on my wrist. “What a lovely watch! It looks expensive.”
I glanced down at it. The face caught the overhead light, just as it had in the restaurant when Warren had given it to me. How long ago had that been?
A week? Less?
I had lost track at some point.
Time didn’t seem to mean much anymore. There was only before Wonderland and after Wonderland. Was that how people ended up staying here forever?
A waiter carrying a silver tray dragged me from my thoughts. He stopped beside us and held it out. Instead of food or drink, the tray contained neat lines of white powder—which I assumed was cocaine or Wonderland’s equivalent—and an assortment of pills in different shapes and colors.
My new ‘friends’ each swallowed a couple of pills without hesitation.
I shook my head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
The waiter frowned and nudged the tray closer. “You must have something.”
I pushed it back again. “I said no.”
“You aren’t supposed to come in here and have nothing,” the woman explained. “It’s a place to have fun. People don’t spend time here sober.”
“Fun. Right.”
My gaze drifted to the nearest mattress, less than ten feet away. An extremely young-looking guy was on his hands and knees being fucked relentlessly by a much older, bearded guy.
I assumed he was of legal age.
I hoped he was of legal age.
At least he seemed to be enjoying himself if his moans were anything to go by. A crowd had gathered around them to enjoy the spectacle.
“Perhaps you’d like to join us on a mattress,” the man suggested. The woman brightened at the idea. Her cheeks were flushed and her pupils noticeably enlarged, the drugs already taking effect.
It might have been rude, but there was no holding back my laughter.
Several responses sprang to mind, such as that I’d rather dip my testicles in acid. In the end, I went for something more polite. “A kind offer,” I said, sounding almost sincere. “But no, thanks.”
The woman looked as though I’d slapped her. “I’m gay,” I said, hoping to soften the rejection.
Rather than appearing offended, her lips curled into a smile. “I don’t mind watching.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I have a boyfriend, and he doesn’t enjoy sharing me.”
Yet, it wasn’t Warren’s face that sprang to mind when I said it. It was a certain dark-haired man. Warren and I hadn’t been together long enough for me to know whether he was possessive. Somehow, though, I already knew Nico was, despite having spent far less time with him.
Thankfully, the couple left me alone after that. A brief exploration confirmed two things. First, voyeurism would never be my thing. Second, Warren wasn’t here.
Red door, it was then. I just prayed he hadn’t left while I’d been wasting time here. When I turned to leave, a man stepped into my path. “The boss wants to see you in his office.”
“The boss?”
He jerked his head toward a door at the back of the room. “Follow me.”
A knot of unease settled in my stomach as he led me down a short hallway and into a small room. The furnishings comprised a single plastic chair and a water cooler.
He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
Despite the order being rather too reminiscent of a command you might give to a dog, I sat. He left without another word.
Minutes ticked by.
At first, the room seemed perfectly comfortable. Then the temperature climbed. Sweat formed on my brow and my throat grew increasingly dry. I found myself staring at the water cooler with the same longing a man dying of thirst in the desert might reserve for an oasis.
After the tea incident, I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Especially not in a drug den. Who knew what they might have laced it with?
I waited a while longer before standing and trying the door.
Locked.
I hadn’t heard it happen, but it didn’t come as a surprise. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me as I crossed back toward the chair.
What the fuck!
I was still trying to work out what was happening to me when a second door opened and a large, bald man emerged.
Or rather, two of them.
No.
One.
I was seeing double.
I blinked, trying to force the two images to merge back into one.
His mouth opened, and he said something, but I couldn’t make out what it was over the ringing in my ears. I leaned forward to catch the words and nearly toppled off the chair.
A hand caught my elbow and steadied me. “Quite susceptible, aren’t you?”
“Susc…Suspeptable―” I knew I’d mangled the word, but couldn’t seem to fix it. “To what? And whoooo are you?” I sounded drunk.
The man rolled his eyes. “I only just introduced myself.” He extended a hand. “Carter Pillard. This is my establishment.”
Three hands floated before my eyes. I reached for the middle one, feeling absurdly triumphant when I chose correctly. “Lyssssander.”
Christ! I couldn’t even say my name without slurring. Was I having a stroke? The past few days might have been stressful, but I was only in my late twenties.
“I know who you are.”
Nausea rolled through me. I slumped sideways in the chair, focusing all my energy on not throwing up. “Don’t feeeeel well,” I muttered. “Think I need ssssome air.”
Carter laughed. “That’ll be the drugs.”
“Didn’t take drugsssss.” I wiped what felt like another bucketful of sweat off my forehead. “Didn’t want any. Not after the tea. Don’t trussssst anything here.”
Carter grabbed a handful of hair and forced my head back. “Do you see that?”
I squinted upward. My vision had deteriorated so badly that everything looked blurred. “Holesssss,” I managed.
“Holes,” Carter agreed. “Just like the ones in the ceiling out in the main room. Only those release a very mild dose. Just enough to give everyone a pleasant buzz.” He released my head and crouched in front of me.
“Whereas the dose you’ve been breathing in for the last few minutes is considerably stronger. ”
Each sentence took several attempts to process. The meaning eventually sank in. There was no winning in Wonderland. Only an endless parade of people finding increasingly creative ways to fuck me over. “Why?” I croaked.
The slight tilt of Carter’s head suggested he found the question amusing. “Why not?”
His hand settled on my knee. Even through my jeans, his palm felt unnervingly warm.
I tried to shake him off, but my limbs had become dead weight and refused to cooperate.
Helpless, I watched his hand travel higher until his fingers cupped my groin.
“You’re a plaything, Lysander,” he said.
“That’s your purpose here.” His thumb stroked lazily over the zipper.
“What’s the point of a plaything if nobody plays with it? ”
I shook my head. The motion only made the room spin faster. “Nnnnot a plaaaaything.”
His other hand shot out and seized my jaw, fingers digging in.
“The sooner you accept it, the better. Playthings who fight back end up getting badly hurt.” His tone remained chillingly conversational.
“It’s much easier if you play nice. No bruises.
No broken bones.” A pause. “Unless you enjoy that sort of thing.”
“Notaplaything.” The words barely made it out.
He already had the button on my jeans undone, his fingers moving to my zipper.
I made one last attempt to stop him. “Nico won’t like it.”
The hand froze. “…Nico? What’s he got to do with it?” Carter frowned. “He rarely gives a fuck.”
With trembling fingers, I grabbed the neckline of my T-shirt and pulled it down far enough to expose the tattoo.
Carter’s hand fell away from my crotch. He sat back on his heels and studied the tattoo. For several long seconds, he said nothing. Then he stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well… isn’t that interesting?” Finally, he nodded. “That changes things slightly.”
I lurched sideways.
This time he didn’t catch me.
The floor rushed up to meet me.
I landed hard and lay there, winded, my eyes squeezed shut.
Even when footsteps announced someone else entering the room, I couldn’t summon the strength to open them again.
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” Carter said. Someone answered, but the ringing in my ears had returned with a vengeance, making the words impossible to understand.
I lost consciousness a few moments later.