Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Judas
I shouldn’t be there.
Which, to be fair, was exactly why I am, duh.
The door looked like every other hooker’s club that was running a secret sex ring scandal. I knocked twice and listened to the accompanying thudding echo. It felt dramatic as hell, but I figured I might as well commit.
The slit in the door opened, and an eyeball stared at me. I stared back and winked.
“Members only,” a gruff voice mumbled.
Well, it felt like we had a moment.
“Cool,” I said, giving my arms a good ol’ stretch. “I’m not a member.”
The gruff-butt stalled for a second and then cleared his throat. “Did you not hear me? Members only. Why are you here?”
I leaned a little closer to the slit, like we were sharing a fancy secret.
“I think you know why, Nicky. You look like you know exactly why I’m here. Now, be a good boy and let me in.”
Another pause, and it was longer this time. I could practically hear the gears grinding in his big bouncer skull.
“You’re late. He’s been waiting.”
“I’m early for tomorrow.”
I didn’t bother waiting for him. As soon as I heard the door click, I muscled my ass a little into the opening.
Oh. That worked? Huh. Good to know.
The door fully opened, and I slipped inside before ‘Bobby,’ according to the name plate, and not Nicky, could change his mind.
The place hit me all at once, and it was a fiesta to my senses.
The noise, the stinky sex smelling heat, and the gyrating half-naked bodies moving all together made me feral!
Dance, Judie! The music is delicious.
Every demon in my head bumped and thumped to the robot sex music, and I shook my head.
“Yeah,” I muttered under my breath, glancing around and feeling residually high from all the drugs floating in the air. “This feels like a cult. Or a really shitty birthday party…I’ll pass.”
A guy brushed past me when I got toward the massive cult-looking square these sex drones danced on. He was shirtless, and it could have been a hickey, but I saw the unmistakable mark anyway.
Bingoooo, who’s your daddy?
“Victor Masters, but that’s besides the point. That’s the same symbol!”
It had the same shape I’d seen burned into Randall’s mommy’s skin, just like the sick fuck who did it intended. They had signed their work and expected applause.
Randall’s mom…
Damn, I wish I hadn’t seen him find her. It made me feel bad for my game of ‘Pop Goes The Weasel,’ but I had too much to do, and I couldn’t let my dick and the dead thing in my chest do my thinking for me right now!
She was so very dead on a tarp, and when I had seen her all I could think at the time was that whoever did it had neat handwriting.
Dammit.
Why didn’t I make the connection sooner that it was his mother?
You’re fucked, Judas.
“I’m not normal,” I told myself.
“Never said I was,” I answered back.
Right. Good talk, Demons.
I wandered further in, my hands firmly squashed in my pockets, like I wasn’t actively trespassing into something that would probably kill me if people got too bored and actually looked into my stalking.
The staff wasn’t drunk or high. They were on high alert, unlike the zombies milling about with vials in their hands.
It looked like a pleasurable, toxic vat of fun in everyone’s grip.
A sparkly purple liquid that, any other time, I’d chance the high, but even I apparently had a limit to shutting the demons up.
So damn alert. Every single worker.
That was the weirdest part so far about this place—no sloppy movement, no stupid laughter or corralling with coworkers. Everything was too…intentional.
I hated ‘intentional.’ Sporadic dumbassery was more fun.
“Hey,” a female’s voice drifted my way.
I turned like my ass was on fire and cursed myself for being a jumpy fucking idiot. A woman looked right through me with sharp eyes. It was ‘the creepy doll state’ that didn’t blink enough.
“You the new rigger? I need a ride, baby.”
I considered lying, but then I remembered I am already lying.
“Yeah,” I said. “Big fan of ropes. I can be very ‘knotty.’ Love all the twisted clientele. Ya know the works. Where’s my office?”
She didn’t react to my impeccable puns. Tough crowd, bitch. “Name.”
I shrugged and gave her my notorious Judy panty-dropping smile. “Depends, doll. You asking legally or what you’ll be screaming out later?”
Her expression flattened. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
Damn lesbian.
She studied me, and I let her, watching her eyes roam over all my seven-foot-two-inch frame.
Why did my brothers get the extra inches? Meh, I got the best dick.
Identical triplets and all that, but I decorated my package to sparkle. Gee and Roe needed more piercings than the little fishing bobbers on their heads.
Girly kept staring, and I smiled wider. People liked thinking they could figure things out if they stared long enough.
But, ahem. Les-be-honest. They couldn’t.“Back room,” she said finally, jerking her head toward a hallway. “Shouldn’t you know that? And stop looking like that.”
“Can I look judgmental then?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame.”
I walked past her before she could pester me further, slipping into the hallway where the music dulled, and the air felt heavier, somehow more breathable, away from the awful music and the walking dead.
We liked the music! Go back! Go to music!
The demons hissed in my ears, and I hummed a tune to shut them out. Quiet meant I could hear myself think.
Which was…optional, honestly.
Randall’s face popped into my head like it owned a spot there, and the demons suddenly stopped whining for a moment.
I wanted to curse my brain for this uninvited memory party, but seeing my sexy little cop made me feel more at ease, so I let him stay right where he was in my noggin.
“You’d hate this,” I told him. “Too organized. You like your chaos messy and controlled.”
No response.
He was bad at conversations.
I dragged my fingers along the wall as I walked, feeling the textures and leaving my mark at the same time. There were the usual scratches and dents on the stucco, and vomit, blood, and semen, too…probably.
Meh. little imperfections make something truly perfect.
“Someone fought here,” I murmured, avoiding the fresh red splotches sprayed on the white wall. “Or a lot of someones,” I corrected.
Yeah, that tracked, considering it was a mural of splatter, the further down the hall I got. The symbol showed up again near the end of the hall, and I clicked my tongue.
“Hmm, looky here. Maybe the other rigger had an unexpected two weeks’ notice.”
The symbol was etched into the wall, like someone couldn’t help themselves but to show off, and I smiled, stopping in front of it, letting my head tilt.
“Still neat handwriting,” I said. “That shit is hard to write like a girl. Am I looking for a bad girl or a stick-up-the-ass man?”
There was something almost…proud about it. The swirls were deep and carefully carved, like whoever made it wanted to be remembered.
“Good news,” I whispered, smiling a little. “I’ll remember you.”
I let a pause hang for my usual dramatic flair.
“Bad news though, big boy—or girl?”
My fingers tapped lightly against the mark, feeling the power and pain behind it.
“I’m going to ruin whatever your game is. I got nothing to lose, and I’ll give this last gift to my Randy Pandy if it kills me.”
I stepped past the symbol without another glance and tread deeper into the dark. If this place had touched his mommy…
I was going to touch it back with my fist.
The hallway didn’t end so much as it tightened.
Kinda felt like the building was clenching its ass around a nice dick.
“Cute,” I muttered. “Architectural anxiety.”
“Or a funnel,” I added a second later.
Same difference.
The door at the end wasn’t steel like the front. It was wooden. Thick and quieter back here. I couldn’t hear all the noise I walked into. The walls were scratched to hell, like people had tried to leave and changed their minds halfway through.
Or rather, they weren’t allowed to leave.
I knocked once on the door but then opened it without waiting.
Inside was so quiet it made my ears ring. I tried to focus because the silence made me fucking itch. Even the demons were apprehensive. All the chaos from the main floor had been filtered into something tighter here.
There were rigs…actual rigs, and heavy, deep black chains bolted into beams. I could clearly see the suspension frames. It was clean lines, with deliberate setups…nothing sloppy about these.
Whoever made them made sure their ‘participants’ weren’t getting out until they were ready. Whoever ran this place before, they curated their puppets to their own mastery.
“Jesus,” I breathed, stepping in slowly. “I thought I was fucked up. Is this blood?”
The hanging chains were dripping, but it was so dark it was a wonder what the liquid was. With so much metal around, the smell of iron was strong anyway.
“You’re late.”
Hellll no. I don’t do surprises.
A small little dude stared at me from a darker corner, and I turned my head just enough to find him without fully giving him my attention—short stocky still bro.
“So I’ve been told,” I said. “I’m working on being fashionably disappointing instead.” He didn’t smile at me.
Righhhht. Another tough crowd. I was killing it tonight—zero to two Jude’s.
“You in charge here?”
“Allegedly.”
His eyes dragged over me like he was checking for seams to unravel. But whatever he saw in my half-assed appearance didn’t give me away.
“Who sent you. Name?”
I scratched the back of my neck, thinking about it like it was a real question. “Honestly? Vibes, ya know?”
Silence.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting,” I said, finally looking at him fully. “You want the job done, or you want my autobiography?”
Something flickered there in his dark gaze. Irritation? Definitely. Curiosity? Maybe. Hard to tell with people who had empty souls.
“I don’t recognize you.”
“Yeah,” I said lightly. “I get that a lot from people who don’t know me.”
His jaw tightened just a fraction.
Good. There it is.
Human.
Behind him, a movement caught my eye. It was another mark on the wall, but way bigger this time. It wasn’t just carved. This one was not a subtle reminder. It was a reinforced statement painted over half the damn wall.
My chest did that annoying flip while my brain thought of Randall with that mark on his body instead.
Is it pain? Nah, just…awareness, but always Randall when it flip-flopped.
“You see this? We got it, baby.” I murmured under my breath.
“See what?” the man snapped.
I blinked once, slowly, then smiled like I hadn’t just been talking to someone who wasn’t there.
“Your interior design choices,” I said. “Very…committed though, don’t you think? Maybe a little glitter would spice up the place.”
His gaze sharpened again, and his jaw flexed. “You talk to yourself a lot?”
“Only when the conversation’s worth having.”
He snorted unamused, and I took the time to step past him as if I’d belonged there all along. He watched me but didn’t try to pester me again.
That was the trick with asshats like this.
Don’t explain. Don’t correct. Just move and show you are not leaving.
The rig in the center of the room was already set halfway, with a rope hanging loose, its knots, for some reason, still unfinished.
I reached out, running the fibers between my fingers and assessing the material. Good quality.
Of course it is, Judas. This is the demon’s lair.
“Nah. You know who runs the demons?” I whispered with a smile.
They all screeched in my head, and I laughed out loud.
“Me bitch. The devil.”
“Bobby hired a fucking moron.” The stoic guy grumbled, shaking his head.
“Who started this?” I asked, ignoring his bitching.
“I did.”
I glanced back at him over my shoulder. “Then why’d you stop?”
He paused for a second, and I tried to decipher the flicker in his eyes.
“The client and I disagreed. Nothing to worry about. They made their exit.”
I huffed a quiet laugh, recalling the fresh blood on the wall. “Tsk, tsk, murder mouse. You don’t leave your work unfinished. Maybe that’s why I’m here. To finish it for you.”
He didn’t answer that.
I adjusted one of the knots, tightening it just slightly, watching how the tension shifted across the frame: precise, controlled, and predictable. What more could you ask for?
“Yass,” I beamed. “That’s better.”
“Where’d you learn?” he asked, walking over to assess my work.
I shrugged without looking at him. “Picked it up from a psycho triplet who tried to kill me.”
“Uh, who?”
I pulled the rope once to test it. Solid as a board.
“Someone who liked leaving marks that didn’t think I’d make my own.”
There was a gnawing silence, and I could feel him watching me differently now, not just suspicious.
Interested.
Dangerous place to be with a bad guy looking at you like a puzzle.
Goody!
I turned back toward him, tilting my head slightly. “So. You gonna tell me why half your guests are walking around branded like collectible zombies? They didn’t put that in the job description for hit man rigger boy.”
My eyes flicked to the symbol on the wall and back to him.
“Or do I have to guess and get it right, or I’ll end up like your last assistant who fucked up?” Somewhere in the back of my skull, Randall’s voice pressed.
Don’t play with this, Judie. Get out.
I smiled wider.
“Oh,” I whispered, almost fondly. “I’m definitely playing with this.”