Lara

The wind slams into my face, stealing my breath, and my heart thuds in my chest. Nothing is going the way we planned… as usual.

Taking out my phone, I shoot a quick text to Evie, How are you? How’s my little angel?

Her reply comes pretty fast, considering it’s after midnight where she is. Sleeping like a baby. House alarm set. Pete outside guarding.

Thanks so much, I type. Hope to be back soon.

Any luck with the search?

The guys stop in front of me, and I almost bounce off Mark’s back.

“Let’s go in here,” Joshua says, holding the door for a funky art-deco bar that has murals drawn all over the exterior.

“It doesn’t have any hidden rooms I know of,” he continues, “but a lot of the local kids hang out here. They might know where Candi or Brittanie are tonight.”

My stomach sinks. “You think Brittanie is a part of what’s happening?”

“I don’t know why else Molly would have wanted to go.” His jaw tightens.

We step into the neon-lit bar. It’s crowded, and a DJ behind a raised table at the opposite end of the dance floor plays house music loudly.

“I need a beer,” he says in my ear. “You want anything?”

I shake my head no, and Mark goes to the bar. Evie is waiting on my reply to her text, and I’m trying to decide how to tell her everything with my thumbs. Ultimately, I settle on, Still working. Hope to have more soon.

Good luck, she replies.

Take care of my baby for me. As I type the words, my chest hurts. I miss my little girl so much.

Don’t worry.

I wish that were possible.

“Who are you texting?” Joshua is across from me looking as anxious as I feel.

“A friend. She’s watching our little girl.”

He nods in the direction of the bar. “He’s a good guy. How long have you been together?”

My mind races through the ups and downs of Mark and me, from the day he saved me at the theater to him taking me down the alley for food, to our night on the town, to his attempt to fight off Guy’s men, to our surprise meeting on the train in Canada, to the glorious weeks we spent in Nice when I was pregnant, to him finding me again at Roland’s…

“Almost eight years… sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“It’s so complicated.”

Mark returns carrying two beers. He hands one to Josh. “Figured you could use this.”

Joshua takes it and clinks their glasses. “Thanks. Cheers.”

They take long sips, and the house music seems to grow louder around us. We’re in the middle of a sea of bodies swaying, nodding, or full-on dancing. Lights strobe and flicker in excited patterns, and I’m not feeling any of it.

My lungs are too tight to breathe, and all I can think of is Molly in a deadly situation. Not to mention, we haven’t done what we came here to do, if it’s even possible anymore.

Mark said Gavin only saved the videos that incriminate us. Is it just for insurance in the event we come after him, or is he building a case against us, trying to trap us? We can’t take that chance.

“Want a sip?” Mark holds his beer toward me, and I smile before taking a long gulp.

His warm hand finds my waist, fingers tracing the skin just above my waistband. It gives me comfort in the way only Mark is able to do, and just when I think I’ll go crazy from waiting, Joshua nudges me and lifts his phone.

He studies the face, my heart beating faster, then he types a quick reply.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Candi’s on her way here. She said one of the girls who works with Brittanie at the piercing salon is with her. She might know where they went.”

“They’d be that lax with security?” Mark’s deep voice is near my cheek.

“I doubt it.” Josh takes another sip of beer. “But Brittanie would. She’s pretty immature, talks a lot.”

I cringe at the implication. Of course Molly is all over this situation. It’s her own nightmare replaying in front of her.

Mark’s hand tightens around my waist. “If this piercing chick knows anything, I’d say Gavin is slipping.”

I glance up at him. “Or he’s getting cocky.”

“That’d be great for us. Cocky means careless, and we need them to be careless.”

“Here they are.” Joshua leaves us standing by the bar to go and meet rainbow-haired Candi and another girl, who’s far less colorful.

Piercing girl has a short asymmetrical haircut dyed jet black, and she’s wearing the usual skinny black dress under a long-sleeved flannel shirt, torn black leggings, and combat boots. Her face has an assortment of jewelry, from her lip to her nose, and all along her eyebrow. Joshua seems out of place still dressed in his work clothes.

The three of them talk, but they don’t come to where we’re standing. Candi glances in my direction, but she acts like she doesn’t know me. The other girl never looks our way.

A new song starts, and the group breaks up. Piercing girl heads out to the dance floor, arms over her head. Candi goes to the door and leaves. Joshua returns to where we’re standing.

“They didn’t have a definite location.” Mark lets out a groan, but Josh is undeterred. “But Rhiannon has acted in the club before. She said there’s a tattoo parlor closer to the park with a back room like a speakeasy.”

“Makes sense,” Mark says, and I look up at him wondering why. “If there’s a raid, they can run into the park and escape, or hide.”

“She suggested we head that direction. I’ve got the address here. I’ll text it to you.”

We’re back on the street walking fast past taverns and bistros, past sushi restaurants, and brew pubs. It’s crowded as always, even though a light drizzle has begun. I pull the hoodie over my head and snuggle close to Mark’s side.

“A tattoo shop with a back room?” Mark looks to Joshua, who’s at my other side.

“Not sure they’re one and the same. They could just share the building.” He shakes his head, watching his feet cover ground. “But I don’t know. All of this is new to me.”

We’re getting closer, and we still don’t have a plan for how to get inside. The security on these places is so tight. Mark knows you have to have the right credentials. I’ve only been inside once, and I’d been roofied.

My mind races for anything that could work when I spot a costume shop ahead.

“I have an idea.” I grip Mark’s arm. “You’re not going to like it, but it’s the only thing that will work at this late hour.”

He frowns, but I jog ahead into the elaborately decorated shop. Feather boas, mannequin heads with Pulp Fiction-style wigs in black, blue, hot pink, and rainbow are in the window. I start grabbing supplies.

Ten minutes later, we’re back on the street heading up the last block before we get to the tattoo speakeasy.

“You’re right, I don’t like this.” Mark’s teeth are clenched as he speaks.

“If you have a better idea, I’m all ears. Otherwise, this is the only way.”

Joshua only shakes his head. His jaw has been on the ground since he learned I was a burlesque dancer in New Orleans. Now he just follows my lead.

Stopping at the alley around the corner, I take off the hoodie. “Give me your blazer.”

Josh takes off the grey sharkskin and hands it over. I give him the hoodie, which he pulls over his white dress shirt. He looks more like the Emo kid I’m used to seeing in it.

“Wow,” he says, as I remove the rest of my clothes, leaving me dressed in a black bustier and thigh-high fishnets.

Sky-high black stilettoes complete the look, and I pull the hot pink Pulp Fiction wig over the skullcap stocking on my head. My lips are a deep, sparkling pink, and I’ve painted huge black wings around my eyes.

“I don’t like this at all.” Mark’s eyes are burning.

“I know what I’m doing.” It’s a lie. It’s one of the biggest lies I’ve ever told, but I do have a kernel of an idea. “I know how this place works. I’ll act like I’m supposed to be there, I won’t eat or drink a thing, then when they’re all doing what they do, I’ll see if I can find a door to let you in.”

“Lara…” Mark’s warm hands grip the tops of my shoulders. His blue eyes sear into mine, but he knows I’m right.

We don’t have another choice.

This has to work.

Waves of déjà vu hit me as I walk around the room unrecognized by anyone. It’s two rooms connected by an open wall. In the main one are several hard couches with thin cushions, making it easy to have sex. The décor is the usual black, red, velvet and curtains. Small tables hold finger foods and champagne. It’s very warm, and the scent of sweat and come is in the air.

When I walked down the narrow hallway on the main floor above, the doorman was confused. I didn’t have an invitation. I was at the wrong door for the girls, but I acted like I knew what I was doing. I flirted a bit, which didn’t work, and when I threatened to call Brisbee, he caved and let me inside.

I’m confused by what’s happening, though. It’s not what I expected based on what I’ve seen or what Joshua said I’d find.

The girls are topless, and most are wearing thongs or lace boyshorts and heels… but I don’t see Brittanie anywhere. The women are my age, and the men are bound. They’re clearly getting off on this, moaning and begging… but it’s more of a dominatrix scene.

One man is handcuffed to a chair with a black leather mask over his eyes. A topless woman is on her knees in front of him massaging his dick aggressively fast. Her large breasts sway over his come-covered thighs and lower stomach. He’s moaning and writhing, begging her to stop… then he comes again.

I’m relieved most of the participants are already paired, because I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. It’s some kind of sex-torture. Not wasting time trying to figure it out, I drift through the room looking for Molly, looking for a way to get out—or a way to let Mark in.

Low grunts turn to loud moans, and the women actually seem to be enjoying this experience. I don’t relate to the exhibitionism—it’s not my style. Still… I suppose if what is happening here is legal, if people are into it, I’ll walk away and never think about it again.

Only, that’s not what we know happens in this place. There’s got to be another room, somewhere where…

“Come with us.”

I recognize that voice.

“Are you ready, Daddy? We want to share.”

Her breathy sighs, her soft voice. It’s the same sickly sweet Marilyn she uses when she’s luring them to their deaths. I freeze at the back of the room watching.

Molly isn’t a teen.

She’s no virgin.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’ll lull them into a dream state, a false sense of security. I search her barely clothed body for signs of a weapon. She’s nude except for the red satin boyshorts and black, opera-length gloves.

“Massage or mouth?” She drops to her knees looking up.

The man in front of her is older. He’s not fat like the other ones. He’s lean, a silver fox. “Suck me, and after I come, use your hands.”

“My favorite.” Her voice is playful, and my stomach turns.

Her hands trail up his thighs, and I do my best to stay back, still as a statue. I’m not sure how I’ll get her out of here. I’m not sure what she’s planning to do. Will it be a bloodbath? Does she think she can get away with it?

“I’m so happy it’s our turn to play.” She’s between his legs, getting into position. “What changed?”

She’s fishing. “Brisbee’s coming tonight.”

Ice filters through my veins.

“Just like you’re about to?” She grins, leaning forward to lick her tongue up the shaft of his erection.

Her redheaded partner clicks the handcuffs to the legs of the chair, and slides her fingers down the man’s hairy chest, tweaking his nipples.

He lets out a low groan, adjusting in his seat. “He prefers torture to teenage virgins.”

A younger man passes behind them. His erection wags as his female partner pushes him down on the couch.

“I hate this night,” he groans as she ties his wrists behind him. “I want tight, thirteen-year-old pussy.”

His tone is teasing, and my stomach roils.

Fire sparks in Molly’s eyes, but she emits one of those fake, insipid giggles. “You won’t see me next time. I’m not thirteen.”

“Or a virgin.” Her client leans back against the wall as if succumbing to her spell. “Do it.”

I turn my face. I can’t watch her suck him off. It’s like watching my own child, which I know is ridiculous. I’m only six years older than Molly, but I rescued her from the street when she was only twelve. I took care of her when she was afraid, when she was sick. I can’t look at this, even if I know it’s a means to an end for her.

Loud groans, moans, the creak of furniture as another man cries out. His cock is long and veiny, and he comes hard, coating his legs and his kneeling partner’s breasts. When he’s done, she really gets to work, holding his still-hard dick in one hand and circling her fist fast and tight around his bright pink tip.

His face contorts and he bucks and writhes in the chair, crying for her to stop. She only laughs like a witch in a Halloween show. He keeps struggling and begging, and she keeps going until he comes again.

Their noises coat my skin like fingers. I’m swept up in a cyclone of sex and sweat and torture. Groaning and moaning, their breath is in my ears, their heat blankets my skin like the humidity in the room.

Brittanie isn’t participating tonight. What happens now? How do I get out of here? I’m not going to join, but if I run, I’ll be caught. Who knows what happens then.

The back door I’d been searching for opens, and it doesn’t fucking matter anymore. Gavin walks into the middle of the orgy and crosses his arms, looking around like he’s the Emperor of Madness.

A knot chokes my throat, and I try to disappear behind the curtain. The loud moans, the groans, the post-orgasmic torture continues without pause. He’s not looking for me, and he’s not looking at me. Molly sees him, though. Her lips are smeared and swollen, and she stands slowly, turning to face him.

That’s when he sees her. “Well, who do we have here?”

“Hello, Gavin. Remember me?”

“Molly.” The warmth in his voice makes my skin crawl. “I do… but you’ve changed.”

Molly’s redheaded partner takes her spot, hastily pulling the restrained man’s throbbing cock into her mouth. Molly steps slowly toward Gavin, their eyes locked in what I know is a deadly faceoff.

I’m afraid to move in case one of them sees me. My only hope is the back door isn’t bolted. Would Gavin be that careless? Mark said cocky is a good thing. Cocky means careless.

I pray Gavin has gotten cocky and careless.

Molly’s fingers go to the top of one of her gloves, and she slowly rolls it down. Her bare breasts are round and high on her chest.

“My God,” Gavin hisses. “You are beautiful.”

I have to blink twice, because she is. She’s more mature than I remember, slim body, full breasts, long silver hair curling around her shoulders. She’s sexier than I ever was at her age.

As she walks, her ankles cross, tossing her hips with every step. She moves like a supermodel, until she’s in front of him, blinking and smiling.

“You like what you see, Daddy?” It’s a hushed whisper. “Want me to suck you off then make you come again?”

The man whose dick she was just sucking watches them, his erection deep in the redhead’s throat, and I can tell he’s about to blow.

Gavin cups Molly’s heavy breast, rolling a tight nipple between his fingers. “Amazing,” he muses.

“Will you beg?” Her voice is now a purr. “Will you cry for me to stop?”

“I’ll do more than that.” Gavin’s eyes lock on hers. “If you’re good, I’ll make you a star. You’ll have all the money, the fame. Anything you want will be yours.”

Standing at the back wall, I can’t move. It’s the same promise he made me all those years ago. It’s how he got me to stay at that theater. It’s how he lied to me and ultimately sold me to Guy.

Will she fall for it like I did?

Has she learned? Is she smarter than I was?

She blinks curiously. “If you can do all that, why do this?”

“What can I say?” His lips curl into a smile, eyes shimmering with lust. “I’m just a freak with a fetish.”

The glove is off.

The gun is in her hand.

Her voice is steel. “I’m just a victim seeking vengeance. Time to pay.”

It all happens at once.

Gavin strikes her wrist.

The tiny gun explodes with a staccato pop!

My knees buckle, and I hit the floor as the room erupts into chaos. Women are screaming and running. Men with massive erections are fighting against their restraints, yelling to be untied. A lamp hits the floor with a loud crash, then another one. The room is plunged into half-darkness. It’s chaos, and we’ve got seconds before cops raid this place.

Molly… I have to find Molly.

Gavin is gone, running out the way he came in, and Molly’s man in the chair jerks against his handcuffs, his dick waving like a flagpole.

“Unlock me!” He yells.

The girl who was sucking him off ran after Gavin, out the back door.

“Molly!” I yell through the noise and panic.

I’m on my feet trying to find her.

Through the din, I see her fling open the door of a small closet and rip out a brown trench coat. She jerks it over her shoulders and ties the belt fast before dashing full speed out the door after Gavin.

I scan the rug, looking all around, but I don’t see her gun. I don’t know if she has it or if it was kicked under the furniture in the confusion.

All I know is I’ve got to go after her.

He’ll kill her if she’s not prepared.