Chapter 15

Julian arrived at The Raven Room earlier than he thought he would.

He paused, taking in the vibe of the club. He never ventured more than a couple of steps inside before taking in the scene around him: identifying the genre of music being played, smelling which aromas mingled with the defining scent of the club. The time he took to observe his surroundings, short as it was, always revealed to him what he might expect from the night ahead.

Before he moved into the crowd, Julian flexed his toes inside his black leather shoes. He felt the silky touch of his dress socks against the soles of his feet. He gave the left sleeve of his suit a brisk tug, then the right, making sure the crisp, high thread count white dress shirt didn’t poke too far past the cuffs of his jacket. He glanced at the new timepiece on his wrist. On his drive to the club, he realized he had forgotten his watch at home and tonight, because he had an appointment he couldn’t be late for, he needed to keep track of time.

That forced him to stop at a small Chinese gift shop on South Wentworth Avenue and purchase an analog watch in the only style they had. With its circular white face set against a silver-tone case and black synthetic leather strap, he liked the watch, as long as he forced himself to ignore the colorful Hello Kitty graphics.

Noting the time, Julian tucked the watch under his shirt cuff. If he stayed away from the lower floor, which he intended to, he had thirty minutes to watch strangers have sex, or sit by the bar and drink more than he should. Neither sounded appealing to him.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the large vintage mirror. He looked confident and in control—the magic of a good suit.

As he reached the second floor, a woman in black lingerie ran into his arms. Half of his whiskey landed on her breasts.

“We’re playing a game,” she said, flustered and out of breath. “Want to join?” She wiped the whiskey off her skin and brought her fingers to her lips, sucking on them with a smile.

“Sure.” Julian sounded more resigned than excited. He yearned for a distraction from what he had come to the club to do.

“Yes!” she shouted, taking his glass away. She reached for his hand.

Julian let her lead him into the Basilisk, the smallest room in the club. There were several people lounging around, draped over large leather couches and chairs, smoking hookahs. The flavored tobacco enveloped him.

“The rules are simple.” The woman covered Julian’s eyes with a blindfold. “You move around the room. You belong to the first person you touch.”

The lighting, coming from several electrical lamps made to look like gas flames on old light fixtures, didn’t permeate the thick fabric of the blindfold. Julian found himself thrown into complete darkness.

“One more thing,” she said, loud enough for everyone around them to hear.

“Before we start, you need to choose the sexual act.”

“Oral sex,” he replied.

“Receiving or giving?”

“Receiving.”

Before he knew it he was spun around, her hands moving on his waist and, as fast as she had started, she stopped.

“Off you go,” she said with a laugh. “May the Basilisk offer you great pleasure.”

With hesitation, Julian started to move around the room. He heard laughter, encouragements, voices telling him to move here or there, promises of great oral sex, descriptions, in graphic detail, of what would be done to him.

He didn’t pay attention to any of it. Instead, he took refuge in the darkness offered to him by the blindfold, in the strong tobacco scent scorching his lungs. With Sofia forever gone, his relationship with Meredith collapsing, and an emotionally unstable Tatiana making him confront his past, he wanted to evade the sorrow that consumed him.

Julian’s legs touched the edge of one of the couches and he reached out, his hand coming in contact with an arm. He didn’t move. He felt a glimmer of anticipation.

“Sit down,” he heard a masculine voice say.

Julian didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself onto the sofa. While he couldn’t see who had just kneeled at his feet, the sound of someone unzipping his suit pants, the sensation of an unknown person reaching inside his boxer briefs and pulling out his cock, carried a message that spoke to Julian’s basic nature. He had felt a man’s hands on his body before. The touch carried a weight, a hardness that commanded Julian to surrender himself to the pleasure of it.

Julian didn’t have an erection, but the man at his feet showed no discouragement. He forced Julian’s legs further apart and licked the sensitive head of his member, which grew exposed as Julian’s arousal heightened. As soon as Julian felt the man’s moist lips close on him, Julian let his hands rest on the couch. Pleasure spread through him and he dug his fingers into the soft leather. The tempo of the music had slowed and the man’s movements matched the rhythm of the sounds reverberating through the space.

The man took him deep into his mouth and a wave of satisfaction shot up Julian’s spine, forcing him to arch his back. As he thrust further, the man’s throat accepted more of his erection. His hips shot off the couch and a pair of strong hands pulled him even closer to open lips. Julian felt stubble rub below his cock, and the discomfort of it, mixed with the softness of an eager mouth, intensified his release. His loud moan resembled a cry.

Julian’s body shuddered when he felt warm breath fan his temple.

“You have a gorgeous cock.” Julian heard the smile in the man’s voice. “And the prettiest watch I’ve seen.”

Julian remained seated, his head resting on the back of the couch. He took a series of deep breaths. His body still shook.

Julian removed the blindfold, but the man was gone. The spectators, too. They were already focused on a new game. Zipping up his suit pants, Julian got to his feet and left the room.

Checking his watch, he took the second staircase to the third floor. It was time. Instead of entering the only room on that level, the Black Dragon, Julian made his way to the bathroom. He found it empty. Like the rest of the club, no detail had been overlooked. Invisible speakers filled the space with mellow jazz tunes, and vases with fresh cut white peonies sat on the large vanity, which was made of the same marble with dramatic gray veining as the floor. The wainscoting, together with the royal blue wallpaper and its gold details, contributed to the regal ambience. An elaborate vintage-looking chandelier—an art piece—made of filament amber light bulbs, hung from the ceiling. No person stood in that bathroom and didn’t feel a little bit richer, a little bit more beautiful.

Julian approached the larger private stall at the opposite end of the bathroom. He pulled out his key and pressed it against an unmarked spot on the tiled wall adjacent to the door. As soon as he did, the wood door unlocked. Julian turned the handle, opened the large door, and he entered the stall. With no toilet, it turned out to be an empty space. After closing the door behind him, he scanned the key again on the wall inside the stall, and a hidden door slid open. He climbed a set of narrow, rusty metal stairs, until he found himself above ground.

The smell hit him first—cooked meat, roasted skin, and boiled fish—a mix of scents so strong that Julian held his breath. And the heat. He started to sweat almost immediately. The relentless commotion of a small, hectic, twenty-four hour kitchen swirled around him.

No one paid attention to Julian as he passed through. He had to dodge several sharp elbows. If he lingered, the odor of fried food would cling to him and nothing short of throwing his clothes in the washer and showering would make it go away.

Julian walked down a poorly lit serpentine corridor with patched-up walls that had once been painted white. He stopped when he reached a closed office door at the end of the hall. Although he appeared in control, Julian felt nervous. Without a surface to drum his fingers on—something he did every time anxiety consumed him—he ran his fingers through his hair instead.

Julian checked his watch. Right on time. As soon as he knocked, he was told to enter.

“You’re always punctual.” From behind the desk, Vincent spoke in perfect Mandarin. “It’s the reason I like you.”

He had been in that office often throughout the years, and even though they weren’t equals, Julian knew he held more power than the man smiling at him liked to admit.

“I want to place an order,” Julian replied in Mandarin. He hoped his discomfort wasn’t obvious. He had received instructions when he booked the appointment, but he had never done this before.

Vincent smiled. “What’s the special occasion?”

“It’s a private party.”

“How many?”

“One.”

“When do you want it delivered?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Flawless parties take time to organize.”

“OK. When the timing is right. But before the end of the month.”

“You know the menu. What dishes would you like?”

Julian glanced at the cheap desk. There were no papers, no computer, no picture frames. Besides the desk and the two rickety chairs they sat on, the room looked bare. There were also no windows. Only a large, exposed fluorescent light tube on the ceiling. Both he and Vincent looked out of place.

“The house special. I want a receipt.”

“This order will be added to your profile.”

Julian nodded.

The smell of food filled the room and, being less pungent than in the kitchen, Julian caught himself salivating.

“Guest of honor?”

Julian reached inside his pant pocket and pulled out a tissue. He then removed a small piece of paper from his coat pocket, making sure the tissue worked as a barrier between his fingers and the paper.

He placed it in the middle of the table and returned the tissue to his pocket. “Picture and details.”

Vincent covered the paper with his hand and pulled it toward him. Without looking at it, he slid it inside his own pocket. “Thank you for your business.”

Julian got up and exited the room without looking back. He had just ordered Steven Thompson’s death.