I found the heavy-handed asshole on a chaise sofa facing the stage, a flower girl strewn over his lap as he licked chocolate syrup off her breasts.
Another male sat across from him, identical in physical appearance. Even with their alarming resemblance, they couldn’t have had more conflicting auras.
The first was volatile and unpredictable; pale scruffy hair, expensive suit creased and sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Whereby his counterpart was the image of polished precision; black, vibrant hair impeccably slicked back, each button and stitch of his suit in perfect alignment. The only abnormality was the piece of thin silver dangling from his pierced ear. He ignored everyone and everything in the room, including the duo that canoodled across from him. He was rigid and unapproachable, difficult to read—even for me.
I placed the drink on the glass side table and turned to leave. Fucked if I was going to interrupt and ruin a girl’s pay check. Before I could disappear, a fresh lick of fear danced down my spine. I sucked in a breath and contemplated my options.
To stay or leave?
A pained groan released from the mahogany-skinned woman wedged between his legs. He held a firm hand over her forehead, while the other lined her jaw, grip so tight he had her pinned, bruises sure to leave a mark.
“Lily, you’re needed in the pink room,” I said. At least it wasn’t hard to guess her pseudonym.
Lily detangled herself and squeezed my hand, purple eyes flashing in gratitude.
Why am I such a pussy these days?
“All rooms are pink,” he said, challenging my order. He knew I was full of shit.
I gave a timid smile. “She knows which one.”
Lily nodded in reply as I ushered her away. I didn’t get the chance to follow.
“Come here,” he ordered. I stepped forward.
“Closer,” he reprimanded, flicking his fingers until I was bent directly over him.
I knew what was coming, not that it helped. I could have blocked the advance and squished his hairy balls until he squealed like a pig. Unfortunately, a pitfall of the job was to stay in character, and I was ever the professional. Forcing my muscles not to react, I took the hit. He backhanded me so hard that I landed on my knees between his feet, the imprint of his slap ingrained into my fucking cheek.
“I’m glad you sent her away,” he purred, nuzzling my hair out of my face. “She wasn’t strong enough to handle me. You are, though, aren’t you Rose Petal?”
I kept my eyes on the ground, knowing that’s what he wanted.
My humiliation, my surrender, my pain.
“I like to give pain, so much pain. And my brother here, he likes to give pleasure,” he continued to stroke my hair, whispering in a placating tone. “Once I’ve finished taking you apart, he’ll put you back together again. Make you whole.”
“I’m fully booked tonight.”
His fingers tightened, my scalp screaming from the tension. “I will have you.”
To alleviate the sting, I grasped his hand, ready to snap it the fuck off, then stiffened. My fingertips brushed against a small-circled brand raised on the inside of his wrist and an involuntary gasp escaped me at the unexpected find.
Out of nowhere, the polished brother opposite pinpointed his attention in our direction, the first and only time he’d pitched his interest towards anything. His stoic mask hardly cracked, dark brown eyes flat and hollow as they slithered over our position. He simply raised an eyebrow to his brother, whose fingers still remained in the roots of my hair.
In one glance, they held a full conversation without expressing a single word. The telepathic communication of siblings was all too familiar amid me and mine.
The violent sadist was a predictable beast, one I had conquered numerous times. Though the other was an intimidating monster all on his own, purely on the basis that I couldn’t sense anything. Not because he was blocking me with his own Variant, but more that he was so unfeeling that he felt nothing. Nothing at all.
The pale-haired brute shoved me to the ground, his gaze never wavering from his brother’s. “Fucking leave us.”
I didn’t give him a chance to reconsider, disappearing before either of them could break eye contact.
I had to find Emerson. The plan had changed.
Emerson was exactly where she was supposed to be, situated at the large, industrial kitchen sink.
She was disguised as a dishwasher boy, her female curves easily cloaked beneath her oversized mens’ clothing. An additional apron was thrown on top and her long, sunkissed hair was wrapped tightly in a filthy chef’s hat. Most impressive was her slumped posture and clumsy movements. She really did pass for a lanky teenager.
“Come here, boy, I have a job for you,” I said. She nodded fervently, tripping over her own feet to keep up with my long strides.
We slipped into a shadowed alcove, Emerson leaning against the far wall. “What happened to your face?”
“I’ve got it sorted.” She raised an eyebrow and I rolled my eyes. “Let’s fast forward the plan, before I end up killing every single fucking person in this place.”
She snickered, reaching into her pocket and raising the bag of Haze Dust. It was empty.
“You spiked the food already?”
“You’d be surprised how many of these morons come to a female brothel looking for something of the sausage variety,” she huffed. “I’m never disguising myself as a boy again.”
I pouted. “But Meek, you’re so convincing.”
“Well, due to that, there’s a couple of bodies stashed in the back of the walk-in freezer, ‘cause they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.”
“How many?”
