I follow her gaze out the window to where Dex and Cal stand with another man sandwiched between them. He’s tall with graying hair and glasses, but even from over here, he’s radiating with smugness, cocky and proud.
“What's wrong?” I ask when I see how wide her eyes are. “Do you know him?”
She swallows, and I notice her hand shaking as she lifts her glass to her lips and drains the last of the tequila.
“He's a real dick.” She says, failing to suppress a shudder. “He was a client of mine. A fucking sadist if I ever saw one. The last time I saw him…”
I notice the tears in her eyes and wrap an arm around her, pulling her against me so that if anyone looks our way, they won't be able to identify her. Cal identifiesme, though. His eyes catch mine through the glass as Dex and the man discuss something, and I nod my head at Dex, hoping Cal understands what I'm getting at.
“He's not going to hurt you.” I promise her as Cal nods, surreptitiously, for Dex's gaze to follow. I see him nod in farewell to the stranger, and Cal shepherds him toward the bar, deep in conversation.
“What's wrong?” Dex breathes, panic evident in his tone as he strides across the arcade like there's a fire to be put out.
“That guy you were with.” I say. “She knows him.”
That's all I have to say for Dex's face to sour, and then he pulls her against his chest, and she lets him. “Let's get out of here, hmm?”
I see her nod, and Dex turns his gaze toward me.
“Thank you.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, trying not to let myself think of what could have her so upset that seeing him would cause a physical reaction. I decide I'm not going to go out of my way to find out.
If Katrina says he's a sadist, then he's worth avoiding. It's why I escort them to the elevator and then go to the bar for a refill of my drink. I don't go near Cal, simply nodding to acknowledge him before I step onto the elevator, too.
There's a lot to explore. When they'd explained their place to me, they'd said it wasn't just a theater. And they were right.
To my surprise, each floor is different from the others. While floor seven had a bar and an arcade, floor eight has a koi pond and garden, floor nine has a VR theater and a restaurant that smells sinfully delicious, and floor ten has a bunch of individual rooms like suites, all of them marked on the outside with a numeral carved on a silver plate.
To my surprise, tonight hasn’t been as bad as I anticipated. I stand at the glass rail that wraps around the floor, watching the sea of people moving on the ground floor below. Most of them seem content to stay down there snatching up hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne, and it’s been helpful to acclimate slowly.
I don’t feel caged in Cal’s apartment, but being out here, in the real world? It feels oddly liberating, like maybe I can learn to live again. I allow myself to imagine a life as Cal’s wife, coming to these functions dressed like I’m one of them only to go home and let my husband fuck me like a proper whore. The thought makes me smile as I finish off the rest of my drink.
With my drink freshly emptied, I decide to meander back toward Cal.
The tenth floor looks like one that isn't meant for wandering, anyway. And now that I’m faced with the empty halls, I feel strangely vulnerable up here, like I'm doing something wrong.
I'm heading back toward the elevator after a quick walk around the main circuit when a door opens up ahead of me.
I don't know why I do it, but something tells me to stay out of the way, so I tuck myself into the alcove of another suite, my heartbeat threatening to break out of my chest as I wait for them to leave.
“Garrett's in for a shock, then.” Someone laughs.
“He ought to know better.” Another man says.
A chill steals into my lungs, the uncomfortable sensation of recognition slipping down my spine. The voice is familiar, but I don't know where from. It’s like being doused in ice water, though, a cold that sinks straight to the bone.
And despite the cold, it makes my palms sweat and my chest feel like it's being squeezed in a vise.
“The bull's given him plenty of chances, and he's given us nothing.”
It's a new voice that speaks, another one that I recognize. But this time, it's not the voice itself that makes me feel like the world is closing in around me, the walls collapsing. It's the word... the word used as a name.
The bull.
I stumble away from the corner, pressing myself deeper into the recess of the door I'm standing in front of.
I don't want to make a break for it and draw attention to myself, so I try the handle for the door just in front of me. It doesn’t move, just rattles the slightest bit as it tries to turn only to find the lock is engaged.
