"Thank you."
He opens the door, and the music behind it assaults my ears.
Shrinking myself to pass him, anticipation swells in my stomach, making my legs and hands shake.
The maroon and deep blue lights bounce off the walls, highlighting every inch in a stunning array of color, nearly as dark as the outside world.
Music shakes the ground beneath my feet until I can feel it sinking into my bones, making me as much a part of the scenery as the sound itself.
A large stage takes up the center of the room, the main show, a local band, already beginning their set.
And as much as I love an intimate concert, tonight I need something a little more potent.
So I make my way to the bar to the far left, leaning my hip against it to wait for the bartender's attention.
"Upstairs or down tonight, Miss Danaan?" Stella asks, popping up from behind the bar with a grin on her face and a different shaker in each hand. Her jet-black, pin-straight hair, pulled up in a crisp, long ponytail, swings behind her.
"Down," I answer. "And a martini, when you get a chance?"
She nods, “I’ll send it to your usual spot.” Continuing her mission, she makes a handful more drinks, handing me a navy blue wristband when she has a free moment.
I shout my gratitude, hoping she can hear me over the dull roar of the crowd around us.
The door at the back of the room draws my attention, my pulse thrumming at the thought of what I might see back there tonight.
I leave my coat, phone, and wallet in a locker as required before flashing my wristband.
With a nod, the armed security guard opens the steel door, standing aside to let me through, not taking his eyes off the room at my back.
A dark hallway with stairs and walls of concrete welcomes me, and the sound of a crowd cheering pulls me down at double speed, my heart pounding.
When the hall opens up into a grand room, mirroring the one above but with a completely different kind of stage, every hair on my body stands on end, chills zipping across my skin in anticipation.
Rows and rows of seats, some with tables and some without, all coalesce into looking over an octagonal cage spanning at least 20 feet, possibly more.
Already, the floor of the ring is smeared with blood, making mine pump harder as I reach my seat. I sink into the plush black chair I've become familiar with, ready to watch a night of depravity.
Within moments, one of the servers drops my drink on the table next to me, a maroon napkin with the nameMinglestamped in gold.
It wouldn't be fair to call the bar above acover, exactly. It does well on its own. But a few of us know what this place is really for, how it makes the exorbitant amount of money it does.
And as the next fighters are called out, and the first punch is thrown, I settle in to enjoy the single indulgence I allow myself for the next few hours.
Chapter 3
Modus Operandi
CORMAC
Seven.
Seven tattoos.
Most notably, of course, is the vampire bat, utterly terrifying, mouth open as if readying to take a bite from its victim, wings spread wide and wrapping around the sides of my neck.
My chest and ribs are littered with different mythological creatures. Some I can name, some I can’t.
My left hand has the first one I noticed before, but my right is bare. I even have a couple on my thighs, though I haven't had the time to thoroughly look them over.
