“What do you know about them?” I ask.
They both fall into a long silence.
The first woman tips her chin up. “If you don’t already know, you don’t need to.”
The friend glances toward the door, then back. “Trust me.”
As soon as I’m about to ask more, they’re next in line. The man in that red devil’s mask scans theirs and lets them passthrough the glass doors. Inside, I catch a flash of a chandelier and velvet sofas before they’re swallowed by the crowd.
They step into an elevator, and the doors slide shut.
Then it’s my turn. The same man scans my mask and a soft beep sounds.
“Phone.”
“What?”
“You have phone in bag, yes?” His thick Russian accent carries a bite.
“Oh. Yeah. I have to hand it in?”
He nods once. “Da. You get it after you are done.”
Clearly, I have no choice. Digging the phone out of my bag, I hand it over, hating that I have to. If something goes wrong in there, I’m on my own.
He drops it into a clear bag and writes a number on it that probably matches whatever’s coded into my mask.
“Do not remove your mask inside.”
I nod again, not trusting my voice.
“Go.” He motions toward the door, and I slip inside fast, where a woman immediately steps into my path. She’s in a fitted black gown that skims every curve, a slim red collar sitting snug at her throat.
Without a word, she reaches past me to press the elevator button. I stay close to her, tension humming under my skin as I try to guess what’s waiting for me upstairs. When the doors glide open, she tips her chin toward the car, letting me step in first.
As the elevator climbs, my heartbeat ramps up with it, each number lighting and changing overhead like a countdown I can’t stop watching.
“Once you arrive, check in at the table located to the left,” she finally says. “Do not enter through the main doors. That is for club participants only.”
“Okay.”
Trust me, I have no desire to participate, lady.
When the elevator finally slows, I swear the air leaves my lungs.
I can’t back out now. All I can do is hang on to my one desperate hope that Kirill is the one who wins and keeps this from turning into something I can’t undo.
The doors slide open and I step out alone, the woman in the black gown staying inside as the elevator closes and carries her back down.
Straight ahead, two men in plain black masks stand guard at the doors she warned me about, and to my left, a coat check sits tucked against the wall like it belongs in a hotel. A few steps beyond it, a small check-in table waits, the woman behind it already assisting a few others, her red collar flashing when she turns her head.
I head toward her just as the two women she was helping glance back over their shoulders, their white masks trimmed with lace and feathers. I wonder what auction they’re here for.
“Hi,” the woman says. “Checking in?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out mousy.
My gaze catches on her collar again, realizing it’s identical to the one the elevator woman wore. Maybe all the employees wear them.
