Page 31 of The Masked King

Thirty seconds pass, maybe longer—the mask and the darkness are no less disorienting than they were the first time I was here—when a voice reaches my ears: “Choose a door.”

I peer left and right. I can’t see anyone, but my senses are on high alert because I’m being watched.

“I’m waiting for Nyx.” My voice bounces around inside my skull along with my breathing which is suddenly erratic and too loud.

“Choose a door or leave.” The voice is distorted like my own, like Nyx’s, and anger sparks inside my chest at the exaggerated theatricals.

The novelty is wearing off, and I’m angry with myself for not having the patience to stick with it. I could enter another room. I could play the same game with Venus or Aphrodite or Calypso, or I could play one of an infinite number of erotic games with whoever is sitting behind a different door.

But that isn’t why I’m here.

My playboy days ended when I met Demi and I discovered that one woman was all I needed, provided it was the right woman.

“I paid to see Nyx.”

I wait for the voice to repeat the choose-a-door-or-leave command.

But instead, I hear too late the click of a door from the opposite end of the corridor through which I entered. I face the sound as strong arms grab me and drag me away from Nyx.

“I paid my entry fee.” I try to wrench my arms free, but these fuckers’ fists are made of steel. “There’s no rule against waiting for a green light.”

The door closes behind us, but no lights come on. What is it with this place and operating in the darkness? Did they refuse to pay the energy bill before they opened?

My heart plummets as my feet leave the ground and I’m dragged down a staircase, the only indication that we’re descending, my brain’s instinct to lean backward to over-compensate for the movement. At the bottom, I’m slammed face-first against a wall. My nose stings, despite the protection of the leather mask, and my eyes water, but their grip remains vice-like as someone else unfastens the straps at the back of my head.

Cool air brushes my clammy face. They finally release me as my cell, wallet, and shoes are shoved into my hands, and an external door opens directly in front of me.

I peer all around, but no one is there.

I’m alone.

Stepping outside into the alleyway, I slide my feet into my shoes, pocket my belongings, and straighten my shoulders.

I’m not leaving until I’ve seen Nyx.

JADED and I entered a business transaction when they took my money, and I’m here to claim the service they promised to provide. The club’s management may have made no provisions for a client waiting area, but that isn’t my problem.

More than that though, my chest feels hollow knowing that she was on the other side of a door, and I didn’t get to spend time with her. I didn’t get to hear her voice or smell her perfume or play the game with her that we started forty-eight hours ago.

Is that all it was?

It feels as if Nyx has always been there waiting for me.

Disoriented, I use my cell GPS to find my way back to the club’s entrance. But when I get there and press the buzzer, the door remains shut.

I try again, and nothing happens. I bang on the door with my fists, and no one responds. When I step backwards into the road and peer at the building, it’s in total darkness as if the club never existed.

8

DEMI

Brian doesn’t come back the next night.

I divide my time alternating between listening for voices and sounds of movement within the building and thinking about him, the man behind the mask.

No one comes to the door.

I have no clients.