Page 36 of The Masked King

“Does my entrance fee get halved every time you ask a question?”

Her lips curve into a distinctive smile in the glow of the flashlight, and I realize that she isn’t as old as she appears to be at first glance. Her silver hair is still thick, but her skin is unlined, and there’s a steely tension to the set of her jaw. She’s on the door for a reason: she can take care of herself and anyone who gives her hassle.

“That’s not how it works.” The smile vanishes as quickly as it appears.

I tap the card reader with my credit card. This might go down in history as the most expensive fucking entrance fee to a club ever, and there’s still no guarantee that Nyx will be free tonight. The light above her door has been red for the last three nights.

Maybe another client feels he has the monopoly on her time. Maybe she’s been sick and the room was empty all along, in which case they could put a fucking sign up or get Ms. Flashlight here to warn visitors before they part with their dollars. Or maybe this is some sick fucking joke at my expense, and the people behind closed doors are laughing all the way to the bank.

When I dismissed my driver, Luis, and got a taxi here tonight, I told myself this was it. Last try. If the light is still red, I’ll walk out the other side and I won’t come back.

But I lied to myself.

Whatever game this is, whichever one of us is in control, it’s what’s getting me through the day. The promise of coming here and maybe spending time with her, maybe not. The thrill of not knowing. The smell of her perfume, and the touch of that almost-garment she was wearing, and the sound of her voice: they all make me feel something.

Standing here in my socks while I hand over my shoes, the blood is pumping around my veins and reminding me that I’m alive.

“Have you had a wager on how many times I’ll come back before I give up?” I ask as she hands over the familiar mask.

She’s good. We’re not alone in the foyer, someone else always fastens the straps at the back of my head, but her eyes never waver from mine.

“You won’t give up, so it would be an easy win for me.”

I smile. I don’t know why I’m delaying the inevitable. Perhaps a tiny part of me still hopes that if there’s a client with Nyx, they’ll get their fix and move on. Or maybe I’m already resigned to going back to my apartment and sleeping in the guest room with a bottle of brandy, no closer to figuring out the rules of the game.

I’m about to cover my face with the mask when she says, “You know what I would tell you if you were my son?”

That stings. The ache of losing my parents when I was just a kid dulls sometimes, but it always flares up again when I least expect it. Like now. A hug from my mom could fix everything, and I can almost feel her arms around me as if it were only yesterday I last saw her.

“I love you, son?” I shrug. “Even when you’re making a complete ass of yourself.”

She laughs now, a throaty sound that matches the shadows on her face caused by the flashlight. Then, as if cut off by the sudden realization that she shouldn’t interact with the clients, she stops, and the silence becomes denser than it was before.

“You know she isn’t real, right?” Her eyes bore into mine.

“I know Nyx isn’t real.”

Her hand clamps around my wrist, almost as tightly as the metal bracelet I’m given to wear while I’m here. “Don’t go getting any ideas that you can change that.”

“I won’t.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Maybe it has something to do with the line of work you’re in.”

Her lips twitch again, but it would appear she no longer finds me entertaining. “If you’re looking for more, I’m sure it could be arranged.” She barely pauses before snapping, “Mask!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mask, or I’ll have you removed.” Her expression is stony, and I can’t tell if it’s real or if she knows exactly where to place the flashlight for maximum effect.

I cover my face with the mask, and the fingers behind me fasten them nimbly like they’re on a timer to keep me moving. Get the visitor out or the room will implode.

Curiosity might’ve killed the cat, but it hasn’t stopped me yet and dropping a hint like that is like waving a red flag in front of me. “What did you mean, if I want more. More what? How do I go about getting it arranged?”

I don’t want more women. I don’t even want to take it further with Nyx because the reality will never live up to the illusion. I simply want to understand what she’s offering, because I get the sense this is what JADED is really all about, and these rooms are little more than a precursor to the main event.

“You don’t get it arranged,” she says as the door clicks open. “Goodbye, Brian.”