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“Enjoy your evening,” one of them greeted.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hopeful I’d find something out about who was behind this and who took my girl. If they so much as put a finger on her, I’d make them choke on their own cocks before I put them to ground for touching what’s mine.
Her cell phone was still dead, and I didn’t know where she lived. I literally just knew her first name, and although she had a following through her career, there was no other information about her. She didn’t have social media. My GM only made her sign a contract that required a signature, which she signed as Duchess. It wasn’t like he paid any attention to it. It was a club, meaning it was a revolving door for new and old employees.
The few pictures I found of her online weren’t much and didn’t lead anywhere either. I even called Ricardo from the Cuban restaurant where I ran into her. He didn’t know who I was talking about. He saw so many tourists come in and out, it was hard for him to keep track of one specific young girl.
The guard signaled toward the large doors of what appeared to be a nineteenth-century Gothic-style mansion with high pointed peaks that formed a steepled roof, ascending toward the dark sky. Windows upon windows took over the front exterior, reaching three or four stories high. You couldn’t see where the estate started or where it ended.
It was rare to find an entire manor constructed of old rustic concrete and stone in Venezuela, but here we are. Someone paid a shitload of money to make this happen. Old-century architecture at its finest, giving off an eerie vibe before you even step foot inside. It was the only fucking point of owning this type of estate. A property like this was bought for one reason alone—complete and utter privacy, used for anything goes.
I walked over the threshold into an immense foyer laced with floor-to-ceiling intricate dark mahogany woodwork, housing the most dramatic grand staircase I’d ever seen that split at the top. A huge Gothic-style chandelier with real burning candles hung above my head, illuminating the menacing lure of the space. It cast shadows off the two sculpted eagles perched on their own pillars that guarded the stairs.
All this only fueled my rampant thoughts of all the fucked-up shit that could easily go down behind these closed doors. Though the scent of expensive cigars, sophisticated cologne, and designer perfume caught my attention the most. It screamed nothing but cold, hard cash.
No doubt it was blood money.
The whole decor and allure of this place was ominous and demoralizing. Every room had the same theme throughout—a haunting, leering feeling of being watched. Death peered around every corner you turned. To the point you could practically breathe in the souls being dragged to hell, clawing at your feet to join them. I could sense these jaded walls had witnessed more torturous brutality than I cared to think about.
I grabbed a drink at the bar, looking for the reason I was even here, but I didn’t find her or anyone else familiar since everyone was in costume and wearing a mask. Among the lavishly dressed groups of people, pussy and violence were in the air.
It was distinctive.
You’d never forget the feeling.
“Sir, welcome. Would you like me to escort you to the main event?” a busty brunette asked, bringing my attention to her.
“Main event?”
“Correct, sir. It has already begun.”
I nodded, setting down my drink on the bar. “Lead the way.”
She smiled, gesturing toward the adjacent hall under a large archway to another connecting room. I followed her closely, caught off guard when she steered us to the backyard, exiting the back of the manor. She started walking toward a set of uneven concrete stairs with dark stone walls lined with moss, leading us to an underground space.
Right when I walked into the sordid place, my mind started racing, thinking this might be a setup. I had no idea what the fuck I was about to walk into.
She opened a steel door at the bottom of the stairs and gestured to another set of doors, indicating this was my moment of truth.
Walking into the gates of purgatory was my only hope.
I arched an eyebrow, mirroring her devious stare. “This is where the party is?”
“Yes, sir. This is it.”
“Any idea what I’m about to walk into?”
She smiled. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Instead of giving it a second thought, I moved past her and winked, taking the steps down two at a time with my thoughts suddenly shifting to Sloan.
Now, I’d seen some fucked-up shit in my time and been involved in even worse shit, but as I walked through the dark, dingy, narrow stairway surrounded by black walls into what appeared to be a shitty basement, I never imagined seeing anything quite like this.
The smell of sex mixed with fresh blood was high in the air as dim lighting surrounded the cold dungeon. I imagined this was what hell looked like. You could practically feel the seediness of it all as demons played their sick and twisted games.
Crowds of people stood around in a large, open circle dressed to the motherfucking nines, not a hair out of place on any of them. The men wore tuxedos, smoking and drinking, while the women wore thousands of dollars in jewelry and gowns. They wreaked havoc in a cellar they wouldn’t be caught dead in if it were broad daylight.
Their bodies moved with the same momentum of the adrenaline coursing through their veins, flowing in the sordid air. Some had wads of cash in their hands, strenuously pumping their arms out in front of them.
