Page 133 of The Cannibal

As much as the man irritated me, he was no more annoying than my own brother, and over time, he’d felt more like a sibling to myself and the Host girls. Just as John was a secondary father, Luka had been adopted into this mess of a family too, but not without a little friction.

I was not a frequent smoker due to a sensitive mouth, but by God did I crave one now more than ever.

My new outfit was more proper for walking in moderate weather. I stepped outside, hoping to find a man willing to part with a single light.

Lo and behold.

My brother stood beside a pile of burnt-out roaches, sipping on another one slowly. He was in such casual clothes, no jacket or vest. His sleeves rolled up to his forearms and his suspenders exposed like he was just some man on the construction job next door.

“Have one to spare?” I leaned against the brick next to him, staring down at our shoes that kept the pile of butts company.

He took the one from his mouth and passed it to me.

I pinched the roll, inhaling deeply before I felt the burn in my lungs, making me cough. As I covered my mouth, he swiped it back.

He side-eyed me as I caught my breath, leaning back against the wall while my throat recovered. I caught a small smirk.

“We should go somewhere.” I tilted my head at him.

He raised a brow as he tapped the ash from the cigarette. “Like where?”

“Somewhere fun.” I shrugged. “I just feel like we don’t spend enough time together. We are both so busy. We never do time like we used to.”

“I thought I was an annoyance to your dainty sensibilities?” he said casually.

“Your company is nice when you are in the mood to be pleasant.” I dragged my shoe against the dusty sidewalk. “You’re thoughtful with your conversations when no one is looking.”

He seemed to ponder it, extinguishing the last of the roach on the floor.

“I can think of a place,” he hummed, “but it’s a bit early.”

“Does it matter when you have all the time in the world?” I teased. “Where is it?”

He shrugged, taking a stride in the opposite direction along the walkway.

“Wait!” I shouted.

“Keep up!” he called over his shoulder, but he picked up the pace on purpose.

It was filthy, degenerate, and perfect.

It wasn’t too far of a walk, but my lungs gave me grief between the quality of the air and the heat of the day. After several blocks, we cut through an alley and down the outdoor access to a basement.

It didn’t look to be much on the outside, a simple metal entrance opening to a cellar door.

But once you pushed it open, the scene was transformed.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The smells of smoke and herbs flooded the space. Not a single natural light snuck its way through. Lamps dotted the dark cave of a club, the tables and the ceilings. It was a good old-fashioned Den.

My hands vibrated with excitement. I kept close to him as he moved to the bar. They were mixing blood with all sorts of things—liquor, tinctures, other substances I was too inexperienced to name.

It felt so dirty, exhilarating. I felt like such a vixen, part of the crowd that was undeniably fashionable and underground. I should have explored out of my element more. Though I didn’t feel I matched the environment too well. Stuck out like a sore thumb.

All the lamps were shrouded in red, the entire room painted crimson with a few exceptions of azure littered between.

Silas spoke to the tender, but I heard not a word from the other conversations scattered about. In one corner there was a man with several women surrounding him. In the opposite corner, a woman with many men around her, listening intensely without interruption. Other couples dotted the conversation nooks and left in groups to the back rooms.

Something cold hit my hand on the bar.