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Blake looked down at himself and raised a brow. “You don’t think Hades will appreciate my manly physique?”
“Not particularly, no,” Ford said dryly.
Blake huffed a breath and went to put on some clothes.
He paused near Annalise’s bedchamber, his hand hovering over the door handle. He wanted to walk to her, place a soft kiss on her forehead, and watch her sleep, just for a little while. But he didn’t want to risk waking her. She needed her rest.
Besides, he would see her soon enough. So he shuffled past her room and got ready for the long night ahead.
* * *
Several minutes later, washed, shaved, and appropriately dressed by his valet, Blake was in his carriage with Ford. They stopped in front of a dark establishment with a black iron door.
Hades hell was an exclusive membership club, and it wasn’t easy to get in. The place didn’t look like much from the outside, but the inside was a different matter altogether.
Blake rapped on the door, and a moment later, they were let inside.
This was the first time Blake had come into the Hades hell after his return. The place seemed unchanged. It was filled to the brim with gentlemen drinking alcohol, flirting with the wenches of the house, and gambling. This was just a facade. Blake knew that a lot more precarious things were going on behind the scenes of the gaming hell. It was a brothel, a facade for the smuggling operation, and more things Blake didn’t even know about.
Two burly men appeared in front of them. Blake paused, his hair standing on end.
One of the men tipped his head. “This way,” he said and led Blake and Ford through the main floor. The second man followed in their wake.
Nobody paid them any heed. The men were too busy gambling or enjoying the teasing with the house wenches.
The hell walls were decorated with disturbing scenes fromDante’s Inferno. The entire scenes of people rotting and being eaten alive should not have an enticing effect on the customers, but the dark interior, the alcohol, and the company had people staying there for days without checking their pocket watches. Blake had spent many a night in this place, too.
They reached the side door and stepped into the private halls.
The private halls weren’t as private as the name implied. Anybody could get in there for the right price. It was an exclusive bawdy house. The wenches were all young and beautiful, and they were willing to do anything for a price. Stories were told of the things that went in there. Stories so coarse they were unbelievable. They said, for an extra price, one could watch the proceedings in these rooms.
Blake always thought it repulsive to see another man being pleasured by a whore. But since the service existed, there must be people willing to pay for it. Instead of stepping onto the staircase leading to the private rooms, however, their guide turned left, pressed something on the wall, and it opened up right in front of them.
Blake and Ford exchanged curious glances.
The guide entered, took out a torch, and beckoned for them to follow.
“Are you planning to torture us here?” Blake said, trying to pass it off as a jest, while his palms perspired and his hands started to tremble.
Their guards just exchanged a glance, and Blake’s stomach tied in knots. He fisted both hands by his sides to stop involuntary shaking. The dark corridor, the tight space, even the dank scent brought on unpleasant memories. They were going down the stairs, into the dungeon. The thought brought a sharp pain to his temples.
He would rather not be here. The memory of Annalise, warm and rosy-cheeked on the bed, beckoned him to run away and return home. At least this time, he wasn’t alone. Ford had stationed a few of his men outside, and he wasn’t one to shy away from the fight, either.
Besides, Blake had no choice but to meet with Hades. Even if he was not involved with Blake’s disappearance, he was a powerful man. He walked the line between the mighty aristocrats and the lowest of the thugs. He knew a lot more than either Ford or Blake ever would.
They turned again into a narrower passage. Cold sweat broke out on Blake’s face and neck. The heels of their boots echoed through the narrow hall, and a sense of foreboding assailed Blake. This was all too familiar, too unsettling. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“Here we are.” The guards stopped by one of the doors and opened the heavy lock. They stepped in and lit the torches hanging by either side of the door. A shadow shifted in the room, drawing Blake’s eyes toward a tiny window in the corner. Light flickered, and Blake thought he saw a man in the far corner, and his hair stood on end. He jumped as he heard the loud dragging sound.
“What?” Ford turned to him and frowned. He was holding on to the back of the chair he had just moved with a loud scrape.
“Nothing, it’s… nothing.” Blake returned his gaze to the far corner of the room, but there was nothing there. It was just his imagination.
This room—this dungeon—looked just like the one he was imprisoned in. Could it be that he was brought here?
“Wait here,” one of the guards said and left the room. The other one stood at the threshold, his arms crossed on his chest, his features inscrutable.
Blake dragged another chair and sat beside Ford. They didn’t talk. Ford was lost in his thoughts, and Blake concentrated on regulating his breathing.
