AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
UNA
To kill monsters,you have to know the darkness.
You have to be comfortable in it. You have to be able to look over that edge and feel no fear.
Knowing darkness? I’ve got that covered. And I’ve been looking over edges since I was born. But it’s the feeling no fear part I’m currently trying to pull out of my ass.
Because right now, it’s taking everything I have—everything I am—not to run from this place of hedonism and sin, where the rich and the monstrous come to play.
To indulge.
To feed their darkest needs.
Around me, sultry trance music thuds at just the right volume from hidden speakers. Low, sensual lighting and occasional flickering candelabra cast deep, undulating shadows against the elegant, matte-black walls accented with gold and blood red.
Waitstaff dressed in all black with ornate if emotionally blank black masks covering their faces slip effortlessly from room to room of the club with trays of champagne, elegant cocktails, even narcotics. Similarly black-clad security personnel, bigger and more imposing than the waitstaff but wearing the same blank, expressionless black masks, hover discreetly just out of sight.
I shiver as I step from one room to the next, moving right by the impassive gaze of two of these guards. You’d never know if they were even looking at you, given the utter blackness of the eyeholes. Still, I can feel eyes on me as I keep my head held high and slip through the doorway.
They don’t know you’re a fraud. They don’t know you snuck in.
They don’t know I’m here to kill.
If they did, I’d already be dead, or whatever happens to mere mortals who manage to sneak their way into Club Venom—the hedonistic playground for New York City’s richest, most dangerous, and most deviant gods.
But they’re not looking at me out of suspicion. They’re looking at me because they’re men, and I’m wearing a dress that would be considered lewd if not pornographic in most settings. Not here, though.
Black, somewhat see-through, and tiny. A thin gold chain around the nape of my neck, beneath my pinned-up blonde hair, keeps two absurdly flimsy wisps of fabric over my breasts. Overpartof my breasts. The two strips of lacy fabric delve down to meet just south of my navel, where the completely backless dress wraps around like a 60’s-style miniskirt that barely covers my ass.
The guards are looking at me from behind those blank masks with their all-black eyes because even in the low light, it’s obvious I’m not wearing a bra. They’re looking at me because I picked this dress specifically for the way the hem dances high on my bare thighs and leaves the bottoms of my ass cheeks exposed. Because of the black silk choker around my neck. Because of the sky-high fuck me strappy gold heels I’m wearing that still barely push me past five-foot-two.
Even for Club Venom, I’m dressed to kill.
Or rather, I just walked into a wolf’s den dressed asbait.
All part of the plan.
The room I step into has two clusters of deep red velvet sofas artfully arranged on either side of it. To my left, three older men with silver hair and monied, aristocratic jawlines chuckle and drink champagne. With them, two much younger women in dresses barely covering more than my own giggle and snort lines of cocaine off a silver tray.
Like myself, and like all the guests at Club Venom, they wear masks over the top parts of their faces—gold, all slightly differently shaped and ornamented. Some are accented with blood red, others with black.
At the couches, one of the girls lifts her head from the tray of coke and turns, brushing her nose before she crawls into the lap of one of the men and starts to kiss him voraciously. He growls, and when his hand slides to her ass and lifts the hem of her silvery, shimmering mini dress, my pulse thuds. He fists a handful of her hair, and suddenly, the hand at her ass winds back and comes crashing down with a sharp smack on her bare cheek.
She moans.
I almost do too.
Heat pools in my core, and my breath hitches. It’s impossible not to feel the sultry, depraved power of this place teasing over your skin and pulling at your darkest fantasies.
Even if—especially if—the ones you keep locked inside are darker than anyone could ever imagine.
So dark they might even make the regulars of Club Venom go pale.
Movement drags my gaze past the first couple, and my core clenches and my eyes go wide as heat floods my cheeks beneath my mask.
The second girl is now sandwiched between the two other older men, her dress slipping from her shoulders and revealing her full breasts and pink-tipped nipples. Her head lolls languidly back against the sofa, a soft moan on her lips as the two men kiss her neck and run their hands up her thighs and over her breasts. Her hands drop to their laps, rubbing as my pulse thunders in my ears.
