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I mean, I knew what Club Venomwasbefore I ever stepped foot in here tonight. But knowing and seeing for yourself are two very different things.
I feel eyes on me again and my gaze rips away from the threesome to the couple. My face darkens with heat as I realize they’re both looking at me hungrily. The girl grins, raising a hand and beckoning.
Yeah, that’s a hard no for me.
Shivering, and embarrassed to realize just now I’ve been standing here just staring at them for a full minute or two, I quickly pull my gaze away and hurry from the room into the next. My face still throbs with heat, and I quickly pluck a flute of champagne off a passing tray. I slug it back, taking a shaky breath before I survey the bigger room I’ve walked into.
And instantlyfreeze.
Holy fuck.
The first room was mere foreplay.
I’ve just walked into a full-scale orgy.
Not everyone’s participating. In fact, a lot of the guests in the spacious, lavish room done up with couches, sitting areas, and a full bar are still fully dressed, and just watch.
It’s just that it’sslightlyhard to miss the writhing mass of naked, sweaty bodies moaning and gasping and fucking in the middle of the room.
My wide eyes drink in the scene before me, something straight out ofEyes Wide Shut. My gaze slides from two blondes writhing on top of a muscled man with what look like Russian prison tattoos to a stunning brunette gasping between two Asian men with long hair tied up in knots and full-body Yakuza ink.
My throat tightens, my mouth pursing tight as the heat floods my face once more. Again, knowing what this place is andseeingwhat this place is are two extremely different things. I can tell myself I’ve prepared for this, or that none of this fazes me.
But I know damn well I just jumped into the deep end.
Club Venom is no regular sex club. It’s not even exclusive in the same vein of the myriad of other so-called “exclusive” clubs in New York, the ones that cater to rich Wall Street types or tech-bros. You don’t just have to be rich to get into this place.
You have to be twisted and dangerous.
You have to be a little on the edge.
And you have to be hungry for the forbidden.
Three things that describe the very monster I’m here to kill tonight.
Unless he kills me first, that is.
My eyes scan the writhing exhibitionists on display in the middle of the room, searching for him. Even though everyone’s wearing masks, I’ve studied him for weeks. I know the shape of his face, and I know exactly what tattoos he’s got under his clothes.
I don’t spot him taking part in the orgy. Which is good, because if he was it would make what I need to do here tonight exponentially more difficult.
I need him alone.
A hunter is patient, little bird. A hunter does not rush. Take your time. Wait, watch. Learn the prey better than he knows himself. It is then and only then, when you are more him than he is himself, that you strike.
I shiver, swallowing back the words echoing in my head from years and years ago, when another monster sought to mold Finn and me in his image.
Stay the fuck out of my head, Dad.
Shuddering, I yank my eyes away from the performance. Finishing the champagne in my hand, I exchange the empty glass for a full flute from a passing waiter. Then I begin to wander the perimeter of the room, forcing myself to walk slowly. To move with ease. To smile casually.
Like I belong here.
Like I have any business atallbeing anywhere near this fucking place.
Ignoring the nagging little voice in the back of my mind whispering to me that however dark my own depravities, and however twisted the fantasies in my head, that’s all they are and what should always remain: fantasies.
Fever dreams.
