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“I asked first.” Dylan took a few more calculated steps into the apartment. She slipped her sweaty hand into the pocket of her jeans to grip the switchblade she kept for protection.
Outmatched by Dylan’s size and build, the woman cowered with a stutter. “I-I’m Billie, Ari’s f-friend.”
There was still a level of concern flowing through Dylan’s mind about why she had ripped through the apartment. “Billie. Okay ... Where is Ari? And why are you tearing up her place?”
“Now you know who I am. Who the fuck are you?” Maybe it was the slack in Dylan’s back that caused Billie’s tough girl attitude to return in full force as she rushed from the kitchen with her fists clenched.
As if to express she posed no threat, Dylan raised her hands above her head. “Dylan. Ari’s ... um–”
“Psychotic boss,” said Billie as she lunged forward with balled fists. Ready to fight. The flowers dropped from Dylan’s hand as she caught the punch midstream toward her head. “What have you done with her?”
As a high-paid bouncer, Dylan wrapped Billie in her own arm, twisting it behind her in a bound state. “What? Nothing. I fired her, that’s all.” It took a moment for Billie to stop struggling. As soon as she did, Dylan released her with a truce. She gathered the flowers from the floor and said, “I came to apologize because she’s not answering my calls.”
“Apologize for what?”
“A lot of things. My attitude, for one.” There were no actual answers stemming from this game of twenty questions they played, just more puzzle pieces to the issue at hand. “I’m guessing you don’t know where Ari is, either.”
“No. The last time I heard from her was a couple of days ago. She was leaving your place and then ... gone. Honestly, I was here looking for you. Or Adytum.”
Dylan furrowed her brow as confusion etched her face. “None of this makes any sense. Did you know— Stupid. Of course you did. She was undercover, working for CityBeats. Why were you looking for me?”
“Because when she left your place, she was so torn up and not making much sense. I assumed you did something to her because you found out. Since you’re one of them.”
“One of ... who?”
“Adytum. CityBeats. She wanted to quit when she fell for—” The words stopped like someone had shoved them back into her throat. They returned, laced with hate. “All you fucking people are monsters! What did you do to her?”
At that moment, there was a mutual sense of dread between them. Billie cried and sobbed a few incoherent sentences, most of which Dylan pieced together as a sign pointed toward Ari’s explicit danger. Not that she hired a woman with no experience that put Ari there. It was the reason Ari sought the job.
“Look, Billie. I did nothing to her. I couldn’t have. Help me with some things and we’ll sort this out. I’m sure Ari is fine. Did she tell you why CityBeats wanted Adytum? Why would they hire someone to sneak into the club?”
“Ari told me there was a big story, something about abuse and lack of consent.”
The word hit her like a freight train. Abuse. A gut punch that churned her stomach. The realization that by administering the punishment Maxi ordered, she had abused Ari. Everyone may have signed consent forms when hired, but Maxi’s extremes incited fear. Employees remained silent, not complaining about the sick and twisted games demanded of them from clients. For what? Money. Greed.
Then, as if a layer of smoke lifted away, things made sense. Still, there was an overwhelming need to defend it. Maybe it was for the club. Or possibly self-preservation. “There’s nothing illegal with a private club. Everyone signed consent forms, including all the members. It’s part of the vetting process.”
“Is it? Ari thought so, too, until she saw some blueprints. Hidden rooms? Subflooring? Hell, she even mentioned you telling her that women don’t quit, they just disappear. Tell me, Dylan. What happens to the ones you fire? Do they disappear too?”
Another train of pain hit her square in the stomach as bile coated the back of her throat. She swallowed it down so Billie wouldn’t see her fear. “Don’t worry, Billie. I’m gonna find her and I have a good idea where to start.”
Chapter 25
In the pitch blackness, the stomping of Ari’s bloody feet on the cement drove her forward into the unknown. Anywhere was better than where she had been. The torrent of blood flowing through every vein reminded her she was still alive. For now. Then, much like a lighthouse beckoning her through a perfect storm, she saw the light in the distance—a glimmer of hope until slicing pain hit her like a machete. Her hands tore—no, clawed—at her skin as if it were wrapping paper and her lungs were a treasured Christmas gift. Her nails sliced a gaping yawn into her chest and air escaped her lungs like a punctured balloon. Freedom? The narcissistic cackle returned. The voice of her tormentor pierced her eardrums as a levee of hope cracked and sent her tumbling forward. She didn’t dare to look back at her impending death.
An onslaught of electricity jolted Ari awake and charred her bound breasts until her body leaped from the bed in a shriek. What little hope she had was a mere dream, though it was still hell, just like her reality. The only difference was not being chained to electrodes wired to her tender bits. Again, the evil bitch cranked up the juice, searing another blaze of angry energy to her nipples. Reality wore a gruesome mask of BDSM. This was not an exchange of power. This was torture.
As if on cue, Lady Katrina’s voice bid her a good morning. “Rise and shine, our little starlet. That must have been some dream you were having. Those delicious cries for help were a hit with your fan base. Which, by the way, has increased while you were sleeping, my dear. You are, by far, our most popular performer yet.”
Ari directed her attention toward Lady Katrina’s voice, which came from the left camera. The red light hindered her ability to focus as her pupils adjusted in the dark. That vile voice ratcheted her anger each time it met her ears. “Fuck you! You sick, twisted bitch!”
The venom-laced cackle filled the room again, prompting Ari’s hands to her ears as if barricading the holes so blood couldn’t ooze from her head.
When the wicked sound came to a halt, Ari heard her tormentor say, “Oh, Ariel, my dear. You do make me laugh. I appreciate the sentiment. Unfortunately, I will not be the one who is fucked, my darling. That honor goes to you.”
Silence followed. Then darkness.
Again, left alone to sizzle under the brutal current of electricity that coursed through her flesh. Hours had passed to countless days. It was hard to determine how long she had been captive. At least in the darkness, there was a sense of privacy. Ari humored herself, telling her mind that no one watched her urinate. No one watched her tears. No one saw her chances of survival dwindle.
