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Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Enter!”
The door creaked open, still needing to be oiled by maintenance. Dylan peeked in. “Hey, you got a minute?”
Maxi swiveled in her chair, circling back so she faced the desk and the door. “I always have a moment for you, mon petit.”
Once a source of comfort, the term of endearment crawled over her skin, scratching the already festering wound between them. Terry had given her a shitload of information. Much of which had been eye-opening, especially when she did a quick Internet search and found an old photo of Maxi from college. Next to her was a very young Corina Cove, who also bore a striking resemblance to a baby-faced Lady Katrina.
Wigs and make-up in this world were like a pair of glasses hiding Clark Kent from becoming Superman to an entire population. Dylan recognized that Corina and Katrina were very much the same person. She didn’t need to connect the dots until Ari’s life was in danger at the hands of the city’s most powerful family. It was a very careful line she had to walk because one false move would send Ari down a rabbit hole of no return.
Dylan attempted to summon a calm voice as she began her questions. “I went to CityBeats earlier today. Spoke to Terry Bradwell.”
“You went to see Terry?” Maxi’s eyes narrowed, searing a burning color of red through the small slits.
“It was a very enlightening meeting with your fiancé, who had some stories from college about you and him. Corina Cove? He had this adorable picture of the three of you. Did you ever notice how much Madame Cove and Lady Katrina look so similar? Uncanny, really. He also mentioned that our beloved Corina Cove is now a Delacroix. Of course, I didn’t believe him.”
Dylan leaned against the door, displaying a casual confidence. There was heat radiating from Maxi’s fuming temper, but Dylan kept her cool as she continued. “After the Delgado fiasco, I did my due diligence—being head of security and all—and found an article about newlyweds Hugh and Corina Delacroix from ten years ago. Just a year before your father died.”
“This is not a secret, Ms. Tessay. Yes, Corina married my father,” Maxi confirmed. “She made him happy in the last year of his life. I will always be grateful to her for that kindness. I have been nothing but honest with you, Dylan. You know that. You are like family, and family sticks together, don’t they?”
“Family sticks together when it’s right. This is not right, Maxi. None of this is right. Tell me. Are Lady Katrina and Corina Cove the same person?”
Maxi scoffed at the idea as if Dylan had cracked the funniest joke ever. “No, of course they are not. The resemblance is, yes, uncanny, as you say. Purely coincidental. We were all friends in college.”
With that answer, Maxi lied. Dylan knew it because she also uncovered something else in her investigation into the seedy underbelly of the BDSM world. Hidden in the depths of message boards, she discovered an archived article in which a woman named Corina posted that she performed at BDSM clubs around the state under the names Lady Katrina, Lady Cove, Madame Cove, and Mistress Eden, who was the lead performer at The Pendulum.
Maxi rose from the desk, sauntered to the door frame, and placed her palm on Dylan’s cheek. So close. Very close. She ran her hand down Dylan’s neck and gave it a slight squeeze, pressing her thumb into her jugular. “I’m actually glad you’ve taken an interest in our members after that senseless meeting with that wrecked man. If he got one woman inside, what’s saying he doesn’t have others.”
Her thumb pressed even deeper into Dylan’s throat before letting go. Dylan coughed as Maxi said, “Use your free time to sniff out his other minions.”
With that, Maxi left the office. Dylan needed to find the blueprints Ari said she’d seen. She needed to find those hidden rooms within the walls of Adytum.
Chapter 27
Perched on the edge of the filthy clawfoot tub, Ari wrestled the rusty faucet to cut off the flow of water. The digital readout rose by a thousand when some anonymous donor requested she take a bath. The water in the porcelain tub was a murky gray. There was no reason for Lady Katrina to have brought her soap and shampoo after the request came; it wasn’t like it would help. She unhooked the wires from her now pierced breasts.
Ari stepped into the generously sized tub. Hands grasped the grime-encrusted edges as she lowered herself into the freezing water. The bright lights in the room flicked off and the red glow of the hot lamps came on, almost like mood lighting for the scene. Once her aching body submerged into the icy embrace, the chattering of her teeth was like nails on a chalkboard. A layer of gooseflesh covered her entire body, including her tender nipples, which puckered under the cold water. The digital counter clicked again, lumbering toward its goal.
“Come now, Miss Delgado. Do not make Jaguar25 wait for the bath they paid for,” Lady Katrina’s voice urged over the loudspeaker.
Ari’s voice carried with frustration, “I’m in the fucking tub already.”
“I’m sure your mother taught you how to use soap to wash your bits and pieces. And don’t forget that mouth of yours. You sure do talk like a dirty whore. Oh, wait ... I forgot. You are one.”
Lady Katrina had not lied when she mentioned her pain would be less if she only played along. That’s what Ari had been doing. She performed the tasks and commands of the viewers, and the electric shocks had all but stopped. They had humiliated her. Abused her. Shamed her. All done by her own hand with little complaint. She tried not to think of the horrid activities requested.
Dylan’s words being her mantra. “Don’t think. Just do.”
It pushed her through the unspeakable horrors and depravity of her situation. If she knew nothing about BDSM when she started this investigation, Lady Katrina had schooled her in this short amount of time. Now a walking encyclopedia for BDSM, she knew the terminology based on experience since arriving in this prison. If it existed, she had likely done it. How many more disgusting ways could the audience think of to degrade her?
Another twenty grand appeared on the counter. Then a solemn thought crossed her mind. How much time do I have left? It was still well under six hundred thousand dollars, but one generous donor could catapult it to her doom. She needed a plan.
Her hands grabbed the soap, which she playfully rubbed on her body for the camera. “Here you go, Jaguar. Let me hear you roar because I have this clean bar of soap on my dirty pussy, just for you. It feels so good. I’m gonna come on it.”
The counter slowed when she played nicely. They wanted sex, not death. Or so it seemed. It was during the idle times when she waited for a command that the number ticked higher. She bucked in the water, sloshing it over the sides as she faked a panting orgasm. Her head pressed back on the edge, and her mouth opened wide as she called out, “Jaguar!”
Lady Katrina’s singsong voice burst through the speaker. “Oh, aren’t you a little humorous one? Academy Award for best performance in a comedy. Bath time is over now. Get out of the tub.”
