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“I don’t know what you think you saw,” I say. “That woman came on to me. She was the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I’m sure that’s true, sir. But you were the one punching the wall. We ask our guests who are upset to take a few minutes. Come down to the security office. Drink a glass of water and catch your breath. We want to keep the club safe for everyone.”
“You think I’m a fucking risk?”
“In the alternative,” he says, “we can have you sleep it off in the cage.”
I don’t what goddamn cage he’s talking about, but the guy is big enough to frog-march me through the tunnel. He can probably frisk me too—maybe not legally, but what the fuck am I going to do? Run to the cops?
So I make a show of spreading my fingers wide. I take a deep breath to prove I’m under control. I roll my shoulders, trying to shed some of my tension.
And I let the guard force me down to the security office for a fucking glass of water. I’ll get back on the floor faster if I play along. But if Jonas and Ansel Herzog leave the party before I’m free, I can’t be responsible for what I do this asshole.
30
ALIX
* * *
Ifigure Trap won’t spend his time in the main room. There are too many people here. Too big a chance someone might brush against him and set off his compulsions.
I stake out the hallway on my left. There must be a dozen rooms, maybe more, cut into the tunnel’s raw brick. Most of the doors are open. Some of the people inside welcome an audience. Others are so intent on their scenes they seem to think they’re on a deserted island.
God knows I saw enough twisted sex at Herzog’s house to last a lifetime. I have to remind myself that the people here at Kynk have chosen to play. They’ve paid God-knows-how-much to belong to this club and they’ve consented to every single act I see. If anyone goes too far by accident or misunderstanding, there are dozens of security officers standing ready to intervene.
But my palms are sweating.
My breath comes fast enough that the roof of my mouth starts to tingle.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my toes.
Trap is out there. Trap will keep me safe.
But I have to find him first.
I make my way down the tunnel, checking room after room. I turn away the man who asks if he can come between my breasts. I pretend that I don’t see the threesome beckoning from a couch covered in cling-wrap film. I shake my head when a man asks if he can fuck my sweet tight ass.
That last request leaves me too shaken to speak.
I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and drain it all in one gulp. Before he can move down the tunnel, I help myself to a second flute.
I force myself to sip it. I need to keep my wits about me. I need to stay in control.
Chimes sound, four notes going up, then down. I half expect to see waiters wandering through the crowd, playing mini xylophones, like they’re summoning guests to some black-tie wedding supper.
Club members begin moving toward the end of the tunnel. Toward the Heart.
I could leave now. I could go back to the greenroom. Take off my suffocating mask and pull on my dress. Call a car with my cell phone and make my way back to the penthouse.
Trap doesn’t need to know I was here. I don’t need to know what he’s doing, what brought him to Brooklyn, why he had to come to Kynk.
But that’s a lie.
Idoneed to know.
I didn’t mean to, but I’ve emptied my second glass of champagne. Ordinarily, I might not feel the buzz, but I had a lot of wine with dinner.
Dinner.
