“You said you wanted to come,” Beckham reminded her.

“And now I’m here.”


He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Take off your robe.”

She didn’t even question him. She could tell just by the vibe in the room that this was not the place for questions. She swallowed back her discomfort, looked up at him, and let the material slide to the floor. His eyes crawled her body again, and she noticed a slight tremor in his hand.

“I need a drink,” he said.

Reyna smiled at the implied meaning in his words.

She followed him across the room and tried to keep her eyes on him alone rather than the decadence and debauchery around her. They took a seat at the back of the room. She tucked her chair under the table until most of her body was obscured.

Beckham sat next to her and a waiter approached them. She accepted a glass of water, because she wanted to keep a clear head, but Beckham ordered scotch.

“A drop, Mr. Anderson?” the waiter asked.

He shook his head forcefully. “No.”

The man nodded, handed him a drink, and then disappeared.

“What is a drop?” she asked.

Beckham sighed. “One day I will get you to stop asking questions.”

“Unlikely.”

“A drop is a drop of blood.”

“What kind?”

He gave her a sobering look and she understood.

“You mean people here are drinking blood that isn’t a match,” she gasped in horror.

“It’s just a pick-me-up. Nothing that would cause anyone any harm…or any more harm than they already wish on themselves.”

Reyna was still trying to process that when Rowland, Cassandra, Sophie, and Felix showed up at their table. Rowland was in a suit, while Cassandra had opted for a long black lace dress that was entirely see-through and somehow managed to be more revealing than Reyna’s lingerie. Felix was in nothing but black boxer briefs and a gold studded collar. He already had bite marks in his neck, and as usual looked a bit dazed and out of it. Sophie was confident and cool in a white bridal lingerie set that contrasted with the dark tones of the room.

“Good to see you, Beckham,” Rowland said with a tip of his head. Reyna noticed the red hue of his drink and shuddered. Just what she needed, a feral Rowland.

The way he looked at her made it seem like he was slowly undressing her with his eyes. She felt as naked as the girls laid out on the tables in front of him, and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Glad you could make it, Reyna,” Rowland said.

She glanced away from him and kept her mouth shut. The memory of what he’d said at the ball came back to her, making her sick. I will find you later, love. Be sure of it.

The lights flickered twice, signaling for everyone to take their seats. Sophie sat next to Reyna, who breathed a sigh of relief that Rowland wouldn’t be within arm’s reach. He creeped her out and knowing he was drinking a drop didn’t help anything.

A busty woman in black lingerie and a long sheer kimono that trailed behind as she walked stepped onto the stage at the front.

“Welcome ladies, gentlemen, and all manner of deviants.” She extended her arms out to the crowd, and strutted across the stage. “I’m Dee, the Madame of the Vault. You’re now locked in to my world of debauchery. No one comes in and no one goes out. You know the rules.” She winked as she sashayed across the floor. “Tonight, I have a special treat for you. A rare delicacy draped all in white. Some strapping young lads and a few…taste testers. Prepare to be bewitched. I give you a feast.”

She gestured to the bed and then sauntered offstage. Reyna leaned forward as a trembling young girl stepped out in a white dress to her knees. She looked the part of a sacrificial lamb. And she had everyone’s rapt attention.

Fear roiled off of the girl, and she was powerless to do anything to stop it.

Reyna grasped Beckham’s hand. She thought Beckham would throw her off, but he just closed his hand around hers.

“Where have you brought me?” she whispered to him.

His gaze was hot on her body, and when she turned to face him, she found him gazing at her exposed throat. He licked his lips with an appetite that he never showed. His free arm ran along the back of her chair, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Exactly where you wanted to be.”

“Is this a…a blood brothel?” Reyna asked.

“Precisely,” Beckham said into the hollow of her throat.

Reyna was both terrified and…intrigued by the prospect of a blood brothel. The girl hardly looked willing, standing up there shaking like a leaf, but she didn’t try to run or cry out. Did that make her little more than a prostitute?

Reyna sighed softly at the thought. How was she any different? Take away the penthouse and the one man show, and in the end, it was all the same thing. It made her uncomfortable to consider, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was lucky she was here rather than on the stage. It made her wonder how people ended up at a brothel rather than working for Visage. An even scarier thought was that Visage could own the brothel. Nothing seemed out of the realm of possibility.

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