This is what he imagined Hell looked like. Or at least, one level of it. He was pretty sure it wasn’t his age talking. Even Jen would turn around and run home after hearing what they were pretending was music—horrifying screams set to a dance beat. The lights above the crowd were swinging and swirling and pulsing enough to make the strongest stomach queasy, and men and women—most wearing latex, black lipstick, and apathy—shuffled their boneless bodies around the dance floor as if they were undead and this club was where they’d all been confined for everyone else’s safety.
Why wasn’t he drinking again? A bottle or three of rum sounded like it would hit the spot right now. Brady sighed, taking it all in and knowing this wasn’t the worst of it. This was only the facade for the real horror story going on one level up. He doubted any of these Goth groupies even knew it existed. That there was a private club where people who were too rich to be famous gathered and played games with other people’s lives.
There was no reason they should know. According to Cal, the elevator was hidden and the only way up was with a special key card. For VIP members, the same elevator allowed access through a separate entrance in a secure garage.
Cal wasn’t a VIP yet, but he did possess a card.
Was Ken already up there? He’d left several hours earlier to pick up his play partner and get set up, giving Brady the kind of good luck kiss that made him want to drag his lover back to bed and never leave. Fucking tease.
Brady left the loft shortly afterward, still turned on but grateful to Ken for trying to keep him distracted. He’d spent the whole day describing the club he was a member of—the potlucks and Halloween parties, the laughter and lighthearted demonstrations. Whatever his friends had told him about this place made Ken nervous.
Ken didn’t get nervous, so Brady was a walking ball of stress. He used his short motorcycle ride to exorcise a few of those demons. He needed to bring his A game tonight. Needed to keep sharp and alert, and above all, to look like he was enjoying himself. This could all go to hell fast if he didn’t.
He met Cal in the parking lot of Finn’s Pub, a black dress jacket over his t-shirt and jeans. How Ken had managed to purchase something that fit him so well was a mystery, but one that met with Cal’s distracted approval.
Right away it was clear something was different. Cal was wired. Excitement and anticipation were making him restless as the car took them to their location. Underneath that there was something else. Fear? He didn’t proposition Brady once, which had to be a first, and he honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was strange, being with Grimes without Ken in his ear keeping him sane and telling him what to say. But it wasn’t possible tonight. Brady was, for the most part, on his own, and he couldn’t fuck it up because he’d made Ken a promise to help bring Terry home.
Almost there, he thought. Almost done.
Several of the nightclub’s patrons noticed him leaning against the wall and sent him curious looks. When Brady smiled tightly, two of them came closer, staring at his hair with wide eyes.
Brady’s smile widened with genuine amusement. Did the color red confuse them?
Cal appeared in front of them and took Brady’s hand, glaring until the strange creatures backed away. “Looks like I got back to rescue my prize just in time.”
Brady let himself be led, noticing the dampness of Cal’s palms. “It’s easy to forget they’re just kids.”
“They’re foul demon spawn who have no respect for authority. I’ve spoken to the other members about either finding an alternate location or closing this lower floor down for good. Let them hate the world in someone’s basement.”
Someone got teased the first few times he came here, Brady decided.
“That’s a little harsh,” he said. “They’re young. Having no respect for authority is a given when you’re young.”
“Says the cop-turned-Marine.”
Brady shrugged. “I’m a regular civilian now. But a Marine would say that good people fight and die for their right to wear those outfits and hate the world, so who are we to judge?” And now he felt guilty, because he’d definitely been judging.
Cal guided him to the back of the club, past the DJ booth and down a hall. He kept moving beyond the little Goth’s room—a unisex restroom with a bored-looking stick figure on a black door—until they came to what looked like a utility closet. Cal swung open the closet door and slipped inside the small room with Brady following close behind.
Cal moved around him, surreptitiously glancing back down the hall before shutting the door behind them.