Page 17 of Sacrifice

“Subtle as a gunshot,” I whisper to Gunnar, a wry smile playing on my lips despite the unease knotted in my stomach.

“Isn’t it just?” Gunnar murmurs back, his lips barely moving. We exchange a look that’s part uncertainty, part determination. With him by my side, I feel a sense of grounding, even if this idea is madness.

The host leads us into a small entryway which is surprisingly dark, a pitch black passageway at the other side of the room. I can see the beginnings of a ramp just inside, but it quickly descends into darkness—and that’s where we go, the host acting like this is all perfectly normal.

“Please take my elbows,” he instructs. His voice is soft but carries an edge that suggests we’re not just changing settings—we’re stepping into another world entirely. “Watch your step.”

I hesitate for a second before my fingers find the fabric of his sleeve, wrapping around the bend of his elbow. Gunnar does the same on the other side, and together we let the host guide us forward.

“Into the abyss,” I quip, trying to mask the fluttering in my chest with humor.

“Could be worse,” Gunnar replies, “At least it’s not Nero’s cooking.”

I snort.

I’ll have to ask him when the hell Nero cooked for him when all this is over.

The darkness swallows us whole, and for a moment, there’s nothing—no sounds, no scents, just void. Then, as we continue, a constellation of red dots appears, suspended in the black. It takes a moment for my brain to connect the dots—quite literally.

“Night vision glasses,” I whisper, realizing that’s how the servers navigate through the velvet dark. It makes sense, yet the realization sends an unfamiliar shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the thrill of the unknown.

“Looks like The Fiddler plays a mean game of hide and seek,” Gunnar says, his voice low and steady next to me.

“Or maybe he just likes to watch,” I muse out loud. It’s unsettling, knowing we’re being observed while we remain blind to our surroundings.

“You should know that any inappropriate behavior is strictly forbidden in the restaurant,” the host says. “Please act accordingly.”

Gunnar and I go silent as I suppress a laugh.

I almost forgot there was a complete stranger standing between us.

“Got it,” Gunnar grunts on the other side of the host, a note of irritation in his voice that suggests he’s not here for the rules.

I can’t help but agree.

We’re led to our table, the host’s elbows still our only anchor to the world we’ve left behind until he lets us go, my butt somehow finding a chair. The moment I’m seated, my senses sharpen, compensating for the loss of sight.

And then, it hits me—a scent so distinct it hijacks all other senses.

I’ve smelled him before…the first time at Dreamland, when he vouched for me and had his men beat a cruel bouncer to death. That night, he told me he’d like to come back and have a dance, undressing me with his eyes.

A breath ghosts over my neck and I shudder slightly. “Sugar and pine…glad you two made it,” Nero murmurs into my ear, so close I can almost feel the curve of his lips.

I fight the urge to lean into him, my body traitorously responding to his proximity. Heat pools low in my belly, and I clench my fists on the tabletop, grounding myself.

On my left, Gunnar’s hand finds mine in the dark, a solid presence that steadies me. His grip tightens as he leans across the table towards Nero, his voice a low murmur that barely carries over the distant clatter of unseen cutlery. “This isn’t exactly discreet,” he mutters, a note of frustration lacing his words.

Nero chuckles, and the sound ripples through the dark. “And what’s more discreet than dining in the dark?”

Before I can think of a clever retort, a red light appears, floating like a will-o’-the-wisp through the darkness. It hovers nearby, and a stranger’s voice breaks our standoff. “Welcome,” it says, tone practiced and polite. “Tonight, our chef has prepared a selection that we hope will delight your senses. May I inquire if there are any dietary restrictions at this table?”

It’s an unwelcome intrusion, breaking into the tension that ties the three of us together. But it’s also a reminder of where we are—a public place, despite the blanket of darkness.

“We have no restrictions,” I say quickly, eager to move past this interruption. Gunnar echoes my sentiment with a grunt, and even Nero offers a smooth confirmation.

“Excellent,” the voice replies.

As the red pinpoint of light from the departing waiter fades into the abyss, the air between us thickens with unsaid words. Gunnar’s hand slides from my fingers to my thigh, his touch possessive as he presses into my flesh, reminding me of the bond we share. “The topic is a bit too sensitive to discuss here where anyone could be listening,” he growls under his breath, tension coiling in his voice.

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