Page 97 of The Club

It feels, I guess, like love.

THIRTY

Rafael

Dominic and I stop outside the containment room door. He knows not to touch me. He knows not to say anything.

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

I don’t know what I’m feeling.

I jump when the door opens, but it’s just Dante. He glances between me and Dominic. Like Dominic, he knows not to speak.

For a while, the three of just stand there in the chilly underground hallway with the bare lightbulbs nearly blinding us.

Then I try to speak. “I’m …”

When I trail off, Dominic says, “We’ll wait as long as you want. We can keep him here for days, even months. He’s on your timeline now.”

With those words, I’m able to take a deep breath. With those words, I’m able to decide. “No. I want it over.”

“What do you want your part to be in it?”

I blink. I hadn’t actually considered that. I think that’s what actually stalled me here, the fact that, deep down, I knew I didn’t want to do this, not myself. But I need to see it happen.

“I want to watch,” I say. “I want the two of you to do it.”

They both nod. They both want to do this, but even if they didn’t want to, I know that they would anyway.

Dominic says, “We should blindfold and gag him. I don’t want him talking to or looking at Rafael.”

“I already did it,” Dante replies.

“Oh. Good.”

I’m as surprised as Dominic. I didn’t really expect Dante to think about something like that, to care. Not about me.

Fuck, I am way too emotional right now.

I walk off down the passageway. I just need a second. They wait.

When I turn and come back, I nod. Dominic opens the door and walks in and waits, clearly unsurprised when I freeze in the doorway. Dante waits behind me.

I don’t know what I expected, but the man hanging in the restraints, wearing only black pants, is not it. He could be anyone. With the blindfold on, I can’t see his face completely, but he’s plain. Unremarkable. He’s probably around sixty. His body shows it, a little soft in the middle. He has a bullet wound in his side. His nose is broken.

It seems absurd to me, looking at him now, that I thought I loved him. Or that I thought he loved me. That it’s mattered to me so much all this time.

My eyes go to Dominic, and Iseehis love. Fierce. Brutal. Demanding. And so fucking real. It rolls off him in waves. I feel it.

I follow him into the room. Dante comes in behind me and closes the door.

I bypass the chair and sit instead on an empty table. It’s a surgical table or, here, a torture table. I draw up my legs and sit cross legged while Dominic and Dante walk past the Collector and go to the rack of tools.

I take a strange pleasure in watching their discussion of how they want to start. They don’t argue. Neither pushes to be in charge. They’re totally aligned.

When they turn back, each with a skinning knife, Dominic stops dead at the sight of my slight smile. His lips tug in answer, and I can see his relief. He was worried about me. He sees that I’m okay, that I’m ready, and goes to join Dante.

They don’t hit the Collector. They don’t shout at him. They simply treat him as meat and begin to cut off his skin. He thrashes, of course, screams around the gag. They hold him still, fingers digging into exposed muscle, and keep working.

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