Page 79 of Heritage of Fire

I take one more look behind me, perhaps hoping I’ll see Nik, come to save the day. But the alley is as empty as ever. The city seems content to keep this place hidden, and as I step through the door, I can’t help but wonder whatexactlyI’m walking into.

Chapter 30

Luna

The darkness is choking, and my chest tightens with the inability to see. An arm grabs me, and I’m pulled farther inside.

Reaching out, I place my free hand on the wall, trying to keep my balance. Velvet glides under the tips of my fingers, and the red walls become even more illuminated as we make our way down a hallway.

Fingers dig into my bicep, squeezing so tightly I wince out a plea. Music gets louder as we approach large black curtains. They hang from the ceiling, made from the same velvet as the walls. I follow the man through yards and yards of fabric, static electricity tickling my scalp as each section pulls away from my head. When the last of the curtains fall away, my mouth drops open.

A large room, covered in red velvet, stretches out before me. There are red leather booths and white marble tables spread out everywhere. Men in suits sit at them, while servers dressed in professional uniforms deliver drinks.

An overly stocked bar, stretching the length of an entire wall, houses five bartenders behind it. The wood is a deep, rich color and the supple looking leather stools are curved with tuftedbackrests. Liquor bottles line the whole wall behind them—I have to tip my head back to glimpse the top shelf.

Women in scant clothing march around, several sitting with men. One topless young woman, dressed in only red fishnets, leads a man by his tie into an area I can’t see into.

I’m led past a white stage lined with dim red lights. It’s the main centerpiece of the room, though curtains currently hover over it, covering most of its expanse. Sensual music shuffles between low and loud depending on where I am in the room. But none of that is what sends bile up my throat or makes the sweat drip down my back.

Large cubed cages hang overhead, tangles of limbs hanging out of them; the mostly conscious women up there are wearing only black lace, different from the all-red outfits of those working the floor.

Ten cages. All suspended from the vaulted ceiling.

I can barely swallow.

As I’m dragged toward a back room, I get a closer look at some of the women. A few have eyes that are glazed over and glassy. Others appear to be with it, calling out for drinks. And a handful simply lie limply against the bottom of the cage, heads lulled to the side.

I shiver, dread causing blood to pound in my veins. Instinct kicks in, and I rip my arm free.

Turning back in the direction I remember the door being in, I blink. Where did I come in? I shouldn’t have come here. Panicked, I dart around a table and pass a server before coming to a dead stop.

A man with steel-gray eyes leers at me from a round table. He’s leaned back, legs splayed wide and casual. Flashes from the restaurant earlier this evening pulse through my mind. A hand reaches around from behind him, slipping beneath the collar ofhis shirt, as a blonde leans down to whisper in his ear. He holds my eyes and smirks.

Suddenly, both my arms are forced behind me, and I’m dragged back by the burly man in the tactical suit. More curtains part around me, and I’m tossed down onto the floor. The cold white marble glistens like snow and is streaked with red that resembles blood splatter. I shudder and slide two fingers over the design to be sure it isn’t.

“Well, what do we have here? Aren’t you a pretty little thing.” My head snaps up at the man’s voice, and I yelp, slapping a hand over my mouth.

My sister is bound, hands and feet tied to a chair several feet in front of where I’ve been thrown. Instead of red velvet, black curtains cover every wall in this room. The space is empty of furniture aside from a cherry-red committee table the shape of a semicircle, with eight black leather chairs surrounding it. Three of those seats are filled with unfamiliar men, and three guards stand alongside me, armed and unmoving.

Bella’s mascara-smeared eyes are wide as she looks at me. Tears slip down her face as she whispers my name, so quiet I wonder if she was screaming and lost her voice.

The man—tall, with beady eyes and a pointed nose—steps up behind Bella. Thinning dark hair tops his head, and the chords of muscle in his neck move as his gaze roves over me. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip.

A small gold pin, with the letters EV, stands out against his black suit jacket. He walks around my sister’s chair and drags a finger down her chest.

“Stop. Don’t touch her!” I snarl, and the man’s hand stills.

He grins. “And who is she toyou?”

I’m unsure if he knows the answer and is toying with me, or if he truly doesn’t realize we’re related. I decide to ignore the question.

“Let her go. She’s underage and shouldn’t even be here.”

An oily laugh slides from him as he moves away from Bella, motioning to one of the guards behind me. Without warning, someone yanks me to my feet, grabbing my hair from behind.

Clammy and stiff, the beady-eyed man’s fingers wrap around my neck, squeezing until I’m uncomfortable. “Youare the one who shouldn’t be here. Your friend here is of some use to us. You may just have to be the scraps.”

I bite my tongue, looking over his shoulder to the three men seated behind him. Their faces are stone cold, eyes black with what looks like undiluted power.

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