Page 29 of Noire Moon
I flop around, twisting onto my back with a huff.
Fuck my life.Ouch. My body is ridiculously sore.
That’s when I freeze.
My eyes snap open, and a lead weight plummets in my stomach.
Oh, god. I had unprotected sex withthreemen last night.
Not one of them paused to ask me about condoms, birth control, or anything that a sane-fucking-person would think to consider before leaping onto multiple dicks.
I smother my face with my hands with a groan.
What the hell was I thinking?
More to the point, how did I get back here? Did I come home with Rita? What the fuck happened to the rest of my night?
Everything is blank.
The only thing I do remember, vividly, is my three masked strangers.
Then, from somewhere in the recesses of my mind, to ease the panic rising in my throat about slipping and falling on three cocks without protection, I remember the consent form I was required to submit.
It required paperwork to prove that I had been tested recently, and to show that I was all clear. Obviously, I’m an idiot and didn’t stop to ask to seetheirpaperwork, did I? Which was unbelievably stupid on my part… but surely if they are part of the group organizing the event, if they are part of the secret society overseeing everything within those walls, they must have to go through the same process before partaking in the evening.
Surely.
Or maybe I’m just in complete denial.
I let out a helpless noise.
Every muscle in my body has been put through a punishing workout. Between the running and the chasing and the vigorous fucking, I’m nowhere near built for that much physical activity all in one night.
My nervous system is probably completely fried now, too, after how much adrenaline pumped through my bloodstream.
Somehow, I swing myself out of bed and stumble from my bedroom into my shabby apartment, a single room that doubles as my lounge, dining area, and kitchen all in one. Coming to an abrupt halt at the sight waiting to greet me on the tiny little bench top.
There’s an envelope in matte black, crafted from expensive-looking paper. It doesn’t have an address or name on the front,but instead bears the exact same symbol I saw when they illuminated my band last night. Only this time, it is embossed in black foil.
A single crown flanked by three skulls stares back at me.
Beside the envelope is a sleek black phone. A veryout of my budgettype of model.
It is definitely not myphone. Which leads me to scrunch my eyes closed momentarily when I remember that moment, I stupidly dropped it during my race to escape my eventual captors. Well, so long to that. Not only did it definitely shatter, it’ll be well and truly long gone now.
I eye both items like they might launch off the bench and savage me.
My mouth is dry, and my throat feels like someone took to it with sandpaper, and I wipe my clammy palms on my oversized t-shirt. Which prompts me to look down and notice that I’m wearing my favorite well-worn, super soft vintage band tee and black panties.
A shudder runs through me, and I don’t have any memory of getting home or getting into these clothes. The blood then drains from my face when I realize I didn’t have any clothes left last night because that psychopath with the knife cut them off me.
Oh, god.
How the fuck did I end up quite literally naked and without a shred of clothing to wear? And how in god's name did I get back to my apartment?
Snatching up the envelope, I tear it open and stare at the contents with wide eyes.
It’s a tarot card.
