Page 26 of Lust

HELL’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR

FELIX

Anger roars through my veins as I step up to the podium Noémi had erected in front of the Earthery. There’s no fucking end to Noémi’s realm of humiliation. Last time we just walked in to the Earthery, but in the last twenty four hours, the games have gotten so popular amongst the fuckers that live down in this flea pit that she’s decided to turn it into a fucking circus and every man, woman, freak and demon is invited. Noémi’s eyes sparkle as I take the last step for the ultimate humiliation. Going into the Earthery once with the freak fucking disgusted me. I still can’t escape the fucked up mess he looked as he fell to the floor. So he has a pussy and so it looked real. His body might have been hot on a woman, but he’s not a woman, despite what everyone keeps telling me. He was called Robert, for fuck’s sake. I can see him now. At least he has the fucking decency to look scared. Good, because I’m not going to let anyone put me through that shit again, least of all him. He’s wearing another one of his flowery monstrosities - a dress that skims the floor. I veer my eyes from him and Noémi as I take my place next to him.

“Felix Barclay!” Noémi calls out. I’m a little gratified that at least some people are cheering, but I don’t want them to cheer. I just want to get this nightmare over and done with as soon as possible.

“‘ow are you feeling about ze next round, Felix?” Noémi asks.

I need to play this cool. Show no fucking fear. “Confident, Noémi,” I reply, offering the audience a spirited grin. “In fact, I'm quite certain I'll emerge victorious.”

The crowd cheer again. I know what the public want and I plan on giving it to them. I dressed in my best suit for this. In two hours, the idiots down here won’t remember Robert exists. My name will be the only name on their tongues.

“Zat’s the spirit, Felix.” She turns to the freak. “And what about you, Roro? ‘ow do you feel about being locked in a room weeth ‘ell’s most eligible bachelor?”

A sarcastic tone colors his response. “Just spiffy,” he deadpans.

It takes every ounce of stoicism I have to keep my face straight. Why the fuck are the crowds cheering? Surely they can’t actually like the guy? But as we turn towards the doors, it’s clear that Robert has fans. They are probably as crazy as he is. Irritation rattles through me as I still hear the freak’s name being shouted out over the noise.

I let Robert go into the Earthery first. To the crowd and to Noémi, it will look like I’m being gentlemanly. I actually don’t trust the freak, but they don’t need to know that.

The Earthery is black as it was the last time I entered, but as it clears, I’m happily surprised to see I’m not in some weird cabin like we were in the last trial. In fact, this place is familiar to me, almost intimately so—as intimate as one can be with a location they've solely seen in photographs. It's the apartment of none other than Daniel Price, the wealthiest man in the United States. Our paths have crossed only once before, during my final year at university when I attended a conference where he delivered the keynote speech. In that moment, I resolved to emulate him. Though our paths to wealth diverged, my journey has been closely attuned to his, tracking his every move, analyzing every decision he makes. I wanted to be him. Hell, I still do.

“Where are we?” Robert mutters. For a second, I’d almost forgotten the freak was still here with me.

Luckily, this is a big enough apartment to hide away from him for the next couple of hours in case he does what he did last time. If he even thinks about pulling a stunt like that again, I’m sure I could find a way to break the inch thick bullet-proof windows and unceremoniously evict him through the opening. We’re fifty floors up. He’d make a gorgeous, satisfying splatter on the sidewalk. The view of downtown Manhattan is spectacular. I know the address without having to look it up. Once upon a time, I harbored a fantasy of traveling to New York with the sole purpose of meeting Price. While the notion was utterly ridiculous, and I never followed through, the irony isn't lost on me now that circumstances have brought me here.

“This is where I’m going to live one day,” I say to no one in particular as I stride over to the floor to ceiling windows and put my palms to them. The whole world is spread out beneath me, with Central Park directly in front. I already know this is the most exclusive apartment block in the whole of New York and this is the Penthouse. I also know that there’s a full garden and swimming pool above us on the roof as well as a helipad. I know this place like I know my own house, even though I’ve never set foot in here. The magazine spreads didn’t show everything, though. I make my way to the first door and push on it. It’s Daniel Price’s office. I heave in a contented sigh. “This is where the magic happens.”

“It doesn’t look very magical to me,” Robert says, peering over my shoulder.

I lift my chin. “That’s because you don’t appreciate fine architecture, not that I’d expect you to, you uncultured fucker.”

He gives me a hard stare and I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with someone who wouldn’t know culture if it bit them on their sorry ass.

“But there’s no life here,” he maintains. “No photos, nothing personal. It’s boring as eff.”

I curl my hand into a fist and turn to face him. “This happens to be wheretheDaniel Price lives. The richest man in America. I happen to know it has ten bedrooms. Why don’t you go find one and lock yourself in it for the next two hours so I can actually fucking enjoy this?”

Robert rolls his eyes, but he actually does as I say, or leaves me in peace, anyway. This apartment is big enough to get lost in and hopefully he’ll do just that. I hurry over to the desk and yank open the drawer. In the real world, this drawer would undoubtedly be locked, safeguarding Daniel Price's confidential documents from the prying eyes of the staff. But I can see it now. I’ll soon know everything that Daniel Price knows and when I get out of Hell, I can use it against him and claim the title that should be mine, the richest man in America. I’ve been close a few times, but never quite hit the jackpot. Once upon a time, Daniel Price was my hero. If it wasn’t for him, I’d just be some hungry kid without direction, but in the years that have passed since he showed me the way forward, I’ve come to resent him. I have everything money can buy, but I don’t have that title and I really fucking want it. That’s not all I want. Somewhere in this room is the Cullinan Diamond, the largest diamond in the world. He bought it years ago from some British Prince. It was all over the news and yet since the moment he procured it, it’s never been seen since. I know Price well enough to know he’s kept it close. I can practically smell the bloody thing.

I pull the documents out of the drawer and practically throw them onto the walnut table. The freak is wrong. There may be no furniture here with curves, but the simplicity is fucking breathtaking.

I spread them all out, my mouth practically watering as I take in this monumentous occasion. I knew Anthura would come through. Keeping her sweet was the best Idea I’ve had since coming into this place and even though she’s become more of a pain in the ass as usual and I've had to spend more than one night listening to her complain than fucking her sweet body, I knew she wouldn’t let me down. She might only be a contestant like me now, but she knows how the games work and though that bitch Noémi is in control, Anthura clearly still has some sway with Hades.

Maybe this is what was meant to happen all along. I could stay here, be the king in my very own apartment overlooking Central Park. Even better, I could live in Daniel Price’s apartment. The only thing that would make this any better is if I find something that shows Daniel Price living in poverty somewhere. As though the Earthery can hear my thoughts, a newspaper appears in the open desk drawer. On the front cover is Price, the headline reading ‘Former Billionaire loses his fortune in a poker game against Felix Barclay.’

I sit back on the leather chair, a smirk on my face, and pull a Cuban cigar from a box on the desk before lighting it. I’ve waited my whole life for this moment. So what if it isn’t real? It feels real, and that’s what matters.

Somewhere from another room comes the sound of music, some classical bullshit. I should have guessed the freak likes this kind of sappy music. He’s probably playing it himself. I’ve seen him going to those lessons in Purgatory. He’s marginally better at flute than dressmaking, but it’s a fucking annoyance.

I stand to slam the door to tune the noise out, but before I get to it, the doorway is blocked by two of the most gorgeous women I’ve even seen in my life. They aren’t Price’s wife or daughter. I’ve seen the pictures.

Hookers?

Between them stands Price. His shirt is partially unbuttoned, and he’s got a stain on it and five o’clock shadow daubs his chin. He looks like absolute shit. What a day to be alive… dead.

“You won fair and square, Barclay,” he says miserably. “Here’s the key to the safe.”

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