Page 60 of Play With Me
Anders shoves his way between us and pushes the guy back forcefully. “Don’t fucking touch her!”
“Stop!” I shout, trying to pull him away as the guy gets in his face. They’re drawing a crowd, and a group of clowns step in to break them apart.
Someone grabs me around the waist and lifts me off the ground. I kick and squirm and sharply yell for whoever it is to put me down as they drag me further and further away. Panic erupts in my chest. What if this is the killer? The men here know they can’t touch us without permission. Who else would so brazenly grab me? Besides the drunk grim reaper.
I dig my nails into the arm wrapped around me. The person is wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so I don’t do much damage, but I attempt to inflict any sort of pain I can. One heeled boot connects with a random body part, resulting in a sharp hiss loud enough for me to hear over the chaos.
Tears spring to my eyes as Anders gets swallowed by the crowd.What happened to Martin? Where is Nikolai?
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Luca’s thundering boom comes out of nowhere, making my heart stop with the sheer viciousness of it. I don’t see which way he comes from, but suddenly, I’m on the floor as the large man tackles whoever had me.
A scream erupts the second I hit the hardwood, but this one is different than the others I’ve heardtonight. This is a bloodcurdling, make the hair on your arms stand up, something is very wrong, type of scream.
Another joins it, then another. Bodies hurry through the room in a mass of disarray. Some run for the exit, while others gather around the far end of the space, where the viewing rooms are. When I look over my shoulder, Luca is nowhere to be found, and neither is the person who tried to abduct me.
As the room empties, I get to my feet, silently cursing my choice to wear a fucking underbust corseted bodysuit. My boobs are flopping around everywhere in the most unattractive manner. I rush to the end of the hall, where security pulls people away and shoves them toward the Grand Room.
“What is going on?” I ask the first guard I reach.
“It’s fucking gruesome,” he informs me. “If you’re squeamish, don’t go in there.”
Ignoring him, I dart toward the room, hearing Anders yell out behind me, “Madame!”
At least he has enough sense not to use my real name in a state of panic.
When I reach the room that is the source of the commotion, I feel my stomach roil as it threatens to spill everything I’ve eaten today. The scent of pennies is cloying as copper fills the air.
Even in the red lights, I can see it splashed everywhere—blood. Dark and thick and literallyeverywhere.
Anders’ arms wrap around my shoulders. “Fuck.”
Fuck doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Because there, in the middle of the room on the queen-sized bed, is a man who’s been brutally dismembered. His limbs litter the floor in piles of sinew and splintered bone. His torso has been slashed open, and his insides spill over the side of the bed to the floor.
Bile rises in my throat, and I turn my face into Anders’ shoulder as the room suddenly goes dark before the regular lights flicker on. Seeing it without the filter of the red lights is more jarring. It makes it more real.
“How the fuck did this happen?” Anders asks no one in particular.
Someone answers, “It just looked like a damn good act. The only ones allowed to use the power tools are the guards. No one thought it was real until a client tried to join in.”
The doors are supposed to be locked for those acts.Another wave of nausea hits me as I think of a client walking in on that and realizing it wasn’t an act at all.
“What’s in his fucking mouth?” Anders lets go of me, walking further into the room, careful not to step in any of the blood. Though, that’s difficult because nearly every inch around the bed is covered in it.
“The police are on the way,” Nikolai’s voice ringsout. “Therightones,” he stresses. Meaning, he called Paul to send the ones he trusts.
“What is it?” I ask Anders. He grips part of the sheet to retrieve whatever it is. When he turns, he lifts his eyes to the wall he’s facing, a shocked look taking over his features. In his hands is a wilted, dead rose.
I step into the room to see what he’s staring at. The second my feet move, he snaps, “Don’t.”
But it’s too late. Every nerve in my body sparks adrenaline through my veins. I stop breathing, chest aching as I take in the words I’m seeing.
There’s a message on the viewing window, written in blood.
You’re next.
Anders