Read Online Everafter Series 2 - Nevermore by Nell Stark, Trinity Tam - Free Book Online Page B

intervals. The fifth door on the right had been propped open with a brick, and I slipped into a large, low-ceilinged room that might once have been a warehouse but now functioned as a club. Several folding tables had been lined up to form a bar along the near wall, and a makeshift plywood dais across the room served as a stage on which a blond woman, wearing nothing but stilettos, danced for the crowd.
    In another room nearby, I knew, would be the dogfights. I needed to find them and ask around about Vincent. But first I needed a drink. Being here reminded me of the last time I’d braved the Circuit—the night when the Missionary had made an appearance. The night I’d almost died at his hands a second time. If it hadn’t been for Alexa…
    Suppressing a shudder, I worked my way to the bar and ordered a double of whiskey, neat. After a long sip, I took a look around, intending to head for the fights, but at that moment, the lights dimmed and a spotlight focused on the stage. When a woman, dressed head to toe in black leather and holding a bullwhip, stepped into the bright circle, I sighed in relief. The Record was much easier for me to handle than the Raffle for some poor homeless soul’s lifeblood.
    As the dominatrix dramatically cracked her whip, two men, shirtless and barefoot, led a naked woman out onto the stage by a chain clipped to the collar around her neck. I sucked in a surprised breath when I recognized her.
    “Gwendolyn was reborn in India one hundred and eighteen years ago.” The disembodied voice ricocheted around the room, soft and sibilant. As though it were inside my head. “The last time she stood before us, she nearly broke the Record. Tonight, she wishes to try again. Will you welcome her?”
    Applause thundered beneath the low ceiling, and I felt my pulse increase to match the beat of the crowd. Gwendolyn’s skin shone under the spotlight, and for a moment, I thought she had used oil, until my keen vision caught a bead of sweat trickling between her breasts. I frowned. These tunnels were cool. If she was nervous enough to be sweating profusely, she wasn’t going to last long.
    The dominatrix’s crimson lips twitched below the cruel beak of her falcon mask, and I wondered what she was feeling. Power? Lust? Perhaps even a little trepidation? The collar around Gwendolyn’s neck looked heavy and the chain strong. But only months ago, I had watched her transform into a Bengal tiger and snap those iron links in one powerful lunge. She had been beautiful in her ferocity. And I had no doubt that she would have killed her tormentor if given the chance.
    A hush fell over the room as the dominatrix moved into striking distance. In the pause before she raised her arm, I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to feel anticipation for the spectacle, but the mood of the crowd had caught me up. I walked the streets above among mortals with the face of a woman and the appetites of a monster. Down here in the belly of the city where the veneer of civility had no place, we were all unmasked. It would have felt like a relief, had I not been so desperately thirsty.
    My throat pulsed greedily as a streak of red opened along Gwendolyn’s flank. Another followed it below her left shoulder blade. Another, and then another, until her flesh was weeping and it was all I could do not to vault onto the stage and kneel beneath her to catch the red drops as they fell upon unyielding wood.
    The crowd counted. Twenty-four. Thirty-seven. Forty-nine. The Record was fifty-seven lashes; I knew that from the last time Gwendolyn had attempted it. Her tiger had leapt free at fifty-one. Now, on the cusp of fifty-five, the energy in the room was nearly unbearable. She was shaking, convulsing against the pillar, held up only by her chained hands as her feet skidded over the rough floor. How was she not shifting?
    The room went berserk at the fifty-eighth lash. It felt like Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and I clutched at my glass,