The Collector (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

Holy Hell

Annabelle and Charlie are singing when we pull up to Holy Hell, making a bad song sound worse.

“Here ya go.” The cabbie turns around and eyes me expectantly, like he somehow knows I’m the chump paying. He swipes the cash from my hand and turns to face the busy street.

Charlie and Annabelle have already climbed out of the cab, and Blue is trying to get out on the opposite side. He’s dangerously close to getting run over.

I briefly wonder if I care.

Guess it would suck. A little.

The club, Holy Hell, is five stories of delightfulness. There’s a line wrapped around the building, but there’s no way I’m waiting in that thing. In fact, I doubt it ever moves. That’s just where they stick people they don’t want inside. The Vegas has-beens and never-beens.

When Blue finally lurks up beside us, I ask him, “You know how to slip someone cash?”

He looks at me, trying to comprehend what I’m asking.

“Here, watch.” I pull a hundred out of my wallet and fold it until it’s hardly visible. Then I tuck one corner between my ring and middle fingers, folding the rest in my palm. “What’s going on, man?” I say to Blue and hold my hand out.

He glances down at my hand, then shakes it with his own.

I spread my ring and middle fingers slightly, and the bill drops into his palm. When he pulls his hand away, he sees he has the bill.

“You got it?” I ask him.

He nods.

“Okay, your turn. You try it on me now. Don’t let the bill drop. If it does, we’re shit outta luck.” He nods again, but just in case he doesn’t understand why I’m showing him this, I say, “You have to learn how to do this. I don’t want problems when people question your prepubescent-looking ass. Cool?”

His nostrils flare, and he tucks the bill between his fingers, holding his palm out to me. “What’s up, dude?” he says through his teeth.

I shake his hand.

His technique is perfect.

“That was terrible,” I say. “But it’ll have to do.”

I pull out another bill and wrap my arm around Charlie. Glancing back, I notice Blue is doing the same with Annabelle, but his eyes never leave the arm I have around Charlie’s waist. I smile inwardly, then lead the way to the bouncer and shake his hand.

The bouncer does a quick lift of his chin and pulls back the red velvet rope. People in line shout profanities. Blue makes the pass, and the bouncer closes the rope behind the four of us.

“You done good, Blue,” I say.

“Like I give a shit what you think,” he replies.

I throw my head back and laugh. “Kid, you hang out with me any longer, and you’ll be picking fights with black belts.”

He jams his hands in his pockets, but his dimple fights to make an appearance. Ah, our touching love-hate relationship strikes again. Tear.

Inside the club, we stop at a small booth, and I pay the guy stamping hands. Blue pulls out his wallet, but I wave it away and toss a little respect his way for offering.

The holding room we’re in is tiny, maybe ten feet by ten feet. On the right is the guy I just paid, and on the left is an elevator. In a stroke of luck, we’re the only ones waiting outside of it. Charlie shoots me a nervous glance, and I give her a soldier’s salute.

After a few seconds of waiting, the bell for the elevator
dings
. The four of us pile inside, and Charlie glances at me. “Which floor?”

I shrug. I want her to pick. I’m curious.

She leans toward the buttons. There are four floors above us and a basement, six floors in all. Near the buttons is a gold sign with dark, blocky writing that reads, PICK YOUR POISON.

Annabelle nudges her. “Pick a floor, girl. I’m ready to get my dance on.”

Charlie twiddles her fingers in front of the buttons, then pushes five.

I groan.

“What?” she asks. “Did I choose wrong?”

“No. You chose exactly as I expected you would.” And I’ll get to spend the next hour somewhere I don’t belong. Irony—it’s a bitch.

The elevator races upward, and when the doors slide open, Charlie gasps.

We walk out into Holy Hell’s top floor. Brilliant white cotton drips from the ceiling like puffy clouds, and small crystals dangle beneath them. The white tile is pristine and coated in feathers, and the walls are covered in a soft shade of blue. In front of us, a long bar twinkles with tiny lights, and every chair, couch, and stool is wrapped in bright white leather.

The effect is heaven on earth.

Punch me.

The girls squeal and run toward the middle of the room, where people are dancing to oldies and sipping frothy white drinks. The room’s only redeeming quality is the sporadic platforms where chicks clad in skimpy angel outfits dance seductively.

I fist-bump Blue’s shoulder. “Want a drink?”

He nods without hesitating.

Damn straight.

Instead of heading to the main bar, I lead Blue toward a massive ice block. Above it, an angel girl stands waiting. I hand cash up to her, and she mixes two white drinks and pours them through the top of the ice block. The liquid rushes through tiny groves like a mountain stream, then spills into two frosted glasses.

Blue’s eyes widen. “Bad.”

“Indeed.” I hand him his drink, and we go to find the girls, who we realize are already dancing like drunken idiots. They grind their hips toward each other, and I wonder why the slightest bit of booze turns chicks into lesbos.

“Having fun?” I yell over the music to Charlie. She’s doing a pretty decent job of dancing despite her limp.

“Ooh.” She takes the glass from me. “This looks yum.”

I didn’t actually intend for the drink to be hers, but I guess it does more good down her throat than mine. Still, I best keep an eye on her. I remember how loopy she got after two beers at Taylor’s party. If she gets wasted, she’ll end up passing out instead of enjoying delicious sins o’ the evening. Not good.

Blue moves in to dance with Charlie, but I step between them before he can. I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her own around my neck. She pushes her head into my chest, avoiding my gaze. This causes a small smile to lift my mouth.

I wonder if she’s ever been kissed before. I don’t mean kinda kissed, like the crap she mentioned at Taylor’s party. I mean
really
kissed.

No freaking way.

Which means if I kissed her, it’d be sort of like her first time. Oh, man. Which means she has a lot of other
first times
to experience. Thinking about Charlie doing the dirty, I laugh, but when she looks up at me, I stop. A warm sensation spreads between my shoulder blades when I really think about her in bed with some dude. It’s actually not funny. Not at all.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

I lay her head back on my chest. “Nothing,” I say. “Let’s just dance.”

Behind me, Blue shoots me death stares as he dances with Annabelle.

I know, dude. One second you think I ain’t half bad, the next you want to castrate me. Touché.

We dance for half an hour before I can’t stand the happy, bouncy music any longer. I grab Charlie’s hand and tap Annabelle on the shoulder. She spins around, taking Blue with her. Blue’s eyes fall on Charlie’s hand in mine. He grimaces.

“Let’s see some of the other rooms,” I say.

“Yeah!” Annabelle screams too loudly. Her eyes are round and glassy. I don’t have to guess why. She visited the ice bar more times than I cared to count. “What’s on the other floors?”

“I’ll show you.”

Charlie digs her heels in. “Aw, I don’t want to go. I love this room.”

Over the last five days, I haven’t heard her ask for much. The fact that she does now makes it difficult to deny her. But I feel uncomfortable here, out of place. My skin itches, and a chill runs down my spine from being surrounded by these fake angels, despite how cheese ball they appear.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I admit. “But the other rooms are more fun.”

Her lips pull up to one side as she considers this. I tug on her hand, and when her eyes meet mine, I give a well-practiced wink.

She melts.

“Okay.” Charlie pouts, and I have to stop myself from staring at her lips. “Let’s go.”

We pile into the elevator, and Annabelle reaches across me and pushes the buttons for every floor besides the one we’re on.

“Seriously?” I glance at her, and she’s clapping her hands. Charlie claps with her.

“We want to see what’s on all the different floors,” Annabelle says.

“Fine, but our final destination is the basement.” I shake my head but smile once I turn to face the elevator doors. I’d want to see this whole place if it was my first time, too.

The elevator opens on the fourth floor, and Charlie and her two friends push me to the back so they can see out. They don’t get off, just crane their ostrich necks to get closer looks. The fourth floor is like the fifth, but not quite as over-the-top heaven. Three has a ’seventies dance show vibe with flashing lights and trippy music. People move in a slow haze, and the bartenders are dressed as ghosts.

Charlie shoots a glance in my direction.

“Purgatory,” I say.

Her mouth splits into a smile, but then her face contorts. Understanding reaches her eyes. She knows what’s coming.

Floor two is noticeably darker. Shades of violet splash across the room, and the music has an ominous ring to it. Annabelle wraps her arms around herself. “Oh, man,” she says. “This is going to get creepier, isn’t it?”

The elevator has double-sided doors, and the ones behind me open. We’re on the ground floor, and people waiting in the lobby glare at us like we’re the reason the elevator took an eternity to arrive—which we are.

“We’re going down,” I say.

A chick dressed in head-to-toe white complains. As the doors reclose, I see her flip us the finger. I want to tell her to reconsider her destination, that she might feel more at home where we’re headed.

When the elevator comes to a stop, I can’t help stealing a glance at Charlie. She’s cowering near the back but standing on her tiptoes to see over Annabelle’s shoulder. I can almost smell her excitement. It’s mixed with fear and matches my own. Part of me wants to comfort her, to tell her it’s just a club and nothing more. But another part, a twisted, deep-rooted part that makes my heart pump harder and my blood rush faster, relishes her anxiety. I want her to be in awe. I want her to feel the emotional rush of terror.

I hunger for her to know this is who I am.

And to accept me anyway.

The doors slide open, and I reach between Blue and Annabelle and grab Charlie’s hand.

“Welcome to hell, sweetheart.”

Chapter Thirty

Fire Dancing

I pull Charlie after me, and Blue and Annabelle quickly follow. The music is so loud, I feel it in my bones, in my teeth. It’s hard-driving with a heavy bass and makes you forget who you are. In other words, it’s ecstasy to my ears.

The floor is covered with black tile, and the walls are painted a dark shade of red. Throughout the room, six cylindrical tubes stretch from floor to ceiling. Slits are cut into the steel, and inside, flames lick and thrash. Though the air conditioning is cranked up to compensate, sweat still pricks my skin. The bartenders are dressed like demons, and there are people chained near the floor, dancing in chaotic, hypnotic patterns. I breathe in the rich scent of smoke, and when a waitress walks by, I buy a scarlet drink that steams in my hand.

Charlie leans in close behind me, and I imagine the way she sees this place—as a dark, sinister dungeon she’ll never encounter again. If she only knew how bad hell really is. This place, this small room in a trendy club, is a tiny sampling. But it’s nothing in comparison. The things I’ve seen people do in this room, they’re not so different from the things I did in life. And in a strange way, though this room puts me on a delicious edge, I want Charlie to witness this. Maybe I’m hoping she’ll somehow see through my façade and save herself.

Because I won’t do it for her.

I turn and face the crew. Blue seems wary of our surroundings, but Annabelle has already acclimated. She holds a red drink similar to mine, and her smile glows in the flames.

“It’s hot as hell down here,” she says when she catches my eye, attempting a joke—and failing.

“Lame,” I say.

She laughs and grabs Charlie’s hand. “Dude, let’s freaking get crazy.”

Fog drifts near the floor, pulsing from strobe lights, and Annabelle and Charlie quickly disappear inside of it. Blue shoots me a look I can’t quite read and follows after them. Before I know it, the three are completely out of sight—blended with the dancing mass that seems more like one single self.

Tables near the back offer solitude from the sex-crazed bodies, and though I’m usually the life of the party, I move toward them. Right now, I need time to strategize.

A waitress comes over and hands me another glass of red goodness. I pay her and toss it back. In a few minutes, I’m going to suggest Charlie and I do something crazy. Maybe yank someone’s wallet or get into a fight. Something she’d never do sober or outside this room but will earn her a sin seal all the same.

Charlie has done well by requesting beauty, but this assignment is weighing me down, and the quicker I can bring her soul in, the faster I can return to my normal life.

I let my head fall back, thinking about her soul. How bright it is—how I’ve never seen one so untainted. She’s a good girl. She deserves a long and happy life.

And afterlife.

I shake my head and comb my fingers through my hair. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t take on the entire Underworld to save her. I’m not even sure why I’m thinking about this. It’s pointless.

Across the room, I spot Charlie dancing. Her arms are thrown over her head, and Blue is lifting her by the waist into the air. Seeing him hold her like that, my jaw tightens. He’s being reckless. She could fall and get hurt. Or his hand could accidentally brush the soft skin of her stomach. My own stomach clenches. I start to head over to say something but stop when I notice she’s laughing. That laugh. I remember it from the first day I met her as we walked to school. I couldn’t imagine laughing like that then, and I can’t now. A knot twists in my chest. I realize immediately what it is.

Envy.

I take another drink of my red liquor, drowning the thought the best way I know how. When I look again, I don’t see Charlie. It drives me crazy to have her out of my sight. Whether it’s because she’s my assignment or something else, I’m not sure. It’s a struggle I’ve dealt with since that night after Taylor’s party.

I pound my fist on the table and push my drink away. I don’t need this alcohol tonight. It’s messing with my head. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing.
Nothing.

Boss Man’s set his sights on her, and if she’s the one destroying our seals, then it’s for good reason.

Off to my left, something catches my eye. Or rather,
someone
catches my eye. I turn and see who’s coming, then freeze.

Her thick red hair falls in loose waves to her shoulders, and her skin is smooth as cream. She smiles when she sees she has my attention, her red-painted lips curling into a tease. And her body. It’s enough to turn any guy’s head. She looks like a
Playboy
model from the 1950s, with enough curves to give an old man heart failure. And maybe a young man, too.

She sashays toward my table, her hips snapping to the right and left. All I can think is,
Boom-bada-boom-bada-boom!

“This seat taken?” Her voice is soft as butter. Before I can answer, she lowers herself and crosses her long legs at the knee. Her skintight green blouse dips down, and I have to stop myself from checking out what it exposes. Then I wonder why I’m stopping myself. “I’m Valery.”

She reaches into her gold Gucci bag and pulls out cigarettes and—oh, no, she didn’t—a quellazaire—one of those long cigarette holders. She inserts her cigarette into the holder and lights up. As she blows a puff of smoke above her head, I ask, “And you’re sitting at my table because?”

She smiles in my direction, completely unfazed. “Darling, I’m someone you want at your table. Trust me.”

I roll my eyes. I’m not big into people with jumbo self-esteem. I’ve got enough of that on my own. “Listen, I’m here with someone.”

“And now you’re here with me.” Another puff of smoke wafts above her.

My eyes travel from her sky-high heels up her lose-my-freaking-mind body and land on her soft blue eyes. She’s got probably five years on me, and I wonder at the experience she’s gained in that time. But I’ve got to concentrate on my job. I traveled too far to blow this evening. “Any other night, sweetheart, I’d eat you alive. But I’ve really got—”

Someone bumps into her chair and spills his drink down her back. She arches like a startled cat, and her mouth opens in a perfect red O. The drunkard stumbles off without pausing to check the damage, but another dude rushes in to help. He first tries to clean up the mess with napkins, and when that doesn’t work, he pulls the shirt over his head and mops up the liquid soaking through her dress.

Valery grabs the shirt from him and checks the label.
“Expensive.”

“Not a big deal,” the guy says. “Happy to help. You want me to beat that guy’s ass?”

“No, thank you,” she says with impressive poise. “You’ve been quite nice. Now run along.”

The guy stares at her for a second, mesmerized, then mumbles something about a dance later and starts to walk away, completely unfazed by the fact he’s now shirtless in a bar.

Valery pulls up her hellfire-red nails and flicks her hand in his direction. The guy’s soul light flips on—and as my mouth drops open—she releases a glittery pink seal.

I jump up from the table and point an accusatory finger at her. “You!”

Valery inspects her nails with obvious disinterest. “Dante Preston Walker, please do sit down.”