Page 46 of Challenge Me

I did not answer. A small part of me wanted to tell you no; it wanted to lock the doors, keep you inside, and refuse to let you walk into that warehouse without me.

A much larger part of me wanted blood.

◆◆◆

Al pulled into the car park a few moments later, rolling Fox into the space beside me, headlights glowing far too brightly. The Mustang’s engine sounded breathless, his idle uneven from the effort of keeping pace.

I couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug; Fox had always been so certain he would beat me in a race, desperate to pit his 225 horsepower against my 7-liter V8 Hemi block. The poor boy must have burned through half his tank trying not to fall behind, and had still rolled in some minutes behind me, trembling like a racehorse at the end of a sprint.

I hadn’t even climbed into fourth gear.

Fox hadn’t quite caught his breath as Al climbed out, closing the door behind him. “Stay put,” he told Fox. “And don’t bother Ghost with your questions.”

Fox’s engine revved in immediate offense as Al pointed at him. “I mean it! I’ll be right back.”

I did not expect the Mustang to obey. Fox’s silent shadow appeared behind his wheel, hunched forward as he watched Al leave, his claws resting against the dashboard.

I formed atop my own hood, my boots resting above the grille. Like Fox, my every instinct was to follow you. I resisted.

Fox glanced at me, his yellow eyes bright against the darkness. I felt them on me as I looked toward the warehouse, watching the pair of you walk through the dark toward it. I felt Fox’s curiosity building up, the Mustang next to me trembling. I had two options: ignore Fox, who was waiting for Al like an anxious dog outside a supermarket, or ease the tension by engaging.

Fox was dying to ask questions. A few more minutes of him being good and he would start rattling his own bolts loose.

“What do you want to know?” I chuckled, and his exhaust backfired in excitement.

Chapter Seventeen

Lai

The only thing that separated the enormous metal door from the dozens of other loading docks of the industrial warehouses was a black security panel mounted flush to the frame. There was no bouncer outside the club, no velvet rope, no line of hopeful patrons.

I knew we were in the right place.

This wasn’t the kind of club that wanted to attract attention and clout; quite the opposite. The club offered its patrons what they couldn’t obtain legally, publicly, or without shame. Those invited here– politicians, billionaires, judges, lobbyists, arms dealers, royalty– already owned everything money and influence could buy, and they came to places like this to indulge in the final luxury they could ever purchase: the freedom from any of the consequences that plagued the common man.

I knew these kinds of places well. I had worked inside their private rooms long before I was old enough to drink the expensive liquor they served.

Al stood beside me with his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, studying the blank metal door. “This is it?”

I nodded as I slipped my matte black credit card from my wallet—no brand; no ‘Visa’ or ‘Mastercard’ logo on the dark titanium. Brands were tacky and cheap, the hallmarks of the nouveau-rich. There were maybe thirty of these cards in all the world, and they belonged exclusively to the kind of person who never needed to put anything on credit. I placed it against the security panel, and the door slid open silently, reverently, humbled by my wealth. Warm air rolled over us, thick with club music, sweat, and rot, the usual cocktail of places like that. It didn’t matter how rich the guests were; no amount of money could mask the stench of their decaying souls.

Al glanced back at the empty car park, his fingers catching my hand. “You sure about leaving Fox and Ghost alone?”

“No, but what’s the worst they can do?” I gave a dry laugh, trying to hide my disgust as we walked into the dark entry of the club. The metal door sealed behind us, separating the underground world from everything respectable above it. It felt like the jaws of an enormous monster closing around us, trapping us in its claustrophobic throat.

◆◆◆

The facade of the warehouse fell away as we descended into an enormous subterranean chamber, pausing at the first of three levels of balconies that circled a central dance floor, each layer made up of dark glass booths stacked one above another. In the yawning center of the chamber was a stage lined with swinging cages and platforms suspended from chains, where bodies of every shape and size–and age– flexed and gyrated and moaned. Some of the dancers wore leather, feathers, jewels. Others wore very little at all.

The richest people in the country watched from shadowy lounges; some hid behind elaborate masks, but most made no attempt to conceal themselves, basking in glitter and sex. They were amongst their fellow monsters, after all, and who was going to tell?

But brother, what were YOU doing at the Devil’s Sacrament?

The guilt and gold did not dazzle me. Being here made me feel sick; I had spent years working in those shadows, wishing it would all burn straight down to Hell. Now, instead of setting it all ablaze, I was here as a guest. Younger me would have hated me for it. I didn’t blame him. I kind of hated me right then, too. But I was here on a mission, and my little birdies had told me exactly where to find who I was looking for.

Federal Judge Haines of the Texas Court of Appeals was a corrupt, greedy, ugly little man who took great pleasure in condemning men– black men in particular– to death, while good Christian pedophiles had their convictions overturned. Nothing out of the ordinary in Texas. If my information was correct, he was currently enjoying the attention of entertainers in one of the lower VIP rooms, surrounded by enough private security to make a direct approach inconvenient, but not impossible.

That was why I had brought Al.