No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

C lub Orpheus is one hell of a night club. It’s three stories of all kinds of depravity imaginable, with the upper deck reserved for Sebastian’s men and special guests. The ones who sell the Drug and invite clientele upstairs to sample it.

Sebastian’s office sits in the back of the upper floor, overlooking a balcony upon which one can observe the dirty deeds being performed below. As if that wasn’t enough, security cameras watch every square inch of the bar, lounge, dance floor and private rooms. One could argue that having cameras in the restrooms and VIP lounges is an invasion of privacy, but then again those who come to Orpheus likely don’t really care. Most are too drunk and stoned to know the difference.

I’ve changed from my leather jacket into a thin silk shirt, unbuttoned down my chest, and tight jeans that cling to my slim figure, accentuating the curve of my ass and definition of my long legs. I’ve applied liner and mascara to my eyes and blush to my cheeks to make myself look pretty. Feminine. Just like Sebastian likes his boys.

There’s a huge bodyguard at the door as I approach. Tattoos adorn every inch of his exposed skin and the crown of his bald head. He stiffens when he sees me. He knows who I am.

“I’m here to see Sebastian,” I say. “Father sent me.”

He has the sense to look perturbed at those words so I smile to set him at ease. It’s a fake, foreign thing on my face, but I doubt he can tell. I’m good at faking it. “Don’t worry,” I say, leaning close to him, placing a hand on his wide chest. “I left all my weapons at home. I’m utterly harmless.”

He shivers under my gaze, his thick black brows rising into his non-existent hairline. Gingerly, he steps back and knocks on the door.

“What?” comes the voice from within.

“You’ve got a visitor,” the bodyguard huffs, still looking me up and down. “Says Father sent him.”

Silence from within. I know Sebastian is panicking on the other side of the door. I hear a scuffling of footsteps and then the door opens. Sebastian’s leering face peers out.

He’d be almost handsome if his features weren’t so pinched, his nose sitting high on his face like a rat’s. His beady brown eyes dart back and forth as they take me in, and his thin lips purse as recognition falls over his features.

“Killian,” he whispers.

“Sebastian,” I purr, making my voice a low sensual thing.

“Father sent you?” There’s a tremble in his tone. He’s doing his best to hide it.

“He’s been worried about you. He sent me to make sure you’re alright.”

Sebastian cocks a brow, regarding me coolly, uncertainly. “Well, here I am. And as you can see, I’m quite fine. Well, even.”

I nod, leaning back to allow my shirt to fall open and expose my neck, the hard lines of my pectorals hidden just beneath the fabric. “Indeed. But that’s not my only reason for being here.”

He looks me up and down, distractedly licking his lips. “No?”

“Business is booming. Orpheus is one of our most profitable locations. All under your leadership. So I’m here as a reward for all your hard work and loyalty.”

“Reward?” He swallows. I watch his Adam's apple bob. “What kind of reward?”

“I’d like to show you. Would you let me in?”

Sebastian’s eyes dart between me and his bodyguard, but I never break the contact, watching him with a syrupy sweet, seductive look. A look I learned early would get me anything I wanted.

He can’t resist me. I see the moment he decides the risk is worth the possibility of satiating his lust. He bobs his head quickly and then opens the door wider to allow me admittance. I grin and sidle past, giving the bodyguard one last sidelong look before the door shuts me inside.

The room is dimly lit and smells of marijuana and something stronger. The sharp twinge in the air makes me think Sebastian has been sampling his own wares, using the Drug behind Father’s back. Not an ideal business practice.

I don’t say anything to Sebastian about the smell though. Instead, I slink toward the desk at the back of the room. My eyes rove its solid wood top, the papers that are scattered about, the open bottle of whiskey and half-emptied glass. I can feel his eyes on me, the way he’s watching me with bated breath, knowing the danger of being in my presence but desiring me even still.

I turn to look at him, leaning my ass against his desk. Cocking my head to the side, I observe him. “Are you afraid of me?” I ask.

He huffs a laugh. “I’d be a fool not to be, wouldn’t I?”

I shrug, still not taking my eyes off him.

“People talk, Killian. You’re the enforcer. You kill on Father’s orders.”

“That’s not the only thing I do on Father’s orders,” I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. Still, I shutter my expression, keep my tone cool, my body lithe and my movements casual. Comfortable.

“No?” Sebastian cocks a brow. I have him.

“I’m not here to kill you, Seb.” Not a lie. Not entirely. And he almost preens at my use of his nickname. Only his boys call him Seb. Or so I’m told.

“Well that’s a relief,” he says, daring to come closer. Each step seems cautious, like he’s approaching a wild animal. He’s trying to appear composed but the way his hands clench at his sides betray his desire.

“Would you like to see your reward?”

He cocks a brow, boxing me in against the desk. Close enough to touch, yet still, he refrains. He’s hesitant, though curious. Hopeful, but not enough yet to let down his guard. Even still, he breathes out, “Yes.”

Without taking my eyes off him, I begin to unbutton my shirt further, tugging it from the front of my pants. It comes off my shoulders easily, revealing the pale white skin of my chest, dusty pink nipples standing at attention. A gold bar runs through the right one—a moment of rebellion in my adolescence. It gets Sebastian’s attention immediately. He licks his lips greedily as he admires it.

Hesitantly, he reaches out and runs his hands over the bar, pinching my nipple, between his fingers. It’s overly sensitive because of the piercing so I don’t have to fake biting my lower lip at the sensation.

“So pretty,” he whispers before catching himself and shrinking back, as though just realizing what he’s done, who he’s put his hands on. But I reach out and bring his palm back to my chest, placing it right where it wants to be, right over my piercing and the pebbled nipple underneath. His breath catches as his eyes jump to my lips.

“It’s okay,” I say, placating, gentle. I lean forward slightly, just close enough, and catch his lips in mine. It’s a cautious kiss at first, just the lightest of touches, before I pull away, batting my eyelashes up at him.

It’s enough to break the spell of hesitancy.

His lips slam into mine then, his unoccupied hand skirting around the back of my head to tug me into the kiss. He embraces me sloppily and with abandon, like a man starved. Desperate for the taste of my mouth.

Though I’m already up against the desk, he pushes me on top of it so my ass plops down upon its surface, scattering all the clutter and paperwork onto the floor. The glass of whiskey and bottle cascade across the ground, shattering, but Seb doesn't care. He steps in between my legs, running his hands all over my chest, slipping them down to grapple with my belt.

Hastily, he undoes the buttons of my jeans and then gasps at what he finds within. I’m wearing a pair of flimsy black lace panties. Women’s. So small, my cock and balls are barely contained within.

“Christ,” he whispers, his voice thick with lust. He attempts to lay me out on the surface of the desk, but I stop him with a hand on his chest and a seductive smile on my face.

“Take a seat.” I nod to the chair opposite his desk and he swallows hard, his breathing erratic. But he does as he’s told, gingerly pulling himself off me and settling down in the cool leather, his fingers gripping the armrests tight as though he’s using everything in him to refrain from reaching out.

I swivel to face him, turning around to the front of the desk and closing the gap between us. Then, standing before him, the button of my pants undone, I begin to slide them down my legs to expose the delicate lace, my shaved smooth skin.

He moans aloud, palming himself as his mouth falls open, as he takes in my nearly naked state. I sit back on his desk once more, facing him, my legs spread, my cock an open invitation.

He lunges, burying his face in my groin, nuzzling my cock and balls through the lace. With one hand, he strokes me and with the other, he lifts my leg behind the knee to get a better angle. I can feel his hot breath through the fabric, the wet of his mouth against that vulnerable part of me. He alternates between breathing me in with harsh huffs and lapping at me with his tongue. It dips under the seam, making contact with my skin, and I can’t help but hiss.

He must take that outburst as a declaration of pleasure because he fishes two fingers beneath the fabric and releases my shaft to the cool air. And without warning, he envelops it in his mouth.

His eyes fall closed as he begins to suck in earnest.

He’s distracted.

I reach behind me, within the veil of dark hair that cascades behind my back. Tied within is a slim glass vial. And inside that…

I plunge the silver needle into the side of Sebastian’s neck. Not enough to seriously wound him, but enough to prick, to draw blood, to inject him with the substance coating its tip. He doesn’t have time to cry out or to react as his body slumps, his face collapsing in my lap, his shoulders slouching. He’s paralyzed, completely at my disposal. But his mind is still alert. And surely, he’s terrified.

Without decorum, I shove him so he falls into the chair again, his back crumpled in a way he’ll undoubtedly feel later. His eyes are wide open, staring right at me and I fix myself directly in his line of sight, putting a hand on either side of his face.

“You’ve been a disobedient dog, Sebastian. A bad dog. Your master expects better.”

I’m sure he wants to whimper or pull away or scream for help but he can do none of those things. The paralytic I’ve injected him with has seen to that. Now I can deliver Father’s message with no interruption or argument.

As he watches, useless and pathetic, I slip back into my pants and shirt, buttoning myself back inside. Then I turn to him and cross my arms over my chest, giving him a look one might give a disappointing child. “You’ve been avoiding Father,” I say. “And I think you’ve been keeping his profits from him. Using your own product. Being a very bad boy.”

Without warning, I bring a fist to his face, bone crunching and blood spurting where contact is made. He slumps back helplessly and for good measure, I moan and cry out, “Fuck yes, Seb. Harder. Harder!”

I wrap my hands around his throat and press until his face turns blue. “You’re not going to do that anymore, Seb. You’re going to come to Mass every Sunday like a good dog, with all your product accounted for. You’re going to crawl when you see Father, beg his forgiveness. Or next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

I release his neck, allow him to breathe again before ramming an elbow into his nose, breaking it so blood pours down his face in a torrent of deep red. He’s unable to scream, unable to bring his hands up to defend himself, but I know it hurts like hell. A lone tear trickles down his cheek. With the pad of my thumb, I brush it away.

“Father doesn’t need your tears, Seb. He needs your loyalty. He needs to know you won’t betray him.”

I splay his hands out on the arms of the chair, a mirror of their earlier placement, when he wanted so badly to run them all over my body. Then I turn from him and begin to dig in the desk drawers. I empty out all the contents, rifling through files in the lower compartments, scanning each document into my memory to report back to Father later.

Once I’ve had enough of the information within, I retrieve a paperweight that’s been discarded on the floor from Sebastian’s earlier fumbling to get closer to me. It’s thick and heavy, blood red glass blown to look like a demon’s head. Likely very expensive. I slam it down hard on the back of his left hand, shattering the bones beneath the skin.

“Keep going! Keep going!” I cry out, ensuring my voice travels outside the door. “Seb, keep going!” I moan and slam a hand on the desk several times in quick succession. “Seb! Seb! Seb!” I fake an orgasm, something I’ve gotten very good at over the years.

Then I bend low to meet Seb’s gaze. More tears are streaming from his eyes now. I wipe them harshly from his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead. “The paralytic will wear off in about six hours. I’ll be sure to let your guard know you want privacy until then. In the meantime, I want you to think long and hard about how you’ve been showing Father your thankfulness. You are his servant. You deal and sell and fuck and live and breathe because he has given you the opportunity. You’d do well to remember that.”

I slap his cheek once more, watching as a pink handprint blooms over his skin. “See you on Sunday,” I say before turning my back on him completely and heading to the door.

Before exiting, I run a hand through my hair, mussing it a bit to keep up appearances. Then, without looking back again at Sebastian, I head out into the hallway and shut the door behind me. The same guard stands sentry and he eyes me as I exit.

I meet his gaze with a brow raised. “What’s your name?”

He cocks a brow at me but ultimately supplies what I’ve asked for. “Gus,” he grunts out.

“Gus,” I assess him, looking him up and down, crossing my arms over my chest. “You serve Sebastian faithfully. But Sebastian serves Father. Therefore, you serve Father. We all serve Father. And those who are found to be disloyal will be punished. Do you understand?”

Still, he looks at me suspiciously, uncertain of my intentions. But eventually, he nods. “Yes.”

“You need to think about whether or not those you serve deserve that service. So that when the veil falls and the traitors are rooted out, you won’t be among them. Because Father is not kind to those who betray him, as you well know. But to those who are loyal, he’s gracious. So I’d like you to consider where your loyalties truly lie.”

“You threatening me?” he spits out.

I shrug. “Do I need to?”

He stutters at that, backing slightly away from me but I close the distance between us with one large stride. His shoulders hit the wall behind him as he looks down at me.

“Father is always looking for allies, Gus. For people he can rely on. Can he rely on you?” I reach out to stroke his cheek and he shudders. He’s afraid of me. This big, imposing figure, fears me. I admit, that feels good. I can use that fear to draw him to me, to draw out the reaction I want.

After a moment, he nods again. “Yes.”

I smile softly, withdrawing. “Good.” I bob my head toward the closed door to Sebastian’s office. “Give him a few hours to think about how thankful he is for the reward Father has given him. No more than six, no less than three. Do you understand?”

He stiffens, glancing toward the door, before swallowing hard and then nodding again.

“Be sure to bring your master to Sunday Mass, Gus, won’t you? Father expects to see him there.”

I don’t wait for his response before heading back down the long hallway to the upper balcony. I don’t need to hear his declaration of obedience to know he’ll do as I commanded. He’ll stand outside the door for the time I’ve instructed, turning away any unexpected guests, before finally going inside to help treat Sebastian’s wounds. Sebastian will just be regaining his mobility by then, and in a good deal of pain. But either way, a lesson will have been learned. For all involved. Father’s justice has been served.

But in the meantime, I need a cigarette. Badly. My nerves are shot and my body is vibrating, on edge. I’m not a regular smoker. But I need a cigarette now. As I always do after missions like this one. Missions that require more from me than just violence. Violence is easy. Everything else…

The nightclub booms with life as I make my way downstairs. Bodies gyrate under the lights, blues and purples that throb and pulsate, keeping time with heavy electronic music that makes me want to cover my ears. I head away from the dance floor and past the bar, straight for the front door, determined to get some fresh air. And pollute my lungs immediately after.

“Killian.” A thick, muscular body steps into my trajectory, making me stall. I’d forgotten. Eli. Father sent him with me as backup on the mission though we both know I don’t need it. I suspect Father has other intentions in sending him along, though I can’t guess what those reasons are.

“How’d it go?” Eli has a drink in hand, a beer that froths and sweats in its clear glass.

“As expected,” I shrug, attempting to get around him. I don’t want to talk right now. Least of all to him. I need to get outside and I don’t want him to follow me.

“So, he’s alive then?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes.”

“Then, did you…” he raises his eyebrows suggestively as he scans my disheveled clothes and hair.

I bite my tongue in frustration. “Did I what , Eli?”

He smirks at me as he takes a long draught of his glass, “Did you get Father’s message across?”

Heat rushes to my face. “He’ll be loyal from here on out.”

Eli chuckles. “How many pieces is he in?”

“Just the one,” I reply.

“Broken bones?”

“A few.” I try again to shoulder past but he blocks my path. I’m growing testy. He’s nearly at his limit.

“Then have a drink with me. If it went so well, we should celebrate.”

“You already have one,” I say, my tone cold and impassive.

“I’ll get another one. I have two hands after all.”

“No,” I persist. “I just need a cigarette.”

He throws his drink back, gulping the dregs of it down in one final swallow. “Want some company?”

“No,” I repeat. “Stay here. Get another drink. I’ll join you in just a bit.” I say it to placate him with no intention of actually coming through on the promise. But he smiles at my words and nods. He believes me. Idiot.

“Looking forward to it.”

Finally, blissfully, he steps out of my way and the storm clouds clear from my mind ever so slightly. I can breathe again as I push past him and step through the doors to the outside, the cool air enveloping me and chilling the heat that’s settled uncomfortably on my cheeks. I let out a sigh, relishing the solitude, the feel of the crisp autumn air.

My eyes scan my surroundings, this street and these buildings I’m all too familiar with it all. I’ve been here so many times before on Father’s orders and yet this time feels strangely different. I’m unsettled. There’s a nervous, itchy fire burning under my skin. I can’t put my finger on it.

Then, I spot something amiss, something I’ve never noticed before. There’s a new building. Across the street, a shop of some kind. The sign above, painted as if in some antique font, reads, The Magic Shop. It looks ancient, built of brick and crumbling siding, but it’s clearly alive and lit from the inside. A faint glow comes from the front window, illuminating rows of books and strange looking witchy paraphernalia.

Weirdos, I think, willing myself to shrug off this inexplicable feeling of malcontent. Odder things have happened in New Mason City than a bunch of goths opening a pagan gift shop in the middle of a rundown drug trafficking district. But still, I chance one more glance before turning away completely.

Digging in the back pocket of my pants, I withdraw a crumpled pack of cigarettes with only three left inside. My hands shake as I bring a singular stick to my lips and withdraw the lighter that rattles around in the packet. I flick and it sparks but doesn’t light. Again. Again. Nothing happens. I groan in frustration, ready to give up.

“Need a light?”

The voice lilts through the night air, silky and low and I stop myself from jumping in surprise. I could have sworn I was alone. But as I turn I realize I’m very much not alone. To my right, standing against the brick wall of Club Orpheus is a man, tall and lanky, practically glowing with bright and flamboyant colors that serve as a stark contrast to our drab and dark surroundings. His hair is pink—hot pink—and tied up on his head in a knot that reveals the shorn sides of skull. He looks at me with a cocky smirk on his handsome, angular face, eyes glittering like gold in the moonlight.

Once he sees he has my attention, he holds out a hand, a lighter clutched between long, slim fingers, each tipped with pointed black nails. I cock an eyebrow as my eyes skate to his once again. I see a tattoo on his temple, so small yet so detailed. It sits below his hairline, just next to his right eye. The scales of justice, perfectly balanced.

He notices me staring and his smile stretches wider, exposing shining white teeth. He persists, once more drawing attention to the lighter with a flick of his wrist. “The light?”

I snap back to myself, and seeing no reason to deny him, take the lighter from his hand. His fingers ghost over mine and despite myself, I shiver at the touch, forcing myself to look away, to focus. He watches as I flick the tab and the flame bursts to life. Then, taking my first puff, I breathe in and out, allowing the smoke to drift down my throat and into my lungs. And all the while I feel the weight of that golden stare.

“You’re welcome,” he says unprompted.

I stifle a sardonic grunt. “ Thank you ,” I force myself to say as I hand him back the lighter.

Silence falls between us but he’s still looking at me, even as he nurses his own cigarette. A lively, vibrant aura surrounds him as though he’s having fun just standing there observing.

“Sorry, what do you want?” I snap finally, my nerves feeling frayed and my patience growing thinner by the second.

“Hmm?” I watch as his smirk pulls downward in an overly exaggerated grimace. He shrugs. “I just wanted to help you light your cigarette. You looked so desperately sad when you couldn’t get it lit.”

I huff in frustration, gesturing to my glowing butt. “Well, as you can see, now it’s lit. And I’ve said thank you. So if you don’t mind, I came out here to clear my head. And enjoy the solitude.”

“I don’t mind at all.” That smile returns as he takes a puff and leans back against the wall. Still watching.

He’s not going away, I can see that. He’s chuckling slightly to himself and I feel myself both repulsed and intrigued by his jovial nature. What is with this guy?

He breaks the silence. “So, rough night?”

I bristle. “I’m fine.”

He nods, humming to himself, considering his cigarette as he continues. “I noticed you haven’t had anything to drink. And you look so lovely. Did you have a fight with that large boyfriend of yours?”

Eli. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I snap in indignation before realizing the true implication of his words. “What, were you spying on me?”

“One does tend to closely observe things they find beautiful. Or intriguing.” His eyes burn brighter than the bud of his cigarette and I swallow, feeling my face flush hot. I’m not a stranger to these kinds of words, to attempts at seduction. But for some reason, the way he speaks, the roving length and intensity of his gaze makes me feel uneasy.

“Is this your attempt at hitting on me?” My voice comes out strained. I grit my teeth in frustration.

Chuckling, he cocks a slim brow. “That depends. Is it working?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “We could have such fun together, you and I.”

The audacity. “Not interested.”

He curls his lip, taking another drag. “No. You wouldn't be. You don’t strike me as someone who cares much about fun .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He talks like he knows me. He doesn’t. I’ve never seen this man before in my life, and yet he’s so bold, overstepping lines no one else in my life has dared to cross.

“So serious.” His tone is playful, teasing. He’s not afraid of me. Not in the slightest. Instead of pulling away at my cold expression, he draws nearer, looking me directly in the eyes. “You have an almost dark aura about you. It warns strangers to stay away.”

“And yet you approached.”

“As I said, I’m intrigued. And I’m not easily dissuaded.” Another drag.

I take one of my own, turning away to face the darkness instead of having to look at that smug expression. “Well, I hope you don’t mind being disappointed.”

“Oh I don’t think I will be.”

I’ve had enough. I toss the cigarette to the ground and grind it underfoot. But as I make to move past him, he says something that makes me pause in my tracks.

“Dance with me.”

An image flashes in my mind. A clear night in the forest, beneath the glowing of the full moon. A bonfire hissing and spitting in the background as a cloaked figure holds out a hand, beckoning. Smiling, face hidden beneath his hood.

I have seen this man before. In my dreams. Even with only this small portion of his face exposed, I recognize those full lips, that confident smirk, the way his body seems to float with such seamless grace.

I’ve never been one for superstition. But now, I’m spooked. I open my mouth, to say something, anything , but he speaks first.

“Dance with me,” he repeats. He’s holding out his hand again, a perfect imitation of my dream. But this time, I can see his eyes. Those warm honey-colored eyes that bore into me, teasing me, beckoning.

“Who are you?” I manage.

“I thought you’d never ask, darling. I’m Hollow.”

I blink, broken from the fog of remembrance at hearing that strange name escape his lips. I pause and he meets my eyes expectantly. “Hollow?” I ask.

He nods, expectation hungry on his lips.

“That’s your name?”

“Yes.” He’s grinning.

“What kind of name is that?”

Hollow’s lower lip juts out, in a mockery of a pout. “I rather think it’s a good one. Unique, isn’t it?”

He moves in closer to me, so close our chests almost touch, and without warning, he brushes a stray lock of hair back from my temple. My breath quickens and I coil in on myself, like a viper ready to strike, when he blinks down at me and asks, “Will you tell me yours?”

Breathless, unable to stop myself, I blurt out, “Killian,” and his smile returns.

He looks at me now with a strange sort of wonder. Like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Kill,” he whispers and a shiver runs down my spine. No one but Abe calls me Kill. I hate it, the irony of it, that one short, sharp syllable that makes a mockery of who I am and what I’ve done. What I’m capable of. But the way he says it, the way it spills out of his mouth like he’s caressing it with his tongue, is almost poetic. Beautiful.

“It just so happens, I have your name carved into my heart. Would you like to see?” He begins to tug at the collar of his shirt as if to show me an actual carving of my name on his skin. And suddenly, I’m so very bored.

I roll my eyes. He’s ruined the moment with his paltry and pretentious pick-up line. I’ve heard worse, but from him, I wanted better. I shove past him toward the street, suddenly disinterested in his shallow attempt at flirting. The magic veil between us has lifted and I’m reminded again of where I am. What I’m doing. The task I’ve been sent to perform.

And I still have one more stop tonight.

“Wait,” he says and I halt in my tracks. I don’t know why I do. But as I turn to look back at him, I see that his smile has vanished. And in its place is a heat, a hunger, something chaotic and dangerous.

“What?” I snap.

“I do hope we see each other again, Kill. I’d really enjoy that dance. I think you’d enjoy it too.”

I clench my jaw and pull my back straight, pretending I’m not rattled. “I doubt it,” I say as I turn away. I leave him behind me in the flickering lamplight. He doesn’t chase after me or call me back. But I can feel his eyes, those golden-rod eyes, on my back as I go.

A weaker man might shudder or balk under that intense gaze.

I’m not a weaker man.

I don’t shudder and I don’t balk. And I don’t look back.