Page 135
Story: Barons of Decay
“You never should have run, Arianette. And once you did, you never should have stopped.”Armand’s voice comes whispering back.“It’s simple really. You know too much.”
He turns his back to me and stares at the fire. It’s a dismissal but it feels more like a slap in the face.
That’s when I know. I understand it with a clarity that cuts through my muddled, exhausted mind. I’m going to burn everything. The Manor. Him. Myself.
The whole bloodstained history.
I rise quietly. First grabbing the small knife next to the bowl of lemons, I pick up the bottle of whiskey by the bar, still uncapped. My fingers are steady now. I’m beyond fear. Beyond hope. That left me hours ago, somewhere back in the forest, maybe on the side of the road.
The thick scent of alcohol hits me hard and I grab another bottle. Then another. I trail through the parlor, sloshing liquor over the Persian rugs, the silk-upholstered chairs, the base of the velvet drapes.
When I look back he’s still facing his books, studying the spines. He doesn’t look at me. Not once. Why should he? I’m trash. Used up garbage of no value to him or any other person in this godforsaken town. I light one of the long matches from thefireplace and hold it up. Watch it burn to the tip. Let it kiss the hem of the drapes.
It takes instantly.
There’s a sound–whoompf–as the fire surges up the fabric, catches the rod, leaps to the alcohol-soaked rug like it’s alive. He turns, his expression finally something other than disdain. Fear. Panic.Terror.
Good. Feel what we’ve all felt under this roof.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
My lips crack open in a smile. My last one and fuck, it feels glorious.
“I’m fixing it.”
41
Timothy
Noir Sanctum humslike a pulse beneath the Maddox Hotel. I can feel it in my teeth when I descend the staircase–thick bass, moaning synths, muffled cries of pleasure behind velvet walls. Down here, names don’t matter. Titles mean nothing. Everyone kneels the same when they’re told to.
Except me.
I sit in my usual booth, the one at the back with the best view. The leather seats are worn in all the right places. The lights are low, red-gold and decadent. In this place I’m not required to wear a mask. I’m Timothy Maddox, owner of the hotel, powerful and rich. Legacy of the Barons, but spared the crown.
I tried to throw myself into work, pretending like today was any other day at the hotel. I’m an executive, busy with inventory reports, vendor delays, some bullshit about the wine cellar flooding again. I signed papers I didn’t read. Spoke to workers I didn’t hear. Smiled, occasionally. Nodded where I was supposed to, and did my best not to think about my wife.
Thenewone.
The one whose pussy brought me to my knees.
I grip the glass tighter, wishing it was anything other than club soda, and scour the room for distraction.Anydistraction.
Couples writhe in half-light. A girl with a collar cries on her knees while her Dom praises her. Two men kiss like they’ve been starving for years. Someone thanks someone else through a choked sob. It’s all beautiful, consensual, perfect.
There are two girls across from me putting on a show. They keep glancing my way, eyes full of challenge and invitation, like they’re daring me to look away. I don’t. I let them have me as an audience.
One of them is curled into the other’s lap–lithe and smooth, body draped in soft white fabric. The other is taller, with painted fingers and red lipstick smeared from a kiss. Her hand disappears beneath the mesh fabric of the other girl’s dress and the girl gasps–real, not performative. It isn’t just for me.
They kiss, slow and wet, mouths open. Not sweet. Starving.
The girl in mesh moans when the other bites her bottom lip, then arches her hips against a palm I can’t see. Her thighs part wider, in a show of submission, angled to give me a peek of her slick, bare cunt. Their bodies move in rhythm, grinding slowly to the beat pulsing through the Sanctum. The taller one pushes her fingers deeper under the hem and the other girl's head falls back with a breathy cry. It's beautiful. Intimate. Honest, even.
It’s why I built this club–a place for people to be their true selves.
I should feel something watching them. Jealousy, maybe. Lust. Satisfaction that they come to my club, spend their money, and find pleasure. But all I feel is hollow. It’s not the same tonight. And I sense the change. There’s going to be a before and after.
Before the wedding.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144