Page 47 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

No matter what else is going on in my head, I have to stay alert.

The silence starts to feel too stifling, so I reach out and turn on the radio, changing the station to some sort of metal band. A few songs play before we reach our destination, and I slow the car as we near our destination.

Eros doesn’t look like much from the outside.

Maybe a nondescript bar or lounge, with no signage and a parking lot that’s hidden around the back. It’s all dark wood and stone, and Quinn frowns as she checks the place out before we get out of the car.

“You’re sure this is it?” she asks, leaning forward to peer at the back of the building. The dim ambient light catches the fullness of her cleavage, and I wrench my eyes away.

“Yes, I’m sure. Let’s go.”

She slides a glance my way as if she’s about to call me out for my nearly monosyllabic answer, then shrugs and gets out of the car.

“Listen,” I tell her as we walk toward a door manned by two intimidating looking guys in black suits. “Stick close, okay? We have some idea of what to expect in there, but anything could happen.”

Instead of arguing, Quinn just nods. “Right.”

She’s focused, clearly wanting to get in and get the info we need over anything else.

Which makes sense. Seeing her people laid out like that, dead from a threat that we still haven’t identified, must have been hard.

She’s in leader mode now, focusing on getting this done so that no one else in her crew gets hurt.

I respect the hell out of that—which makes it even harder to ignore my attraction to her.

Because it’s not just her body or her gorgeous face that draws me in. It’s who she is. Everything about her.

The two men at the door subtly adjust their postures as we approach, and I know they’re more than just run-of-the-mill bouncers. They’re guards, posted by the only entrance to the building to make sure that no one without the proper permission gets in… or out.

They’re likely armed to the teeth, and I make sure to keep my hands in full view as we near them, making it clear I’m not a threat.

One of them gives Quinn an assessing once-over that makes me immediately rethink my ‘not a threat’ stance.

I have to work hard to keep my hands from curling into fists as he gazes at her lasciviously.

Then he turns away from her, addressing me as if she no longer exists. As if she’s not worth speaking to.

“She’s yours?” he asks.

I can feel Quinn stiffen at my side, reacting to his choice of words. But I just nod, hoping she’ll have the good sense not to argue or dispute what I say.

“Yes. She is.”

The guard’s partner steps forward, speaking in Latin. “ Quid est flos dulcissimus in horto? ”

“ Non flos, sed fructus ,” I answer back, reciting the phrase I memorized.

He dips his head, acknowledging my words, and then both guards step aside, allowing us entrance. I rest a hand at the small of Quinn’s back and urge her forward, trying to ignore the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress as the first guard raps on the wall beside the door.

It opens a second later, and we slip inside.

The interior of the club is dimly lit, and it grows a little darker as the door shuts behind us, cutting off any ambient light. A young woman is waiting in the entryway, and she steps forward to greet us, her movements careful and elegant.

She’s practically naked, dressed in a long, sheer skirt with just black pasties over her nipples. The top half of her face is hidden by a white mask in the shape of a ram’s skull, the horns curling into her dark hair.

She flicks her eyes over the pair of us behind her mask, then inclines her head, beckoning us in. “Welcome to Eros. Take a mask.”

She gestures to a velvet covered table beside her, where an array of different masks are laid out. Some are animal themed like hers, while some are done in a more masquerade style, with adornments and decorations.

I pick out something simple, one that looks almost skeletal, and fit it over my face.

It covers the top half of my features, and the eye holes are large enough that I don’t lose too much of my peripheral vision.

Still, I immediately feel claustrophobic as I slip it on.

I don’t like anything that impedes my ability to scope out my surroundings or to fight, but I know better than to disobey the rules of this place.

Quinn shoots me a glance, then goes for one of the more elegant ones, a sleek masquerade-style mask in a deep maroon color edged with silver.

I watch her slip it on, and something about the way the shimmering silver of the mask blends with her teal hair is almost hypnotic.

I stare at her for a second too long, and her eyes glitter behind the mask before she finally looks away.

The woman who greeted us leads us down a long hallway to another door and unlocks it, holding it open for us.

“ Festum in fructu, bibere sucus ,” she says, and then we’re in.

Stepping into the club proper is almost like stepping into another world.

It’s a large, maze-like space, separated into different areas.

The place is already full of people, everyone masked, the men wearing suits and the women wearing revealing dresses.

Some are almost fully undressed, bare- chested or wearing sheer clothes like the girl at the door, and although the smell of sex and arousal hangs heavy in the air, there’s a veneer of elegance over everything.

The lights are dim in here too, sconces spaced around the walls illuminating the room with a soft purple-ish glow, while still leaving pockets of near darkness in some corners.

Everything is made of dark wood and velvet drapes in rich, jeweled tones.

As I scan the room, I catch sight of the guards stationed against the walls.

They’re dressed to blend in, no weapons visible to the patrons, but I can pick them out easily by their alert stances and the way they survey the people around them.

It’s a subtle reminder that not everyone in this place is here of their own free will, and that within the club, Vincent’s laws are strictly enforced.

“Why did you say that?” Quinn asks in a low voice as we make our way through the crowd.

“Say what?”

“Outside. Why did you say…” She cuts a sideways glance at me. “Why did you say I was yours?”

I move a little closer to her as a man brushes by us, leading a woman with a collar around her neck.

“I told you the rules of this place are archaic,” I murmur, dropping my head to speak quietly in her ear. “Every woman here is either claimed by a man or available for every man. I needed to tell the guard that to make it clear that you weren’t available.”

Quinn stiffens a little, turning her head to look at me. Our faces are very close like this, and I can see her eyes widen a little behind her mask, but I can’t read her expression.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I add, well aware that I’m echoing the exact same words she said about her and Nico that night.

And just like those words, these ones feel like a lie even as I say them.

“We need to find a way to speak to Vincent,” I tell her, straightening up but sticking close by her side. “So we can get out of here as fast as possible.”

I’m hyperaware of the gazes on us as we make our way through the crowd, and although I can feel some people staring at me, I brush that off.

Because all I can focus on is the people staring at Quinn.

Men and even some women look her way and nod appreciatively, their eyes sliding over her outfit, lingering on all the places that my eyes lingered when she first came downstairs tonight.

Anger burns in my throat, but I do my best to keep it together. I want to kill anyone who looks at her, especially in a place like this. But that’s not what we’re here for.

We walk deeper into the club, past the outer rooms where things were relatively tame.

Back here, there are couples pressed into leather covered booths, kissing and grinding on each other.

A woman in a black leather dress that lets her tits spill out freely presses another woman over a heavy oak table, her fingers tight in the other woman’s hair.

The one bent over the table cries out, and the one in leather laughs and leans down, licking the tears off the other woman’s cheeks while her prey shudders in either pleasure or pain.

There’s a bar off to one side, and as we pass by it, a familiar wet sound catches my attention. I glance over to see a man sipping a drink while a woman with glazed eyes kneels between his legs, sucking his cock as he holds her down until she gags.

Women in short skirts and nothing else bring out drinks on trays to people sitting in the booths—sometimes they’re allowed to walk away afterward, and sometimes they end up getting pulled onto a lap to be groped or fucked.

“Jesus,” Quinn mutters. Her mouth hardens as she watches a girl cry silently as she limps away from a table, her skirt hiked up around her waist and cum dripping down her thighs. “I think I prefer Le Bal Masque. At least everyone at that place wants to be there.”

I glance down at her, my brows drawing together.

I haven’t heard of the place she’s referring to, but I assume it’s another sex club of some kind.

I had no idea she’d frequented establishments like that, and for a split second, my focus is completely shot as I imagine her in a dark room, being fucked by a masked stranger.

The image both pisses me off and turns me on, and I grit my teeth, forcing it out of my head.

“Come on,” I tell Quinn, putting my hand on her lower back again and leading her toward the bar. “Maybe the bartender will be able to tell us how we can get an audience with Vincent.”

This area of the club is more open than some of the previous sections we made our way through, and although tables and booths line the walls, the space is dominated by a stage in the middle of the floor. A group of people are gathered around it, looking on as a couple puts on a show.

There are several pieces of furniture arrayed on the stage, including a bed, a large x-shaped cross, and a wooden bench.

The woman is bent over the bench, facing the thick of the audience while the man behind her plows into her, fucking her hard and fast. Her moans are loud over the low thrum of the music, and when I look closer, I can see that she’s got a collar around her neck that’s clipped to a ring on the bench she’s bent over.

Her moan turns into a throaty scream of pleasure as the man behind her gives her ass a hard slap. I can hear him spanking her a few more times as Quinn and I reach the bar, but I tune out the sounds of their fucking as I lift my chin to get the bartender’s attention.

He’s dressed in a suit, with slicked back hair and a neatly trimmed beard, and he sets a couple of drinks on a tray for one of the waitresses before he makes his way toward us.

“What can I get for you?” he asks.

“We need to speak to Vincent Locke,” I tell him, deciding there’s no point in beating around the bush.

The bartender’s eyes flick from me to one of the guards stationed at the perimeter of the room, and I get the sense that the average patron of this place doesn’t march in and demand an audience with the owner.

He’s probably evaluating whether he needs to perceive us as threats or call for reinforcement.

“We have some business we need to discuss with him, that’s all,” I say, holding up a hand. “He’ll want to hear what we have to say.”

The bartender chuckles, clearly deciding we’re not an immediate threat. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, you know. But unfortunately, no one speaks to Mr. Locke without an invitation. Do you have one?”

Fuck . I shake my head as another patron edges up to the bar beside me, jostling me a little. “We had an invitation to the club, but beyond that… no.”

The bartender shrugs. “Then there’s your answer.”

“How would we get an invitation to speak to him?” I press.

He shrugs again, stepping away from me to deal with the newcomer who just arrived at the bar—a clear signal that this conversation is over.

Frustrated, I turn to Quinn to ask her what she thinks our next move should be. But when I glance to my right, my heart stops.

Quinn is gone.

What the fuck?

Protective panic rises in me on a surge of adrenaline, flooding my veins so fast that I’m practically vibrating. I don’t know what the fuck happened, or where she could’ve gone. She was right by my side when we approached the bar.

Quickly, I scan the room, searching for a hint of her teal colored hair. At first, I don’t see her, but then a cluster of people nearby move closer to the stage, and as the crowd parts, I catch sight of her.

Something loosens in my chest at that, but my sigh of relief dies in my throat when I realize she’s not alone.

She’s surrounded by three men, each of them nearly as big as I am.