Microsoft Word - Betrayal-Ashlynn_Monroe.doc (2 page)

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her. They hadn't had sex in a month, and her body needed release. Pissed or not she needed a good fuck.

After making her face look as glamorous as her hair she stepped back, delighted with the result. If he planned to let her go, she wasn't going to make it easy. Looking at her cell phone clock, Dyanna gave a frustrated cry. It was only nine. She had time to kill so she cracked open a beer and sat down on the back patio. She felt like she was waiting to go to a funeral, not a club.

Dyanna called a cab, not willing to drink and drive.

She had enough problems, and a ticket and visit to jail weren't anything she needed tonight. If Anthony decided to be a prick, she'd need more than one beer to salvage the night. She hadn't invited any friends because she didn't want to explain her marital troubles to them. She'd kept the problems to herself, only sharing her pain with her sister, because if he straightened up she didn't want all her friends to think she was married to the world's biggest pain in the ass.

The cab dropped her off in front of the club. She started to hand the driver his fare and tip, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her for a moment and causing Dyanna to gasp at the unexpected and improper move.

"Lady, you seem nice. Are you sure, you want to go to that place tonight? I'll take you anywhere else, on the

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house."

He looked worried. A shiver went down her spine.

"I'm meeting someone here. I'll be okay."

"I drop a lot of fares at this place and don't pick 'em up, if you know what I mean." He was creeping her out.

Was this a new serial killer move? Concerned cab driver was original, she'd give him credit for that.

"Are you telling me people go missing here?"

"I don't know. It's weird. There's never anything on the news or whatever, but yeah. Maybe the place gives free rides, but none of 'em ever call a cab."

"I'll probably be ready to leave between midnight and two. I'll call your company. Can I ask for you? If I leave alive, will you comp the ride?"

"Yeah, I'd love to know what goes on in that place.

Here's my card. That's my cab number; let dispatch know, and I'll comp you a ride."

"Cool, thanks." She was surprised. It seemed a little creepy, but the guy was old enough to be her dad. Maybe his paternal instincts made him offer. She really hoped he wasn't a serial killer, because the guy genuinely looked concerned.

"Don't thank me yet." His tone was ominous, and she felt like laughing but didn't. She wasn't going to look a gift horse—or cab—in the mouth. The guy must have been

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watching too many horror movies.

Dyanna watched him drive away. Why did she feel like she should be running after him, screaming to get back in the cab? Shrugging she turned to see the line of wanna-be party animals, waiting to be rejected by the bouncer.

Maybe she wouldn't be too early after all. She moved toward the back of the line when the bouncer at the door shouted to her.

"Hey hot stuff, is your name on the list?" His look was almost… hungry.

"Dyanna Archer." She truly expected him to tell her to leave when he looked up and smiled.
Did he just lick his
lips?

"Here you go, Ms Archer. Enjoy Club Silver Moon; it'll sure as hell enjoy you." She felt dirty just feeling his eyes on her. Dyanna quickly rushed into the open door, not wanting to spend a second more with the creep.
What an
odd thing to say. It'll enjoy me? Weird.

Loud heavy metal music blared at her as she walked inside. Everyone in the club was wearing black. Her red stuck out like a sore thumb. Feeling as if she'd missed a memo she walked through the crowd. Several men sniffed her as she walked by. They really and truly smelled her, loudly. What the fuck? The women they were with made soft hissing noises. The sounds reminded her of snakes. She

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looked back at the exit. These people took the holiday way too seriously. The costumes were great; she noticed a woman with the best vampire costume she'd ever seen.

When the woman's eyes seemed to glow reflectively in the dim light and she opened her mouth to hiss, Dy marveled at how well her fangs seemed affixed. Everything inside of her mind told her to leave, but the confusion and agony in her heart forced her to stay. She had to give him one more chance. If she didn't like what he had to say, she'd leave and walk to a creep-free bar to drown her sorrows. For now, she decided not to drink anything. A place like this screamed ruffie-colada. She didn't want to wake up and find out she'd been gang raped by guys with a sniffing fetish.

Even for Halloween the live performance was in very bad taste. She passed to stare at a gruesome stage. A man lay on a low platform, flat on his back, naked, letting a tall gaunt man slice him with a little knife. Each time the wicked little knife nicked him, naked dude moaned with pleasure. A different man knelt beside the bleeding man, performing oral. She quickly looked away. Never before had she witnessed any kind of sex show. This place really wasn't her style. Prudish wasn't a word she'd use to describe herself, but this was offensive. She had no problem with the guy-on-guy thing, but the public sex and cutting was just

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too much for her to handle. It had to be fake, but the sight still turned her stomach. What kind of freak show was Club Silver Moon? No wonder they didn't let many people in; you'd have to be a sadist to enjoy watching something so twisted and dark. She'd been curious about what the club was like, but now she just wanted to leave. It wasn't for her.

Why would her husband want to be here? Anthony didn't belong in such a twisted place. He didn't get off on other people's pain, at least that's what she believed. She was beginning to doubt everything she knew about the man she married.

She didn't see her husband anywhere. Maybe it was just a coincidence that the bouncer let her in the door.

Maybe Anthony had just told her to come so he could get her out of the house and get his stuff. She turned, ready to rush out and call the concerned cab driver back. At that moment, her husband could be loading her TV and her couch into a van to move them into his secret girlfriend's place. When she turned, she noticed that the crowd of gothic scaries had blocked the path to the exit. They all seemed high. The music just stopped, as a new song was being set up to play, and the gothic zombies still moved as if in the middle of the best song ever played. She tried to snake her way through them, her soft excuse me's met only with more creepy-as-hell hissing.
What is up with that

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noise? Is that how the kids are saying hello now days?

The place was so dark she could barely see. Black lights were the only illumination. Neon paint reacted brightly with the light, and it helped her figure out where the walls were, but the exit sign seemed to be getting farther away as she used the wall to guide her out. Every door she found was locked. As she rounded a corner, she discovered she was in front of another stage. A woman was strapped naked, spread eagle on a giant X. The female seemed completely out of it. She should be screaming.

When a man in leather made a fresh wound on the woman with a wicked looking little knife, Dyanna couldn't see anything indicating special effects makeup. It looked very real. Either they had a very talented person behind the scenes, or this place was sicker than she'd originally thought. The semi-conscious woman had a cut over each of her breasts and two men lapped at the trails of red as it trickled down her stomach and sides.
That just cannot be
healthy.
She was just about to avert her eyes from the horrific show when she felt someone tall pressing up behind her.

"Like what you see?" His voice was sinfully smooth, seductive, and not at all familiar.

She didn't even turn around, nor did she avert her eyes in embarrassment.

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"No." She spoke as bravely as she could, but her voice wavered just a little bit with fear.

The man didn't back off, even though he had to know he was totally encroaching on her personal space.

She could feel the rumble of his laughter. She decided to ignore the a-hole and continue trying to make her escape.

"Where are you going? So very soon, too soon—

have a drink." It didn't sound like a real question or a genuine request. It sounded like an order to stay.

She'd be damned if she'd let some masochistic bully give her the house ruffie-colada. She turned, ready to tell him where to stick it, but her words clogged in her throat.

She gasped. He was beautiful. Dyanna felt woozy just looking at the man. He intoxicated her. She couldn't stop her hands from rubbing up against his bare chest. He wore leather pants and nothing else, not even shoes. Weird. She didn't care. She just wanted to stand next to him a moment longer. He smiled down at her, but it felt like he was humoring her. She didn't like it, but she couldn't manage the strength to leave his side. Her hands pressed against his cold hard skin.

"You need a shirt." Her voice was distant and dreamy.

He chuckled, it felt good under her palms, and everything about him was good.

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"Why?" He asked.

"You're cold." She heard her voice and vaguely registered that she sounded like she was on something. Her words seemed to anger the man, and she regretted them, she just wanted to touch him a little longer.

"Come. Someone is waiting for you." The sea of gyrating gothic bodies parted for him and she trailed behind him, desperate for one more touch. As he moved away, she paused.
What the hell am I doing? Maybe there's something
in the ventilation here?
The fog started to leave her brain the farther away Mr-Feel-Good-No-Shirt got, the more control she gained. Dyanna glanced back at the exit. She could still see it. Relieved, she started shoving her way past the spaced out gothic dancers and moved purposefully toward safety. Whatever they wanted, it wasn't good. If Anthony was really into this kind of stuff, maybe she was better off without him.

The door was only a few feet away when she heard her name. The voice was one she'd know anywhere.

Turning she saw her husband walking out of one of the closed rooms. The shirtless man who'd entranced her was right behind him. She took a few steps back, but bumped into a couple of big burly bouncers. They were blocking her escape. She didn't want to be anywhere near Shirtless again.

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"You're early." Anthony sounded pissed. He looked livelier than she'd seen him in days.

Shirtless spoke quietly. "She has a very strong will.

We'll test her, but I believe we may need to change our plans."

Plans, what plans? Oh this doesn't sound good. My
plan? Get the fuck out of here.

"I want to leave." She spoke calmly, addressing Anthony directly.

Shirtless suddenly was in front of her, she hadn't even seen him move. He forced her to look him in the eyes.

"You want to be here."

"I… I… Wa… want… I… Don't… I want to… be here." She began to feel that intoxication again, and as hard as she fought against it, she found her hands caressing Shirtless. If she could just touch him for another moment maybe everything would be all right. She trailed her fingers lightly over his skin. He was so beautiful. She couldn't really explain why. From a distance, she'd foolishly thought he was ugly, but now he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"Your feet are tired." Shirtless spoke hypnotically.

"My… my feet are tired."

"I'm going to carry you somewhere private."

"Okay." She didn't move as he picked her up, as if

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she weighed nothing. She snuggled against his freezing hard body.

"Have you been in the freezer?" She muttered dreamily. He ignored her but she was content to touch him.

Anthony walked behind her; his expression was angry and hard. She kept touching Shirtless absently, happily. When they entered one of the private rooms, it was pitch black; not even a black light illuminated the space. Shirtless set her on a chair. She sat helplessly, some small place in her brain screamed "run" but her body wouldn't cooperate.

Dyanna should be freaking out, but suffocating on her euphoria, she could only sit and let him do anything he wanted. He moved away, but not far enough for her to regain complete control. The distance did allow her fully to comprehend the conversation they were having. It wasn't good.

"You said I could have any woman as my blood slave. I love my wife; I want her here." Anthony sounded bitter.

"You're like a son to me now. I saw the potential inside of you; you'll be powerful one day, but not today. If I can't control the woman after two hundred years of practice, how do you think you can do it? Anthony, you're but a child in this world. There is so much I want to teach you. I had Akasha turn you because she's my most

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beautiful. You like fucking her, don't you? I give her to you, exclusively—forget your mortal wife."

Even in the mind-numbing haze, Dyanna felt her heart ache. He'd cheated on her. Shirtless had confirmed it, and somehow, strangely, contributed to it. Everything wrong with her husband was Shirtless's fault.

"Sire, I want
her
." Anthony pleaded.

Sire—what the hell?

Shirtless looked at Anthony without any hint of emotion and said nothing.