Page 31 of Chandelier Sin
I was just as guilty, having spent more time than was necessary talking with Atticus.
“What were they thinking?” I said, chastising them.
What had I been thinking?
Being drawn into the vortex caused by those men was almost impossible to fight.
“I’ll go there now,” I said.
I left her standing there, and avoided using the elevator in case I crossed paths with an arriving guest and became caught up in conversation.
Hurrying down the stairwell in a panic, I lifted the hem of my gown so as not to trip, my heels echoing as I descended all the way to the lowest level.
Quickly entering through the one-way mirror that led me into the smallest dungeon, I passed the central massage table in the center. It was rarely used for such things, its solid base hiding another secret: Beneath that hefty structure was a way out.
Few knew about it.
VIPs could make an escape if the club happened to be raided. Though with the mottoPendulum does not exist, the chance of that was minimal.
On my left, I passed the velvet duvet-covered bed and mused that I’d rarely spent any time in here. Other than serving as a secret escape room, this chamber was rather boring—probably to deter guests from having any interest in the space.
Out in the hallway, I took a sharp right toward the Pembrooke Suite, named after a castle in Wales. The original namesake was where prisoners were once held in an oubliette; meaning they would be forgotten. Not this place, though. Once inside, the focus never lifted.
Dreadful torture devices hung on the walls, conveying a sinister air before the session had even begun.
As expected, Dillon stood as a sentry outside, proving his boss was in there. The bodyguard went everywhere with Aemon. He gave me a respectful nod and reached left to open the door for me.
Drawing in a calming breath, I entered the dungeon.
It was dimly lit with rough brick walls, lending a touch of cruelty to the ambiance. The sternness of the chamber was mitigated by the presence of contrasting furniture, arranged to form a dais with three chairs, reminiscent of the sixth floor.
If they were going for the look of an ancient cell, they’d succeeded. I rarely had much input on such things. These decisions were made by Jewel and her wicked imagination.
The classical music that was playing was pleasant enough, and yet in this setting it created an ominous atmosphere.
My flesh crawled when I noticed Lance Merrill.
He stood before the High Chancellor, who sat upon the dais, ruling the moment with an air of sinister authority few men matched.
Lance, a Texas billionaire, had been rumored to have left Chrysalis on bad terms. He fit right in here, but even with all thatmoney he boasted about, the sixth floor would be inaccessible to him.
That privilege, that decision, always came through the higher ups and the mystery surrounding their methods eluded us.
Lance was wearing a tuxedo, as though that would bring out the gentleman in him. His salt and pepper hair gave him a distinguished appearance. I’d already witnessed his spirited brand of cruelty.
I wondered what Lance thought of all this formality, and the robed man sitting on the throne, giving a nostalgic nod to the era of monarchs.
Perhaps Lance assumed the Chancellor was merely a fifty-five-year-old with a lust for the “finer” things. Tall, yes, but a little overweight. A once handsome face had been weathered by life’s hard decisions when it came to choosing what brand of evil to use daily.
There Aemon sat, mask off, perched on one of the thrones, ready to dish out a level of punishment few men had the stomach for.
A few robed men stood to his left wearing masks to infuse the scene with a disquieting mood.
Aemon turned his disapproving glare on me.
I looked away to avoid eye contact.
Oh, God.Elle and Rachel were kneeling in the corner with their heads bowed, making it hard to read their expressions. My heart contracted in fear for them, my anger rising at Atticus for placing them in harm’s way.
