Page 7 of Monsters in Love

At least he doesn’t intimidate me as much as the minotaurs. He looks at me as if I’m a walking pile of money. The minotaurs…though they don’t touch me, their gazes make me feel dirty. At least the non-drugged ones.

“Don’t look so scared, dove. Nothing can harm you here. You are the Labyrinth’s now. A tribute, so to speak…and you will make the house so very, very happy.”

I open my mouth to speak, but a yelp comes out when goat man stings my arm with something. “What was that?” My words slur together.

Great. Am I going to pass out again?

“Just a little something-something to make you even more enticing than you already are.” He beams at me like a proud parent, the curling grin of his face not quite reaching his eyes.

True fear curls into my stomach. I was wrong to favor him over the minotaurs. His pretty appearance and sensible words made me forget that evil comes in all forms.

“Now, let’s get all these troublesome clothes off, shall we?”

Bronn

The Minotaur’s Labyrinth used to be the premier hub in the Nexus, boasting the best Venus House the galaxy had to offer.

Now it is a cesspool, overrun by gangsters and thieves, trading flesh for profit rather than pleasure. The ever-shifting nature of the labyrinth makes it ideal for mercenaries and scum to hide from the law.

It’s been a while since I traveled these paths through the black market that the Minotaur’s Labyrinth has become. Not since I was a new cadet ready to take on the world and the universe. A few rounds in this place is a meat grinder for the soul.

You either develop skin as thick as rawhide or this beat will chew you up and spit you out and keep you as lost and broken as the people who choose to make this place their home.

It’s no wonder that this is usually the proving grounds for most young Taurines who wish to move up the ranks with an eye on being stationed on the Nexus.

Though the various paths and alleys are made to shift, I’ve learned the patterns and timing long ago—it’s not the sort of thing you forget—and soon I stare at the Viper’s Nest, a patchwork of building fronts, it changes names as frequently as another slumlord gains power.

I know it as the Hollow, one of the few known stable wormholes in this sector of the galaxy, and an easy dumping ground for prisoners and other undesirables of society. After years of turmoil and other threats to the stability of the Nexus and the Intergalactic Republic at large, the entire Labyrinth became a sort of self-governed prison.

The gaudy black and red lights that form the words “Viper’s Nest” flicker in rhythmic patterns. Something is going down. I’m no longer up to date on the various codes. However, having coded signals present at all means that something big is happening now.

I jerk my chin toward the Hollow. “Take your men and go around back and hold.”

Tag confirms with a crisp hand gesture to the men and under his command. In silence, they wend their way through the crowd of lost and sorrowful souls.

“That’s the Hollow, isn’t it?” Tag asks, more for confirmation rather than genuine curiosity. When I nod as an answer, he follows up with another question. “Do you know who runs this place now?”

“I have a suspicion,” I say. My mental catalog of criminals grows larger by the day, but I will never forget their faces. Not until I can erase their existence. “I may not know who is in charge of the Hollow now, however, I know the type. They would be the kind to stab you in the back or smile to your face while someone stabs you in the back in order to slip a knife in between your ribs. No mercy.”

Tag seems to like that as a slow smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “No problem. I don’t intend to show any either.”

It’s worse here than I thought. Within moments of entering the Viper’s Nest, I spy the heads of multiple clan leaders. Some are trying to hide behind their lackeys, however, there are many who are glad enough to flaunt their status. With enough clan leaders like this, there is only one treasure in the universe that would bring such disparate creatures and rivals together and keep them from ripping each other apart on sight.

An announcer calls out, “Time!”

As if under a spell, the raucous noise fades to a murmur befitting a temple service rather than a den of debauchery. Everyone shuffles to their seats. All attention is on the central stage that is yet empty.

I tap the comm device on my gauntlet, only it’s dead. A blocking device must be suppressing any outside communication. I figured that would be the case. The underground world of the Minotaur’s Labyrinth was a safe enough hideout for the criminal element, so these extra measures only confirm the growing suspicion in my gut.

Tonight, they are hosting a slave auction. Not just any slave auction either. With all this interest and safety measures? The slaves they’re featuring are Grade A Prime Meat: fresh, ripe females who are dosed up to bring on a heat cycle.

The house will probably want to make everything as secure as possible.

A reverberating gong vibrates through the air. From the depths of the stage, a satyr appears. He’s far from his native woodlands. The way he struts on stage with his tailored suit jacket and nothing else tells me he’s no stranger here.

“Welcome, honored guests.” His voice carries among the crowd. The stage slowly rotates so that he can have a 360 degree view of the audience. A nice touch when you don’t want to have your back toward a potential enemy. “We will show each lot and there will be a bidding. The house decides what bid to accept—and it is not always the highest bid. Our word is final. If you don’t like it, you can take your complaints to the House.”

That threat should keep them all in line. It is easy enough to eject any troublemakers into the Hollow—an endless void. No beginning. No end. A fate worse than death.

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