Page 64 of Scarlet Chains
The question burns through my mind with every mile. Jack’s text haunts me:Still interested in the girl in Room 5?The casual phrasing can’t hide what this really is— my only chance to reach her after days of unanswered calls.
If you are, you might want to come as quick as you can.
The urgency in those words suggests more than just opportunity. Something is happening—now— and I might already be too late.
My phone sits dark on the passenger seat, a reminder of the countless calls I’ve made. She hasn’t answered once.
Maybe this is why she’s there. Looking for comfort in anonymous touch because the man who shared her bed turned out to be… what? A killer? A liar? Both?
Bullshit.
She doesn’t know.
The thought makes my jaw clench until my teeth ache. If she knows about Igor— and that’s still just speculation on my part— then she understands exactly what kind of monster she was letting into her body, her heart, her life.
The Scarlet Fox appears ahead, its discreet sign glowing in the darkness. I take the corner into the parking lot faster than I should, tires squealing against asphalt.
I’m moving before the engine fully dies, long strides carrying me toward the entrance. Every second that passes is another second she’s beyond my reach, another moment I can’t protect her from whatever drove her back to this place.
The front door opens to familiar warmth— burgundy walls, soft jazz, the scent of expensive liquor and cigars. But tonight the atmosphere feels different, charged with tension. It’s like I can taste it.
Jack spots me immediately, his expression carefully neutral. He’s polishing a glass with movements that seem almost nervous.
“Osip.” His voice carries something I can’t identify. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
I approach the bar with every sense alert. The few other patrons remain absorbed in their drinks, but Jack’s attention focuses on me with uncomfortable intensity.
“Where is she?” I keep my voice low, controlled.
“Upstairs.” He sets down the glass, reaches under the bar. “Same room as before. But Osip—”
I slide a hundred-dollar bill across the polished wood, cutting off whatever he’s trying to tell me. “You’re certain it’s her?” It’s a stupid question, but I have to ask. Part of me is hoping he’ll say no, he got it wrong. The other part is certain this is my only chance of connecting with her.
Jack’s hesitation lasts a heartbeat too long before he pockets the money. His hand emerges with a locker key and a black leather mask.
“Absolutely sure.” He glances around. “You know the rules.” His voice seems cautious as he slides the items across the bar. “But you should know—”
“I know what I need to know.” I don’t have time for Jack’s complications. Whatever he’s trying to communicate can wait.
I pocket the key and mask, already turning toward the stairs. Jack’s voice follows me, urgent and low.
“Just… be careful up there.”
I roll my shoulders and don’t look back. I’m already climbing, taking steps three at a time. The upper level exists in a different world from the civilized bar below— darker, more intimate, heavy with secrets that can’t survive daylight.
At the landing, I force myself to slow down. The hallway stretches ahead, doors marked with numbers instead of names. Room 3, Room 4… Room 5 at the end, just like I remember.
But something feels wrong.
The silence up here is too complete, too heavy. During previous visits, there was always an undercurrent of life— muffled conversations, soft laughter, the subtle sounds of connection. Tonight, the corridor feels abandoned.
I pause outside Room 3, listening. Nothing. Room 4— same silence. It’s as if this entire wing has been cleared for… what?
Pizdets.
Something’s off.
It’s as if my instincts are trying to tell me something.
