Page 74 of The Diamond Thief
27
Jacob
Just as Onyx promised, she and Amethyst lead me to one of the slave rooms just before the stroke of midnight. I am stone sober, the effects of whatever dart Antony gave me completely worn off. I’m barefoot, but at least they’ve given me a silky brown-gold robe.
Onyx approaches a door and unlocks it with a traditional key. Then she presses her palm against a screen in the wall. The door pops open. Old school plus tech. I like it.
Two guards take their place on either side. A little something extra for me, I guess. None of the other doors we passed had guards. I look farther down the hall. One more has a pair of them as well. Perhaps another member of the Den pressed into service for their crimes, real or imagined.
Amethyst leads the way inside. The walls are entirely black. In the center of the room, a red leather bench waits for its resident. It can be adjusted for multiple positions. I flash with a vision of Emerald on it, her red hair spilling around her.
On the side wall, a giant black wardrobe stands open, every sort of bondage implement you might desire hanging inside.
I can defeat the security handily enough. If I escape the room, I will have to take on the two guards, and the other pair of guards will certainly come down to assist. I’m sure a silent alarm somewhere will alert more staff.
As we pass Onyx, she says, “You behave yourself with her.”
I glance down at Amethyst. She seems intimidated to be near me. I wonder if the women here gossip about the latest “recruits” from the Den. I have been aware of this practice, of course. But never in my two decades with the Den has a first-rank thief been sent to Club Y.
Amethyst adjusts the bench so that half of it angles down. I can imagine the position she’s about to place me in. She moves to the wardrobe and collects wrist and ankle cuffs.
“Not those,” Onyx barks from her position by the now-closed door. “We’ll need to secure this one until he can be trusted, if that ever happens.”
Amethyst nods and returns to the wardrobe. She presses her palm to a small, almost unnoticeable screen in the bottom corner of the wardrobe. A drawer pops out. She retrieves a different set of cuffs from there, not as leather and friendly looking, but shiny blue-gray metal.
They look to be the same material as the human shackle I wore earlier. No doubt some sort of secure device Antony dreamed up.
“Blindfold him before you put them on,” Onyx says. “He’s a wily one. Can’t give him any head starts.”
Amethyst looks over at me as if in apology. But she pulls a blindfold and a black scarf from the wardrobe.
“Over here, if you please,” she says barely above a whisper, gesturing to the angled bench.
I could take both these women out right now. But I don’t really want to hurt the little one. She looks like she’s in training or something. I will bide my time until I have an escape plan.
I walk over to the bench. “How do you want me?” I ask with a tone that makes the double entendre clear.
Her eyes get big. What is such an innocent one doing in a club like this?
“Just lie here,” Amethyst says. “Belly on the bench and bring your arms around the sides.”
Onyx’s voice is like an ax slicing through Amethyst’s quiet kindness. “The robe, girl.”
“Oh!” She sets down the shackles, flustered. “I need to take this.”
She unties the belt. Underneath, I’m as naked as the day I was born. Uncomfortably so, since they seem to have removed a multitude of body hair.
I resume the position she described, my skin melting into the soft leather. At least that part is comfortable.
“Blindfold,” Onyx reminds her.
Amethyst slides the black satin over my eyes, adjusting the elastic band around my head. Then she wraps it all with the scarf. Her nimble fingers tie it swiftly, and the tail of it tickles between my shoulder blades.
She moves away, and I listen carefully for telltale clicks and movements that will hint as to how the shackles work.
Amethyst pulls my arms around the bench. There’s a scraping sound, a click, then the cool metal circles my right wrist. Another click, then my arm is pulled forward until it is perfectly straight, and another snap means I am attached to the base of this bench. Presumably. I suppose it could be the floor. I reach out my fingertips to see if I brush the ground. I do not. I move the shackled wrist. The cool bar at the base of the bench grazes my fingers.
I shift as if trying to get more comfortable, but I’m trying to see if the bench actually moves. It does not.
