Deviant

******

I’ve heard the term before, but I’ve never seen it in real life: Orgy. Group sex. Gang bang. My mind shorts out after that. I can’t think of any more names for what I’m witnessing right now.

The apartment immediately opens out into a large open-plan space, and in that space at least fifty people are in various degrees of undress. Some men are still fully attired, while lithe women, dresses delicately slipped down to reveal a perfectly shaped breast here, ridden up to reveal shaven pussies there, sit on their laps or kneel at their feet on the floor.

Black leather bindings bite into flesh wherever I look, interspersed with couples kissing and groping at one another, hands everywhere. On the far side of the room, a man rocks his head back in sheer bliss as a woman on her knees, completely naked, sucks on his rock solid cock for everyone to see.

My mouth hangs open. I turn around and Michael, still standing there, shrugs. “If you’re looking for Zeth, he’s in the back room. But you’ll have to go through the apartment to reach it.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “Boss told me not to close the door right behind you, though. Doesn’t think you’ll make it.”

Well fuck me, he was right about that. I don’t need this shit. I shake my head, stepping toward Michael and the still-open doorway. Michael lifts one shoulder again. “He said you were a prude. He bet big on you walking out as soon as you saw…” he looks over my shoulder into the room beyond, smirking. “Well...”

“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” I snap.

“He sure is. You wanna teach him a lesson, you could go find him instead of leaving. Go tear his head off?”

I narrow my eyes. “Did you bet money on this?”

“Thousand bucks,” Michael informs me.

A thousand dollars? Zeth is so sure of my reaction to all of this that he put a grand on the line. I know that’s probably pocket change to him since he paid cash for Carrie’s hospital bill, but hell. Surely it would sting to lose it. I suck in a deep breath.

You’ve come this far. You’ve already seen what’s going on behind you. All you have to do is go find him.

“Fine.” I don’t give myself time to think. I spin around and make for the hallway on the other side of the huge room. I’m stepping over bodies before I know it. I do my best to keep my eyes up and front, but I can’t help catching sight of a few things. Things that will be burned into my mind for all time.

When I reach the hallway there are eight doors, four on either side. Most are open but a few are closed. Low moaning slides under the wood; groans of ecstasy and the loud slap of skin on skin. I’m too scared to open the closed doors, so I peek into the open rooms instead, bracing myself each time: a tangle of arms and legs greet me first, four women and two guys so interlaced it’s hard to tell where each one of them begins and the other ends. I back the hell out of there pretty quickly. The second room contains a group of men and women all still in their suits and beautiful dresses, watching a couple screwing on the floor. The observers all sip politely from their champagne flutes while touching each other subtly, a hand slipped up a dress, rubbing at sensitive skin; another manicured hand squeezing a hard on over the top of clothes. A guy wearing the most ornate tiger mask complete with fierce golden stripes turns and sees me. He takes a sip from his drink, pauses in caressing the exposed breast of his companion, and holds out his hand to me.

Oh, hell no!

I backtrack quickly, heading for the last door on the right. For a second I think the door’s closed and I’m about to turn around, but then I realize my mistake. The door is wide open. The lights are just turned off.

You son of a bitch.

I grip hold of my medical bag, clenching my fist around its handle, and take a deep breath. I walk inside.

“You’re sick, you know that?” I say into the darkness. A soft rustling sound greets me, followed by the shift of movement. Yes, the lights are off but the corridor is lit behind me so it’s not like last time. I can see enough to make out the looming figure that slowly paces toward me.

“I know I’m not normal, if that’s what you mean.” A terrible devil’s mask appears before me, two feet away; Zeth is dressed entirely in black, the suit he wears obviously a thing of beauty even in the muted light. His dark eyes shine from within the mask, sharp and hungry. “You’ve surprised me, Sloane. I like being surprised,” he rumbles.

“Well you’ve surprised me, too. Although I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

He laughs, his voice so deep and powerful I can feel it in the soles of my feet. “You should open up a little. You never know what you might enjoy until you try it.”

“I know exactly what I enjoy, Zeth, and standing around watching fifty naked people grind on each other isn’t it.”

The eyes behind his mask flicker with annoyance when I say his name. He stalks toward me and reaches out, tracing his fingertips across my jawline. He seems pensive, intrigued\ by my stillness—I can’t freaking move—as he touches my skin. “If you don’t like watching, Sloane, you can always join in.”

I slap his hand away from my face, glaring out of my own mask. “Give me back my phone.”

He watches me for a second, smirking, before sliding a hand into the pocket of his pants and pulling out my cell phone. He offers it out to me, and I just know he’s planning on snatching it away from me as soon as I reach out for it. I hold out my open palm instead, waiting for him to place it into my palm. He pouts, game ruined, and does it. I slide it into the medical bag I’m still clutching hold of for dear life. “I came tonight because you needed to know that I’m not scared of you, Zeth. And I want to know what you know about my sister.”