Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
He finally emerges and wipes his chin, that same March Harrison look from before in his eyes. “I’m going to fuck you now, Bianca. I’m going to fuck you with my huge cock. I’m going to rip you open, burn you. Brand you from the inside the way you branded me on the outside.”
“Please, Harrison. I want you.”
“Same here, sweetheart.” He gets on his knees and thrusts into me.
In and out, in and out. I pray it will never end.
But he’s so worked up that it’s not long before he’s spilling into me.
He rolls over next to me on the carpet, playing with my right breast. “God, I love fucking you, Bianca.”
I’d prefer if the words love and fucking were reversed in that sentence, but I’ll take it for now. I place a hand on his cheek. “Same here, stud.”
Every time we’ve had sex, it’s been wonderful. But this one was different. We had more passion, more feeling. We’re beginning to show our true colors to one another, and I’m savoring every minute of it.
Because if something goes wrong at the club tonight…
This might be the last time we’ll ever be together.
Harrison furrows his brow. “The server’s entrance is through the ladies’ restroom?”
I shrug, looking him over. I put some eyeliner on him and some shadow and highlight to change the appearance of his face’s contours. With a little luck, he won’t be recognizable.
“Servers only come and go through the entrance before and after patrons are present. The majority of them are women, anyway, so it’s not a huge deal.”
“I guess that makes sense.” He looks around as we enter the familiar alleyway off Randolph and State. “Where exactly do we go from here?”
“Around the corner. There’s a hidden stairway.” I lead him to a black door. Unlike the member entrance, this one is unmarked. A small keypad rests where a deadbolt would normally be.
“What’s the code?”
“Easy. Rouge’s birthday. The tenth of June. Zero-six-one-zero.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That seems like it would be really easy for someone to guess.”
“It would be if Rouge hadn’t wiped every copy of her birth certificate—and every other record indicating her true date of birth—out of existence,” I reply.
“Why would she do that?”
I shrug. “She says it’s so no one can know her true age.”
“So what does her driver’s license say?”
I chuckle. “Do you think a woman like Rouge Montrose would ever be caught dead with something as common as a driver’s license?”
“Doesn’t she drive?”
“She has a driver. And if she needs to, she knows how to drive. If she gets pulled over, she’ll make a quick call to the chief of police, who is a card-carrying member of Aces Underground, and get everything squared away.”
“Damn. Imagine having that kind of power…” He frowns. “But how do you know her birthday then?”
“Growing up as her little sister has a few advantages, I suppose.” I key in the code and open the door.
It opens to a small room, dusty and laced with cobwebs. The only objects inside are a selection of cracked floor mirrors.
Harrison studies them, hands shoved in his pockets of the trench coat he’s wearing over his Aces uniform. “Yeah. One of these is a secret door, I’m guessing?”
“Exactly. Now you’re beginning to think like Rouge.” I step closer to the row of mirrors and tap the frame of the nearest one. “Most of them are just regular mirrors. There’s a trick to tell which one is the door. It’s the reflections.”
“What do you mean? All these reflections look the same.”
I shake my head. “To the untrained eye, yes. But Rouge figured out a way to indicate which mirror is the correct one. You see, a true mirror always follows the law of reflection. The light bounces back at the exact same angle it hits. Which means your reflection always tracks your movement perfectly. You move your arm up, your reflection moves up at the same time. The speed of light is so fast that we can’t tell the difference.”
Harrison frowns. “So one of these mirrors…?”
“Is not a real mirror.” I walk slowly sideways, letting Harrison watch as each reflection glides with me in perfect rhythm. “If the surface isn’t mounted flat—say it’s tilted even a fraction—the light bounces back wrong. The reflection lags, or bends. Your brain doesn’t always know what’s happening, but it feels… off.”
I stop in front of the far-left mirror. “See this one? Look.” I slide a step to the right, and my reflection stutters, a tiny beat behind.
He narrows his eyes, shifts the same way, and widens his eyes. “That’s… uncanny.”
“Of course it is. This is my sister’s brain we’re talking about.” I murmur. “She explained the phenomenon to me when I first started working here. That’s how you find the door.”
I rest my palm against the glass. The frame gives under the pressure, swinging inward, the hidden hinges moaning slightly. Behind it, the shadows open onto a narrow staircase lined with fractured shards of mirror.