Infernal: Bite The Bullet Read Online Free Page B

is the place?” I asked, swapping
my flats for the pair of heels I’d snagged as a last minute option.
    “Yup. You getting out?”
    I knew better than to argue geography with a
London cab driver. He tapped the meter, and I handed over a twenty-pound note
before shuffling to the curb and making sure I was unrumpled from the ride.
    With the night breeze whipping my hair, I rapped
once on the brass knocker, preparing myself for what might be on the other
side.
    The person who opened the door was not who I
expected. Supermodel tall and slim, the woman’s blonde hair fell over her
shoulders, partially concealing the priest’s dog-collar that topped off her
tailored black suit. It was a striking combination, and I stared dumbly at her
until she arched a brow and smiled, “May I help you?”
    “Oh, yes. Raider sent me.” Regretting that I’d let
it get so crumpled in my pocket, I showed her Gracie’s card, and tried not to squirm
as she scrutinised it, and me.
    “I see. And your name is?” She handed the
dog-eared card back and I slipped it into my bag.
    “Roxanne. Roxanne Bailey,” I lied, throwing
together a fake name.
    “Well, Roxanne, the performers’ entrance is at the
rear of the building. I can have Robert let you in. I assume he’s expecting
you?”
    What? She thought I was here to work? My outfit wasn’t
cut for free-styling. “I... No, actually. I’m here as a... customer?” I hoped
that was the right phrase for whatever went on inside.
    “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Forgive me,” she said, her
manner changing to the bright professionalism of one pretending to be sincerely
happy. She ushered me into the warm interior, and slipped the coat from my
shoulders. “Welcome to Infernal.”
    She took my coat, and I hoped she wouldn’t notice
the label. I doubted the clientele here shopped at Primark.
    “We require a credit card imprint. Just as an
insurance policy. I’m sure you understand.” She smiled expectantly.
    I handed over the card, hoping it wasn’t secretly
charged. I doubted I had the credit on it to cover it anyway.
    She examined the plastic and gave me a look I
couldn’t decipher, until I realised it had my real name on it, and I stuttered
to explain. She waved her hand, passing it off and quieting my attempt at an
excuse.
    “Everyone here is being somebody else.” She
laughed softly, swiping the card through a reader. Apparently satisfied, she
gave it back with a smile. “Mr. Raider explained the rules, I assume?”
    The rules. Shit. “Eh, yeah, briefly.”
    “Did you bring your own mask?”
    “A mask? Crap, you know what, I left it at home.” I
cringed. Dammit, Neva.Way to sound like a scolded schoolgirl.
    “Perhaps you’d care to borrow one of ours? We have
a house selection for you to choose from.”
    “Is that really necessary?”
    “Masks are compulsory, I’m afraid. Our clientele
puts a high price on discretion. I’m sure you understand,” she said, reaching
beneath the sleek, black counter to produce a velvet-lined tray of exotic
eyewear.
    The masks were exquisite. All in silver, some were
animal – a butterfly’s wings; burnished ears and a sloped nose that turned the
wearer into a vixen – while others were simply elegant. I chose a plainer one,
without ears, that tapered gently across my cheeks when the hostess helped me
tie the black satin ribbons at the back of my head.
    I adjusted the mask across my eyes as she led me
through a svelte curtain that had been artfully camouflaged against the silken
walls. She retreated behind it, leaving me alone in the body of Infernal.
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    While my eyes adjusted to the low lighting, the
church-like hush of the space enveloped me like a robe. Set into backlit
niches, an array of religious paraphernalia adorned unapologetically black
walls: an erotically posed statue of the naked Magdalene here, a bleeding
Christ nailed to the cross there, and grotesque Medieval paintings that looked
straight from the