Eating in the Underworld by J. D. Brink

Author:J. D. Brink
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: J. D. Brink

Six

Remote hacking the key codes to Gene’s apartment is easy. I wait for night to fall, then go visiting. The doorman is an occasional informant of mine and lets me in with a nod.

Twenty-second floor.

Polished chrome walls, reproductions of old paintings in the hallway.

No point to listening at the door, these places are all soundproofed for maximum privacy; no matter what loud, sick shit these ritzy fat cats are into, they keep it to themselves.

I have the spacer in my pocket and a real gun in hand, a classic snubnosed .38 revolver. Fits my style and, if your aim is good, it’s as effective on dolls as people.

I patter in the key code and go in quiet.

The living room is huge, big bay windows set to opaque, circular couch bigger than my office, chrome liquor cabinet in the corner, lights low. One entire wall is a vidscreen on mute with some low-budget porno running. No bodyguard dolls in sight.

Gene probably figures the first one took care of me.

Sealed door on my right, hallway to the left.

Grunting to the left.

I feel my skin tingle, some green flash of jealousy I’m ashamed to admit is there. My hands are even sweating.

I give the revolver a reassuring squeeze.

The hall is dark. Purple light shines from a far room, the source of the sex noise. I creep down with my gun at the ready, then spin into the doorway.

My sights level on Gene: plump, naked, and tied to the four posts of his king-sized canopy bed. Lying comfortably next to him is...

Persephone?

His naked companion sits up, hair short and purple and matted together in sticky ropes. Her skin is dark and mottled, a moody blue in this light.

She sees me and throws herself across Gene’s vulnerable body. “No!” she croaks. “No, he’s mine!”

There’s no one else in the room. Just a big automated wardrobe and an oversized padded chair. The purple light shines from a long thin lamp on the wall.

I dial it up to white.

The girl is still blue.

This isn’t Persephone. This one looks... underdeveloped, incomplete. Her skin has an artificial sheen to it, like stretched rubber, colored in varying shades of indigo. Her areola and nipples are blotchy and oversized. Eyes are mostly white, the irises colorless. One ear is visible through the thick purple strands of what would become hair, though it’s little more than an irregular bump on the side of her head.

She holds up one hand, warding me off, fingers webbed.

“Harry!” Gene screams. “Harry, thank God! Get me out of here.”

This isn’t his kinky fantasy come true.

Gene’s a prisoner. He’s strapped down naked, his little cock worked raw.

“He’s mine,” the girl declares, voice gurgling. “I love him. I need him.”

I relax, give a grin.

“What happened, lover boy? In too big a hurry to replace your tainted goods? Looks like maybe you tweaked this one a bit too much, popped her out of the oven a little too soon.”

“Harry, please!”

“Why’d you do it, Gene? Why’d you send that thug after

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