Malignant Assumptions by Carrie Rubin

Author:Carrie Rubin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indigo Dot Press

21

On the outside, the private club resembles an abandoned waste of space, accessible only by an alleyway. On the inside, its darkness swallows Demetri and me until we reach a concealed door, behind which hums a muted rhythm.

Demetri raps out a bizarre knock. The peephole darkens momentarily, and an eyeball peers back at us. Demetri raises a glossy black business card, and the door swings open. Allowing myself no time to change my mind (What are you doing, tiger?), I follow Demetri inside.

Soft lighting, musky scents, and a seductive jazz beat greet us. Before I can absorb anything else, I do a double take. Less than ten feet away, a furry treks across the floor. A giant panda bear, to be exact. The bear is being led on a chain by a woman in thigh-high leather boots and a skintight black unitard that exposes the fleshy mounds of her breasts. A whip dangles from her other hand.

It takes a lot to get a reaction out of me.

This visual oddity succeeds.

The dominatrix notices my surprise and smiles. As if putting on a show for me, she tugs the panda bear’s chain, which is attached to a padlocked collar around his neck. He stumbles forward. They pass by and head down a darkened hallway.

When they disappear from view, I return my craned neck to midline and take in the rest of the surroundings. The intimate space, dimly lit with wall sconces and overhead chandeliers that emit a golden hue, boasts a spattering of central tables, half of which are occupied by patrons in various stages of undress. An ornate bar with a brass runner lies on the right. Bottles of booze crowd a mirrored wall behind a shirtless bartender, his abs putting even those of Brian’s Gym–goers to shame. Private booths flanked by velvet curtains line two of the walls. Some of those drapes remain open. Others are drawn closed. I try not to picture what’s happening behind them.

Beside me, Demetri laughs. “Sorry. This must be a bit…startling at first.” He places an arm around my shoulder. “Your expression tells me you need a drink. Immediately.”

Finding my voice, I shake his arm off. “What’s this place called?”

“Oh, it has many names, but let’s call it the Wicked Wonderland for tonight.”

“Then call me Alice because…uh…this is weird.”

A large man approaches us. Demetri shakes his hand. Judging by the guy’s size and demeanor, he might be the bouncer. His shirt sticks to him like cellophane, and his shorts expose every nook and cranny. He palms something to Demetri. Before I can see what it is, Demetri slips it into his pocket. The pain specialist then leads me deeper into the surreal room toward the bar.

At the counter I glance back at the entryway and the nearby hallway that swallowed the dominatrix and her panda prey. They haven’t reappeared.

Not knowing what I’ve gotten myself into but realizing I need to play it smart, I tell Demetri, “I texted my friend on the way over. Gave her the address of this place and your name.

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