Now
“I look like a prostitute.”
“You look gorgeous,” Simon said dismissively.
“Fae!” I cast a pleading look in her direction.
“What?” she muttered, not looking up from her magazine.
“Help!”
She raised her head to examine me. “I’d veto the blue eyeliner,” she suggested with a shrug.
“It makes a statement!” Simon protested.
“Sure, if the statement is, ‘I’m a hooker for hire,’” I complained, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
It was wrong, all of it. The dress was too short, the neckline too low, the heels too high to make me look like anything but a streetwalker — a high-priced one, perhaps — working her wares on the corner.
“They’re not even going to let me in looking like this.” I shook my head as I scanned myself from top to toe.
“Of course they will.” Fae sighed dismissively. “That’s a three thousand dollar dress.”
“What!”
“Relax,” Fae said, setting aside her magazine and rising from her perch on Simon’s bed. “We borrowed it from wardrobe closets at Luster. One of the stylists owed me a favor because I set her up with this great guy from—”
“Fae!” I interrupted what was sure to be a long tangent about her matchmaking skills. “Can we skip back to the part where you said this dress costs more than my rent…”
Simon and Fae grinned in unison.
I began to hyperventilate. “What if I tear it? What if I spill something and stain it?”
“Wow, good thing we didn’t tell her how much those Manolos cost,” Simon muttered to Fae.
“What?!” I exclaimed, looking down at my feet in horror.
“Baby, breathe,” Simon ordered, taking me by the shoulders and staring deeply into my eyes. “You won’t tear the dress or muss the heels. You’ll be fine. I’ll even take off the blue eyeliner if it makes you feel better.”
“Thank you.”
“Even though it totally brings out the navy hues in your eyes and—”
“Simon!”
“Fine, fine,” he muttered, steering me back to his vanity and grabbing a cotton swab. “Sit down, my little lady of the night.”
I narrowed my eyes at him as he began to dab the heavy makeup away.
“So what’s the plan, again?” Fae asked.
“Sebastian’s picking me up here in—” I glanced at my watch. “Shit! That can’t be the time! He’ll be here in ten minutes!”
“Deep breaths,” Simon ordered, swatting the tip of my nose with a makeup brush. “So you’re going to walk into this super secret society, assuming Sebastian’s last name even gets you inside, and… then what? Accuse the Vice President of sex trafficking? Tackle and handcuff a state senator in a civilian’s arrest? Kidnap and waterboard the beloved Good Day America newscaster until he reveals his sexual deviancies?”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Of course not. We’re going to get inside, make a little small talk, and slip away into the back room when the coast is clear. There must be some kind of an office or a computer where they store files. If I can find a bank receipt or any kind of money exchange proving that they’ve been doing anything remotely incriminating, I’ll have enough to get the authorities involved.”
“But who?” Simon asked. “I thought we couldn’t trust the NYPD because Santos might not be the only dirty cop working for these people.”
I grimaced. “I haven’t quite figured it all out yet.”
Simon snorted. “Great.”
“The FBI,” Fae interjected quietly. She’d been listening in silence for several moments, a conflicted expression on her face. “You can go to them. I know someone who will help you.”
Simon and I turned simultaneously to face our friend, twin expressions of surprise on our faces.
“You know a guy in the FBI?” I asked, my tone full of disbelief.
“Someone has been keeping some serious secrets,” Simon chided, planting both hands on his hips and leveling a glare in Fae’s direction. “What is this about? First you know a guy who can magically produce a dossier of information about Labyrinth. Then you know a guy who can look over Lux’s NDA. And now you know a guy who happens to work as a federal agent?” Simon snorted. “What are you, an international spy? A mobster’s daughter? A computer hacker leading a double life as a relationship expert?”
Fae shook her head. “You guys, it’s not a big deal.”
A knock sounded on Simon’s bedroom door and Nate popped his head inside. “Sebastian’s here.”
“Thanks, Nate.” I smiled at him and he winked in return before disappearing back out into the common room.
I rose from the vanity stool, straightened my shoulders, and took a final look at myself.
“I can do this.” I took a deep breath. “At least, I think can do this. I’m pretty sure I can. Probably.”
“Your self-confidence is awe-inspiring.” Simon rolled his eyes.
“Oh, shut up.” I turned to face Fae. “When I get back, we need to have a long talk about your mysterious connections.”
She grinned at me. “Good luck tonight.”
“She doesn’t need luck, she’s wearing Dior,” Simon said. “Now go forth and conquer, baby.”
Bash wasn’t speaking to me. Not with words, anyway. He’d taken one look at my outfit, and his vocabulary had devolved into some kind of strange, caveman-esque language of grunts and grumbles. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan of the hyper-short black dress or its revealing strapless sweetheart neckline.
He’d arrived at Simon’s loft looking like a god — if gods were well-built, 6’2” blond men in immaculately tailored dinner jackets. We locked gazes as soon as I emerged from Simon’s bedroom, my two crazy friends in tow, and I saw his eyes widen fractionally as he took in my Simon-approved ensemble.
Simon leaned in close to my side to whisper in my ear. “That’s a custom Dolce & Gabbana suit.” He blew out an amused huff of air. “Ha! And you wanted to recycle that old blue dress you wore to Trisha and Stu’s wedding last summer. I bet you’re glad to be in Dior now! You would’ve looked like one of the Ugly Stepsisters next to Prince Charming, instead of Cinderella.”
“Thanks, Si. Real nice.”
“Oh, you know what I mean, baby.” He laughed. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“She’s not wearing any,” Fae chimed in, linking her arm through mine as we made our way to the door. “This dress is so tight, a panty-line would be glaringly obvious.”
“Please, if you care about me at all, both of you shut the hell up,” I begged as we reached the door and came to a halt in front of Sebastian.
“Hi,” I said, blushing.
“Hi,” he replied, looking me slowly up and down in a way that gave me heart palpitations. As his eyes returned to study my face, a slow smile worked at the corners of his mouth and the banked heat in his eyes stirred to life. I prayed for the strength to make it through this night without combusting under his gaze.
“Hi, handsome.” Simon hip-bumped me to the side and moved close to Bash, his hand extended in greeting. “I’m Simon. I’m sure you’ve heard about me — all flattering things, I hope.” He cast a look over his shoulder at me. “Otherwise, Lux will be getting no more free wardrobe updates or makeup tutorials.”
I opened my mouth to protest that I had never once asked for either of those things, but Sebastian beat me to the punch by letting out a surprisingly happy laugh.
“Well, to be honest, I haven’t heard much — but the things Lux has shared have all been wildly flattering, so you have nothing to worry about.” Bash unleashed his most devastating grin — the one that practically oozed charm and sex appeal, delighting women worldwide — and both Simon and Fae seemed to melt a little at the sight. Apparently, even they weren’t immune to the Covington charisma.
“I’d love to stay and get to know you better, but Lux and I have a date.” He turned that alluring smile on me and I tried to steel myself against it but, even with nearly a decade of practice, I couldn’t quite manage to.
“It’s not a date,” I grumbled, trying to breathe at a normal rate. I flipped my hair over one shoulder — drawing a glare from Fae, who’d spent nearly an hour curling it to perfection with hot rollers — and grabbed my purse from the small table near the door. Narrowing my eyes in what I hoped was a badass manner, I dropped my voice an octave lower to emphasize how serious I was about this endeavor. “Let’s do this.”
Fae and Simon burst into simultaneous fits of hysterical laughter behind me. I cringed at the sound and turned slowly to face them, my brows arched.
“Her face!” Simon gasped out between laughs. “Ohmigod, did you see her face? She’s like, ready for battle!”
Fae had tears running down her cheeks, streaking her mascara into watery trails of black, and was clutching her stomach as she fought to regain breath. “Her face? What about that voice!” Her laughter turned into a snort. “Jack Bauer has nothing on you, Lux!”
“I hate you both.” I glared at them each in turn. “And if I die, well, I hope you feel really terrible that the last thing you ever did was make fun of me.” At that, I turned and faced Sebastian, whose lips were twitching dangerously.
“You laugh, you die,” I threatened, brushing past him and yanking open the door.
“Not laughing,” Bash promised in a strangled voice.
“Wait, wait,” Simon called breathlessly, rushing forward and leaning against the doorframe as we made our way down the hall. “Lux, you better not die, because… well…”
I stopped and turned to face him, awaiting his apology.
“We really need to return that dress to Luster.” He grinned. “If you die, we’ll be in deep shit.”
I flipped him off and turned on my heel, listening to the fresh round of cackles erupting from Fae and Simon. When I heard a much closer laugh bubble up from the man standing next to me, I turned my glare in his direction.
“Not a word, mister.” Despite my best intentions, their laughter was getting to me. Holding my stern face was a struggle.
Bash tried to nod solemnly but soon lost the battle against hilarity. Within seconds, a chorus of laughter exploded out of him, echoing through the hallway and harmonizing with Fae and Simon’s giggles in a melody of mirth even I couldn’t deny.
“Such children, all of you,” I complained, even as a grin stole across my face and a solitary giggle escaped my lips.
Unfortunately, Bash’s amusement quickly fled as the severity of the situation once again descended on us. He grew quiet as soon as we climbed into his Land Rover, his eyes lingering on the hemline of my skirt and the treacherous amount of cleavage threatening to burst from the confines of my neckline.
“Might as well be naked,” he muttered under his breath.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, clicking in my seatbelt. “What was that?”
Bash started the car and stared ahead in silence, his jaw clenching and unclenching every few seconds as he tried to reel in his spiraling frustration. He shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. Within minutes, we were rolling smoothly into the flow of evening traffic, headed for the Upper East Side.
I stared out at the passing city, thinking about the night to come, and my stomach churned with fresh nerves. Before I knew it, we’d nearly reached Labyrinth. When we turned onto E. 65th St., Bash glanced over at me.
“I don’t know who we’ll see in there or what will happen. We’re going in blind, so we need to stick together. No going off by yourself, no heroics. As far as the members inside are concerned, you’re nothing but arm candy — don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t call any unnecessary attention to yourself. The less they notice you, the better you can observe them without detection. And, trust me, you don’t want to be on their radar if you can avoid it.” Bash grumbled something indecipherable under his breath. “I don’t care if we haven’t found anything — if either of us senses any kind of trouble, we leave. End of story.”
I nodded in agreement.
When we pulled up at the valet, Bash leaned over into my space, slipped one hand around the back of my neck, and pulled me toward him with little tenderness. His lips landed hard on mine, crushing them in a rough kiss that I knew would leave my mouth swollen and bruised. His tongue invaded my mouth in an abrupt onslaught that left me no time to prepare and utterly unable to even begin to return his kiss. And as quickly as he’d begun, it was over, leaving me dizzied and breathless. His hands released my neck and I fell back against the smooth leather seat, attempting to catch my breath and staring at him with wide eyes.
He cupped my jaw lightly, his thumb skimming over my well-bitten bottom lip. “I had to do that, at least once. Just in case… things don’t go well in there.”
A warm feeling spread through my chest and my throat went dry. Nipping at his thumb with my teeth, I tried to bring a smile back to his grim face. “Don’t say things like that. It’s going to be fine. And, if it’s not, well… I’ll make it up to you.”
His wolfish smile appeared.
“Not like that, you pervert.” I huffed. “I meant I’d buy you a beer or cook you dinner.”
“You cook now?” he asked, surprise evident in his eyes.
I laughed. “I can reheat take-out leftovers. Does that count?”
His laughter joined mine, filling the small space with joy and chasing away our apprehension for a brief moment. Eyes warm on my face, he leaned forward once more and touched his forehead to mine. “Let’s go,” he whispered against my lips.
For once, it was me who initiated. I threw caution to the wind and leaned in, brushing my lips against his. On the surface, it was a small kiss — a single ripple on the ocean of lust we’d been wading in for the past few weeks. But beneath the surface, in the deepest reaches of the sea, a monumental tidal shift had occurred.
When we broke contact, Bash stared at me, his expression totally unguarded and a question burning in his eyes. I opened my mouth to speak but before either of us could say anything, a valet appeared at my window and pulled open my door, extending his hand down to guide me from the car.
I’d always seen movie stars being helped from their vehicles by chauffeurs and laughed, thinking Jeeze, she can’t even get out of a car by herself? But tonight, I finally understood. There was no way heels this tall and a skirt this short would make it out of the Land Rover unassisted — at least, not without flashing the world a view of the lady bits I’d rather keep private.
The valet, a huge man clothed in a familiar black t-shirt with scrawling green print, led me around the front of the hood and handed me off to Sebastian, who was standing at the curb waiting for me. I slid my hand into the crook of his extended arm and smoothed my face into a mask of serenity. Summoning an air of confidence I certainly didn’t feel, I matched Bash stride for stride as we made our way up the elaborate marble stairway outside the towering four-story building. It looked imperial — like some odd mix between a traditional English estate and a gothic French cathedral leftover from ancient times. Not wanting to seem like a naive, wide-eyed tourist, I only allowed myself a quick glance upward, but it was enough to note that there were several turrets and multi-tiered gables ornamenting the stone-shingled roof. I even thought I spotted a baleful gargoyle or two, but was forced to look away before I could make out a clear image. The only flaws in the building’s elegant, old-fashioned veneer were the security cameras — sleek, black electronic eyes trained on the stairwell and valet entrance, no doubt there to alert anyone inside about approaching visitors.
The ornate gilded doors loomed before us, at least fifteen feet tall. We reached the top step and waited for several seconds. When nothing happened, Bash shrugged and extended his hand to take hold of the right door handle. Freezing in simultaneous alarm, we shared a quick glance as the sound of lock-bars unbolting and the loud creak of grating hinges rang out in the night. The doors swung inward, revealing a well-adorned atrium of priceless antique furniture pieces and elaborate wall sconces. At the far side of the hall, a huge grand staircase — at least twenty feet across, and solid marble from the looks of it — dominated the wall space and presumably led up to the second floor, though at the moment it was cordoned off with red velvet ropes. A resplendent chandelier in tiers of gold, glass, and light hung from the ceiling, its statement unmissable: this place we’d come to was a haven for the truly wealthy.
We stepped inside hesitantly, unsure how to proceed. My grip tightened on Sebastian’s arm as my eyes swept the hall, searching for any living beings and finding none. The click of my heels against the gold-veined marble was the only noise to be heard in the hushed hall, until the delicate clearing of a throat sounded several feet to our left.
Standing in the shadows, so still I’d missed him in my initial scan of the hall, was a well-dressed, diminutive man in a tuxedo. He stepped fully forward into the light, and bowed — yes, bowed — slightly at the waist.
“Mr. Covington,” he greeted, turning his head from Sebastian to me. “Mademoiselle.”
“Hello,” I stammered nervously. Bash pressed his hip firmly against mine in a warning gesture that told me I’d already broken one of his rules by speaking and that he was in no way pleased by it. I cringed internally — I knew I’d messed up. But I challenge anyone to remain calm and collected when a 5’2” butler wearing an ultra-sleek, near-invisible electronic earpiece like he’s in the CIA or something bows to you as if you’re the freaking Duchess of Cambridge.
“It’s our pleasure to receive you, sir. My name is Charles, one of the concierge’s at your service here.”
I looked at Bash, wondering if he’d called ahead to inform them of our visit, but his face showed nothing but surprise. I’m not sure which alternative was more disturbing — the idea that they’d known we were coming or the thought that they’d recognized Sebastian on sight as soon as we’d exited his car.
“It’s your first time here, correct?” Charles asked.
Bash nodded.
“Wonderful, sir.” Charles raised an open-palmed hand and gestured toward a set of doors on the left side of the atrium. “If you’ll follow me, I will gladly show you and your guest to the East Parlor. You are, of course, free to explore the first floor at your leisure, but I’ve found the parlor to be a preferred starting point for many of our newer members.”
I felt my brows shoot up on my forehead involuntarily and had to make a conscious effort to lower them back down to their normal heights. It seemed we hadn’t just crossed a threshold — we’d been transported into an entirely new world of impeccable manners, spotless clothing, and seamless servitude. A place where servants bowed and used titles, avoided eye contact and catered to your every wish.
I wanted instantly to leave.
Bash caught my eye as we crossed the room, following Charles to the parlor. He nodded slightly in reassurance, reaching up to squeeze my hand where it lay on his arm. Relax, he mouthed at me. Breathe.
I smiled weakly at him and turned my face forward.
When we reached the doors, Charles ushered us into a sedate room decorated entirely in green hues. The carpets were the deepest shade of emerald, the silk curtains and brocade couches stitched with fabrics of jade and cream. Even the wall tapestries and various gold-framed art pieces — one of which looked suspiciously like a Picasso — had been carefully selected to complement the room’s viridescent theme. Each detail — from the small reading lamps illuminating the space by each plush chair to the vast, ornamental bookcase that took up the entire far wall, filled with more tomes than one could read in a lifetime — had been carefully planned and meticulously looked after to create an environment fit for kings.
“The door to your right leads to the Billiard Room and connects through to the rest of the first floor chambers. On your left, you’ll find a small sitting room with light refreshments and desserts. Many of our members congregate there in the earlier evening hours, as we have a full dining service until eight o’clock.” Charles glanced at his watch. “You’ve just missed that, I’m afraid. Though there are fresh hors d’oeuvres served hourly until midnight.”
“And the upper floors?” Bash asked.
Charles’ composure didn’t falter, though the skin around his eyes tightened in the tiniest show of tension when he heard Bash’s question. “Ah, I’m afraid they’re undergoing some renovation. At present, they must remain out of bounds while you are exploring. I do hope you understand, sir.”
“Of course,” Bash agreed readily. I felt my heart rate begin to quicken.
“Should you need anything at all, please simply press the blue button on the panel by the door. Each room is equipped with a similar one,” Charles said, executing yet another perfect bow before backing out of the room and closing the doors behind him as he went.
“Think he’ll bring us a map if we ask real nice?” I whispered as the doors clicked closed. This place was huge — we’d never find what we were looking for in one night’s visit.
“Doubt it.” Bash grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the door on our right. “Let’s check this place out.”
We wound our way through room after room, each with its own color palette and distinct furnishing theme. We soon found that Labyrinth was not nearly as big as it appeared from the outside — there were perhaps ten rooms, forming a U-shaped ring around the atrium. The entry hall, with its vaulted ceiling, grand staircase, and grandiose atmosphere, took up a vast amount of space. Most of the sitting rooms we encountered were either entirely empty or nearly so. A few white-haired, male members were scattered amongst the plush chairs of a garish red-toned sitting room with mahogany-paneled walls — they were clustered by a stone fireplace, enveloped by a noxious cloud of cigar smoke as they puffed away, discussing some kind of business deal involving Iranian fossil fuels. When we entered, they nodded in greeting but their murmured conversation came to a swift halt and did not resume until we’d moved on to the adjacent room.
A similar group of female patrons was gathered on the lounges of a pale blue room, sipping tea and discussing the latest society scandals while bestowing disingenuous compliments on each other’s dresses and jewelry. They eyed my attire with hyper-critical stares as we passed through.
Within an hour’s time, we’d traversed the entire bottom floor and encountered absolutely nothing of note. Mostly, Labyrinth seemed like a terribly obnoxious though perfectly innocuous millionaires’ club — a watering hole for the über elite.
“We need to get onto the second floor,” I hissed. “There’s nothing down here and you know Charles’ line about ‘renovations’ was utter bullshit.”
“How do you suggest we do that, genius?” Bash muttered back at me. “Do you have powers of invisibility I don’t know about?”
I thought for a moment. “We haven’t checked the sitting room Charles told us about. It’s the only room left.”
“What, are you suddenly craving some ‘light refreshments’?” Bash snorted.
“Something like that,” I mumbled, leading him through a set of doors back out into the atrium. Heading for the entry Charles had led us through on the opposite side of the hall, my mind raced. If there were hors d’oeuvres served hourly in the sitting room, maybe there was a kitchen or back room attached to it.
We nodded to an elderly couple in matching mink-cuffed coats in the atrium, before stepping into the small sitting room. It was dimly lit, with several intimate, two-person tables scattered across the gleaming hardwood floors. Along one wall, a banquet table was laid out with multiple shining silver platters, an array of still-warm appetizers and fine desserts on display. My eyes scanned the walls and I felt a flare of hope when I spotted it — a recessed door set into the wall on the right, so finely crafted it was barely discernible from the cream-papered walls around it.
“Come on,” I whispered to Bash, thanking my stars that the room was abandoned and hoping whatever lay beyond that door would be as well. I made my way over to the entryway, tracing my fingertips along the seam as I searched for a way to open it. There was no visible knob, no switch or electronic panel that might open the door from this side. I felt the hope begin to deflate in my chest.
Before I could wilt entirely, Bash reached over my shoulder, placed his palm flat against the door, and pushed inward. To my surprise, the door was spring-loaded — it popped open easily at his touch, two narrow inches of space appearing between the wood panel and its frame. I turned to him with wide eyes.
“Nice work, Mr. Bond.”
“The basement door in my parents’ house opened like that,” Bash said, his eyes distant with memories. “My mother always hated the look of knobs on closets. She said it created ‘unnecessary eye clutter’ and ruined a room’s aesthetic.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled the door slightly more ajar, peering through the crack to see the connecting room. It was dark but as my eyes adjusted, I saw something that made me want to high five myself for this stroke of intuition: a stainless steel refrigerator, a small range, a long prep table, a china cabinet, a fully-stocked liquor bar, and, tucked into a far corner, the most thrilling object of all — a small, spiral staircase leading to the upper and lower floors.
“Bingo,” I whispered.
“Servants staircase,” Bash noted, his voice full of admiration. “Good thinking.”
I edged into the room and Bash followed, shutting the door behind him. Once inside, he grabbed my hand and shifted my body behind his as we made our way over to the staircase.
“I go first,” he ordered, his tone booking no room for argument.
I nodded.
“Follow me, stay silent, and if we’re caught try to play it off. We’re new, we’re lost — you wanted to see the chandelier up close.” He stared at me intently. “Got it?”
“Got it,” I echoed.
The journey up the dark stairs was painstakingly slow — each step Bash took on the creaking steps made me flinch in horror, sure we’d be detected if we so much as breathed too loudly in the confined space. My heart pounded so fast I was sure its beat was audible from at least two floors away. I was thankful I’d never suffered from claustrophobia, as the walls seemed to press in closer the higher we rose. We passed the second floor, then the third, but Bash continued to ascend, evidently convinced that anything illegal would be as far from detection as possible — on the highest floor, in the most closely guarded room.
I didn’t disagree.
Eventually, we reached the top of the flight, stepping out into a space nearly identical to the kitchen prep room on the first floor, but with no signs of habitation. No lights were left illuminated to aid still-working kitchen staff. There were no utensils lying about, no food remnants of recently-prepared appetizers scattered about the counters — the stainless steel tables were immaculate and not a single tool was out of place.
I held my breath as we crossed to the door, wondering what we might find on the other side. Had this all been for nothing — a misadventure, born of misguided hopes and ill-founded wishes to find Vera? Had I been connecting invisible dots? Seeing illusory correlations between completely unrelated people and places?
Was Labyrinth even connected to my investigation? Because, so far, nothing here suggested anything remotely associated with human trafficking.
Short on the heels of that thought came another — one so paralyzing I felt my throat begin to constrict at just the possibility it might be true. I began to wonder if I really was crazy, after all. Maybe my conspiracy-theory wall mosaic was just that — a conspiracy, feigned and fabricated by a sad, foolish girl who couldn’t cope with the truth. Maybe, without ever noticing, I’d slipped off the ledge of sanity and fallen so far into lunacy I couldn’t even see it anymore.
Or, maybe not.
Because, when Sebastian opened that door, when we saw what lay in the empty space beyond, when I felt the air disappear from my lungs and the saliva evaporate from my tongue as my mouth went dry with dread… there was little room left for doubt.
I wasn’t crazy — but that was little validation when the truth was so repugnant.
Horrifyingly, cruelly, abominably… I’d been right all along.