Gentleman Sinner

The house is silent as I gingerly take the stairs, my hand sliding down the golden banister as I look around, waiting for someone to appear. I make it all the way to Theo’s office without seeing a soul and knock lightly on the door, getting no response, so I try the handle, finding it’s locked.

Pouting to myself, I turn and ponder what to do. ‘Call him,’ I say to myself, jogging towards the stairs to go fetch my phone, but as my foot hits the bottom step, I hear something. I stop and crane my neck to see towards the back of the huge entrance hall, finding a single door slightly ajar. I wander over and push my way through to a long corridor with another door at the end. The walls are bare, the space stark, and the sound of music is muffled from beyond. It becomes louder as I approach, and I push through into another office, this one not as ostentatious as Theo’s, but still very lovely. It’s well equipped, far more functional as a working space, with computers, filing cabinets, and three desks. But no Theo.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I wander across the space and open yet another door, finding yet another corridor, this one far shorter than the last, with many doors leading off each side. A small part of my mind is telling me to turn back, to not venture farther. But a bigger part is urging me forward, promising me answers to questions I’ve asked myself a million times. And that’s a little too hard to resist.

I follow the sound of music to the end and open the door. ‘Like a bloody maze,’ I say to myself as the music hits my ears hard.

My eyes go round, taking in the scene before me, my mouth slightly agape. ‘Oh my God,’ I mumble to myself, my stare nailed to a huge hexagonal cage. There are two men beyond the bars, bare-chested, bare-knuckled, sweaty. And covered in blood.

I wince when one guy slams the other to the floor and starts pounding his face like a madman, blood and sweat flying everywhere, my flinches coming thick and fast. My stomach turns as a crowd around the perimeter of the cage yell and cheer, thirsty for the violence, encouraging it. Then the noise drops when the guy pinned to the floor goes limp and stops trying to fight off his attacker, though the punches don’t slow. If anything, they come faster and harder until I can no longer see the unconscious man’s face through the blood coating him.

What the hell is this place?

I turn and find a round stage behind me, with a runway leading off towards the back. Tables are positioned around the perimeter, people drinking and socializing, and I find myself mindlessly walking towards the raised platform. ‘Oh God, no,’ I breathe, my heart just about ready to explode.

There are poles, and two half-naked women do what can only be described as acrobatics around them, flinging their bodies up and down the metal, getting into some insane positions, and all with skyscraper heels on. My eyes widen further when I note one of the women is Penny, the girl I found in the alley. She looks completely different, her body clear of marks, as she grinds her crotch against the pole. What?

I back up, ready to bolt, trying to wake myself up, because I have to be dreaming. I have to be. The cage, the stage, the dancers and violence. All my worst nightmares are here in this opulent club. The Playground.

I force my breathing to calm and start pacing back towards the door from which I came, but my steps slow as I register through my anxiety that Penny’s face is glowing. She’s . . . happy? Enjoying herself? She doesn’t look like she’s here under duress. And then I remember her words when I was tending to her, when I told her she was at Theo’s.

Then I’m safe.

I rip my eyes away from her as she bends at the waist, thrusting her arse into a guy’s face, though he remains in his seat, just watching. He doesn’t touch her. Doesn’t even try. I look around, seeing most of the people at the tables around the stage are men, though there are a few women, too, all impeccably dressed. It’s a stark contrast to what I’ve experienced. Some of the crowd are watching Penny and her friend intently, but some are chatting and drinking. There’s no heckling, no men throwing themselves on to the stage. I see a well-appointed bar with sharp bartenders, as well as suited waiters delivering drinks on trays. My shaky being starts to settle a little, and I don’t know why. Everything in here is a trigger to me.