Daughter of Blood and Nightmares

25: Black Lagoon

Against my misguided judgment, my 'run into things without thinking it through' attitude, we go back to the complex giving me more time to prepare. Black Lagoon is the shadiest underground club in Moss Creek. Admission is tough to get and those who enter don't always come out the same...or come out at all.

Question after question rambles through my head. Has The Order been to Black Lagoon? Are they aware of the dirty deals that go on right under everyone's noses? Then the curiosity of The Order falls away to be replaced with my own anxiety. Am I ready to step foot in there again?

My mother is dressed in my own clothing looking like an addict with her frizzy hair and smeared makeup. This is her opinion of looking hot. Not to mention she's accompanied by her underaged daughter. But here, no one bats an eye. If anything, all eyes are on us, waiting, anticipating for when the woman will sell off her kid for the night.

The thought has my skin crawling. Nasty human men fantasize about doing terrible things to me. Demons are no better. They're worse. Proving just that as we pass a table with a girl, several years younger than my sixteen year old self in the lap of a demon. His hand gropes her thigh. Someone is bound to lose their soul tonight...or something much worse.

Why am I here? Oh, that's right, to out drink someone and get some secrets in the process. Nothing like getting your ass handed to you by a child that can out drink you.

My mother hops up on one of the bar stools scoping out the faces before landing on one in particular. She points out the man and a shiver goes down my spine. He's old, like maybe sixty. Can't say that I'm good at pinpointing people's ages, but his gray hair is thinning and his face is cracked with several wrinkles. He even has a cane. I can't decide if it's because he needs it or it's for show.

"You know what to do and if you can't hold your own then I guess the consequences are on you." Her voice is emotionless and she is truly telling the truth. She'll throw me to a predator and won't help the tiniest bit.

I've been trained for this, working towards this very thing. Conning people, whom most of which have been older men.

I approach the table with a playful smile that barely holds back my gag when his stern frown twists into a smile. Conversation starts easy. Introductions are made, curiosity about what gambling game he's playing, being his good luck charm. Next, shots are ordered.

After round ten, his game ends with a victory. Thank God for that. I can't have him be in a pissy mood from a loss, he'll never admit anything. His leering gaze lands on me and I swallow the heavy lump in my throat. Another round of shots are ordered and he quickly empties each glass. I follow suit.

Shot after shot, we go back and forth in throwing back the liquor. It's warm and burns as it goes down. The burn intensifies with each tiny glass. I'm in my own kind of pain, trying to recover and prepare myself for the next shot, but I'm well rehearsed. Act drunk, spill pointless stupid details, slur my words and sway in my chair, get a little handsy.

The illusion is sickening, but has the man gloating and his lips loosening. He doesn't even realize that he's giving me everything she wants. Something about a manor for cursed girls. Maybe he thinks since he's going to have his way with me, it's the least he can do...maybe he trusts me or finds me naive.

Well, the joke is on him.

Twenty six shots down, I'm swaying slightly in my seat, but the old guy can barely keep his head up. He's spilled a lot of information already, but there's no way I'm leaving this table until he passes out or pukes. We can't take the chance of being followed out.