For this moment, this moment only, no fear intruded.
He stepped into the b**m club in downtown Tampa, grimacing as the music of Velvet Acid Christ assaulted his ears. Two sluts, drenched in nauseating perfume, lined up behind him. As the fat one chattered away in a shrill voice, he could almost feel his favorite cane in his hands and how he’d whip it across her insipid face and split the thin tissue of her lips. Blood would splatter the wall and drip down onto the glossy pink latex corset she wore.
“Sir.”
He blinked, shook his head.
“Sir,” the doorman repeated, holding his hand out for the fee and shoving a clipboard forward. “Sign here, please.”
He scrawled his name, Kyler Stanton, taking his time so he could check the list. No Elizabeth Stanton. No Elizabeth at all. But he couldn’t
