Chapter 350: Full Exposure
The guide stopped where the hallway split in two. On one side, frosted glass doors with a small brass sign: "Guest Lounge." On the other, a narrower hallway with no decoration at all, like the building had just given up pretending once you got far enough back.
"We split up here," he said, that same forced smile still stuck on his face. "Sir, you’ll wait in the lounge. Your hostess will be along shortly. Miss, come with me, we’ll get you set up in the back."
Nash just nodded, still playing the part of the slightly impressed guy. But right before Saya turned to follow her guide, his eyes met hers for half a second. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. It was one of those moments where he was trying, for whatever reason, to send a telepathic message to his companion for the evening — although since it was Saya, it was more like a "you’re gonna do exactly what I told you and get the hell out of here, okay?"
But since he wasn’t psychic, Saya read that look as the exact opposite of what he meant.
He’s looking at me like that because... because he cares about me, she thought, and the thought hurt more than she wanted to admit. He’s doing this because that’s just who he is now. Even for someone like me...
Honestly, she missed the old days a lot, when men just used her outright. At least back then she knew where she stood, what she was worth in the exchange. This, whatever this was, felt worse. Nash wasn’t some blessing for a regular girl from the Underground — he was a punishment. A man too perfect for a woman who had nothing left to offer.
"This way," said a second guide, a woman this time, showing up next to Saya with that same pre-packaged smile everyone here seemed to have gotten handed at the door.
Saya followed without a word. She looked back one last time. Nash was already walking toward the lounge, hands in his pockets, not turning around once.
The walk to the back took forever, or at least it felt that way. The bamboo and paper lanterns disappeared at some point, replaced by plain white walls and the hum of air vents that could’ve used some maintenance. Saya kept her hands clasped in front of her stomach, breathing slow, counting doors without even meaning to. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen...
Room 14, she thought, and her stomach did a full flip.
The guide finally stopped at a steel door, no number, nothing. She swiped a card in front of a small panel and the door slid open with a hiss.
"In here," the woman said, waving a hand.
Saya stepped in, and stopped dead.
This room looked nothing like the rest of the building. No decoration, no lanterns, none of that fake atmosphere. Just a big dark room packed with screens floor to ceiling, dozens of them, each showing a different part of the building. Hallways, the lounge, rows of numbered doors, rooms. So many rooms, little timers blinking away in the corner of every screen.
"Saya!" Jinzo’s voice cut through the noise of the machines, way too cheerful for a room like this. He was practically bouncing near the central console like an absolute idiot, grinning ear to ear like he’d just won something at a fair. "There she is! Right on time, right on time!"
Monique sat a bit further off in a big chair, one leg crossed over the other, a tablet resting on her knees, looking about as interested as someone waiting for a bus. She also had a gold fan, smaller than her usual one, fanning it slowly in front of her face. She looked up and gave Saya a small, tight-lipped smile, the kind you’d give a dog that had finally learned not to pee on the carpet.
"Right on time," she said. "Good girl."
Harlan stood near the wall, arms crossed. His eyes kept darting around, the screens, Jinzo, the door, back to the screens, never settling anywhere for more than a second. He had the look of a guy doing math in his head and really not liking the answer he was getting, and that wasn’t good news for Saya.
The girl’s gaze drifted, almost against her will, to a screen in the corner. The lounge. Nash was sitting there in a low leather chair, alone for now, looking completely relaxed, like he was at home instead of standing in the middle of a snake pit.
"...How many cameras are there?" she asked. Or rather, she hadn’t meant to say it out loud, it was just a thought, but it slipped out louder than she wanted.
Jinzo lit up.
"Every room, every hallway. Like, literally every inch of this place." He swept his arm across the wall like he was showing off a trophy he’d built himself. "Zero blind spots, none. Management’s super strict about it, you know? Keeps everything running smooth, keeps the girls in line, keeps the clients nice and behaved." His grin got even wider. "And, well. It makes sure we don’t miss a single second of tonight."
Saya didn’t say anything back. That many cameras? Okay, that’s really bad. Her stomach kept sinking as her eyes crawled across the screens one by one. That hallway she and Nash had just walked through. The lounge. A dozen numbered doors.
Her mouth fell open slightly.
Zero blind spots.
The plan... what was the plan, anyway? Was there one? The only instruction she’d gotten was to get out, like, now. But what about Nash?
Had he clocked the cameras? That they were everywhere? How was he supposed to handle things with Rei with all this? How was he even supposed to blend in?
And they were surrounded by guards, what, twenty of them? Nash was strong, sure, but he wasn’t superhuman! How was he supposed to take on twenty guys at once if it came to that?
They’re going to see everything, she thought, and the floor seemed to tilt slightly under her feet. Whatever’s about to happen to Rei... whatever Jinzo’s got planned for the redhead. All of it, live, right here.
"You okay?" Monique asked, not even looking up from her tablet, sounding downright bored. "You’ve gone pale, sweetie."
"...I’m fine," Saya managed. "Just... nervous. First time doing something like this."
"Understandable." Monique waved a hand like she was shooing a fly. "Just try not to throw up on the equipment, okay? It’s expensive."
Harlan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cleared his throat a little too loud.
"Should we... I mean, is it really necessary to have this many people in here watching?" He forced out a laugh that came out hollow. "Feels like overkill, for one night."
Monique’s gaze slid over to him, slow and cold, like a cat trying to decide exactly how it wants to play with the mouse.
"Overkill," she repeated. "Harlan, darling. You’ve been saying the strangest things lately. You sure you haven’t taken out a life insurance policy?"
"...Ma’am. I just meant to say—"
"I genuinely could not give a damn what you meant to say. Not a single damn, not a fuck, je m’en bat les couilles1, even though I don’t have balls. Kind of like you, actually." Her voice dropped its playful edge. "And I’m choosing to find it cute instead of suspicious. For now."
Harlan’s jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything else, eyes dropping to the floor, a bead of sweat sliding slowly down his temple even though the room was freezing from the AC.
Saya watched the whole thing and felt her urge to throw up get worse.
Did he... did he actually try something there? Damn... he’s barely holding it together. This idiot’s supposed to have a role tonight?! Please don’t tell me that was some kind of attempt at something??
She forced her eyes back to the screens, back to that quiet lounge where Nash still sat, calm as still water, like nothing in the world could touch him — or maybe he knew exactly how bad this was and just wasn’t letting it show on his face. Either way, every move he made from here on was going to be watched, recorded, picked apart by the very people trying to destroy him.
This can’t be happening... it can’t be... Nash... come on... please, figure something out! she thought.
The guest lounge was quieter than the rest of the building. Dimmer too, with amber lamps throwing long shadows across the leather couches.
Nash sat alone for a few minutes, letting his eyes wander around the room without ever looking as sharp as he actually was. He counted the exits without moving his head. He counted the guards. He picked out which of the men scattered around actually looked used to being here, and which ones were trying a little too hard to seem like they were.
He didn’t have to wait long before company showed up.
"First time here?" The voice came from a heavyset man, sixty-something, gray hair slicked back, a glass of whiskey already half empty in his hand, dropping into the chair across from Nash without even asking. Nash sort of recognized his face, some kind of regional commissioner, the type of guy you always see standing three feet behind whoever’s actually talking on TV, nodding along, never saying anything worth remembering.
"Yeah," Nash said, keeping his voice easy, a little unsure, exactly the tone Victoria had coached him on. "A friend recommended the place."
"Good friend." The man chuckled. "This place isn’t for just anybody, you know. Invitation only, mostly." His eyes wandered over Nash’s shoulders, his build, the same appraising look half the staff had already given him tonight, like they were pricing livestock. "You look like a guy who knows how to handle himself. What do you do?"
"Bit of everything," Nash said, staying deliberately vague.
"Ah." The man smiled like he already had the whole story figured out, leaning in a bit too close. "Underground business, then. Smart. Lots of opportunity down there these days, if you know the right people." He swirled his glass, ice clinking softly. "Happens I know quite a few right people. A guy like you, build, instincts, all of it, could go far with the right introductions. I could make a call or two."
Nash gave a small shrug, noncommittal. "Maybe."
Another man drifted over from a nearby couch, younger, better dressed. "Don’t let him bore you with his recruitment speech," he said, sitting down next to the first man. "He does this to everyone. Thinks he’s got an eye for talent." He held a hand out to Nash, rings catching the lamplight. "I run logistics for a few operations on the north side. Always need reliable muscle that doesn’t ask too many questions. Pay’s good. Real good, for the right kind of loyalty."
Nash shook the hand once, quick, then let go. "Appreciate it," he said. "Not looking for work tonight though."
The two men traded a look, that particular look guys like this give each other when someone doesn’t take the bait, somewhere between mild annoyance and pure boredom, like he’d just failed a test he didn’t know he was taking.
"Suit yourself," the older one said, straightening up, most of the warmth gone from his voice. "Rare thing, a man who doesn’t want to move up in the world."
"Different kind of ambition," Nash said simply.
The younger one snorted, unimpressed, standing and smoothing down his jacket. "Come on," he said to the other, already turning away. "Let’s go find someone a little more interesting."
They wandered off without another word, already scanning the room for a more receptive audience.
Nash breathed out slowly through his nose once they were gone, sinking back into the leather chair, eyes drifting up to the ceiling, to the small black lens tucked discreetly into the corner molding, like a little dead eye watching everything.
Everyone here’s for sale, he thought. Except the people actually stuck in it.
Go ahead, knock yourselves out, for all I care. You’re already dead... Hm?
The doors at the far end of the lounge opened, and right then, he froze completely, jaw dropping slightly.
Rei stood in the doorway, dressed in a black bunny-girl costume cut so high that the lower curve of her ass was fully visible with. The front plunged in a deep V that left her breasts completely bare. Thin straps, white cuffs, a small black bowtie at her throat, fishnet stockings. High heels that forced her to walk with careful, deliberate steps.
Her eyes found his across the room, and instead of the cold anger he’d half-expected, her whole face went red instantly, all the way to her ears. She grabbed one arm with her other hand, shoulders hunched in, eyes darting down to the floor, then back up, then away again, like she couldn’t decide which was worse, looking at him, or having him look at her.
Nash just stared, completely caught off guard, probably for the first time all night.
She shuffled a few steps closer, still not quite meeting his eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded like a curse word, aimed at Monique, or the costume, or the universe in general, hard to tell which.
"Don’t say anything," she said, before he could open his mouth. "Don’t say anything at all."
"Je m'en bat les couilles": french expressions, meaning I don't give a fuck. Couilles= testicles, hence why she says "like you", to insult Harlan