Free Domination by Lyra Byrnes Page A

industry people in such a small city? She was scanning the room, searching
for a familiar face when the door crashed open and Kraxis strode in, already
fortified with beer if the bottle in his hand was any indication.
    Bucky followed, then Jet, smiling like a pageant queen, and
Varian picking at the chipped black polish on his nails. The energy in the room
shot up, as did the decibel level. The suits relaxed—the stars had arrived,
justifying their presence.
    She ate four skewers of lamb with figs before she remembered
to circulate. The boys in Domination were cutting up, chatting with the
publicists and A&R guys, making them laugh. Kraxis reenacted his famous six-minute
drum solo on the backs of some willing partygoers. She made small talk with the
tipsy suits who cornered her but her mind was whirring. Where was Bram?
    She headed back down the stairs, uncertain in her heels, and
almost ran headlong into him rounding the landing.
    He gave her an appreciative appraisal. “Mm, girl. My very
own party favor,” he said. “I can’t wait to tear into it.”
    “I hate these things.”
    “So do I. Come on, I’ll give you a tour of the place.”
    “Everyone’s waiting for you. You’re the main attraction.”
    “Then they’ll wait.” He pulled her along a black-walled
corridor, eerie dioramas lighting up as they passed. Josie could feel the glass
eyes of the mannequins on her. “You going to go emo on me again?”
    “Just hit a snag at work. No big deal,” she mumbled.
    “Got something to show you.”
    They padded down a hallway lined with faded framed
documents, turned and turned again. Josie could hear the brass band above them
but was hopelessly turned around. The dioramas lit up as they passed but she
tried not to look. They just got weirder. The military scenes seemed
self-explanatory but then came a tableau of men who seem to have been rounded
up and shot on the street, a terrifying depiction of a voodoo ceremony
featuring an awfully lifelike serpent, and…
    She had to stop in front of the scene of two women clawing
at each other. “What the hell is that?”
    “Couple’a bints having a row. New Orleans has a rich history
of hookers pulling each others’ hair out.”
    “This place gives me the wiggins.”
    “Shh.” Bram gave a shove to the handle on an unobtrusive
door and shouldered it open.
    She followed him inside. The lights were off but a glow from
the other tableaux softly illuminated the small space. Silk dresses and
uniforms hung from racks against the walls, a lidless hatbox overflowed with
feathers, the floor was treacherous with muskets and broken chairs. They seemed
to be in a storage room of some kind. But it wasn’t all costumes and props.
Heavy iron chains were attached to the walls with manacles dangling from them.
The maw of an enormous upright casket, also iron and vaguely human-shaped,
loomed open to reveal a set of deadly looking spikes inside. Piled like a nest
of vipers on the dusty floor, a discarded stash of whips.
    “I didn’t think this place could be any creepier without the mannequins.”
    “Serves our purpose well.”
    “And that is?” She cast an uneasy glance at the iron maiden
and its far-too-real-looking spikes.
    Bram pulled her close, forcing her eyes from the backstage
detritus to his face, half demonic, all delicious in the low light. “You were
intrigued by the idea of a dungeon, Josie, but afraid too. Is that right?”
    “Yes,” she whispered. Mostly afraid. But there was something
exciting about the sight of the cuffs chained to the wall. Were those for her?
    He pulled the pins from her careful coif and tilted up her
chin for a kiss. “The other day I got a taste of what you’re capable of. I’m
going to show you what I’m capable of. Do you want that?”
    The heat radiating from his body, his dark scent and his
black-honey voice turned her brain to mush. “I… Maybe. I do want something.
More, I guess. But it’s all so—”
    “Yes or no.” His