Chapter 21

"Improve that face," Cecília scolded, addressing her partner. "You look like you sucked on a lemon."

Both Ravens were walking down Pleasure Alley. They had left Sarah's house as soon as nightfall arrived, agreeing to meet Naomi at the hotel where she was staying the following morning.

Mateus was only wearing a leather thong, two sandals, and a collar similar to a dog's. He was irritated by the number of comments he'd heard about his butt during the whole walk.

Cecília didn't mind the things she heard, but she was offended when people offered her a minuscule amount of coins for her services. It felt strange to return, even if just for that night, to being a sex worker. The street was still as busy as it had been thirteen years ago when she used to frequent the corners of the place.

The curious stares they received were, for the most part, from the night workers; for passersby, it didn't matter. Cecília puffed out her chest as she walked, needing to exude confidence, but Mateus, with his "tight-lipped" expression beside her, didn't contribute much.

A group of women leaned out the window of the second floor of a nearby building. They were apparently all naked and altered by drugs. The oldest, half of her body hanging out into the street, letting both of her breasts sway, shouted toward them:

"There's a new slut on the street!"

Cecília kept walking calmly, only turning her head toward the group hanging out of the window, smiling with as much pity as she could muster, flipping them the middle finger.

The street filled with obscenities and insults. People could change their faces, Cecília thought, but they kept the same attitudes. The end of the street was near, and the black sign of the Hole was shining, lighting up the place in black with red beams coming from the house.

Even after the events of the previous night, the street was still busy, Mateus thought. The number of security guards hadn't increased, at least on the outside. He noticed that the brute at the door had bruises on his neck; he was one of the guards Mateus had attacked the night before. He remembered the man being on the roof.

Cecília walked boldly toward the open door of the establishment. The security guard abruptly stepped in front of her, raising one hand to stop her while the other went to his back. Cecília knew the man was likely reaching for his weapon.

"What are you doing?" Cecília asked angrily. "We're here to work."

"I've never seen either of you," the guard replied seriously.

"We just started recently."

"You'd better leave before you get into trouble."

"You're the one who's going to get in trouble with your boss if you don't let us in!" Cecília snapped, moving closer to the man, who seemed to shrink in front of her. "You think these beauties," she said, pulling off her shirt and exposing her breasts in the middle of the street, "won't earn some good coins?"

The mention of coins was the point Cecília wanted to hit. Everyone knew Andreir's excessive greed, and no one was foolish enough to interfere between him and his beloved profits. The shirt-pulling was just an addition. Men who worked in places like this had created the image that all sex workers were shallow and dumb, something many used to their advantage to divert coins.

"And my partner here," Cecília continued, tossing aside Sarah's borrowed shirt. "He's for a more specific crowd!"

The guard paid more attention to Mateus and nodded slowly in agreement with the woman. Sighing tiredly, he stepped out of the way for the duo.

"Go on, then."

"Thank you," murmured Cecília as she entered the place full of lights.

The front part was just a long corridor with no doors, only lights mixed with erotic music. The corridor ended at another door, and the carpet and walls were entirely painted red, adorned with erotic images.

"What does he think I do?" Mateus asked, curious, walking beside his partner.

"Masochism," Cecília replied. Seeing the look on his face, she elaborated: "You can't deny it, Mateus—you look like a masochist with that underwear. The collar was a genius touch, modestly speaking."

The door slid open effortlessly as Cecília operated it, revealing the nightclub. The hall was packed with people. A bar stood near the entrance, where five men worked, skillfully mixing drinks. Round stages were scattered throughout the space, surrounded by cushioned leather chairs where patrons enjoyed erotic dances. Cecília's gaze caught a stage to the left, covered in cushions and surrounded by clients watching couples engage in intimate acts. The air was heavy with the scent of human fluids.

Two exits on opposite sides of the establishment led to the upper floors. A long bench lined the wall opposite the bar, with several low metal tables in front of it, holding drinks and various substances.

The main stage faced the entrance—a large space, sufficient for a theater performance. Cecília chuckled to herself, thinking how sex workers were more like actors than anyone on a theater stage, having to feign pleasure even when faced with disgust, fear, or pain.

"How strange," Mateus muttered.

"What?" Cecília asked, turning to him.

"There are several holes in that wall," he said, pointing at the wall near the long bench. "They should've fixed that."

"Those..." Cecília began, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "Do you know why this place is called The Glory Hole?" Seeing Mateus shake his head, she continued, "The Ancients were... let's say, quite imaginative about sex. They created all sorts of ways to engage in it. Those holes in the walls? Men would put their penises through them, and on the other side—"

"Okay," Mateus interrupted, his face turning red. "Got it."

"Let's look around for something. I'll check the bar."

Without waiting for a response, Cecília pushed through the crowd, enduring frequent gropes and suppressing the urge to burn the place to the ground. She reached the bar, watching as one of the bartenders mixed a cocktail with liquor and chili.

"New here?" the man asked, his tone indifferent to the chaos around them.

"Yes," Cecília replied immediately, leaning against the counter. "I came by a friend's recommendation."

"I see," the bartender said, grabbing a glass and dropping two lime slices into it. "The pay's really good."

— She told me — Cecília lied. — What are you making?

— This? — the man asked, pointing to the glass with floating chili peppers. — It's called Hot Ass!

— I like the name.

She turned around, scanning the area, unable to spot Mateus anywhere. Something caught her attention on the main stage where several men were setting up a pole for pole dancing.

— My friend — she spoke again, losing interest in what the men were doing. — Said they might send her to the basement. Is that some special room?

The man frowned at what she had just mentioned, immediately turning his back and going to serve other customers. Cecília watched with cruel eyes, and just as she was about to ask more questions, a loud voice drew attention toward the stage.

— To everyone gathered on this night of pleasure! — shouted a man, wearing only shorts, his defined chest on display. — It's time for the treats!

Immediately, everyone moved toward the stage, leaving any other attractions behind. Cecília noticed the group that had been having sex moments before, all of them stopping, exchanging disappointed looks, and some men ingested drugs to try to prolong their erections.

— Who will be the food of the day! — the man shouted again, sending the audience into an uproar.

Cecília stopped in surprise when she saw Mateus, along with other men and boys, climb onto the stage. Raven was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. The narrator began.

— I have here with me some of our hottest dancers for everyone's enjoyment. — He turned to Mateus and pushed him toward the pole. — There's nothing better than starting off with new meat, all masochistic like him.

Mateus' desperation as he started to dance was something Cecília would never forget. Watching her partner twirl around and try to look sexy was incredible. Whenever the cheeks of the boy's ass appeared, the whole place erupted in indecency. She couldn't deny it—he really was beautiful. Sarah was lucky to be able to squeeze him whenever she wanted.

She was enjoying the show when a movement to her right, near the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, caught her eye.

Taking advantage of the distraction that Mateus, even though he had to, was providing, she casually approached the entrance and could hear Andreir's voice full of anger.

— What are you? — the pimp said to someone.

— A whore — replied a female voice.

— Wrong — the sound of a slap followed by a groan of pain. — You're a whore, my whore. What are you?

— Wrong — the slapping sound came again, along with a groan of pain. — You're a little bitch, my little bitch. What are you?

— Your little whore — the voice came out full of tears.

"Your little whore," the voice came out full of tears.

"And when the client wants to use you with a friend?" — again, a slap. — "What do you do?"

"I leave it," the voice came out low.

"Good. If it happens again, you know the consequences."

"Yes, I'll be sent to the basement."

"Good little whore. Now go wash your face. No client wants a whore with a crying face. At least not most of them."

Andreir leaves the place, passing by Cecília, looking her up and down, giving Corva's right nipple a gentle squeeze. Feeling her blood boil, Cecília approaches the young woman who was crying. A girl, no older than fifteen, was leaning against the wall, rubbing her red cheeks. Her eyeliner had run down, giving her small face a dirty look.

"Did you come to laugh at me?" the young woman asked aggressively.

"Why would I do that?" Cecília said, leaning against the wall in front of her. "I'm not sick enough to enjoy other people's suffering."

"Thank you," the girl replied, regaining her composure.

"I ended up overhearing part of the conversation. Sorry about that. I have a friend who was sent to this basement." The girl's face filled with terror. "Do you know how I get there?"

"Nobody wants to go there!"

"I need to know if my friend is all right!" Cecília lied. Being a Raven from the Circle of Infiltrators had its advantages.

The girl looked around suspiciously and then whispered a little closer to Cecília.

"The first door in this corridor. When you open it, there's a staircase to the basement." She quickly walked back into the hall. "Don't tell anyone about what I said."

"Of course," Cecília agreed.

She waited a few minutes to make sure no one was coming. When she was satisfied, she made her way toward the location the girl had mentioned. Glancing once more at the main stage, she realized it was no longer Matthew dancing—Raven was at the back of the stage, his face flushed with embarrassment.

The corridor ran alongside the staircase to the upper floors. Cecília followed the narrowing path, the only illumination coming from red lights next to the first step, giving the place a macabre appearance. She didn't have to go far to find the door, which was hidden in the darkness. Cecília looked back to make sure no one was following her. She opened the door, which slid smoothly across the floor, and light poured out as the door opened.

White LED lamps flanked the rustic staircase leading downward. Cecília stepped on the first step and immediately closed the door behind her. She hadn't brought any weapons with her since she had nowhere to hide them, and that fact weighed heavily on her mind. The corridor ended in a small square room. Cecília quickly scanned the area. The room had only one exit to her right, which was also protected by another door. A security guard sat on an iron bench. Seeing that he wasn't alone, the man stood up and raised his hand toward the handle of a long knife attached to his right leg. He glanced back down the corridor to see if anyone else was coming with Cecília.

"Better go, girl!" he said aggressively.

"So this is the basement," Cecília said, oblivious to the man.

Realizing he had been ignored, the security guard stood and moved toward her, only a few steps away.

"You'd better go back upstairs if you know what's good for you!" he interjected. "Otherwise, I'll make sure you're the first in line to get into the basement."

"That would be useful," Cecília replied with a childish smile. "I want to go in to see it anyway."

"What?" the security guard asked, coming even closer. He laughed softly and placed one of his hands on her bare shoulder. "With your pretty face, I doubt I could stand the things I'd see."

Cecília turned her attention to the man in front of her, exhaling disdainfully as she advanced on him. He was close now, and it didn't take more than a step. The jolt of her lunge dislodged his hand from her shoulder. Twisting her body to the left, she drove her arm straight into the security guard's face. Her fingers gripped the side of his head tightly as she held him, and with her movement, she propelled him toward the wall. With a hollow sound, she smashed the concrete with his skull, feeling the vibration of his bone rise through her hand. She pulled again and hit the wall, causing it to resound with a cracking sound. Cecília released the security guard's head, and he collapsed, foaming and weakly struggling. Spitting toward his lifeless body, she spoke.

"I have a strong stomach."

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, the young woman headed for the door, opening it with a jolt. A few steps revealed themselves, leading directly into a short corridor with doors on both sides, lamps shining in a row in the center of the space. Cecília felt an unsettling aura, as though she were stepping into something vile. Her footsteps echoed as she walked toward the first door, her hands sweating as she opened it. She had to lean against the wall in shock.

Two tables were positioned against the opposite walls of the room, tied to each other, with a man and a woman strapped to them. They were completely naked, their arms and legs amputated. Cecília approached them, noticing that their bellies were rising and falling with their shallow breaths—they were still alive. She moved closer to the man, realizing that all his teeth had been removed so he couldn't bite, and his tongue had been cut out. She assumed it was to prevent him from taking his own life. Dried semen was splattered across the table, especially on the man's waist and face. The woman was in a similar state, but her breasts had been so brutally bitten that they were covered in greenish bruises. There was no saving them, Cecília realized; they were beyond help. Death would be a mercy. The man's eyes locked on her, full of dread, as he struggled against his restraints.

"Help will arrive soon," Cecília promised, exiting the room; she needed to call the Ravens from their Nest.

Her legs felt weak as she moved to the next room, opening it cautiously. Once again, she found herself faced with a macabre scene. A young man was tied to a chair, clearly dead, his head hanging to the side. Between his legs, his erection had turned his penis completely purple. Next to the chair was a small table with several syringes and a glass vial. Cecília approached the man, picking up the vial and reading the small print. Her mouth fell open in shock: it contained stimulants for large animals. She quickly connected the dots and realized why the man had an erection. She left the room, feeling dirty, but she had seen more than enough. She began heading toward the stairs when a muffled sound caught her attention from her left. She froze, staring at the source of the noise.

The young woman followed the sound, which led her to the last door in the hallway. Preparing for the worst, she entered the room in one swift motion. Cecília found herself in a small room where, along the walls, children and elderly people were bound by their wrists and ankles. They writhed in place upon noticing someone had entered but couldn't see her because they were blindfolded or speak due to gags. By the door, Cecília noticed another small table with sexual instruments, including disproportionate-sized dildos, ropes, and a pair of pliers. They all had one thing in common: they were stained with blood.

"How dare you come in here, slut?" a voice called from the foot of the stairs.

Cecília, holding the pliers, turned around to see Andreir and a bodyguard approaching. The sound of the pimp's heeled boots echoed against the walls, his neck veins pulsing with rage.

"You're the one kidnapping people," the young woman muttered to herself, glancing between the hallway and the room.

"It's none of your business, slut, what I do," Andreir sneered, stopping just a few meters from her. "You killed one of my bodyguards, and you're still asking questions? I'll have fun with you myself."

"Just like you did to everyone in this damn place!" Cecília shouted, gripping the pliers' handle tighter, her fingers turning white around it. "Are you going to rip off my arms and legs so I can be raped and give you coins?!"

"Shut your mouth, slut! Who do you think you're talking to? I'm in charge here, and you're nothing but property," Andreir spat, his face contorted in rage. "My property!"

"Property..." Cecília whispered, a wave of hatred consuming her.

"Get this slut," Andreir ordered the bodyguard. "I want to hear her scream like a pig before the slaughter."

The man nodded, beginning to pull out the revolver he had hidden, but he wasn't fast enough. Corva lunged at him, aiming for his throat, and with the pliers, she clamped down on the man's esophagus. Andreir watched in shock as she pulled the pliers back with force, tearing part of the bodyguard's throat out.

Blood splattered across Cecília's face, and she had to shake the pliers to detach the piece from the man. Taking a step to the right to avoid the bodyguard's body, she focused on Andreir. Cecília delivered a powerful kick between his legs, and he didn't react quickly enough. The blow landed, crushing both of Andreir's testicles.

Andreir stood for a moment, unable to comprehend what had just happened, then the pain hit. He doubled over, falling to the ground and vomiting, tears streaming uncontrollably from his eyes. All his previous arrogance was crushed. Without giving him time to recover, Corva delivered another kick, this time to his face, sending him sprawling onto his back. Another kick followed, targeting his destroyed testicles again. Writhing in pain, Andreir looked up at Cecília. His eyes were bloodshot, and drool dripped from his mouth, staining his beard. With a trembling, weak voice, he murmured:

— Who are you?

— A little slut, — Cecília answered, opening and closing the pliers, the metallic sound ringing in the air. — Now it's my turn to have fun.

For the next three minutes, Andreir screamed, begging for his life, while Corva used each of the sexual torture instruments on the table. The screams were macabre, enough to freeze the blood of even the bravest Raven. Cecília only stopped when the man no longer moved, his body drenched in his own blood and chunks of flesh. Dropping a pointed phallic object covered in blood, pieces of flesh, and feces, Corva stood up, exhausted. She made her way toward the stairs, passed the man she had killed earlier, and returned to the room bathed in red light.

Apart from the ambient music, there were no sounds of conversation, which put Cecília on high alert. She walked lightly toward the entrance of the main hall and found Mateus holding a broken bottle of liquor, with three bodyguard corpses around him. Blood dripped from the glass in his hands, running down his forearms. He turned to face her, dropping the bottle and hopping over a pool of blood on the floor to meet her.

— What happened here? — Cecília asked, shocked.

— It was madness, — Mateus said tiredly. — Andreir's screams reached here, and people ran away in panic. The bodyguards tried to see what was going on, but I stopped them. — He looked her up and down. — Was it productive?

— Quite a bit. We need to inform our Nest, — she started heading toward the door. — I want to destroy this place.