The 8th Circle Read Online Free PDF

of lavender and vanilla reached out to him and drew him a step closer. For a moment, she stood with her hand resting on his lapel, and he wanted to lay his hand on top of hers but could only stand frozen, lost inside her gaze. The ghosts in her eyes. The secrets and sorrows. Whoever she was now, Kate Reid had led a different life once. He could almost see the outline of another woman just under her skin. It was her business if she wanted to run away from her old life, not his, but it made him curious.
    Her mouth curved into a tiny smile. “Give me a call. I’m not so bad once you get to know me, and I might be useful. You never know.”

6
    D ark all around. Cold concrete beneath his knees. Justin’s hands were chained above his head. This wasn’t the dungeon, was it? Not the dungeon.
    The door opened. Light snapped on, blinding him for a second. Then the thin, blond man appeared. He was nightmare in a green leather tunic, tights, and weird booties; sparkling green covered his shallow eyelids, and black rimmed his eyes.
    “Poor Justin,” the blond man said. “Do you know who I am? I’m Mason. I’ve come to set you free.”
    He slid his hands down Justin’s cheeks, his fingers long, white, and smooth like they didn’t have knuckles. Justin wanted to puke. Nobody kept you chained up naked if they were going to set you free, especially not freaks like this.
    “But you aren’t a very nice little boy, are you? Turning tricks is such a nasty business. I’m afraid Congressman Powell is tired of you.”
    Who the fuck was Congressman Powell? No one used names at the club. It was just sex. Baggy old men. Sometimes a young guy with tight abs. Sometimes a woman with plastic boobs. Sometimes all three. The bodies blended together.
    Who gave a shit about them? The needle made them disappear—for a while, anyway. The needle made everything disappear.
    Then he remembered the guy in the red silk mask, a regular. The one with the little piggy eyes and sagging girl tits. He wore the feathered, silk G-string and liked the really kinky shit. His mask had come off the other night.
    Justin bit into his tongue.
    “You’re young, aren’t you?” Mason cooed. “How old are you, darling?”
    He tried to speak, but no sound came from his dry throat.
    “You remind me of someone, you know. He has blue eyes, too.” Mason leaned close, pushed his fingers through Justin’s hair. “Such lovely eyes. You’ve seen too much, my pet.”
    Mason snapped his fingers, and Justin heard the familiar opening guitar riff of a metal song. It was old shit, but it used to be one of his favorites because the video was so badass.
    “Do you like this song, Justin?”
    Justin nodded. He tasted blood in his mouth.
    “Normally, I prefer Ravel, but this is a special evening. Do you like the fairies?”
    Justin didn’t know the answer, and his eyes stung with tears. Stuff like this didn’t happen in real life. It was a video on some creepy horror channel. But it wasn’t. He was in some dark place where prayers wouldn’t help.
    Mason spread out his arms and threw back his head. He stood for a moment with his eyes shut, then turned to the table beside him. Justin saw the flash of something metallic.
    “I’m the Sandman,” Mason said.
    “Please.” Justin managed to croak out the word.
    Mason’s breath caressed his neck. “Don’t be afraid, Justin. Tonight, we’re off to Never Never Land.”

7
    T wo fat pigeons sat on the stone wall, their feathers ruffling in the wind. Congressman Teddy Powell had the sensation they were watching him. Stupid. He shook off the feeling and handed his ticket to the valet.
    Weird to have valet parking at a wake, though you’d hardly call this a wake. Michael Cohen was already buried.
    Shiva. Jews had some funny rituals. Like covering the mirrors. What was with that?
    He wouldn’t have come today, except he had to pay his respects. Andy Cohen would go through the guest book and note who came and who didn’t, even