Free Web NovelChapter 116: Chapter 116 - Strip Club
Iyisha gripped Malcolm’s hand harder as they moved toward the club.
The music slammed into her the moment they crossed the threshold, loud enough to press against her chest, lights flashing hard and fast until the room felt broken into fragments instead of whole. Fog is seeping into the corridor.
Guards stood everywhere she looked, at the walls, near the stage, along every clear line of sight, watching without moving.
The crowd was arranged, not packed. Sectioned seating with low sofas and tables, groups of four or five at a time, spaced apart like each group was meant to be seen. People leaned back, drinks in hand, relaxed, expectant.
They looked like they belonged.
So did they.
The black polo fit tight across Malcolm’s shoulders and chest, tucked cleanly into slacks that made him look composed and deliberate, like he had stepped into a role without effort.
Her dress caught the light as she moved, stones sewn into the fabric breaking the glare into sharp flashes that skimmed her body and vanished again, each step pulling attention without asking for it. The makeup held under the heat and lights, her hair combed back tight, controlled, exposing her face and neck like the Route had decided exactly how she should be seen. The heels changed her balance, lifted her posture, made her aware of every step she took.
They were dressed for this.
That realization settled heavy in her chest.
Iyisha felt the wrongness of how easily they fit.
She tightened her grip on Malcolm’s hand as they moved forward, the bass vibrating through the floor, through her legs. Guards tracked them openly now, not suspicious, not alarmed, just watching like part of the show had arrived on schedule.
She stepped back without looking and collided with something soft and wrong.
"I’m sorry," she said automatically.
Then she looked down.
The pause stretched.
Hips to legs only. Cut clean at the waist. Stockings pulled tight over pale skin. Feet shuffling forward in a slow, uneven rhythm, carried by something hidden beneath, guided along like habit had outlived thought.
Her breath stopped.
It did not acknowledge her. It did not slow. It simply passed by, continuing its path like she had never been there.
That was when it hit her.
She had not bumped into a person.
She had brushed against what was left.
They were everywhere.
Undead drifting between sofas. Missing upper bodies. Missing heads. Bodies cut down, dressed up, moved through the room while the crowd watched like this was indulgence instead of cruelty.
Iyisha’s fingers locked around Malcolm’s hand as she slowly turned, taking it all in.
Marybeth giggled again, louder this time, pressing herself into Brix’s side like the whole thing amused her.
Waldo and Lauren chose not to join which should be what they had done, but curiosity is killing her.
Curiosity had pulled her past caution, past the tight feeling in her chest, past the part of her that already knew this place was wrong.
What confused her now was not just the display. It was the movement.
Some of the undead walked without heads at all. No jaw. No eyes. Nothing above the neck. And yet they moved. Balanced. Steered. The thought snagged hard in her mind. The virus lived in the brain. That was what everyone knew.
So what was driving them now?
"You’re here."
The voice cut through the music.
Iyisha turned.
Cyborg stood near the corner of the room, dressed sharp in a formal suit, a glass lifted casually in his hand like he was hosting a private celebration. The lights caught the rim as he raised it slightly toward them.
"You’re just on time," he called. "It’s starting."
Malcolm moved immediately. He took Iyisha’s hand and shifted it to his elbow, guiding her through the crowd without breaking stride, placing his body between her and everything else as they crossed the floor.
Cyborg grinned when they reached him and motioned them toward the seating.
They had barely sat when the music dropped.
The lights shifted, hard white beams sweeping across the room. Metal moved above them, the sound unmistakable, thick and mechanical as bars began to descend from the ceiling.
Malcolm pushed to stand.
Cyborg caught his arm without effort. "It’s fine," he said easily. "Just security."
The bars kept coming down. One section. Then another. Each seating area sealed in clean lines of metal.
"This is to contain things," Cyborg added with a chuckle, lifting his glass again. "If something gets in."
The final locks slid into place.
Iyisha’s heart pounded hard enough to make her dizzy. The room felt smaller now. Tighter. The open space she thought she had seen moments ago had vanished, replaced by partitions and barriers and the quiet understanding that none of them were meant to move freely anymore.
This did not feel like safety.
It felt like being shut in.
She leaned closer to Malcolm, breath shallow, eyes scanning the bars as the stage lights ignited and the room went still.
Whatever was about to begin, the Route had made sure no one would leave once it did.
The lights snapped tighter onto the stage.
Music shifted again, sharper, heavier, the beat rolling through the floor as women stepped out from the sides and took their places. Poles gleamed under the lights. The realization landed all at once and Iyisha felt her stomach drop.
A strip club.
She had known what the stage was for the moment she saw it, but knowing and seeing were not the same thing. This was the first time she had ever watched something like this unfold in front of her.
The women were stunning. Confident. Beautiful in a way that felt practiced and dangerous. Their bodies moved with the rhythm, spinning, climbing, sliding with control that made the crowd react instantly.
Iyisha could not look away.
They danced like the room belonged to them, like every eye was expected and earned. The poles became extensions of their bodies, spins timed perfectly to the beat, movements fluid and deliberate.
Cyborg leaned closer to Malcolm, his voice carrying amusement. "I would have offered the girls," he said lightly, "but it looks like your arms are occupied."
She barely registered the words.
Her eyes stayed locked on the stage as the dancers spun faster, the crowd’s noise rising with them. Shouts broke out from behind the bars. Men stood, gripping the metal, calling out, reaching through gaps that did not quite exist. Laughter. Whistles. Voices overlapping until it sounded like chaos held back by force.
The bars rattled.
Iyisha’s breath caught as she took it in, the realization settling cold and heavy.
Cyborg lifted his glass and took a slow drink first, making a show of it, then set it down and poured again. He passed the cups across the table without ceremony.
"It’s clean," he said. "Relax."
Marybeth took hers immediately, laughing as she raised it like this was part of the fun. Brix hesitated, watching her, then took his cup too, eyes flicking to the bars before he drank anyway.
Iyisha stared at the liquid in her hands.
She had drunk one time.
The farmhouse flashed in her mind. A memory she regretted.
Before that she never really drunk before. There was always something that came first. School deadlines. Hospital shifts. Responsibility stacked so tight there was no room left for indulgence. Then the apocalypse came and even the idea of drinking disappeared under survival. There had never been space for this.
Now it was pressed into her palm like it belonged there.
Malcolm sat close at her side, solid and unmoving, his arm near enough to feel without touching. The lights pulsed. The dancers moved on the stage. The crowd roared behind the bars like the metal was the only thing holding them back.
Marybeth drank and laughed at the burn, eyes bright. Brix coughed once, then grinned, shaking his head like he could not believe himself.
Iyisha lifted the cup.
She drank.
The burn hit hard and fast, sharp warmth spreading through her chest, loosening something she had kept tight for so long she did not remember choosing to hold it. She swallowed, blinked, then took another sip before she could stop herself.
The room did not change.
But she did.
The sound pressed less. The lights felt farther away. Her shoulders eased as she exhaled, the glass warm in her hand.
Cyborg watched them with a satisfied smirk. "That’s better," he said.
Iyisha leaned subtly toward Malcolm, the music pounding, the bars gleaming around them, aware that whatever this place was doing to them, it had already begun.
