Back Rooms Novels & Stories

So Finn goes to the place people go when they cannot afford records. The backstreet pharmacy sits behind a shuttered betting shop two blocks from the old river market. It has no sign on the front, only a scratched metal door and a small bell wired badly above the frame. Inside, the room smells of dust, expired medicine, cheap disinfectant, and fear hidden under too many bodies that have passed through, needing help they could not officially ask for. The seller is a narrow-faced man with gray at his temples and eyes that look too quick for his tired expression. He stands behind a glass counter filled with bottles, blister packs, heat patches, unmarked vials, and small paper envelopes labeled

It's sweet and sour, a very refreshing and appetizing combination. … The clients ate happily. Kenneth and Emily exchanged a glance and smiled at each other, convinced that this business deal was already in the bag. The other colleagues also felt success was imminent and began raising their glasses to toast the two of them. The atmosphere was lively and harmonious. Just then, one of the clients' wives, Aini Baccus, asked, "Why hasn't Ms. Hardings arrived yet?" Kenneth's smile froze for a moment before he forced one back onto his face.

Elena's breath hitched, her pussy clenching at the tease, already so wet she could feel the slickness coating her inner thighs with every step. The bar's back room was tucked behind a black door marked "Private," the kind of place where deals went down or, more likely, clothes came off. Jax shoved it open without a word, the thump of the music dulling to a muffled pulse as they stepped inside. The air was heavier here, thick with the faint scent of old smoke and spilled liquor, lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There were no windows and no escape, just raw, enclosed space that made Elena's skin prickle with anticipation.

Two were in the front with the rest of the merchandise and the third was in the far back, on the highest shelf, of the back room. “There are three other sets my magic has connected to. Two are out front and the third is in the backroom. It is on the highest shelf all the way in the back. May I grab the ones here in this room?” I ask the clerk my expression still serious. I do not know if they will fully connect with me or if the reason, they are reaching out, is dubious. The clerk looks at me with a smile before allowing me to walk to the opening at the counter for me to walk behind.

I could barely see anything else past the thick sheet of rain hammering against the frosting glass and didn’t dare to leave the warm comforts of inside to investigate. Back out in the hallway to the right were three doors evenly spread apart opposite the bar area. All were stripped bedrooms, each with an untouched flat-pack bed resting on the dark wooden floorboards. The end of the hallway lead to the back door that was completely frosted over from the rain. To the right was a tiny door that led to a massive laundry room, complete with a chute that led to a huge clothing trolley. I followed the hall back to the front door then headed back upstairs to the loungeroom before me.

I've never really cared to know about his age, or anything more than the little business we've once had. “Evening, Mr. DeWitt.” “Nathaniel,” I say, closing the door gently behind me. He flicks a quick look toward the empty showroom, then nods toward a plain door at the back. “We’re clear. This way.” I follow him through. The back room is stripped down, with no retail polish. Just workstations, three big monitors, neatly run cables, big walls that probably eat sound. He shuts the door with a soft click. “What exactly are we looking at tonight?” he asks in a quiet, professional tone.

It lets hazy and colorful light into the buzzing space. We push through the unmarked wood door at the back, ignoring the curious glances of the patrons around us. The back room is lit by iron lamps and features a single plush booth in the center of the room. It’s low-lit and primal. Jaden is already there, lean like a lion, but more relaxed. He smiles and claps us each on the back. “How was the trip?” Jonathan asks. He’s more talkative than usual today, probably because he senses my black mood.