Cellar Door

I reach for the water, my hand shaking and forearms aflame. I twist the cap with a wince and put the water to my mouth, vicious need greedily guzzling.

“Slow,” he says. “You’ll make yourself sick again.”

I gulp the water with my eyes trained on his face, insolent. The white scars are more visible in the dim light. He’s not hiding them anymore. When my stomach pangs from the fullness, I cough and pull the bottle away.

“Eat something,” he says. It’s an order.

I cap the water and set it aside. “I’m not hungry.”

He studies me a moment, then his gaze drifts to the place where I left the spike. It’s wrapped with my bloodstained shirt. I was able to scratch a nice-sized groove in his concrete slab.

Anger ignites his beautiful demon features as he glances between the damage and my mutilated hands. They’re a blistered mess. And they hurt like hell.

He makes a move toward me, and I flinch.

A moment of pause, and he goes for the spike instead. He grabs it and heads toward the door. I thrust myself to my feet just as he reaches into his jacket. I watch him take out a key ring—but I can’t see around his massive backside as he blocks my view. I mentally curse.

The door slams into place, the bang an empty echo against my ears.

I swallow my annoyed cry and launch myself at the door. I search the front, bloodied palms seeking the keyhole. Where is it? Come on. I cover every inch where I can reach, and before I’m able to search any higher, I hear his footsteps coming back.

The door opens, and this time I stand my ground. I don’t back away.

“You like that door?”

His question throws me off balance, and I realize with a start that I haven’t done a particular thing in hours. Suddenly, my bladder is heavy, and I know if he attacks, I’ll wet myself.

Out of everything that’s happened, everything he’s done to me…this is the most degrading; to be made to relieve myself in a corner like an animal.

He makes a move toward me, and rage lashes my insides. I slam my hands against his chest, the pain blooming along my palms unbearable. But I keep hitting, leaving behind bloody handprints on his shirt.

“I’m not a fucking animal—” I seethe. “I have to use the fucking bathroom!”

His hands circle my wrists, and there’s no fight left in me. He stares down at me, those fierce blue eyes the coldest thin

g in this cellar. “You’re not,” he says, then with a quickness, he hoists me over his shoulder. “Animals don’t mutilate themselves. You’re something worse.”

I don’t fight him. I let the monster carry me through the cellar door. He could be taking me straight to my death. But if he does, it might be the only way I find Hudson.

10

Stone Cold

Luke

I cart Makenna past the warren of unfinished wall partitions and beams. Her tiny frame feels even lighter without her struggle. She’s only been down here for less than two days, but she’s losing her mind. Which makes me wonder if she didn’t lose it long before this point.

I chuckle to myself, the deep sound bouncing through the rows of concrete mixers and inlaid shelves.

“This is what you find funny?” Her small voice barely reaches my ears. “Murdering an innocent woman in your…” She trails off. “What is this place?”

“A work in progress,” is all I say.

I’ve been adding on to the cellar for years. I keep going. As much as it takes. New walls. New floor. New rafters. The chamber stretches through the hillside, twice as long as the house above ground.

Maybe I’m responsible for her cracked brain. I am the one who ended her partner, her lover. I’m sure that’s why she’s no longer a detective. Why she’s been searching for me. To make me pay for my sin.

I ascend the spiral staircase and, once I pop the hatch, I take Makenna into the house.