My stomach twists at the sound of that name in Ares’ mouth. Two monsters who shaped my existence. One who broke me, the other who claimed every broken piece for himself.
I turn my back on him, hugging a pillow. “I’m not calling his name,” I say, wanting to clarify things, even though Ares knows too well the source of my nightmares. “I call for him to stop.” I never open this subject with Ares. There’s not much to be said about it anyway, except to describe the things he’s done to me.
I can’t do that. I can’t go there. Relive those moments, some of them even wiped away from my mind as some sort of self-preservation mechanism.
He doesn’t push, just waits for me to speak. To be the one to decide when I want to really break free.
Another three nights of waking like this follow. Three nights of Ares watching me, waiting for me to ask the question that burns in my throat like acid.
Tonight, with my shaking limbs, arms wrapped around my god like he’s the only thing keeping me sane in this world, I can’t hold it back anymore. “Is he really dead?” The words break through almost an hour of silence. “Ezekiel. Is he actually dead? I want to see him. See his rotting body.”
Ares raises his head from the pillow and studies me for a long moment. His expression doesn’t change, but I can tell he’s assessing things. Like he’s assessing me to know if I’m ready for what comes next.
“He’smorethan dead,” he finally says, but every word is too measured to be just a simple statement.
“What doesmore than deadmean?” I demand, shoving the sheets away and swinging my legs over the side of the bed to stand up. “Either he’s dead, or he isn’t.” Anger rushes through me because I have a bad feeling about this.
“There are worse things than death. Death comes to those who deserve it.” He suddenly stands, extending his hand to me. “Let’s get you dressed.”
My skin prickles at his words. Last time he showed me something, it turned out amazing by taking me to the building he renovated in Elias’ name. But now... now I have a bad feeling.
I know him well enough not to ask questions that he won’t answer. It would only get me more infuriated. So I just do what he says… cursing myself for doing it.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in his car, driving toward the industrial district. I pulled on a dress and a leather jacket, not knowing exactly where we were going, and watched him dress casually as well.
We pull up in front of a warehouse. I think I’ve been here before when he checked on a shipment. Ares has warehouses and small compounds from where he runs different sides of his business all over town, so this is nothing out of the ordinary.
Inside, there are containers and wooden crates, even barrels used for transporting different goods like food and clothes or construction materials. All a cover for weapons, drugs, or whatever people want outside the law.
He guides me toward the back of the warehouse and stops next to a large packing machine.With minimal effort, he pushes that aside. The damn thing has wheels, but I think it weighs at least a ton. Behind it, there’s a service elevator. It’s not that strange because buildings like this have secret places to keep things from the cops, feds, or anyone else looking. He puts in a code on the pad attached to the elevator, and immediately after, the doors open.
“Where are we going?” I ask as the elevator descends, and my stomach drops with it.
The bad feeling I had only increases as we descend, especially since we left the house in the middle of the night to come here.
“Down,” is all he says.
I hate him sometimes for being a man of a one-word sentences.I could punch him right now, but I have a feeling I’m gonna need my strength.
When the doors open again, we step into a corridor that looks almost institutional. Even the air is colder here, carrying a faint antiseptic smell. It makes my skin crawl with unwanted associations. My pulse quickens, but I force myself to keep up with Ares as he advances down the hallway, holding my hand.
As we walk further, we pass a few rooms on the left and right that we don’t enter. We just keep walking until the space gets smaller and the ceiling lower, and I realize we must’ve reached a section that’s been here for a very long time.
“How far down are we?” I ask, looking around me, trying to figure out what this really is.
“Far enough,” he says, and I can feel an evil smile between his words. “No one can hear anything from here. No one will come unless I call them.”
The implications of his words send a chill through my body that has nothing to do with the dropping temperature. I don’t even know if that is a good or a bad thing.
At the end of the passage stands a door that looks more like a vault entrance. Another complex security system using an advanced keypad, which I suspect works with both a code and fingerprints as well.
Ares puts in the code, and a green light flickers, opening the mechanism.
Fear rushes through me as the door slides open, and I don’t even know why. There’s a white hallway beyond, the antiseptic smell stronger now. At the end of it, there’s an open door, strong light spilling into the corridor from it. But before we reach it, he stops and turns to face me. His eyes are harsh but gentler altogether. “You asked if Ezekiel is dead,” he says, his voice carrying something sinister: anger, revenge. “There are thingsmore terrible than death. Tortures more horrible than just simple passing.” He waits a second, letting the words settle in. “And he didn’t deserve death.”
I don’t say anything, but I know he feels the horror in my eyes. It’s the first time in my life that I want to take a few steps backwards and fucking run, even if Ares is here with me.
I guess he senses it, locking his gaze on mine, like he’s telling me to stay strong.
