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I swear, if my mom hadn’t loved them as much as she did when she was alive, I would’ve cut ties long ago.
The darkened corridors of the basement floor wreak of sewage and decay.
A pair of rats scurry across our path causing my heart to stop beating and plummet to the pit of my stomach. In the same quiet tone that I previously used, I plead, “I’m sorry. I’ll put the shoe on. I’ll-”
“No, no, no,” his voice goes deceptively soft and undeniably delectable in my ear. “This is a teachable experience for you, Elle.”
“I’m a quick learner.” I sassily state at the same time I attempt to wriggle my slender arm free. His grip seems unbreakable in spite of my increased efforts, and I helplessly beg, “Please, can we just turn around? You made your point. I learned my lesson! I-”
“Boss,” Mickie’s actions stall upon our arrival at the door. “You sure-”
“Open the door,” the authority in Nero’s tone jumpstarts my previously still heart.
Oh shit…
I’m gonna die.
I’m gonna die in some cruel, deleted scene from The Godfather kind of way!
“Yes, sir,” Mickie respectfully acknowledges prior to unlocking and opening steel doors.
“Patience is not one of my more developed skills, Elle.”
“I-”
“All you had to do was put on that shoe-”
“I-”
“And if that shoe had fucking fit – which I am pretty sure it would – you would be on my private jet right now, sipping champagne while I would be on my fucking knees, worshipping your cute little toes, waiting for takeoff.”
The shoe that’s still in my grasp is waved desperately around, “I’ll do it! I’ll put on the shoe! I-”
“Too late, twinkle toes. Now, this ‘pretty boy’ has to prove to you he isn’t afraid to get blood on his favorite Italian suit.”
We enter darkness with nothing more than the putrid, copper scent of blood, and another foul stench leading us forward.
It smells like something’s been burning. And not just anything random, no. The odor reminds me of when you’re curling or straightening your hair with the heat too high and you burn it as well as your fingers.
Ohmygod.
That’s the smell.
Fried.
Fucking.
Flesh.
From behind us a click suddenly occurs illuminating the entire room.
At the sight of a mutilated man tied to a steel beam, I hastily stumble backwards, trying to run away, only to have my current captor keep me in place.
While my stepbrothers were a bit scratched and bruised – prior to Drew getting a hole in the foot – this guy’s skin is blistered and peeling. It’s covered in gashes and gaping holes. There are red stains from where his blood has dried on him and dripped onto the floor. Carving knives, scalpels, and a blowtorch are on a tray next to him, and I can’t deny the feeling that each one was used to turn him into something that barely looks human.
Nero steadies my frame and uses the back of his calloused knuckles to caress my cheek.
All hope that I was wrong about him is swiftly smothered out.
