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The gate isn’t anywhere near as heavy as the first door, and as I pass through it, I can’t help but notice the similarities between the intricate design in the gate and the tattoos across Easton’s chest. I study it closer but don’t linger, not wanting the boys to get too far ahead.
There’s no telling what I could find down here. It could be a maze of tunnels, or I could be walking right toward a trap. So as long as I try to keep the boys in sight, I might just have a chance of seeing daylight again.
More stairs lead me further underground, and at the last step, I can see a faint glow of light ahead. A booming laugh interrupts the soft conversation, followed by a stern voice echoing through the long corridor.
I follow the sounds and the closer I get, the clearer it becomes that this is the home of Empire. Or, at least somewhere safe for the members to come and openly converse. Turning the corner at the end, the corridor opens up into a wide space filled with dark colors and dim lighting.
Men in suits fill the room, lounging back in armchairs with cigars between their fingers while girls dance for them, making them feel like kings. I swallow hard, disgust brimming in my chest. These men are not kings. They’re frauds who get ahead in life because of the connections they make in underground organizations like this. They don’t deserve anything they’ve got. Especially when there are honest, hard-working people out there who are putting in the effort.
Obnoxious laughter draws my attention, and I glance across the room to find the chief of police lounged back on a leather-studded couch, one hand holding his drink, the other gripping a young waitress’s ass. Unease flashes in her eyes, and the need to save her slams through me, but I watch as she discreetly slips out of his reach as though she’s been doing it all night. She barely looks eighteen, and I find myself wondering how the hell she ended up here.
Not wanting to linger on anything, I move into the room, keeping to the edges and trying to blend in. There are plenty of people in this fucked-up little gentleman’s club, so sliding in unnoticed isn’t a problem.
I get halfway across the room when something catches my eye. I glance up just in time to see Dalton step out of the shadows, a chilling look in his eyes. He moves in front of a door, discreetly checking that no one is watching him before disappearing through it.
Gotcha, motherfucker.
Cutting through the room, I hurry past arrogant men and narrowly avoid getting my ass grabbed by someone’s grandfather before reaching the door. It’s been left cracked, and I peer through it to find a dark corridor. It’s somehow even creepier than the old train tunnel, but I’ve come this far. I’m not about to give up now.
Letting out a shaky breath, I slip through the door and into the corridor, gently closing it behind me. I follow it along, walking around a bend and down a small flight of steps. The corridor is lit with old oil lanterns, and the further down I get, the more it feels like some kind of dungeon.
My stomach twists and clenches, and the further down I go, the harder it gets to continue. Chills sweep over my skin and my breath catches in my throat. The odd mix of fear and anticipation makes me want to throw up.
As I reach the bottom of the old stone stairs, I turn the corner into a darkened room and come to a screeching halt. Dalton, Sawyer, and Zade all stand around a man who’s been bound to a chair.
My eyes widen, and I hastily back up before they see me. “I want a fucking name,” Zade roars, the terrifying rumble of his tone making my knees shake—and not in a good way. Zade adjusts himself, taking a step toward the man, and at this new angle, I get a clear view of his face. Horror blasts through me as I recognize the doorman from the ball.
This is on me.
I knew they’d question him, but I never expected it would go this far. I’ve all but signed his death certificate, and if they don’t kill him, he’s gonna wish they had.
He doesn’t deserve this. He didn’t do anything wrong. He showed me kindness at the door of the ballroom, allowing me to walk through despite my name not showing up on his list. He didn’t have to do that, and hell, a part of me kind of wished he hadn’t. But should he be held and interrogated by the likes of Zade DeVil? Absolutely not.
The guy shakes his head, terror in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The bitch showed me her invitation. I figured her name was accidentally left off the list. I swear. That’s it. That’s all that happened.”
Zade scoffs and leans into him, bracing both hands on the armrests of the chair. His voice drops scarily low, and I swallow hard, only now just realizing what it means to be targeted by this man. Up until now, Zade has only been playing with me. “Someone approved you to let her in,” he says, his words like ice sliding down my spine. “Give me a name, and I might allow you to walk away from this.”
The doorman shakes as his gaze flicks between the boys, silently begging for some kind of relief. Realizing it isn’t coming, he starts to hyperventilate, panic gripping him. “I . . . I . . . I told you what I know.”
Zade tsks, pulling out a silver dagger. The designs on the hilt are so elegant, and yet so utterly terrifying. He presses the tip of his finger to the top of the blade and spins the dagger between his hands. The doorman’s gaze locks on the sleek blade as it catches in the haunting glow of the lanterns.
“Last chance,” Zade croons.
The doorman sobs and Zade shakes his head, almost looking disappointed. He lets out a heavy sigh and rears back with the blade. My eyes bug out of my head, fear paralyzing me. Zade’s hostage blanches before wetting his pants, and my heart breaks seeing what Zade has reduced this man to. “Okay,” he cries. “Just please . . . I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Zade taunts. “Give me a name.”
The doorman swallows hard, nervousness flashing in his eyes. It’s almost as though he’s more terrified of this other person than he is of Zade, but that couldn’t be right. Zade is the most callous and cruel monster this planet has to offer. The future leader of Empire.
The doorman lets out a sigh, his gaze dropping away from Zade’s in defeat. “Percival Winchester,” he finally says, his voice breaking as he chokes out the words. “He approached me before the ball and gave me a hundred bucks to let her through the door. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
Zade sighs, looking at the man in pity, and then in one lightning-fast swipe, the blade slashes across his throat. Blood spurts like a waterfall, and as I try to scream, a strong hand clamps down over my mouth. My hands fly up, my nails digging deep into his skin as I desperately try to get away, but he pulls me in harder, my back slamming up against his wide chest. “Hush now, Pretty,” I hear Easton in my ear, slowly pulling me back into the darkness. “You don’t want anyone finding out you’re here.”
I can’t take my eyes off the blood, watching as it pours out over the doorman’s clothes, soaking them as he chokes and drowns in his own blood. My eyes are wide, terror gripping me like never before.
He killed him. He took his blade and slaughtered him like cattle. And what’s more, Zade doesn’t even seem fazed about it.
Turning around, Zade locks his cold stare directly on mine and strides toward me, Sawyer and Dalton right on his heels. He stops before me and I gape up at him, my knees failing me as I fall back against Easton. Something sparkles in his eyes, and in an instant he moves past me, starting his trek back up the old stone steps. “Come on,” he throws over his shoulder. “We’re leaving.”
