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When the door opened, Eddie picked me up in his arms again and continued down a spiral staircase of black iron. It was easy to see because there was a huge skylight up above us with the bright sun shining in.
As we walked down several corridors, I noticed that the surroundings got cleaner and more well-kept. There was no more graffiti, no more coal and broken glass, and no more fallen or rusted beams. Eddie put me down again, but this time, my feet stood on cool, smooth concrete. He opened another large door with a key this time, took me by the hand to lead me inside, and switched on a light.
I was surprised to see that the dilapidated building we had entered had now morphed into a location of luxury and decadence. The light illuminated a large open great room furnished like an upscale loft in Manhattan rather than a ramshackle warehouse building.
“What is this place?” I said under my breath and in no way directed toward Eddie.
“Home.”
The room was spacious and could easily host a large, fancy cocktail party of hundreds if Eddie desired. Several black leather couches with matching loveseats and chairs, positioned on huge oriental rugs created a living room area for a king. The kitchen had stone counters, modern cabinets, steel appliances meant for a celebrity chef, and an island with chairs surrounding it larger than most New York apartments. Eddie could host a meeting of evil masterminds by the dozens—and most likely did—around that centerpiece of the kitchen. Near the kitchen, there was by far the most elegant dining room table I had ever seen. The reddish wood table had legs carved with intricate designs. The polished wood sparkled underneath the ginormous chandelier that cast light amongst its abundance of long dripping crystals. There was enough seating around the table for fourteen comfortably, and I could imagine the Italian feasts the mafia must eat at that table.
Eddie continued to pull me into the room by a tug of his hand. He wasn’t being aggressive, and I most certainly wasn’t going to resist, so I padded close behind.
There was a large iron staircase in front of us that led to the second story, which was completely open. The second level went around the entire outer surface of the room. Glancing up, I could see that off the circular walkway were doors that I could only assume led to other rooms—possibly even bedrooms due to the fact that it appeared Eddie did in fact live here.
“What the hell happened to you?” a voice called out from the railing above.
Eddie swiped at the remnants of blood on his nose. “Nothing,” he snarled as he glared at me.
“He’s downstairs like you asked,” the man from above said.
“Good,” Eddie said. “Bring her down there as well and tie her up.”
He released my hand, and for a split second, I considered running, but where would I go? I wasn’t foolish enough to think I could outrun either one of them. I did, however, use my free hand and crossed my arms to try to conceal some of my nudity. It was one thing being naked in front of Eddie, who had already seen me in the most intimate of ways, but it was another for this other stranger from upstairs to see me that way.
Eddie turned and looked me directly in the eyes. “Tommy isn’t as nice as me. I advise you not to give him any of your shit.”
Tommy had already made it downstairs and grabbed me firmly by the arm. Having someone else touch me besides Eddie sent my panic into a completely new level.
“Where are you taking me?” I planted my feet as firmly as I could into the concrete floor, but there was nothing that could help me now.
Tommy didn’t answer but pulled me toward a door off the kitchen area. I looked over my shoulder at Eddie, who had walked over to a desk in the far corner of the room and began to sort through stacks of papers and envelopes. He was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on and that a woman he had just kidnapped wasn’t being dragged off by some guy to God knows where.
Opening the door, Tommy flipped on a light switch and continued to pull me down a staircase that led even deeper into the ground underneath the Jumping Jack structure. Looking in from the outside, I would have never guessed that there was so much more to it.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I nearly screamed.
“Oh, my God!” I gasped as I tried to run toward the person tied to a chair in front of me. Tommy prevented me from doing so, however. “Dylan! Oh, my God!”
Dylan Bush was tied to a high-back wooden chair in the middle of a room that resembled a basement or even a dungeon belonging to some villain in a story.
