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“Landon. Zane.” Dom’s sharp bark has both of us turning toward him, where he stands in the doorway. His face is stark white. “You need to see this.”
Landon and I exchange a look before hurrying after Dom. Behind me, I can hear Tommy eagerly trying to free himself of his restraints, but it won’t do him any good. It’s cute of him to try, though. Gold star for effort.
Dom leads us into the garage, past one of the five cars the Gibbons own, and toward a workbench that has been shoved to the side. Where it once sat is a staircase leading farther down.
“I spotted a light behind the workbench,” Dom explains, gesturing toward the single bulb illuminating the rickety staircase. “So, I pushed it away and found this.”
“A secret room,” Landon murmurs. “Have you gone down there yet?”
Dom swallows. “Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate, and my curiosity piques.
I follow Landon down the steep staircase and into the large cement room at the base of it.
“What the…?” Landon breathes in horror.
“Holy fuck.”
Cages—meant for large dogs—line the length of the room, with a few even piled on top of each other. Every single fucking cage is full. There’s a single table in the middle of the room, and an unconscious, emaciated man lies on top of it, tied spread-eagle to tiny pillars erected from each corner.
He’s completely naked.
All of the men imprisoned here are naked and so thin, they look as if the slightest gust of wind will blow them away.
“Are they dead?” Landon whispers.
Dom jerks his chin toward the man on the table. “He doesn’t have a pulse. I haven’t checked on the others yet.”
“Call Raymond. He can help with any survivors.”
“On it, boss.”
Landon finds a set of keys on the workbench upstairs, and we make quick work of checking each cage for any survivors.
Of the sixteen men imprisoned here, only three are still alive. Two of them are unconscious, appearing to be nothing but skin and bones, but one of them opens his tired eyes as I haul him out of his cage.
He looks only a few years older than me, with tousled blond hair and one of his arms covered in colorful tattoos.
“You’re safe now,” I say, attempting to soften my voice. Attempting, being the key word. I probably sound like a damn hacksaw cutting up a tree. Oh, well. Beggars can’t be choosers. “We’re gonna get you help.”
“Is he dead?” His voice is nearly inaudible, raspy from disuse, but his blue eyes are fierce and determined. “Is that bastard dead?”
A cold grin tugs up my lips. “He will be. But first, I think I should have some fun with him, don’t you agree?”
27
ELLIE
The following Friday sees us back at Harvey’s house for another dinner.
Another long car ride through winding roads.
Another macabre art show.
Another fight to the death between Reece and a random stranger.
Another desperate attempt to hold back my vomit.
We’ve learned a few things, though, from Harvey this time around.
