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“What is it?” I ask.
“Shots fired down by the lake. Our men interrupted their escape.”
Gio and I run as fast as we can toward the lake, following a trail of blood and disheveled gravel. It looks like the men who tried to abduct Sophia were running as fast as we are during their attempted escape. When we reach the ridge overlooking the lake, Gio and I pull our weapons and take cover among the trees.
“Malik, status update,” Gio says over his comms, while I peek my head out from my position to examine the waterfront. As Gio gets a report from his head soldier, I stand and watch as the boat speeds away into the night.
“They got away.”
“All but one,” Gio says. “Malik is taking her to the house for questioning.”
“Her?”
Gio nods. “Looks like you were right. Ariana was working with the men who tried to abduct Sophia. Our men spotted her trying to flee with the others, but the gunfire separated her from the rest. We’ll find them, Alister. I’ll break her. I’ll get her to tell me everything.”
“No. I will.” Gio watches me, making sure I’m certain. Given what the torture does to me, I usually let Gio handle it. But, tonight, I’ll make an exception, just like I did the night I came face-to-face with Cara’s captor and, eventually, her abductors.
8
Irony is a bitch.I knew Sophia would be my only way into the Amato home. I just didn’t realize my faux friendship with her would have me engage in hand-to-hand combat with two trained men twice my size. In an attempt to save her life, I almost lost mine. I wince as my adrenaline wanes and the sting of my injuries takes over. I can’t see anything from where I lie, which makes it hard for me to assess the damage my dance with death left me with. I try to push myself up from the cold, rocky floor, but sharp pain courses through my chest. It feels like I may have a cracked rib. Yet, that’s just the start of it.
Blood drenches the sheer mesh of my dress’s bodice. I move my hand slowly to my chest, and as I do, it throbs, letting me know my arm is badly bruised and probably fractured. Finally, my fingers find my damp skin, and I move them in the darkness to try to assess the severity of my wounds. The men who I fought had knives. They got a few cuts in before they heard the Amato guards headed our way. When they did, one of them sucker punched me and then they both ran.
Honestly, I don’t know why I chased them. I could’ve just lain there and pretended to be a victim of the same attack that almost cost Sophia her life. But as I watched them run, something in me clicked. Maybe it was instinct, my FBI training kicking in. Even with the Amato guards closing in, these men clearly had a calculated plan of attack. I knew they’d escape if I didn’t stop them. And I just couldn’t let them go. I guess because as much as I view Sophia as a means to an end, collateral damage in my investigation into my mother’s murder, maybe I’m also starting to view her as a friend, maybe I’m starting to care. I close my eyes and lower my arm slowly to my side.
“No. No, I can’t care,” I say through labored breaths.
It’s FBI 101—when you get emotionally attached to your mission, you make mistakes, sometimes life-threatening ones. As I rest my aching head against the damp, jagged wall behind me, I realize I’m feeling the consequences of my mistake. And yet, it could’ve been so much worse. Even still, it can be.
Based on the stench of mold and mildew, the poor air condition, the pitch-black darkness, and the sounds of scurrying rats in the distance, I can only assume I’m in the Amato dungeon. Emma mentioned this place in her testimony. It’s three stories underneath the Amato manor, part of the first iteration of Laroux House built in the 1800s during the South’s dark days. The home has been added on to over the decades to make up the grand estate we see today. But, back then, Laroux House was more modest, though not without its secret penchant for evil. Today, evil still lurks within the confines of Alister’s personal den of torture. And my being here can only mean one thing. He thinks I had something to do with Sophia’s near abduction or else he wouldn’t risk exposing himself by bringing me down here.
As I consider how I will explain my actions, the screech of metal draws my attention to my right. The door to the dungeon opens, and I spot the silhouette of a man—about six foot three inches and chiseled to perfection as if he’s made of marble. But he isn’t. He’s made of flesh and bone. He’s the Blood King and he’s here for me.
I pinch my eyes closed and try to use my hand to shield my face as Alister turns on the lights. My arm aches as I move. Though, in this moment, the pain coursing through my head rivals it. The sound of footsteps lets me know Alister is walking toward my cell, though I don’t see him. My prolonged period in the dark has made my eyes sensitive to the light. Slowly, I open them as Alister enters my steel cage, before locking us both inside.That’s not good.
As Alister turns to me, towering over me like I’m nothing more than a bug he’s ready to squash, my eyes finally acclimate, and I take him in. His dark locks and facial hair stand out against his white button-down and tan skin, though not nearly as much as the death glare he casts upon me. His wicked eyes don’t leave mine. Just like when we first met, he studies me, wondering how I could’ve fooled him. Perhaps he feels betrayed. However, my guess is he feels more disappointed in himself that he almost let another sister die on his watch. The thought makes me drop my gaze as a small dose of sympathy works its way into my veins. What happened tonight was not his fault, and yet, he’ll think it was. It will trigger all the old feelings he has regarding Cara’s death, though I’m not sure those feelings ever go away.
I move my eyes to take in not only my surroundings but the magnitude of this moment. The walls of the dungeon are stained with blood. Just past my cell, there is a chair with wrist and ankle restraints. More blood covers the floor surrounding it. Most morbid of all, there is a stainless-steel table with a black cloth draped over it next to the chair. From my time with the FBI, I’ve seen my fair share of torture devices. I imagine they are what rest beneath the cloth, waiting for me and anyone who dares cross the Blood King. After what happened to Cara and now Sophia, if Alister feels like the failure I suspect he does, he will stop at nothing to make that feeling go away, to put his enemies down. And, as far as he knows, I’m his best chance to do just that.
“Alister—”
“Don’t speak to me as if you know me,” he says through gritted teeth. Instinctively, I go to nod, but the throbbing in my head makes me regret it.
“Okay,” I whisper. I expect him to lunge at me or slap me. I brace myself against the rough wall behind me in anticipation. But he makes no moves toward me. You’d think the staring competition would give me time to come up with an excuse to explain my whereabouts, something that doesn’t have me divulge I’m a member of the FBI. Yet, I’ve got nothing. I was never planning to lie to Alister. Once I had him alone, I was going to confront him and tell him everything. But now that I’m his prisoner, if he learns I’m with the FBI, he may get rid of me out of fear that I’ve seen too much.
He takes a step toward me then, prompting me to sit up straighter. “Ah!” I move my hand to my side as sharp pain courses through me. Alister kneels, bringing himself eye level with me. I do my best to control my breathing as he moves closer. I’m not afraid of much. Why would I be? Unlike Alister, I have nothing and no one to lose. But with my injuries, there’s no way I’ll be able to fight him off if…
It’s then that Alister brings his hand to my cheek. He barely touches me and yet I feel his strength. He forces me to look at him, pressing ever so slightly onto the sore place where one of Sophia’s abductors landed a punch.
“You’re a fighter, aren’t you? Tell me, how much fight do you have left in you?” At that, he brushes my brown locks over my shoulder, exposing the cut on my chest. I’m tempted to look at it to gauge how much time I have left before I lose consciousness from blood loss. Yet, I can’t take my eyes off Alister. The way he looks at me, it’s almost like he’s commanding me not to turn away from him. Just as quickly as Alister approached me, he stands, backing away.
“You’re going to tell me everything—who sent you, what they want with my sister, where you were planning on taking her, and any other question I may think of. If you don’t—”
“You’ll kill me,” I say. Alister cocks a brow at my matter-of-fact response.
“For some people, death is not enough,” he says, pacing the cell as if pondering what methods of torture are best suited for my alleged crime. “For some people, death is the end of their punishment, not the punishment itself.”
I have no doubt he’s a man of his word. He comes to stand before me once more, and I know what I must do. I must tell him the truth, the whole truth, because if I don’t, I’m as good as dead. At least, if I tell the truth, I’ve got a fifty percent chance of survival. Maybe sixty.
