Chapter 9

ChapterNine

EDEN

“Damn, baby,” he taunts. “That was hot, but not as hot as when I fuck you raw until you bleed. You’ll be in a world of hurt, Cub. I’m going to pound all your holes. Maybe I’ll dislocate your jaw while I fuck your smart little mouth.”

Footsteps match the frantic beat of my heart, causing a ferocious jolt of adrenaline. Fear and excitement create confusion in my mind and loins.

The man just said he was going to slit my throat, and my vag throbs like it would be amazing to be fucked by him. And those masks? Why am I so drawn to them when I don’t even know what they look like?

I glance behind me, and it’s clear. Dodging into a connecting hallway, I find a secluded room full of paper supplies. This spot should be safe—I can’t imagine psychos being into paperwork.

A visceral sound in the hallway penetrates my bones—a chainsaw. My foster parent used one to cut the dead trees on his property. He tried to intimidate us with it if we got out of line, saying he’d cut us down like the useless trees in the yard.

The noise stops abruptly.

His deep voice echoes around me like a nightmare I can’t wake from. “Which limb do you think I should take off first? I’m a gentleman. Ladies’ choice.”

The metal teeth cut through the door. I look at the power tool in horror and see it’s caked in dried blood. This fucker isn’t kidding. He’ll split me in two, and not in a good way.

I stagger back, hoping to hide in an area that he won’t be able to reach. I pray to whatever deity may be listening for salvation from this man. I see his mask-covered face between the shelves, his piercing blue eyes more animal than man.

He removes the lollipop stick dangling from his mouth. “Think about it, Cub. How long do you think you’ll be able to run before I sink my teeth into you?”

I search the room. Like a beacon of hope, a side door comes into view. Jumping up, I storm through the door and run into the eerie corridor, dashing through the darkness in search of escape from the madman following me.

The clunk of his boots strikes terror in my entire being, so consuming that it’s all I can focus on. Searching for a hiding space, I spot an elaborately decorated door with engraved scenes from the bible. With no hesitation, I push on the door and run.

A different view of a once stunning baptismal room. Guess this place has two. The first one I saw was beautiful, similar to the extravagance one witnesses in any grand catholic cathedral. But this isn’t the same.

Unlike the other room, this one is run-down and somber. A macabre atmosphere saturates the air, and I can almost taste the pain and suffering. This isn’t a place where people bring their babies to be saved. This is where the devil comes to steal souls.

The marble floors have yellowed with cracks in the foundation, and the stained-glass windows are littered with holes that need repair. The wooden pews are blemished by peeling paint and chipped edges. But what shocks me is that the room is pristinely clean despite being run-down. Hospital grade clean, and the smell is similar to an operating theater, Blood and bleach.

Plink. Plink.

Droplets of water fall from a leaky faucet in stark contrast to the thrum of a distant chainsaw. I follow the sound to a baptismal bath. But it’s not water dripping from a leaky faucet. Red rain fills the pool.

I look up, and my scream drowns in my throat. A man hangs above me from the rafters by metal clips in his waist as his blood drains from his slit throat.

The horror of the scene isn’t the dead man or the pool of blood. What chills me is that the man is missing his limbs. His arms and legs are no longer attached to his body, taken off by what appears to be an electric saw.

“Good to see you in the land of the living,” a voice booms from the darkness.

An unfamiliar voice, not the same as the two other men. The deep timber is sinister, like something out of a nightmare, fear-inducing and alluring.

Moonlight cascades through the stained-glass windows, but it’s hard to know where the voice comes from. My vision is obstructed. Fear and darkness are a noose around my neck, suffocating me slowly. A shadowy figure moves, and my gaze lands on a throne of gold and bronze—the only object in the room that isn’t run-down.

This must be the third beast.

He rises and steps toward the baptismal bath, a king of crimson walking on water. Dark hair flops over his black mask. His only visible feature is his cobalt-blue eyes, the same color as the guy with the chainsaw. The corpse hangs above him as red liquid drips on his head and glides down to his shoulders. I take in his black dress shirt with the top three buttons open to reveal a tanned chest with a silver necklace that harnesses a vial filled with red liquid.

A tattooed hand dips a golden goblet into the large marble baptismal font before he places it to his lips and takes a sip. “Blood washes away blood.”

Oh, my God. Is he going to hang me like that and drink my blood? What does that even mean, “blood washes away blood?”

I rethink the deal I made with the Cinders. The Beasts aren’t people to fuck with. But the information they may give me stops me from running.

It’s funny how the past is the skeleton that forms us, unlocking our present and future. As turbulent or peaceful as our road has been since then, the person we were in the past is the person we never truly lose. My past has haunted me for most of my life, with ghosts I wish to forget and friends I long to revisit.

That past makes me determined to get the information I need no matter the cost to myself.