Chapter 19

NINETEEN

My breath catches, burning past my stagnant lungs, working a violent rush of anxiety to the very fucking marrow of my bones. I may not be familiar with death like Raiden is–working and being related to Moretti, I can only imagine the amount of carnage she’s seen–but how it smells, and how it lingers and stains your memories, that I’m very familiar with. After all, it was my hands that held my mother’s corpse after my father claimed she overdosed.

Everywhere we walk over is marred with blood. It sticks beneath our feet and with each step, the aroma ripens. The closer we move our connected stride, the more that pungent iron smell overpowers my nostrils, as my father’s words replay in the back of my mind like a vinyl stuck on repeat. “She was a selfish woman, Colson. The sooner you accept that, the less you’ll waste your time missing someone who didn’t want you. She didn’t want us.” His emotionless tone assaults my memory, bringing me back to what was the worst day of my life. When he said she overdosed, leaving us “selfishly” as he put it.

Except, an overdose doesn’t result in bruises around the neck, and it doesn’t leave blood stains like she had on her nightgown. There was so much blood it made my stomach bunch into sickening knots while a wave of numbness rolled over my mind, pulling me from the reality that my mother died. I never believed dad’s story but if I fought it, if I pursued it, I knew he’d kill me too. Money and power afforded my dad a shield that made him exempt from the law. Granted, the white-collar shit eventually got him, but I know the blood that has stained his hands even if no one, not even the cops would listen or believe me. And sometimes I wonder if I was just a coward, unwilling to make that sacrifice, because life as a Cromwell hasn’t been easy for me, maybe I would’ve been better off dead. Then maybe I could see my mom again, although if I were dead, my path would’ve never crossed Raiden’s.

“Round Three,” the voice announces, its cryptic and machine-like tone dripping from the speaker on the ceiling. Our hands still intertwined, I feel Raiden tug at my arm, forcing my attention to her just as the door we walked through slams shut. Trapping us in.

“Look,” she whispers, her neck tilted up, pointing in the direction of the transparent ceiling. I squint, trying to make out what exactly is above us. There are candles dripping wax onto the floor, obscuring the view, but the more I squint and focus, the more I can see flesh. Lots of bare, moving flesh. Body parts thrashing and writhing against each other. Moans break through the translucent barrier, highlighting the chaotic orgy that is happening on top of where we are being fucking tortured.

“What the fuck?” I mutter. The moment the words spill out of my mouth, steel rolls over the glass, locking us in deeper into the claustrophobic and narrow passageway we’re now standing in.

Raiden peels her hand from mine, cupping both palms to her mouth as she begins to shout, “Help! Someone fucking help us!”

Her pleas for help are useless–they only make the sick fuck who hides behind that mechanical voice laugh.

“The fuck is so funny, huh?” I shout.

“You,” the voice deadpans. “Well, both of you. I did you a favor by bringing you here tonight. Not only did you finally get to experience what you’ve been fantasizing about since Ms. Ramos, or no, excuse me, Sally, walked into your life….it was Sally, wasn’t it?” the speaker asks, pausing as if either of us care to answer.

“Forgive me for asking. I mean, there’s just so much misinformation, it’s hard for me to keep up. As I was saying, I did you a favor. You had your fun with Ms. Ramos. I provided you the atmosphere to live out your wildest fantasies. And now that you’re here, even if it was always meant to end in bloodshed, you will learn the truth, if nothing else.”

A bright light flashes, shining on a door at the end of the narrow hall. It’s made of steel, with what appear to be four evenly spaced panels in the center, but the closer we inch towards it, I see they aren’t panels at all, but boxes.

“Get to it, the door isn’t going to open itself,” the voice commands.

Something snags at my boot as I go to take a step forward. It’s sticky, but that’s not what’s holding me back. It’s not sticky enough to halt my steps, it’s soft. I peer down at my foot, seeing that it’s the squiggly shapes of a torn intestine. Bile rises to my throat, threatening my mouth. This is fucking sick. Whoever is doing this is fucking sick.

I swallow hard. I allow the burn to trickle down my throat, expecting the unsavory flavor to turn my stomach, but something else happens instead. I’m surprised by a surge of adrenaline in place of what should be panic. It doesn’t make sense, but I use it, tapping into it like it’s a sick, twisted gift. And maybe it is, because whatever is on the other side of that door is going to require everything Raiden and I have to get the fuck out of here.

Our steps stop just a few inches from the door. That unpleasant smell is ripe, so fucking strong that Raiden is plugging her nose.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmurs.

“You know, you two really look so cute together,” the speaker announces, ignoring to the fact that we’re standing amongst fucking blood and guts.

Even though it was said with the intention to be sarcastic and heartless it draws a smile to my face–an uncontrollable, shit-eating grin, actually.

“No fucking shit,” Raiden says matter-of-factly as she motions her hand for them to continue. “Anyone with eyes can see that, but I’d look even cuter with your motherfucking blood all over me when I fucking kill you!” She clamps her fist, ready to strike the door.

Faintly aware that she’s about to slam her fist and likely break it if she punches the steel, I go to stop her, replaying what she just said.

“Wait!” I yelp, lunging at her, snatching her fist in my hand.

Pissed that I stopped her, she whips her head around to look at me with those sultry heated eyes of hers. “Yes?

Clearing my throat, I try to stifle the grin that wants to beam through my face. “Um,” is all I can manage, my own stupidity of getting hung up on the fact that she agreed that we look cute together robbing me of the ability to form a coherent sentence.

Her eyes widen, head bobbing forward. Goddamn it, she looks so hot when she’s pissed. Which is all the time. But who am I kidding, she looks hot, sexy, fucking beautiful all the time. It’s unreal.

“Yes, Colson?” she repeats, this time with my name, which feels like an arrow to my heart every time it falls from her lips.

“It’s fucking steel, you’ll break your hand,” I point out the obvious, keeping my hand on hers. I don’t drop eye contact. “And,” I begin, already cringing at how pathetic I’m about to sound. “You think we look cute together?” I ask, my stomach twisting into knots, but I just want to hear it again. I need to.

“Ay bendito,” she smiles, shaking her head, but it doesn’t distract from the blush painting her cheeks. “Yes,” she adds like a fact. “We do. Why? You don’t think so?” her question a playful challenge.

I don’t respond. I just smile, savoring this sliver of heaven amongst the hell we’re drowning in.

“You’re hurting me,” she blurts, calmly.

“My bad,” I say immediately, loosening my grip on her hand.

A soft laugh sounds from her. “It’s okay. I like it,” she winks, sending a torturous rush of blood to my cock.

Her grin remains on me for a lingering second before she goes back into what I’m quickly realizing is Raiden-mode, reengaging her anger onto the situation at hand–which my love- and/or lust-struck self almost forgot–at what feels like the drop of a hat.

“Puta madre!” she shouts, kicking at the blood-stained ground. “Okay fucker, you have us here, now what?! What’s the truth you want us to know so badly?!”

“We’re getting there don’t you worry, Ms. Ramos. Geesh, so much fire in that one. Bet she fucks like a dream too. If you don’t make it out of this one, Mr. Cromwell, I’m telling you, I’m going to fuck her until she can’t breathe. Can’t let a woman with a body like that and a temper to match go to waste. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you in mind so you can be there in spirit,” the speaker taunts, elevating my blood pressure.

A possessive roar vibrates my throat as my fist crashes against the door. The pain radiates like fire, burning at my knuckles that are now torn and bleeding, which only adds to the sick ambiance of this hell-hole.

Raiden’s scent wafts my way, her hand now on my fist, which is throbbing because I didn’t take my own advice. “Aww, look at you, jealous that someone else wants to fuck me.” She bats her eyelashes.

I don’t know why she’s surprised. She saw what witnessing her and my brother together did to me. I was always angry, always pissed off that she wasn’t where she was meant to be…with me.

A cackle slithers through the speakers, deafening and malicious. “Oh, calm down. I was kidding. Well, partly. I wasn’t kidding about the bloodshed part. Blood will be shed one way or another in order to exit. It would go against everything I’ve come to accept in my way of life if I let everyone leave breathing and unscathed. But you don’t need to worry, Mr. Cromwell, fate brought you here. Fate will have its way with you both, whether you like it or not.”

Raiden’s hand grazes mine, her gaze asking if I’m okay. I nod and she doesn’t waste a second before she’s back to addressing the speaker.

“Okay, enough with the riddles,” she shouts, but the anonymous taunter interrupts her with a laugh.

“Ah, fine. Since you clearly aren’t into riddles, how about we end this with a puzzle?”

“A fucking puzzle,” Raiden huffs, throwing her hands up in the air, her gaze back on me. “This is unbelievable.”

The voice interrupts once again. “Okay, I lied, one last riddle, but don’t get your panties in a twist. They’re so cute by the way, really accentuates that fuckable ass,” the voice taunts, knowing the possessive rage that made me punch the door like a jackass will rev up again. I don’t give a fuck how it makes me look. I’ve spent too fucking long suffering, watching Raiden with Brett, and now that I’ve had a taste of her, I don’t want to hear anyone talk about what’s mine.

“We got it,” I grunt, not even trying to hide the caveman tone in my voice. “What’s the last fucking riddle.”

The speaker doesn’t waste a second, spewing out something I don’t understand. I turn to Raiden, her lips syncing with the words that are being said.

Raiden pauses, mouthing them again, and I can’t read the expression on her face.

I stalk towards her, tapping her on her tense shoulder. “Raiden, what is it?”

She moves closer to the boxes, her hand hovering over the one on the top left. “El demonio está en los detalles,” she breathes, her mind visibly running a mile a minute trying to decode the message.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Fuck, I wish I’d paid more attention in Spanish class in school or had been able to have my mom teach me more while she was alive. I feel so lost with the little bit that I know.

“El demonio está en los detalles,” she repeats, “the devil is in the details.”

“Devil? Is that demonio? I thought the devil was diablo?” I ask, trying to give myself at least some points for knowing that much.

“They’re interchangeable,” the voice interrupts, dismissing my question. “Alright, now that that’s out of the way…let’s play. In front of you are four boxes, each containing one object. They all have something in common. Determine what they share, and the door opens.”

“And we’re free?” I blurt, already knowing that nothing is that simple.

“Don’t be ridiculous. True freedom is a pipe dream. You weren’t born free, and you won’t even die free. Your life had a predestined stamp on it that earned you a front row ticket for the show that’s behind that final door. Timer is activated, good luck. You’re going to need it.”

I look to Raiden and for some bizarre reason I feel the need to spew out two words I already know will piss her off. “Ladies first,” I blurt as if we aren’t contestants in a literal death trap.

“Holy fuck, you really are unbelievable. If you’re chicken shit, why don’t you just say so?” She rolls her eyes, going back to reach for the first box when I snatch her wrist, pulling her away from it, forcing her to look at me.

“I was only trying to be a gentleman since you seem to…” I pause, my jaw is so fucking tight from anticipation on what is in the compartments on the door, it feels like it’s going to snap in half.

“Seem to what? Get off on being stuck in this claustrophobic prison with literal blood and guts on the floor?” She nudges her head forward, her raven eyes bulging to emphasize her words. “For the record, I hate small spaces like this.” Again, she pauses, and for some reason I’m taken aback by her admission. Raiden always seems so calm and collected—bratty as hell, but still calm. Hearing that something bothers her is unexpected to say the least.

“Really?” I ask surprised, grip still on her.

She wiggles slightly from it and I finally loosen my fist. She takes a long breath in, turning away from me to face the door once more. “Yes, believe it or not. I’m afraid of things too, which is why I really want to get going with this. I need to see if my fucking cousin is actually dead or if this fucker is messing with us.”

Would you look at that. A truth. A rare occasion for Raiden, but her honesty, her vulnerability fuels me.

“I can go first,” I offer, stepping next to her, my hand meeting hers by the box labeled ‘one’.

She swats away my hand playfully, not with the anger I would expect in this moment.

“No, it’s fine. No offense, but I don’t think you can handle it,” she singsongs.

I scoff, forever taken by surprise at how fresh she can be. Here she is saying she’s afraid and she still won’t let me help her. I should let it go, because there’s no winning with her, but I can’t. Anger takes over – indignance.

“Who did this to you?” I blurt.

She looks at me confused. “Excuse me?”

I shake my head. “I mean, what happened to you that makes you so–” I pause, flustered. “So,” I begin again but still can’t find the correct word.

“Cold?” she answers for me.

“Yes, cold. What happened?”

“Life,” she responds flatly. “Life happened, okay? Life continuously showed me how cold it could be. How ruthless and unfair so I figured, let me one up it and be this way so I can do what I need to do without being so damn paralyzed every two seconds. Now if you’re done with your questions we still need to get out of here so, let’s get on with it,” she shrugs motioning to the box.

Speechless I watch her hand lift the box, opening it just an inch. “Listen I know, you were just trying to be a gentleman,” she says in a playful tone that skates the line of sincerity.

My lips part, ready to defend myself, but she turns her head to face me, an unexpected smile on her lips. “But you lost any possible opportunity of being a gentleman the second you drugged me and broke into my house.”

Fuck, who am I kidding? She’s right. I won’t even fight it by pointing out that she faked being knocked out and wrapped those delicious thighs around my head, pinning me to her pussy, forcing me to eat her like I was going to anyway.

I’m a mess when I’m around her. A fool who suddenly forgets how to act, doing desperate things just to have her to myself, not even considering how wrong they may be.

Her hand moves from the box to my cheek. She taps it playfully with her palm before brushing it delicately against the rough stubble along my jaw. “It’s okay,” she breathes, stepping closer to me, her face grazing mine. “I never said I wanted you to be one anyway,” she winks. “Well, maybe you are sort of a gentleman. I mean you only gave me melatonin in my drink after all. If you really were unhinged you would’ve opted for something stronger,” she mumbles and my brow furrows in confusion.

“Melatonin?” I ask, wondering how the hell she knew that and why that’s what Maddox gave me. Not that I’m complaining, I didn’t want to give her something strong even though I was stupid enough to take something from him to use.

“Yeah, melatonin always makes me super sleepy right away, like I’m stuck in quicksand and then I’m up shortly after. That’s why I just drink wine or smoke some weed to go to sleep.”

My heart stops. As if she isn’t perfect enough to me. The fact that she smokes to get to sleep elevates her to goddess status.

“Yeah, same,” I clear my throat trying to keep my tone even.

She giggles. “Yeah,” she begins, mocking my tone, “I figured.”

Turning her back to face the box again, a chill hits me hard, thinking on me and Maddox’s texts before my phone died, when I was in her closet. How he was saying she has connections. Did he fucking know that she’s related to and works for Moretti? For a second, I consider the fact that Maddox could be behind this. But that feels too back-stabby even for him. Then again, Maddox’s moral compass died long ago, so with him anything is possible.

But I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sound of Raiden gasping. I look up to see a silver platter in her hand, glinting in the dim light, and there, dead center, is a severed finger. Which, considering the morbid theme of this place, honestly isn’t that shocking. Except what is shocking is that it’s not just any finger.

“Isn’t that?” Raiden starts to ask, but I nod my head, cutting her off as I stare at the family crest adorning the gold ring.

“Yes,” I respond, staring at the lifeless finger that once belonged to Alistair Cromwell…my father.