Page 4 of A Midnight Romance

River

“ T hey’ll catch you, you asshole.” This piece of shit is the man we captured at this hell hole of a cabin, and he’s referring to the four men involved in a ring of the rape and torture of women.

When the head guys looped me into their little organization two nights ago at the club, I knew I had to step in. After a call with my FBI contact, we were able to quickly put the pieces together. I realized these sick fucks are trying to mimic a college ring that was busted twenty years ago.

With a balaclava comfortably covering my face and my favorite knife at his throat, I shrug and say, “Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t.”

“Do you know who I am?” he threatens, his limbs thrashing against the thick rope binding him to the rickety wooden chair.

Based on the information Sebastian uncovered, this guy is their scout. His job consists of finding secluded locations where they can conduct their business.

“I do not,” I say. “However, judging by your appearance, you’re probably a low-level henchman.”

He grits his teeth together, the stains telling me he’s been up in the mountains for some time without a toothbrush. “I run this whole fucking place.”

“I’m sure you do,” I tell him, clamping his shoulder. “And now you’re going to tell me what I need to know. ”

A sinister smile creeps across his complacent face. “Fuck you.”

“My friend,” I start, pressing the blade harder against his skin. “This can go one of two ways. Either you tell me more information about if there are more locations you use, or my cousin Sebastian will hold you down so I can sever each of your fingers one by one.”

A small drop of blood leaks from the cut onto his lip from where I knocked it out earlier. His tongue darts out to lick it. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“Why do they always make it difficult on themselves?” I roll my eyes. These fuckers always do. “Look, Pete. Can I call you Pete?”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“I doubt that,” I reply, circling his chair. I move my knife down and across his chest, behind his back, before I return to the front. He winces, attempting to move away, but he’s bound to the chair.

“The rest of the house is clear.” Sebastian’s boots slam against the hardwood floor as he enters the room. “But there are women in the basement,” he adds with a sigh.

“How many?”

“I counted four.”

“Are they—”

He nods, answering the question before I ask it. “I didn’t check, but from the looks of it”—he sighs—“they’re all dead.”

The way these men trapped those women and the horrendous acts they may have endured fuels my anger—and my hunger to take out the trash . I grip the longer hair on the back of Pete’s head and jerk it backward. “You and your friends have been busy, haven’t you?”

His beady eyes meet mine. “What can I say? I love me some good pussy.”

I wring my neck. “You just signed your death warrant. ”

A chilling scream erupts from his throat before I glide the sharp side of my knife across his throat, sending a waterfall of blood down his chest.

“Did you get any information out of him?” Sebastian asks, slipping his gun into the back of his black pants.

“Nothing we weren’t already aware of,” I say, looking around for a sink.

“There’s one in the basement,” he tells me as if he knew what I was looking for. “But be prepared. These are some sick bastards. I’ll stay up here and start cleaning.”

“It’s what you do best,” I comment.

He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Yeah, maybe it’s about time to discuss our roles in the operation.”

“Maybe,” I say, then give him a curt nod and leave him to it.

He may complain, but he’s the best at managing the night crew.

I take a sharp right turn out of the bedroom and down the hall that leads to the basement. Once at the padlocked door, I move past piles of rubbish and discarded furniture and descend into what I can only describe as Hell.

Thick metal chains hang from holes midway up the concrete wall, while blood-soaked linens are haphazardly piled into a large basin.

A dense scent of copper and mildew infiltrates my nostrils. My eyes scan along the cement basement where I find four beds—each one with rose-stained sheets. Four women in total, all lying on different beds with their arms chained to the iron frame above their heads.

“Fuck, ” I say under my breath, taking in the surrounding sights.

All of the women have matted, dirty hair and are positioned on their backs. Three of them have their legs fallen open, exposing their insides. Only one is slightly covered with her knees bent to one side. I’m surprised she doesn’t appear to be as dirty and beaten up as the others .

It’s possible she hasn’t been here as long.

I can’t leave them all in this position. They don’t need to be exposed like this when the police find them. So, one by one, I close their legs and pull the tattered blankets to cover them.

Once I’m done, my eyes dart over to the last woman lying in the corner near the window.

Completely naked, she is exposed to the chill of the basement.

As I move across the room toward her, I secure my black latex gloves by weaving my fingers together from each hand.

When I reach the side of the bed, I assess every inch of her mangled body before I reach pick up her leg and move it even closer to the other.

A subtle bounce of the mattress stops my movements. At first I think I’ve imagined it, but when I grab the knife in my pocket, her leg twitches.

I stand still.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she begs with a shaky voice.

She’s alive.

She has a blindfold on and I’m still wearing my mask, so I’m certain she can’t see me. But I can’t risk being discovered.

The police will be on their way as soon as I can get the fuck out of here and alert them.

So, I quietly walk around to her side, past an open tiled shower fit into the corner of the room and toward the stairs.

She flinches with each thud of my heavy boots as they hit the concrete floor.

I watch the rise and fall of her chest matching the rhythm of the incessant drip of a leaky pipe on the far side of the basement.

“Please,” she whimpers again. “Don’t hurt me. I only want to go home.”

I ignore her pleas, briskly stepping onto the first step.

“Upstairs,” she says, “I heard you. ”

I know I should focus on getting out, but intrigued by her admission, I walk back over to the side of the bed. Tangled long brown hair frames her face, and a cut mars her bottom lip.

Curiosity gets the best of me, because I’m not sure if what she said was an accusation or an appeal to show she has knowledge about what Sebastian and I did.

“Did they get to you?” I ask. My protective instincts get the best of me while I examine her body for more injuries.

“What?” she spits out. “Do you want me all to yourself? Is that why you killed the guy upstairs?”

She thinks I’m one of them.

I slip the black mask over my face, then reach over to slowly push the blindfold up on hers. Two large hazel eyes with specks of green expose themselves to me. A smudged her mascara, leaving a line of black ink down her cheek.

Why does she look so familiar?

“Did they get to you?” I repeat.

Her frightened orbs bounce between mine for a moment before she answers in a soft voice.

“Only one.”

Her answer lifts a weight of concern from me, but it suddenly returns because one is too many.

“What are you going to do to me?” She swallows hard.

I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes from hers. “Nothing.”

“Are you planning to let me go?”

“No.”

Her swollen bottom lip quivers. “So, you’re not going to hurt me or let me go?”

I shake my head once again. “I’m not sure yet. ”

The previous terror in her eyes transforms into a frenzied panic. “Are you going to leave me here for when they come back?”

“No one will be returning,” I tell her coldly. “The police will be here soon.”

Attempting to escape, she sharply tugs on her wrists, forcing a stream of blood to trickle down her arm.

I never talk to them, because it’s too dangerous. She is a victim—part of the job , I remind myself . But then why do I feel this palpable pull toward to her?

Fuck, I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret. Giving her my back, I start walking toward the stairs.

“How do you know?” she rushes out, the farther away from her I get.

“I’m going to call them,” I toss over my shoulder.

“Will you stay until they come?” she cries.

I pause before my boot hits the cracked tile in the shower. I was hoping to wash up the best I can before heading upstairs. “Why do you want me to stay? I could’ve lied to you about being one of them.”

“You’re not.” She sniffs, answering with confidence. “You said you’re not.”

Slowly, I turn to confront her. “And you believe me?”

“I can sense it,” she admits, her words coming out breathy. “But if you’re not one of those monsters, then why are you here?”

Why the fuck does she keep talking to me?

Climbing up the creaky wooden stairs, I ignore her question once again.

“Please get me out of here.” She sniffs. “I can’t be here when the police come.”

I’m about to tell her no when her last comment stops me in my tracks. Against my better judgment, I ask, “Why? ”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you be here when the police arrive?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Irritation whips at me—both from her continued communication and now her lack of transparency when she wants me to help her. But also by my inability to leave her behind. I straighten my posture and head back to the bed. The sound of my feet on the floor makes her flinch.

“You better start talking,” I warn, fixing her stare with mine.

Wait. She’s the woman from the club! The one Andrew was bothering when I interrupted them.

She hesitates for a moment before licking her lips. “My father works for the police department.”

My fucking luck. The only woman alive is the one who’s connected to law enforcement.

“Well”—I raise my eyebrows—“now there’s no way I can let you go now that I know you’re connected to the police.”

“Please!” The woman flops aggressively. “You have to help me. Keep me blindfolded, throw me into your trunk, and drop me off at my house,” she says, “I don’t fucking care, but I can’t stay here!”

“No.”

“Please!” she screams. “Please!”

“Are you all right down there?” Sebastian’s voice bellows from the top of the stairwell.

I lean in closer, bringing my face within inches of hers. “Don’t you dare move.”

“Help me!” she screams. “Let me out of here!”

Frustrated with her lack of compliance, I sprint over to Sebastian anyway.

“One is alive,” I tell him .

His boots descend the steps. “Oh, wow. Okay.”

“We’re taking her with us,” I say with apprehension lacing my voice.

“What?” he whispers. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I dismiss him. A wave of relief washes over me as time passes and we go deeper into the nighttime hours. “Get the tarp and line the trunk with it. We’ll drop her off at her house.”

Sebastian’s eyes are wide with confusion, but like the most loyal cousin and friend he is, he agrees. “I found these on our buddy Pete,” he says, tossing me a ring full of keys.

I catch them in my palm. “Perfect.”

Frustrated with myself for getting involved, I angrily make my way back and march to the side of the bed. As soon as I get rid of her I can return to my goal—bringing those sick bastards down.

“We’re taking you home, but I swear to fucking god, if you try anything I will not hesitate to end you,” I threaten, sliding the keys from my pocket. I only have to attempt two before I get the correct one that unlocks her chains. “I’m going to handcuff you again.”

Although her eyebrows furrow, she nods in agreement. Once her arms are secured, I pull her blindfold back down, plunging her into darkness. A shiver wracks her body, so I quickly take the thin sheet from her bed and wrap her bare body with it.

“Thank you,” she whispers through clattering teeth.

I lean in, my lips brushing her earlobe through the material of my mask. “Don’t think I’m a good guy.”

A sharp rise of her chest catches my eye. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Never believe what people tell you,” I reply, bending to scoop her up into my arms.