Page 27 of Absolution (Favorite Malady Trilogy #3)

ABIGAIL

I unlock the door to enter my gallery, already missing Dane. He left to run an errand only half an hour ago, but I feel his absence like a missing limb.

My addiction to my husband is definitely unhealthy, so I’m resolved to manage my Sunday on my own.

The catering crew did a good job cleaning up the gallery after the grand opening last night, but I still want to check the space for myself.

I could wait until Monday, but I’m excited to spend more time building my new business.

I sold eighteen paintings after my confrontation with my mother.

I have some bookkeeping and delivery logistics to manage before I can devote a day to my art again.

I smile to myself. It’s a wonderful problem to have.

I can still hardly believe that people want to buy my art. I’ll gladly deal with paperwork as a result.

I step into my office at the back of the gallery, but I don’t quite manage to turn on the light.

Rough hands grab me from behind, one clamping over my mouth to smother my shocked cry.

Something sharp pierces my neck, and the horribly familiar sensation of soporific drugs oozing into my system makes panic spike through my heart.

“We need to talk, little Abby.”

Uncle Jeffrey’s low growl follows me down into darkness.

The darkness persists when I open my eyes. I blink hard, struggling to process the fact that I’m conscious. I lift my hand in front of my face, but all I see is inky blackness.

Then the dank smell registers, stirring a scent memory.

I’m nine years old again, and I’m trapped. The ghosts of my older cousins’ laughter echo through my ears. I stretch out my arms, and my fingers connect with the cold, thick metal door.

“No!” I moan, shoving against it. The lock on the outside rattles, and the door doesn’t budge.

My cousins shoved me in here and secured the aged lock.

They told me that ghosts of Yankee soldiers haunt these cells beneath Elysium.

An icy finger trails down my spine, one of those ghosts brushing against me.

Their malevolent aura surrounds me, and my chest tightens to choke off my scream of abject terror.

I scramble wildly in the confined space, my nails breaking against rough bricks that surround me on three sides, squeezing me into a tiny box. There’s not enough oxygen in here. I can’t breathe.

My fists slam into the door, and a metallic boom resounds through my haunted cell.

“Let me out!” My voice is high and thin. “Let me out!”

The grate on the door screeches as it slides open, and a small square of yellow light sears my eyes.

“You’re not getting out of there until you see sense.”

Uncle Jeffrey’s voice. Not my cousins.

My mind reels, and I struggle to ground myself in the present. I’m not that frightened child anymore.

But I’m as helplessly trapped as she was when they locked me in here and left me to scream in the dark for hours.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I manage to wheeze. “You can’t keep me in here.”

All I can see of my uncle is a pair of icy blue eyes and the tops of his rage-flushed cheekbones.

“Oh yes, I can. You’re going to stay in there and think about what you’ve done to this family.”

I shake my head to clear away the ghostly hands that clutch at my face, trying to draw me back into darkness and mind-numbing panic.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I hiss. “If you’re facing the consequences of your sick actions, that’s on you.”

His eyes flash. “You’re going to recant the vile story you told that reporter,” he insists. “Then I’ll consider letting you out of there when you learn to be better behaved.”

My fists slam into the door in a pulse of pure rage, and he reels back a step.

“Did Mama put you up to this?” I demand. “Let me out, or you will all regret it.”

“Your mama and daddy left this morning for the ranch in Montana. They’re not coming back unless you sort out the mess you made. I’m going to make sure you fall in line.”

I bare my teeth at him in primal defiance. “You will never touch me again. I’ll kill you before I let you hurt me.”

He scoffs. “I’m not going to lay a hand on you. I never hurt you, Abby.”

My fists boom against the door, and I launch myself at him as though I can tear him apart.

“You violated me!” I shriek. “I was a child. Your own niece. You’re a sick piece of shit, Uncle Jeffrey, and now everyone knows it. You will never harm another child. I won’t let you.”

“Damn you!” he thunders. “You’re trying to ruin me, but I will not permit it. You’ll take back what you said.”

“Never,” I seethe. “You should be the one rotting in a cell. If I ever manage to get the evidence I need to put you away for the rest of your life, I will. If you think you’re suffering now, just wait until I make you pay for kidnapping me and locking me up in here.”

“You’ll sit in the dark and think about what you’ve done,” he says with twisted, paternal disapproval. “I’ll come back when you’re more agreeable.”

The grate slams closed, cutting off my only source of light. Darkness presses in on me with crushing weight.

I scream out my rage and terror, punching the door again and again.

But all I manage is to split my knuckles against the unyielding metal. The stinging pain doesn’t stop me. I’m reduced to my most feral self, ruled by survival instincts. I can’t stop fighting. I can’t stop trying to escape.

The icy fingers of my ghostly cellmate clutch at my hair, scoring frigid lines down the back of my neck. I shudder and scream as I throw all of my weight against the door to no avail.

“Abigail!” Dane’s voice is muffled by the heavy door, but I instantly recognize my dark god.

“I’m in here!”

He came for me. He promised he always would.

I’m grateful for the tracker he put in me all those weeks ago. No one will ever be able to take me from him.

“I found a key,” he calls back. “I’m getting you out.”

The aged key scrapes in the lock, and then fresh oxygen floods the cell along with blessed light.

I throw myself into Dane’s waiting arms. He wraps me up in a fierce embrace, cradling the back of my head to press my face close to his chest. He’s breathing hard, as though he ran all the way from Charleston to get to me.

“I’ve got you,” he promises. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I want to leave,” I say in a rush, grabbing his hand so that I can drag him toward the exit. “I can’t stand to be in this house for another minute.”

He doesn’t budge. All of his powerful muscles practically vibrate with some unseen strain.

“Who put you in there?” he growls.

“Uncle Jeffrey. He wanted to convince me to tell the press that I made everything up.”

“Did he touch you?” The question is barely intelligible.

“No. He just tried to scare me.” I can’t suppress a shudder. “He knows I don’t like it down here.”

It’s a massive understatement, but I don’t want to waste time going over that particular trauma inflicted by my sadistic older cousins. I just want to go home with Dane.

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I tug on Dane’s hand. “Please. I need to leave.”

I want to crawl out of my own skin. Every passing second in this nightmarish house makes me itch, as though the toxicity of my past is a palpable irritant on my flesh.

“All right, little dove,” he says, voice smoothing to the gentler cadence that soothes me. “We’re going home.”

He finally allows me to lead him out of the awful basement. “This way.”

We climb the brick stairs, the dank scent clearing from my senses as the air becomes fresher above ground. I take a deep breath, welcoming the rush of clean oxygen.

But fear clings to my psyche, and my footsteps are quick as I rush into the armory.

Antique weapons from every era over the last several centuries line the wood paneled walls, and a pool table dominates the center of the room.

A stocked whiskey cabinet is illuminated to the right of the massive fireplace, and the cigar humidor on the other side of the mantle is open.

I register that Uncle Jeffrey must be close in the moment that I hear the sickening crack.

Dane jerks at my side, then drops. A green pool ball rolls away from his still form, a smear of crimson marking the white band around its middle. Blood begins to spread out on the cream rug beneath my husband’s head.

I cry out his name and drop to my knees, but before I can reach for him, cruel hands grab me from behind.

“I’m putting you back where you belong,” Uncle Jeffrey snarls, dragging me away from Dane.

He isn’t moving.

My horrified wail fills the armory, and I thrash in my uncle’s restraining hold.

“Calm down,” he admonishes. “I’ll make sure he lives if you just do as I say.”

We’re almost at the stairs. He’s going to throw me back into that cell. Horror churns in my gut, but I force myself to stop fighting. Dane needs help. My uncle could do anything to him while he’s unconscious. There’s nothing to stop him from killing my husband.

Nothing except me.

“I’ll cooperate,” I say desperately. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

The darkened stairwell yawns before me, and a furious roar echoes off the brick passageway.

My uncle’s hands are ripped from my arms, and I whirl to find Dane grappling with the older man. He’s bigger than my uncle and so much stronger, but the right side of his face is covered in blood, and his green eyes are slightly out of focus.

Uncle Jeffrey throws his full weight against my husband, tackling him to the floor. His fist slams into Dane’s jaw.

Dane goes still again, and Uncle Jeffrey shoves to his feet. For a moment, I think he’s going to come after me again, but he lunges toward the fireplace, reaching for one of the swords that serves as perverse decoration above the mantle.

I don’t pause to think. I grab an antique, civil war era rifle from the wall. It will never fire a shot again, but the bayonet is still sharp.