Page 109 of Buried in Blood

Brooke doesn’t ask where we are.

She just stares at the broken shutters and warped siding like she’s waiting to be hurt again.

I grab the flashlight, exit the car, and round to her side.

“This way.”

We cut across the overgrown yard. I step into the house. The smell of mildew greets me like a slap in the face. I haven’t been inside of here since I took Astra. I walk over to the door on the floor.

I kneel and pull it open, the hinges groaning like something dying.

Beneath it—darkness.

A concrete hole with only one way down. I grab the ladder and unfold it. Dropping it down into the cell.

Then I look at her.

“I kept someone here once,” I say softly. “She was worse off than you.”

Brooke’s lip quivers. “What happened to her?”

“She lived.”

I don’t addbarely.

She steps forward, peers down into the hollow silence, then back at me.

“Is it locked from the outside?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a light?”

I nod. “One.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

She climbs down slowly, step by step, until her white dress disappears into the dark.

I follow after her and shut the trap door above us.

The light flickers on.

Dim. Yellow. Faintly buzzing.

Inside is a bed with fresh sheets, a crate with water bottles and protein bars, and a stack of clothes folded neatly beside a wool blanket. The air smells stale, and a mix of survival.

I crouch beside her.

“There are no cameras. No chains. No rules here.”

I had removed the cameras per Dante’s request.

Her voice is paper-thin. “Why are you helping me?”

I study her face. The bruises beneath make-up. The brand peeking from her collar. The terror still radiated from every inch of her skin.

“Because he doesn’t get to keep what he breaks,” I whisper.