Page 18 of Colton

Sobbing. Monitors. Eyes everywhere.

But who is watching?

I swear my limbs barely work as I turn from the monitors, the taste of those damn sobs still thick in my mouth. But something feelsoff. More off than usual, which—in this fucking place—is saying something.

I take one step. Another. Then?—

Thud.

My knee hits something. A wall panel, sinking just slightly under the pressure. Shit. The sound echoes through the narrow passage like a gunshot. For a second, all I can do is stand rooted to the spot, waiting for the house to react, to trap me here with the ghosts of those girls, with that damn sobbing. But the walls don’t close in. Not yet.

Instead, the panel slides open, revealing another door. Something about this one feels…different. Like it’s been used more recently. The hinges are too clean, too willing to move. My heart pounds harder, butfuck it—I can’t stop now. I push it open.

The moment I step through, I freeze.

A fucking staircase…going down.

My breath hitches. This has to be the monster’s lair. My gut twists and my instincts scream at me to leave, but I can’t.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and say a silent prayer before heading down the cold, stone steps. Even the air is thicker here, harder to inhale.

When I finally hit the stone floor, my heart slams against my chest—because the scene in front of me commands it.

The room spreads out before me like a horror movie designed by a sadist. It’s a nightmare of chains, leather straps and restraints hanging like a spider’s web from the ceiling and walls. On the far side, an entire table laid out makes me whimper—scalpels, whips, knives, all gleaming under dim lighting.

Torture. This isn’t just some perverted fantasy—this...fuck!

I gag but choke it back. I knew it was bad, deep in my core, I knew it. But seeing it confirmed like this...it’s like a sick joke.

Don’t break now. Don’t you dare break now.

And then I see them, hanging on the walls. Photographs. Dozens of them. Women. Girls. Broken, abused, captured in moments of torment.

“Fuck...” I whisper, gritting my teeth.

My hands shake violently as I trace my fingers over the images, twisting my insides. Their pain is so palpable.

I step forward, unable to help it. My feet pull me closer, closer. I owe it to them, to the women. “I see you,” I murmur, tears filling my eyes.

Who could even survive this?

And then I seeher.

The world fucking stops. My vision blurs, ears ringing as my eyes lock onto the face thatshouldn’t be here.

Sophia.

My sister.

Her smile used to light up a room, her eyes so full of life. Now, those same eyes stare back at me from the photograph, swollen, empty, haunted...and I can’t breathe. The girl in this photo is a stranger, and yet, she’s the sister I loved more than anyone. And I let this happen.

It feels like someone’s knifed me right between the ribs. The bile in my throat surges up, burning as I fight it back, tears threatening to spill.

Fuck. Fuck!

I clutch the edge of a nearby table, knuckles white, sucking in air like it’s being fed to me through a straw. It’s too much—it’s too fucking much.

“Xavier…” I whisper, voice tight and cracking at the edges. I knew it. I never doubted it, but seeing this? Everything I’ve held together—barely—starts falling apart. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him over and over for this.”