Page 29

KANE

A ustria is cold as fuck.

The air fogs in front of my face as I step out of the luxurious cabin that Rowan is forcing me to stay in. My presence isn’t needed, but the controlling prick won’t allow me to leave. I’m tempted to hitchhike further into Europe and disappear.

The only footsteps unsettling the clean blanket of snow are mine as I walk through the undisturbed patches, adding more prints to the uniform surface.

There’s something calming about being the first person to ruin the crisp blanket and I need to find something to escape to my thoughts, so I continue walking, sinking my booted feet into the deep snow.

Thick trees surround the property, the evergreen branches covered in the same soft white snow, and little flakes sprinkle down as the wind picks up.

I pull my coat tighter around me and walk deeper into them.

Icy patches lay under the snow, showing a path that has been traveled before me.

It’s all compacted and I steady myself by pressing my hand to the neighboring tree trunks.

It doesn’t take long for another cabin to come into view.

I freeze in place.

I’ve never seen anything like it. There are no windows and smoke billows from the large stone chimney.

A black metal door stands out against the scenery, and I can’t make sense of the reason for no windows.

It’s too big to be a smokehouse and the picturesque views would be a selling point for the property.

There aren’t any new bricks showing that the windows have been covered.

It’s all uniform like it was purposefully built to be a box.

The door hisses as it opens, and the steel must be at least eight inches thick. It’s like a bank vault with metal cylinders retracting. I’ve seen some fancy fucking shit in my life, but I’ve never witnessed a smokehouse that’s bigger than most family homes with a vault door.

Rowan spots me straight away as he steps out with his phone to his ear.

The fucking predator. He doesn’t step onto the snow, remaining at the threshold with his creepy eyes boring into my soul, scanning it for weakness.

There’s something sinister in the way he just stands there, staring at me.

Despite being identical to Lennox, he’s worse somehow.

A child walks through the gap of the door. He can’t be older than six or seven years old, every part of his body covered in scars. He’s only in a pair of shorts. It’s fucking freezing and he doesn’t even have socks on.

I look from the child to Rowan. There aren’t any shared features.

The kid has a darker complexion and dark eyes.

But he slips his small hand into Rowan’s.

Fuck, I have a cousin. A cousin who has been severely abused by the sadistic cunt.

Not a slap or a punch, which would be bad enough, but deep scars that are raised, crisscrossing over his chest, arms, and thighs.

Even his stomach has marks, huge pock-like burns.

My feet move automatically, sinking into the deeper patches of snow unprotected from the thicket of trees as I walk towards them.

Rowan tightens his hand around the boy’s, then abruptly releases it.

I’m at least ten feet away when the kid runs out into the snow.

His brown skin turns red against the harsh elements with no barrier, but he continues running towards me without any care for his bare feet.

There’s no smile on his face though. He runs like a soldier reporting for duty.

I slow and force my face to soften as I smile. Before I can utter a word, he stops in front of me. He’s even smaller close up. His thin frame made him look taller when he was running, but he doesn’t even come up to my hips. My smile drops as he reaches both hands out for my belt.

Pulling my hips back, I rush out, “Hey, whoa, what are you doing?”

It doesn’t deter him as he pushes forward again with hands outstretched. His voice is strained, like he’s spent his short life smoking twenty a day as he says, “You’re new. I have to welcome you.”

I gently grab his small wrists and look at the sick fucking cunt still standing at the door, smiling as though this is fucking amusing.

My na?vety made me believe human trafficking was taking advantage of people who were already living in fear, taking them to a different country under the guise of protection, only to end up exploiting them himself.

But he’s worse. Human trafficking means sexual slavery, not transportation.

The boy tries to fight me. He’s fucking fighting me to be abused because he’s been beaten, tortured into thinking he has to. I don’t even want to know what the alternative would be for him, but I lower to my haunches.

“Hey,” I say softly. “You will never welcome anyone, okay?”

His face falls as he whispers, “I have to.”

“You don’t. I promise I won’t let you be alone, and I won’t let anyone touch you again. You can stay next to me.”

He nods and blankly stares through me. I don’t straighten up because like this, with the kid being my only focus, I can’t see that motherfucker laughing. I can hear it though, and I try to block it out as I ask, “What’s your name?”

The boy looks at me then, his brows slamming together. “I don’t have one.”

I let go of his wrists and hold my hand out. “Well, my name is Kane, and if you don’t have one, that means you get to pick whatever you want. So, what would you like me to call you?”

He lifts one shoulder and quickly lets it drop. “I don’t know any of them.”

“Okay, you think about it and when you find a name, let me know. Do you want me to pick you up, so your feet don’t hurt in the snow?”

The crease between his brows deepens as he slowly backs away from me.

There’s so much fear on his face that it sticks me even when he turns to look at Rowan.

That cunt stops laughing and his eyes swing to me.

He assesses me as I straighten, and his humor slips away.

His eyes remain fixed on me as I walk towards him, yet he doesn’t say anything to the person on the other end of the phone before he ends the call.

He places his hand on my shoulder, stopping me from entering the house, and only turns his head an inch to look at me. “What did you say to scare that sweet boy?”

I step out from under his touch as I plainly say, “I asked his name.”

His face splits into a wide smile, almost human before his laugh booms, echoing into the house behind him.

Something akin to pride flashes across his features, only it’s dark and twisted.

He fully turns to look down the hallway where the boy ran through.

Without him obstructing the doorway, I can see through it.

Everything is concrete. The walls, the floor, the ceiling.

All of it. The boy’s wet steps show that the hallway narrows and curves, but the entire thing being made of the same material creates an illusion like a funhouse that’s meant to disorient everyone who enters.

Rowan presses against my shoulder, his eyes lighting up as he coaxes, “Come, nephew. Allow me to introduce you to true power.”

I don’t make the sensible decision and run.

No, I do something fucking stupid, and freely walk into the enclosed building.

Despite there being no natural light, everything is bright.

The fluorescent lights reflect off the polished walls and I’m discombobulated as we walk deeper through the hallway.

The heavy steel door clangs, then hisses, locking us in.

Rowan walks ahead and I’m sure the floor is unlevel because he’s taller than he was. He’s like a twisted circus master and everything he’s created is meant to fuck with a person’s head, to keep them confused and fearful so he can get enjoyment from their misery.

The hallway begins to wind, and the floor is definitely not level because the tops of our heads bob as we get deeper into the building, as though our height is changing. But the ceiling is doing the same so that it’s not obvious. It makes my stomach roll, my palms clammy, and my throat constrict.

We walk through yet another ridiculously thick steel door into a stalker’s wet dream.

The wall in front of me has screens covering the entire surface, which monitor the couple chained to the wall from every angle.

Their faces are covered while Lennox focuses on a smaller screen.

I tilt my head to look around his shoulders to see what he’s watching, but he quickly changes the view to the outside of the property.

Static lines break up the image of the snow due to the abrupt change and I let him have his secret porn habit or whatever fucked up shit he’s viewing.

The sleek, black desk seamlessly blends into the concrete wall through a notch that the wires are tucked through in the otherwise empty room.

Rowan pats my back with enough force that I end up moving forward as he pulls out the empty seat beside Lennox. “Watch.”

Turning on his heel, he leaves the room and the door slams behind him. There is no hissing or clicking of the mechanics, so it’s not locked. Until Lennox presses something under the table and the sound of his twin’s steps are like a gavel.

He doesn’t say anything as we watch Rowan walk through the hallway.

There must be a blind spot, because he disappears from view for a few minutes.

He only returns when he enters the room the couple are being held in and I ask, “Is this some kink thing?” My question is ignored, so I knock my foot against his.

“I don’t really want to watch you act out a throuple fantasy.

” Multiple masked guards enter the room after Rowan and my brows go up.

“Or a gangbang. Or is it an orgy, if there are that many?”

Lennox turns his head and laughs without allowing the sound to escape. “Are you asking me for the definition between a gangbang and an orgy?”