Page 607 of Hell Hath No Fury

Jesus. I catch her before she collapses and scoop her up. “What the fuck? What’s wrong?”

“Besides you drugging me, I haven’t eaten in a few days so I’m kind of lightheaded.”

God damn it. Why I feel guilty with this girl I have no idea. I disregard my inner turmoil over emotions I loathe and nod to the mirrored glass. Also ignoring the reflection of how damn good she looks curled in my arms. “Bring him in.”

Perplexed she frowns up at me, unaware the guys are waiting outside the room for my instructions. All of her confusion instantly explodes into joy when the door swings open and her stupid dog bolts inside galloping like a damn stallion straight to her. I gently sit her back on the tile only for the beast to knock her down. She doesn’t seem to give a damn, crying and letting him lick her cheeks and paw her body as she nuzzles his sloppy face. Gross but genuine. I’ve seen less affection between a mother and her child compared to these two. I open my mouth to say something shitty about them being ridiculous but stop myself when she turns to me. She’s so damn beautiful glowing from happiness, I rein in my asshole tendencies to utter a cruel remark.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Gushing and grinning suits her so much better than the harsh persona she portrayed earlier. My girl’s endured a hard life which pisses me off on her behalf. Especially when I’ve made her feel worse by letting her think we killed her dog.

Content and comfortable, he plops down on her chest as if readying himself for a long nap. Her head falls back with laughter that’s as extraordinary as she is. Until she begins to wrestle him off her body, much to his disappointment.

“Come on Pete. It’s time to go.”

Fuck that. Neither of them is leaving. I can see why she’s eager to jet. No one wants to be in the dungeon even when it’s clean and empty. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Weak but defiant as all get out, she slowly stands, only swaying slightly. She huffs out an aggravated breath. “Well, I’m finished with you. I keep telling you I don’t know anything. I just want to take my dog and get out of here. I’ll never bother you again.”

As if she’s bothering me now.

Her being here is the best thing that’s happened to me in months. Hell, probably years, and I’m not going to let her get away that easily. Fighting against my nature to strong-arm her, I summon the gentleman buried deep inside and entice her with the other thing I know she urgently needs besides the boxer. “Doesn’t work that way, baby girl.” I motion for her to follow me. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”

Her stomach rumbles as if on cue from the mere mention of food. Like the smug bastard I am, I grin to myself, well aware I have her, and jog up the stairs. By the time I reach the top, I hear nails scraping against the concrete. Pete’s hungry too, upset and unable to eat without her. Now I can take care of both of them.

* * *

Addie

Regardless of how desperate I am, I’mnoteating with this guy. He’s nuts. And dangerous. And intriguing. Two out of those three attributes are enough to confirm I need to get the hell out of here. Following his same path, I run through the concrete corridor, that feels ominously like a tunnel, and climb the steep steps with Pete racing along beside me. Stepping through the doorway feels as if we’ve entered an alternate universe compared to the prison we just left. Like some of the books I read in the library when I had nowhere else to go after school. God bless Mrs. Daughtry for letting me hang out while she monitored detention.

Shiny marble floors reflect the glow from a huge chandelier hanging at least twenty feet above my head. Surrounded by enormous columns, a sweeping white stone staircase with black railing, and archways leading to other rooms in the gigantic house, I realize how wealthy he is too. How bizarre to leave some kind of torture chamber and enter paradise. Ironic that such a beautiful man, who’s the devil incarnate, lures people into a false heaven hiding the hell that goes on beneath the floors.

The biggest guy I’ve ever seen—at least seven feet tall—stands by the front doors. He acts bored while I’m terrified. I’ll never admit the truth to him or his boss. I stride to him with all of the swagger I can manage. “Excuse me.”

I reach around his back to grab the handle. Without laying a finger on me, he steps to the right blocking my reach. Damn it. He may not be touching me but I’m not that shy and give him a nudge in the side with my elbow. “I said excuse me.”

As if I’m not here, not talking, not shoving at him, he ignores me. Staring at the wall behind me, he pretends the portrait of a woman dressed for a ball who sits all alone at a simple table with a half full coffee mug, is the only thing worth capturing his attention. Without any time or interest in interpreting the meaning of the painting, I ram into him with my shoulderto grasp for the knob again. Nothing. The guy’s as big and immovable as a tree trunk.

My manners nor my force sway him. All I’ve got left is guilt. “Can you please let me out? I don’t want to be here. I want to go…”

The serpent of fear from when I was a little girl slithers around my heart. I never wanted to go home back then either. Or at least not what home felt like most of the time. But the idea of a home—safe and comforting—is something I’ve been searching for all my life and never found. “Please don’t make me stay.”

No response except for a flick in my direction so quick I’m not sure if his gaze met mine or not before his eyes return to the picture. Pete whimpers, well aware I’m upset. Surprisingly he doesn’t snarl or lunge at the guy. He doesn’t sense danger, which confuses me since we are obviously in mortal jeopardy. Maybe not this exact second but this beast and his boss could easily hurt us. No one would know. The tightness in my chest intensifies. No one would care.

Ideas burst into my mind. I can’t overpower him physically. This guy’s following some orders and won’t listen. Devin’s dead and his killer is in the other room. The lack of guilt for his murder shames me but also spurs me into action. Once I break out of this luxurious jail, I can figure out a way to atone for my missing conscience.

I race into a living room. If the front door is blocked, then the window is my only other option. I jerk up the handle and nothing happens. I should’ve guessed they’re bolted shut too. I grab a black iron poker from the fireplace and heave the bar up in the air, drawing my strength from adrenaline since my muscles are so weak from lack of food. Slamming as hard as I can into the pane, I yelp from the reverberation shooting from my hands through my arms. Another barrier immune to my force. Surely, I’m not so pathetic I can’t break glass.

Embarrassment deluges me that I’m such a wimp unable to manage even a crack. I try again. Hoisting the pole backward and using my entire body weight to smack the surface only managing to tangle the red curtain gathered with a silver decorative hook. Damn.

Resiliency I didn’t even know I had burns inside of me and I keep going. Hitting over and over I achieve nothing but my arms aching in defeat. Not a single mark or splinter appears from my failed efforts. I only accomplish upsetting Pete with his whines as the backdrop to my blows.

Breathless and sweaty, my body gives up before my mind does. My throbbing fingers spasm, and I drop the poker. My wobbly legs buckle, and I stumble back into a sofa, leaning on the sleek gray cushion. My spinning thoughts give me a headache, and I rub my temples, wishing for some epiphany that will release me from this trap. Despite me terrifying him, Pete snuggles next to my legs, comforting me even though I don’t deserve the consolation after I scared him. I slide to the floor and stroke down his body, reassuring him I’m okay. We’re okay.

"They're bullet proof and won’t shatter. You'll never break through."

I startle from the calm tone and open my eyes. The boss from the basement stands in the foyer taking in my escape attempt. He doesn’t seem mad. More amused if anything with his half smile and bright eyes. His blasé response is the last thing I expect.